At its most dazzling, Pavel Šrut’s epic of sock sentiments and snags is
filled with fleecy melancholy and gently waggish wordplay. The book does
without the contrived gurgling baby talk which plagues many additions to
today’s children’s catalogues; in contrast, it vigorously and innovatively calls
into play organized crime and Asian greengrocers in neighbourhoods lacking
supermarkets. Most notably, it steers clear of the moralising which is a sure way
of consigning a children’s book to the inferno of indifference, for young readers
are often sharper than the self-styled bards who choose to moralise at them.
