“I have not seen many rabbits moping, but when they do, their ears droop.” So begins this pitch-perfect new adventure of the mischievous bunny who first appeared 110 years ago in Beatrix Potter’s original tale. Perhaps understandably, Peter is, by now, a bit bored with life in the sandbank. Warned against wandering off by Benjamin Bunny (“Too many carts on the road.... Too many owls, and too many foxes”), Peter (again) wriggles under Mr. McGregor’s gate, this time into an “interesting basket smelling of onions.” After eating the picnic lunch within, he nods off, awakened later by the jostling of a horse-drawn cart he’s been loaded onto, which is en route to, of all places, Scotland. There he meets Finlay McBurney, “a HUGE black rabbit in a kilt, a dagger thrust into the top of his laced-up boot,” and a distant relative. Peter is in good hands with Finlay and gets the adventure he sought. Thompson and Taylor preserve the delicious dry wit of Potter’s original tales—this is top-notch read-aloud fare that both children and their parents will enjoy. Here’s to having Peter hop into trouble for another hundred years. Includes an audio recording of the tale, read by Thompson. Ages 5–6. (Sept.)

Lio is a remarkable boy who hangs out with aliens, makes his own robots, and loves the morbid and warped side of life. This book is not a single story, but a collection of short comic strips, and while it’s technically aimed for middle-grade readers, some of its dark sense of humor and twisted jokes might go over better with adults than kids. Literal-minded readers might not get all the supernatural angles and ironic, unrealistic stories, but kids can appreciate the school-age humor and that Lio is so much smarter than the grownups around him—even if the grownups don’t realize it. Very few words are spoken, or needed, in the more than 200 pages, with nearly everything is conveyed excellently through art. Tatulli has a knack for the unexpected, the surreal, and the weird, and he plays these for all they’re worth: Lio sells shrunken heads instead of lemonade, he travels through time, he meets monsters; put together it makes for a very engaging character. There are some similarities between this strip and Calvin and Hobbes, but Tatulli’s stories are much more outrageous. Ages 8–12. (Oct.)

This graphic novel tries to be about magic and goodness, but instead gets bogged down with creepy drawings, unfair stereotypes, and obnoxiously flat characters. Mike is unable to afford anything good for son Cam’s birthday, so he buys the boy only a cardboard box. They turn the cardboard into the shape of a man, only to have it come alive. Danger comes from Marcus, a boy readers are repeatedly told is rich, though apparently his parents can’t afford a dentist, and drawings concentrate on his bad teeth as if they’re a character flaw. Marcus wants the magical cardboard properties to himself because, well, he’s bad. Characters are shown, and drawn, as good or bad. The author also has a problem with people driving hybrids or boys having long hair. What could have been a fun fantasy tale often turns preachy, and it belittles people who look different. The story tries to add depth with the trope of a dead mother, but that theme doesn’t rescue it from occasional self-righteousness. Ages 10–14. (Aug.)

Hilda has always had a knack for making friends with mysterious creatures, until invisible elves try to evict her and her architect mother from their beloved, cozy mountain home. In this marvelous follow-up to the comic book Hildafolk, Hilda returns with her blue hair, pointy nose, oversize red boots, little pet, and zest for life. While her home is in danger of being smashed by the people of the Northern Elven Valley, Hilda’s mother insists they can move to the city. One day, Alfur the elf shows herself to Hilda, who can finally see them after signing a stack of paperwork. Throughout the process of seeking out the mayor, prime minister, and the king in order to save their home, Hilda keeps seeing a dark and hairy giant at night who is taller than mountains, which adds to even more unanswered questions. Pearson’s whimsical artwork—a cross between Lucky Luke and Miyazaki—creates a magical spell of a mysterious world of hidden creatures, and the production of the book make it a treasure in itself. The story—comparable to the Adventures of Polo series by Regis Faller and Copper by Kazu Kibuishi—never flags in imagination or wonder. Ages 10–14. (Apr.)

Though admittedly part of the Archie Comics B-list, cartoonist Joe Edward’s Li’l Jinx managed to claim a portion of comic book nostalgia as her own. With her willful temper undercutting the effect of her deceptively innocent pigtails, she pushed back the idea that girls should be demure and culturally shackled. This updated version retains the qualities that made the original from the ’40s memorable, while also making sense of it in a modern high school setting. In 2012, Jinx is a tomboy confined to the geek table at lunch, and is directing her spirit toward crusades like trying out for the all-male football team. Writer Torres’s foreword offers an interesting account of how he fashioned this update, and artists Burchett and Austin capture the light tone of the cartoon, avoiding overwrought teen drama. Flanked by her original supporting cast, now also grown and more complex, Jinx serves as an entertaining role model for the intended audience, girls who can embrace the empowerment suggested through Jinx’s steady stance in life, while enjoying the mishaps born of the teenage confusion that surely is familiar. Ages 11–up. (Apr.)

