In some children’s books, nothing much happens. In Roberto Piumini’s Glowrushes (Pushkin Press, £9.99), it’s like this: a father, a great Turkish lord, hires an artist to paint his sick son’s rooms for his 11th birthday, and together the boy and the painter create walls of wondrous imaginary landscapes. It turns out that you don’t have to travel outside your own room to inhabit new worlds. One wall is for the meadows of a goatherd, with tiny red goats, a lame dog and a distant minaret and a muezzin with a big nose. Another is for a besieged castle with a lovely princess atop a tower. And one room has glowrushes, wheat grasses which shine in the dark. It’s hard to say what age this story is meant for, but it reminds me of The Little Prince, where everything has its own logic.
Plenty happens in Gill Lewis’s Moon Flight (David Fickling Books, £7.99),
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