“Like cherry blossom petals, excitement [is] in the air” as Hoon and his family shop at Koreatown in preparation. Back at home, Hoon’s Eomma explains each ritual as she sews little Binna’s first hanbok. Hoon’s Appa notes that a child’s 1st birthday is significant because in the past, many babies died young, including several of Hoon’s great-grandmother’s siblings. That revelation fills Hoon with worry for Binna’s well-being. According to Korean tradition, the first object a baby picks up at the doljabi ceremony will predict the child’s future, and Hoon hopes that Binna will choose the thread, which symbolizes long life. The day finally arrives, and Hoon tries to nudge his sister toward the thread, though she’s more interested in the rainbow rice cake. His parents tell him to let Binna choose for herself—and at last she does as a crowd of smiling family and friends look on. Korean terms and cultural markers are well explained and skillfully integrated into this gently told narrative. Bright colors fill each page, while Kim’s cartoonish art, textured with simple lines and patterns, sets a cozy tone.

To accompany an exhibition at the Image Centre in Toronto and the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, this volume of nearly 100 images represents a particular focus of the work of eminent photographer Richard Avedon (1923-2004): aging. Famous for his fashion photos and celebrity portraits, Avedon takes an unsparing view of famous people in old (or older) age. Dorothy Parker, for example, was 65 when he photographed her. With deep bags under her eyes, she looks, curator Vince Aletti notes, “like she hasn’t slept or been entirely sober for years.” Aletti is among several writers providing context and commentary on the images: Others are Roth, director of the Image Centre; New Yorker writer Adam Gopnik, who was a close friend of Avedon; and Gaëlle Morel, exhibitions curator of the Image Centre. Along with an introduction, Roth contributes an informative biographical essay on Avedon’s father, Jacob Israel Avedon, the subject of Avedon’s first exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art, in 1974. The images, which document Jacob Israel’s dying from advanced liver cancer, proved controversial: Some critics saw them as exploitative, a form of patricide, while others praised the intimate photographs as “profound and moving.” Readers are likely to find some images familiar: Ronald Reagan, casting a suspicious glance; the deeply lined faces of Samuel Beckett and Stephen Sondheim. Although a few sitters looked pleased—Arthur Schlesinger, for one, looks rather self-satisfied—fewer look happy. Two exceptions are Marguerite Duras, who exudes impish joy, even as her health is declining, and a nun, Soeur Emmanuelle, who looks positively ecstatic. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy appears resigned—perhaps to having her portrait taken, or, more likely, to old age. Capturing fragility and pain, Avedon, at the same time, honors his subjects’ dignity.

Clarke recaps the Gospel Nativity story through the perspective of Maor, an old mouse living in the Bethlehem stable where Joseph and Mary take shelter and Mary delivers Jesus. (Other barnyard animals are present, including a nervous dove called Mendel, a stentorian goose called Gettel, and a cow called Rebecca, whose feed trough makes a serviceable crib.) Jesus’ birth is a hushed affair marked by a quiet holiness emanating from the infant “like a soft breeze,” but it soon draws attention: Poor shepherd boys appear, told by an angel to seek out the newborn babe; the Three Wise Men arrive from the East, summoned by a dream and bearing gifts of gold, myrrh, and frankincense. This rendition of the foundational Christian narrative unfolds in spare but limpid prose that emphasizes the simple humanity of the Holy Family. (“Joseph pressed a damp cloth to his warm body and then washed his son. He gently wrapped the newborn in his best headscarf and placed Him in the arms of His mother.”) Clarke can also write in a more exalted register as awestruck beasts take in the celestial celebration of Christ’s advent. (“Suddenly, it was as if the stable roof opened, and a cloudburst of music gushed forth from the heavens. A thick foggy mist appeared around the stable rafters filled with tiny specks of light the size of a grain of sand.”) Kenny’s illustrations are realistic but also atmospheric with rich chiaroscuro; the people are suffused with unobtrusive joy, and the vividly drawn animals display inquisitive gazes. Her color scheme paints a world of subdued browns, grays, and olive greens that, in moments of divine drama, suddenly erupts with light and color. Children will like the critters, the vibrant visuals, and the homey details in this luminous version of the original Christmas story.

Many kids (and adults) understandably love aquatic mammals. Delaunay presents them from the inside out, in well-organized chapters with short paragraphs covering sleep habits, habitats and migration, reproduction, and diet. Several sections are devoted to these creatures’ social structures and communication, both complex enough that scientists believe cetaceans have their own group cultures. A chapter on the dangers whales face is optimistic, though Delaunay acknowledges that they still face plenty of threats. Indeed, descriptions of collaborative hunting strategies provide concrete evidence of cetacean smarts and social bonds. Though the focus is on facts, Delaunay also briefly summarizes the Inuit story of the Sedna, goddess of the oceans, and quickly lists several other “whale tales.” The writing is a model of clarity and concision. The great variations among cetaceans is evident from both text and art. Large engravings make the most of the subjects, with deep blues, white highlights, and occasional bits of color; point of view and compositional shifts are used to dramatic effect. The book’s up-to-date information, oversize illustrations, and broad scope make it ideal for casual browsing as well as in-depth study, though no backmatter is included.

Although he is little known today, Lothar Witzke was the “sole spy convicted and sentenced to death in the US during World War I.” This book takes a close look at Witzke’s life, particularly his possible role in an act of sabotage known as Black Tom (named for Black Tom Island, where the incident occurred). Black Tom involved the explosion of munitions in New York Harbor on July 30, 1916, that was so severe it damaged the Statue of Liberty. The blast also killed three men and a child. But before the book digs into what happened on July 30, it takes a look at Witzke’s arrest in 1918 and his early years as a sailor. Witzke was only 22 years old when he was apprehended while crossing the border between Mexico and the United States. He was tried before a military tribunal for espionage and, though initially sentenced to death, he was later pardoned. He returned to Germany in 1923 and he hardly led a quiet life before his death in 1962. But what was the extent of his involvement with Black Tom? Witzke’s strange life hardly needs embellishment: Friedland and Hornick’s book does a fine job of sticking to the facts as much as possible. Of course, this is not always easy with a subject who often told “contradictory stories about his early life and his time in America.” Still, the biography provides many rich details. Readers learn about everything from Witzke’s imprisonment in Leavenworth, Kansas, to other incidents he may have been involved in. While the evidence is intriguing, certain statements can be dry, as with a note on Witzke’s potential role in a bombing in San Francisco: “It is necessary to present what is uncontested about the evidence and then to summarize the more plausible theories of cause that compete with it.” Nevertheless, readers have much to discover in this engaging portrait of an undeniably mysterious and intriguing man.