During a wave of nightly child abductions in a monster-infested Lisbon, pizza delivery boy Eurico discovers that his company-owned motor scooter is stolen. Desperate to retrieve it, Eurico enlists the help of Dog Mendonça, Occult Detective, and his assistants, Pazuul (who looks like a little girl, but is really a demon that was kicked out of hell) and a chatty severed gargoyle head. Together they try to clean up the messes of the gargoyles-gone-bad and monsters who continually break “the code,” disgracing the city. Eurico is apprehensive that the crime will be solved quickly as Dog and his team guide him through the of the city, discovering Nazi zombies busily working on evil schemes, extraterrestrials, and other setbacks. Glow-in-the-dark imagery set against a haunting background of nightlife provides the perfect backdrop for this nocturnal adventure. First written in Portuguese as a screenplay based on the writer’s favorite sci-fi films of the 1980s, this story provides a nice new twist on some familiar elements. Ages 14–up. (May)■

A childlike, suspenders-wearing monkey likes attention, and he likes to get it by pretending that he is different animals: he “flies” like a bird, jumps up and down like a rabbit, makes loud noises like a lion, and splashes in a puddle like an elephant. His friends, who actually are the animals he pretends to be, take turns showing the monkey what it really means to fly, hop, roar, or “make the biggest splash of all.” That’s okay, because when they pretend to be monkeys on the playground, he can trot out his own natural gifts for swinging and hanging upside down (“I’m the silly monkey, can’t you see?”). Siminovich’s story is the soul of simplicity, with naïf digital collages set against sunny, softly textured backgrounds (the aesthetic is in line with that of her finger-puppet board books, though she imbues these animals with more personality). Similarly, her message is proffered lightly: one-upmanship can be good-natured fun, so long as everybody gets a chance to be the one who’s up. Ages 3–5. Agent: Adriana Dominguez, Full Circle Literary. (July)

Even kids can get the fixer-upper urge—especially when the real estate in question is the time-out corner. “Mom says it’s fine, but I know better. I spend a LOT of time there,” says the refreshingly unapologetic young narrator. So he conjures up a world of excitement that includes a killer view, a fire brigade, a dump truck full of ice cream, and some kingly accoutrements. When Neubecker (What Little Boys Are Made Of) reveals that everything the hero imagines is simultaneously being drawn by him on the walls of the corner, readers won’t have trouble guessing what comes next. Reidy’s (Too Princessy!) descriptive narration (“This corner needs a comfy seat with some pillows... on a throne!”) gets a goose from colorful, comics-style typography. But this is Neubecker’s show, and he’s given plenty of space to let loose. Whether he’s showing a monster and dinosaur–stuffed polka-dotted big wheeler or a landscape filled with cupcakes, spread after spread is a riot of color, goofy fantasy, and well-choreographed freneticism. Ages 3–7. Agent: Erin Murphy, Erin Murphy Literary Agency. Illustrator’s agent: Linda Pratt, Wernick & Pratt. (July)

In their third journey through the emotional states of heroine Katie Honors (following Sometimes I’m Bombaloo and Jibberwillies at Night), Vail and Heo look at what happens when a best friend suddenly turns cold. One day, Katie and Jennifer are inseparable (“Lots of times, we dress alike. Our hands fit perfectly together”); the next day, Jennifer has picked Roy—who likes to “play warriors... and kill bad guys”—to be her “walk-in-from-recess” buddy. As with the previous books, Vail coins an aurally vivid portmanteau (flabbersmashed) to describe Katie’s psychic cocktail of bewilderment, anger, and sense of abandonment. Heo’s colorful childlike drawings effortlessly veer from the opening pages’ idylls of friendship into harrowing psychological maelstroms: when Katie first receives Jennifer’s casual rejection, the playground is transformed into a vast sea of midnight blue that threatens to engulf her. Vail fully inhabits Katie’s mind and emotions and with prose like “my whole self felt like a bruise” gives readers yet another way to describe and think about feelings that are sometimes difficult to put into words. Ages 4–8. Agent: Amy Berkower, Writers House. (July)

In a fractured fairy tale of sorts from the duo behind The Gruffalo and other stories, Zog wants to be the best student in dragon school, but he crashes into a tree during flying lessons, gets a sore throat from roaring, and ignites his wings with his own fire breathing. A nice girl always appears just in time to patch him up, but she has troubles of her own: she’s really Princess Pearl, who yearns to escape the royal life and be a doctor. Will Zog and Pearl get the happy endings they deserve? And what of Gadabout the Great, a knight who shows up to “rescue” Pearl? Donaldson’s rhymes are somewhat lackluster (“Zog went off to practice./ He tried and tried and tried,/ But he simply couldn’t manage./ ‘I’m no good at this,’ he cried”), but while Scheffler’s characters are straight out of fantasy, they exude a sweet, down-to-earth quality that makes them instantly sympathetic. Readers will get a kick out of the genial self-awareness in his cartooning—on almost every spread, a character glances at the audience as if to say, “Can you believe this?” Ages 4–8. (July)