The Skunk has an obvious antecedent in Dr. Seuss' What Was I Scared Of?, [from] The Sneetches and Other Stories …Mac Barnett's story ends on a more ambivalent note, but a very amusing and psychologically astute one…The great Patrick McDonnell's drawings are, as always, perfect down to the last scratchy line, and The Skunk's endpapers, whether the work of McDonnell or the book's designer, encapsulate the story with brilliant economy. I'd like to think they'll inspire at least one child to become a graphic designer.
The New York Times Book Review - Bruce Handy
★ 03/23/2015 An impassive, red-nosed skunk—another inimitable McDonnell (A Perfectly Messed-Up Story) critter—appears on a man's doorstep. Why is it there? What does it want? And why does it keep following him no matter where he goes—even into the opera house and onto the head of an adjacent opera buff? No answer is forthcoming, so the man does what anyone in his desperate situation would do: he starts a new life in a different part of the city. And all is merry and bright (in fact, McDonnell's palette turns from almost monochromatic to kindergarten primary) until... well, let's just say it's possible to be emotionally as well as literally skunked. Barnett's (Battle Bunny) pokerfaced narration gives off a deliciously Hitchcockian air of high style and deep-seated dread ("I'll admit that I began to panic. I ran past the wharf and turned down an alley. It was a dead end"), and the collaborators' refusal to wrap up with a cuddly reconciliation results in a story that speaks to the urbane existentialist/absurdist lurking in the heart of every reader. Ages 4–8. Author's agent: Steven Malk, Writers House. Illustrator's agent: Henry Dunow, Dunow, Carlson & Lerner. (Apr.)
“Gives off a deliciously Hitchockian air of high style and deep-seated dread. . . a story that speaks to the urbane existentialist/absurdist lurking in the heart of every reader.” —Publishers Weekly, starred review “Clever visual motifs, sly storytelling, and tight pacing make this a picture book that will be enjoyed by both children and their grown-ups. ” —School Library Journal, starred review “McDonnell's graceful and simple cartoonlike illustrations mitigate the notes of paranoia and obsession in Barnett's deadpan text.” —Horn Book, starred review “A daffy yet stylish readaloud with surprising performance possibilities.” —BCCB, starred review “Adults will turn themselves inside out trying to figure it out; kids will either find the whole idea hysterical or just plain befuddling. Peculiar, perplexing, and persistent-training wheels for Samuel Beckett.” —Kirkus “Told with the seriousness of a thriller. . . Caldecott honorees Barnett and McDonnell combine their considerable talents in this dark comedy.” —Booklist
★ 03/01/2015 K-Gr 3—A man is stalked by a silent skunk in this charmingly neurotic offering. Leaving his home one day, a bespectacled, tuxedo-clad gentleman discovers a small skunk sitting on his doorstep. As the man makes his way about town, the creature remains close on his heels ("…after a mile I realized I was being followed.") He speeds up, he slows down, he takes many wild turns, but to no avail. Still the skunk remains. Barnett's text is delivered in short, clipped sentences that convey the man's annoyance and increasing paranoia. McDonnell's distinctive pen-and-ink illustrations (the little skunk bears a striking resemblance to a couple of familiar mutts) harken back to classic comic strip humor, with expressive body language, dynamic action lines, and thoughtful compositions, creating tension and drama. The majority of the book uses a limited palette of black, peach, touches of red (notably for the skunk's oversized nose and the man's posh bow-tie), and smart use of white space. The man finally outruns his striped admirer, purchasing a new house in a different part of the city. He throws himself a fancy party with dancing and dessert. But he finds himself wondering about that skunk ("What was he doing? Was he looking for me?") Roles reverse and the pursued becomes the pursuer, as the man now slinks around corners and behind trees, surreptitiously following the skunk—who, on the last page, looks anxiously over his shoulder at the man. Why did the skunk follow the man initially? Is this a tale of regret and missed opportunities, a lesson on the dangers of letting potential friends slip away? Of not knowing what you've got 'til it's gone? Barnett and McDonnell offer no explanations, but invite readers to ponder the possibilities. Here's hoping this talented duo pair up for many more picture book collaborations. VERDICT Clever visual motifs, sly storytelling, and tight pacing make this a picture book that will be enjoyed by children and their grown-ups.—Kiera Parrott, School Library Journal
2015-03-03 When is a skunk not a skunk? When it's a…skunk. A bespectacled man peers out his front door at a red-nosed skunk perched on his stoop, gazing back. The skunk does nothing overtly threatening, just looks at the man and then follows him down the street. The man sports tails and a cummerbund, his red bow tie visually connecting him to the skunk's red nose; overall, McDonnell's palette is muted, metropolitan blacks and grays occasionally accented by peach and red. The skunk is bipedal, his posture mimicking the narrator's as he tails the man through the city on foot and by cab—yet, the narrator tells readers, "the skunk was a skunk." To the opera, through cemetery, carnival—a brief sojourn on a Ferris wheel is particularly symbolic of existential futility—and sewers the man flees, finally finding himself in a completely different part of the city, where he buys a new house. Here the palette changes to primary colors; there is no skunk, but the man's visiting friends take on the look of circus clowns. Something is missing; the man leaves his housewarming party to find "[his] skunk." On doing so, the man begins to tail the skunk, to "make sure he does not follow me again." Adults will turn themselves inside out trying to figure it out; kids will either find the whole idea hysterical or just plain befuddling. Peculiar, perplexing, and persistent—training wheels for Samuel Beckett. (Picture book. 6-10)