Robot Dog by Mark Oliver, Mark Oliver (Illustrator)

Publishers Weekly

Oliver, illustrator of Foley and Jem, has found his niche in technology-themed graphics. In this sentimental tale, he imagines a factory of sooty-black, pot-belly-stove machines that fabricate identical silver dogs. The toy pooches are packed in corrugated cardboard boxes with see-through plastic windows (duplicated by this paper-over-board book's brown, die-cut cover) and shipped to a faraway village. No humans appear, but their presence is implied: "The dogs were very happy because all dogs, even robot dogs, want an owner." At the thought of an owner, one metallic puppy feels "too excited to sit still" and slips off the conveyor belt. According to the book, he is dented in his fall, although no dent is visible in Oliver's technically proficient paintings. Instantly, a disembodied voice announces, "Scrap!" The pup, who decides that Scrap must be his name, slides down a gray tube into a junkyard. Ultimately Scrap and other discarded mechanical dogs build a creepy but amiable Frankenstein robot so they can have a master. Oliver, whose end pages mimic blueprints for the perfect robot dog, superficially revisits the "unwanted toy" formula. Shaun Tan's recent The Lost Thing takes the theme of industry and garbage to a more thoughtful conclusion. Ages 3-7. (Oct.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Twee tale of damaged mechanical doggies finding their bliss-or satirical religious allegory? This import reads either way with equal ease. Punched out on an assembly line, #2304 is so eager to have an owner-" . . . because all dogs, even robot dogs, want an owner"-that he leaps up prematurely, and breaks an ear. Instantly dubbed "Scrap," he's tossed down a chute to a junkyard, where he meets a happy assortment of other reject metal puppies who decide that if they can't get an owner the usual way, they'll make one of their own. All rounded edges, rivets and squared-off heads, Oliver's painted pups, including Scrap, on the cover in a plastic-covered, die-cut frame, are super cute-as is the awkward new "owner," cobbled together from miscellaneous broken toys, appliances and a small golden heart, who "played with them and loved them and cared for them." Like Chris Raschka's Arlene Sardine (1998), the meaning here definitely depends on the reader. (Picture book. 5-7)

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