Rumple Buttercup: A Story of Bananas, Belonging, and Being Yourself by Matthew Gray Gubler (review)

Because of his five crooked teeth, three strands of hair, green skin, and mismatched feet, Rumple Buttercup fears the public will respond to his appearance with scorn, so he’s spent his life living in a rain drain next to a garbage can, watching the comings and goings of the people in his town. It’s a lonely existence, and “Candy Corn Carl,” a collection of old candy Rumple shaped into a vaguely human figure, provides only so much company. As his favorite occasion, the Pajama Jam Cotton Candy Pancake Parade, approaches, Rumple hopes to attend by using a banana peel from the trash as a disguise, but when there’s none to be found, he’s disheartened—until voices call down to him and invite him to join the parade, whereupon he discovers he’s not nearly as weird as he thinks. Sure, the message about being yourself is unsubtle, but the narration itself avoids preachiness, and there’s plenty of goofy, endearing humor. With a lizard-like figure, skinny arms, a popping eye, and buck teeth, Rumple is indeed odd looking but charmingly so; cream-colored pages provide background and lightly dappled hues lend the scenes a quiet gentleness, the wobbly linework and exaggerated figures provide the silliness, and the handwritten text and airy design bring a touch of sophistication. Kids who enjoy some satisfying weirdness with an I-love-me sensibility will find a pal in Rumple.