Children need nature. This notion was urgently reasserted almost a decade ago by Richard Louv in his study Last Child in the Woods, in which he coined the term “nature deficit disorder,” positing that modern children’s disconect with their environment and dependence on digital entertainment are directly related to the rise in obesity, depression, and attention disorders. Books of natural history and science can play a part in addressing this deficit by encouraging kids to get outside and explore. A couple of new offerings issue such invitations with energy and warmth.

The Great Bear Sea, by Vancouver authors Ian McAllister and Nicholas Read, is a kind of group portrait of the inhabitants of B.C.’s coastal waters, from northern Vancouver Island to the southern tip of the Alaska Panhandle. From plankton to herring, sea otters to orcas, readers are given an intriguing introduction to the complex relationships at work in this part of the Pacific. The science is up to date, citing recent research and, most importantly, highlighting still unanswered questions. Why do some otter mothers have their pups on land, others at sea? What do salmon actually do during their four years in the open ocean? What brought the Pacific white-sided dolphin back to the area after years of absence?

This is solid non-fiction: organized, clear, and reliable. What sets The Great Bear Sea apart from other books of its ilk, however, is the bumptious energy of its writing. Its spirit is that of two little boys, roaring around the seashore and calling to each other to see the latest cool thing. A chatty, avuncular style and gift for accessible metaphors (a harbour seal is “about the size and shape of a densely packed duffel bag”) sometimes explode into sheer joy: “If that isn’t wondrous, what is?” The enthusiasm is contagious.

Also distinctive is the book’s design. Unobtrusive text layout and a restrained use of sidebars make room for stunning photographs. Almost all of the shots are by McAllister, and his unique style – close-up, low-perspective, and showing above and below the surface of the water in the same photo – give the book a visual unity lacking in nature books that use stock images. This cohesion echoes the overall narrative – this is a book to read all the way through, to appreciate the big, amazing picture and serious message.

At one point, McAllister and Read firmly assert that “cute is not a scientific term,” before admitting that sea otters are “as cute as cute gets.” Author Jan Thornhill and illustrator Soyeon Kim harness the cute factor in their picture book, Is This Panama? Sammy, the adorable songbird hero of the tale, isn’t cartoonish, but in her impeccable cut-paper collages, Kim tweaks the shape of his eye and the angle of his head to convey trepidation, enquiry, and relief. 

Sammy, a Wilson’s Warbler, discovers that he has become separated from the rest of his kind and must undertake his first migration from Alaska to Panama on his own. During the course of his astoundingly long journey, he encounters other migrating animals, such as caribou, monarch butterflies, and sandhill cranes.

The shape of the story is that of the hero’s quest, with wonders (a tiny island turns out to be a humpback whale), disasters (Sammy collides with a brightly lit building at night), and helpers (Sammy hitches a ride on the back of a crane).

Two double-page spreads at the end of the story explain the mysteries and complexities of migration, giving a scientific cast to the book. But the overall approach glances back to the traditional use of anthropomorphized animals in children’s literature to convey that they are just like us, creating a connection between the reader and the natural world. Sammy speaks in a kind of universal animal language to fellow travellers, he feels “quivery” inside, and he even sighs.

If children need nature, increasingly nature needs children. Both of these books convey a subtle conservationist message. The Great Bear Sea includes several good-news stories – the return of the white-sided dolphin, the saving of the sea otter population, the radical shift in consciousness from “harvesting” the sea to preserving it. But its concluding chapter strikes a sober note: “It’s an urgent race against time, and time is running short.” Is This Panama? is even more specific: keep house cats indoors and support habitat preservation in tropical countries by buying bird-friendly products.

Whether it’s the four-year-old joining in on the chorus of “Is this Panama?” during storytime or the 11-year-old reading about sea lions colliding during mating season “like a pair of WWE wrestlers,” theirs is the generation that will inherit the huge challenge of retuning ecological balance to our dissonant planet. They need information and hope, and these two titles are great weapons for their arsenal.