The talents of author Glenda Millard and illustrator Patricia Mullins are showcased in Lightning Jack (Scholastic, $26.99 hb, 32 pp, 9781741693911). Millard is acclaimed for her lyrical language and images, Mullins for her arresting torn tissue paper collages. Their collaboration has produced a rich, complex story. Watching the brumbies in the park, young Sam Tully vows to ride the mighty stallion Lightning Jack. In an ode to ‘Banjo’ Paterson, Sam joins the muster. ‘They thundered through the stringybarks, through saplings thick and thin to the perfect rhythmic ripple of muscle under skin.’ Rather than let an acquisitive grazier buy the horse, Sam and Jack take flight. They encounter Ned Kelly and Phar Lap before the truth about Lightning Jack is exquisitely revealed. Extraordinary skill is shown by Millard and Mullins to create a fantasy adventure as homage to Australian legends. Boys, in particular, need adventure, and this book offers both excitement and the chance to imagine. Children should be allowed to interpret the layers of this inferential story over time.

In much of her best work for young readers, Glenda Millard has collaborated with Stephen Michael King, and they have shared literary awards. King, clearly an empathetic man, seems to draw on his memories of childhood to illuminate those strong feelings that many adults forget or overlook. His written and artistic touch is as light and sensory as the snow-filled setting he creates in A Bear and a Tree (Viking, $24.95 hb, 32 pp, 9780670075829). Little girl Ren is upset because she knows it is time for her dear Bear to have his big sleep. To comfort her, Bear sits with Ren, ‘as they often did, for as long as was needed’. Then, delaying his hibernation, they spend their first winter’s day together. A wondrous day ensues: sliding, dancing, and catching the early winter’s stars, and making patterns and shapes – which later play a striking role in transforming the eponymous tree. Visual details such as Bear’s rounded shape spangled by moonlight, his satchel of colourful toys, and the often-present but unmentioned red bird caress both Ren and the reader; as well as embedding the themes of change and  precious time with loved ones.

Other animals that are good at sleeping (in fact, sleeping is the one thing they all do properly) are the farm animals in Lazy Daisy, Busy Lizzie, by Mary Ellen Jordan and noted cartoonist Andrew Weldon (Allen & Unwin, $24.99 hb, 24 pp, 9781742374291). None of the animals does what it is supposed to: ‘This is my chicken, she’s called Lizzie. She should lay eggs, but she’s too busy. Instead she dances through the air, in her purple underwear.’ Daisy the cow is spooned jelly instead of eating grass, and the dog slumps in front of the television, demanding cups of tea. This is a clever idea; if the concept had been crafted into a stronger climax, perhaps with a twist, the book would be outstanding. However, toddlers and pre-schoolers will enjoy the humour of the incongruous antics of the animals both in picture and rhyme.

Pre-schoolers and children in the early years of school will relate to Henry and his surprisingly named duck, Spot, in The Perfect Present, by Fiona Robertson (Viking, $24.99 hb, 32 pp,9780670074761). When Spot’s carefully chosen gift is overshadowed by the unexpected arrival of a puppy, Henry neglects Spot, who then runs away. He is saved from a flooded river in an adroit and affirming resolution. Young readers will enjoy reading a picture book set out in chapters. The black comic-style line drawings with limited bold, untextured colours will also appeal, even as they belie their sophisticated symmetry and understated depiction of mood. Disquiet and displacement are shown by increased grey shading in the background: Spot is relegated to stand in the grey distance while Henry teaches the dog tricks. Avoiding sentimentality and derivation, this story points to the importance of loyalty towards friends and of not discarding them for the newcomer.

Animals can become ubiquitous in picture books, but they undoubtedly resonate with young readers and can be an important tool to help shape truths when crafted well. An animal character can help a child understand an unfamiliar scenario, as does messenger dog Nipper on the Western Front during World War I in The Red Poppy, by David Hill and illustrated by Fifi Colston (Scholastic, $26.99 hb, 40 pp, 9781869439989). This is a fine picture book for older readers. It was inspired by the song Little Red Poppy by Rob Kennedy, which is included as a CD. Young soldier Jim McLeod is trapped behind the line in a shell hole with a wounded German soldier whom he helps. There seems to be no escape until Nipper slips into the hole and takes a message back to the Anzac troops. Red poppies are the dominant symbol, representing life and death as a natural memorial, as well as being an antithesis to the shells and barbed wire. They provide a striking contrast to the mainly monochrome illustrations. This book will help children understand and appreciate the sacrifices that war demands of countries and individuals.

Humanity is also the focus in A Bus Called Heaven, by Bob Graham (Walker Books, $27.95 hb, 40 pp, 9781406334197). Endorsed by Amnesty International, it raises some intriguing questions: why is the bus called ‘Heaven’?; why is young Stella pale as moonlight? Ostensibly a straightforward story about a girl who rallies a newly formed community to save a dumped bus, it has an ironic, humorous and symbolic subtext that could evoke philosophical and universal musings in thoughtful readers.

Cast-offs and rubbish can be transformed into something positive. An old bus furnished with scraps can unite a community. Toys that were once loved can be re-cast as shared sources of fun and challenge. Discarded bottles, white rags, a shopping trolley, and, most importantly, a red book are re-imagined in Look, A BOOK! by exceptional collaborators Libby Gleeson and Freya Blackwood (Little Hare, $24.95 hb, 32 pp, 9781921541803). The real and imagined worlds, and their intersection, are skilfully explored using found items. The book is a catalyst, discovered on the ground near a ragtag compound, dropped by an old lady as she pushes a trolley home. When the children read it, they are subtly transported into worlds that are imaginary but that have elements from their own place. A rag becomes a sail, a bottle an airship. A trolley becomes the symbol of the trapped as well as the consumer and the homeless. The book’s structure and design are exemplary. Minimal, perfectly crafted text gives both the illustrator and reader the space to dream. Place, character and allusion are created by line, shape, colour, size, and placement. The old woman is drawn with straying lines, revealing her situation; the dog’s shape and body language reflect its age, attitude, and role. Splashes and swathes of colour link the real and surreal worlds, as do the sizes of the characters and objects. The use of different levels, angles, space, framed and unframed panels, and movement across the page extend not just the readers’ vision, but the page itself. This book supersedes two dimensions. Which red water-stained and smudged book are the children and the reader actually reading?  Although urged to look after the book (‘don’t leave it’), it proves to be a hardy thing. It is wild and free, an escape and a promise. The title is not just a spur to imagination, but a reminder that the book can offer riches. Using and extending the conventions of a picture book, Look, A BOOK! tells a simple yet highly sophisticated story about the value and possibilities of the book. If we keep it safe, with what treasures might it continue to enrich young and old lives?