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Sandra Boynton

 Among all Boynton books, "But Not the Armadillo" is especially moving to me. The opening is a kind of a boast:


Behold the armadillo, with his armadillo nose;
That nose can take him anywhere. He follows where it goes.

From here, Boynton proves that the word "nose" really is a fine vehicle; it rhymes with other interesting words.

Now for armadillo jumps on armadillo toes!
Again he strolls along the road, and meets someone he knows.

While still intrigued by the five senses, Boynton makes a subtle shift:

From far away, a song delights his armadillo ears.
He walks and walks and walks and walks--and finds the song he hears.

Many writers spend a fair amount of the day walking; this is what it means to be a "flaneur." Part of me thinks that the unhurried, observant armadillo is a kind of autobiographical sketch; Boynton is teaching us about herself. (I have no evidence for this.)

In my house, we read this strange, surprising book at least once per day.








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