In Burton Library during the week, we released BabyM from his pushchair/prison so that he could have a look around. Well, I say have a look around, what I mean, of course is pick random bits of fluff/mud/ephemera up, and quickly stuff them into his mouth, then chew. Also stare at people who looked like they were mildly uncomfortable around babies (why do babies always do this? Do they, like dogs, sense fear?)
I attempted to read the above book to BabyM, but he studiously ignored it, so, in essence, I was reading it to BestMate. I don't think I've read aloud to BestMate since 1997, when she was treated to my earth-shatteringly poor representation of a French accent, grinding my way through the dreadful Elise ou La Vrai Vie by Claire Etcherelli. I still remember the name of the author, and that it was about a white woman dating a black man in 1960s France. There was a "usine" involved too, if I remember correctly.
Anyway, I'm pleased to say Cleo and Caspar is a lot better than Elise Ou la Vrai Vie, albeit with a somewhat different target audience. And in a different language. It does deal with the theme of difference, and learning to get along in a changing world, however, as it's about a cat and a dog who are both pets in the same household. I was going to attempt a thematic discussion with BabyM, but he was too busy trying to pull bits of mud/goodnessknowswhattrynottothinkaboutit off the buggy wheels, and stuff them into his mouth.
I love Barefoot Books. They prefer to sell through agents rather than via tax-dodging enterprises, and I've often been tempted to take up the baton. However, my concern is mainly that I would buy all the books then keep them. Also, goodness knows how much ephemera BabyM would successfully eat if I were otherwise engaged at toddler groups with the selling of fine literature for infants and children. Perhaps one day, when he is keener on reading than on crawling off into the distance, spreading chaos as he goes.