By Jeff Brumbeau
An old woman sews the most beautiful quilts in the world, and she gives them only to people who have nothing. That turns out to be a real problem for a king who owns everything.
High in the mountains an old woman sews quilts so beautiful that people say the pieces must be scraps of the sky, and she gives every one of them away, but only ever to the poor. Down in the valley there's a king who owns so much that he keeps lists of his lists, who makes the whole kingdom bring him presents twice a year, and who has never once smiled. He hears about the quilts and decides he has to have one. The quiltmaker says no. She'll make him one on a single condition: he gives away everything he owns, and for every thing he lets go of, she'll sew another piece. He refuses. He has her chained up beside a sleeping bear, and she notices the bear is only grumpy from sleeping on rocks, so she makes him a soft bed. He strands her overnight on an island barely wide enough to stand on, hoping she'll drop into the water by morning, and instead thousands of sparrows carry her home. In the end the king tries it. He starts small, one marble pressed into the hand of one boy, and the look on that boy's face undoes him. He gives away everything he has, laughing before he's even done, and when the quiltmaker finally tracks him down he tells her he isn't poor at all. He's the richest man alive. Then, at last, she gives him the quilt.
It's easily the longest picture book in this set, closer to twenty minutes than six, and it earns the time because the king actually changes instead of being told to. He's greedy, then he's thwarted, then he tries one small thing, and the shift comes from inside him. Your child watches a character get won over by an experience rather than a speech, which is the whole reason it never plays like a lecture. Gail de Marcken's paintings are the other half of it. Every spread is packed with tiny things happening, quilt patterns tucked into the borders, hidden details in every corner, and a child who won't sit still for the words will happily comb the pictures for ages. I'd reach for it with a child who thinks generosity means handing over something you didn't want anyway.