It’s Not My Fault!; by Jory John (review)

Our young narrator of the fire-engine-red hair has mastered the fine art of buck passing. There is no reprimand—from a teacher decrying his shoddy or missing work, to parents admonishing his slovenliness—that can’t be countered by deflecting blame. Illegible writing? The pen did it. Mud-traced floors? The shoes did it. “Messy hair? I blame my comb. Muddy face? I blame my soap.” He even blames the moon for keeping him up late. The night of reckoning arrives, though, when Pen launches into a lengthy rebuke on behalf of the inanimate objects, a stinging reproach that’s humorously tinged with the kind of formal vocabulary that marks all good diatribes. Does the narrator learn his lesson? Maybe not (“Whoa. I have pretty weird dreams. I blame my brain”). Or maybe so. He takes responsibility in class the next day. Well, maybe not. His uncharacteristic behavior even startles himself (“Weird day. Not my fault”). Chapman’s pared-down scenes and sequential art, populated with spare renderings of beleaguered quotidian items now in open revolt, present a readily recognizable Everykid milieu. This is as funny as it is acute, and hopefully pre-and primary graders will squirm as well as giggle when the message hits home.