Tavi and the Blue Button

I wanted to love this more than I did. The atmosphere and imagery — salt-threaded air, damp wool fires — are beautiful, and Tavi is a sympathetic protagonist. But the story leans heavily on familiar tropes: the small/underdog child who has a secret gift, the wise mentor tailor, the comic animal sidekick. The missing blue button as the central quest is adorable, but it resolves too quickly; I kept waiting for a twist, some real challenge that would make Tavi’s bravery feel hard-won. Instead it’s more of a gentle walk-through. If you’re buying this for a younger child who needs calming, cozy fare, go ahead. If you want something that surprises or lingers with older readers, it might fall flat.

I had high hopes for this concept — a kid who can hear threads is a lovely idea — but the execution left me wanting. The prose is lovely in places (the opening description of Pebblewick), but the plot felt overly tidy: follow the stitch trail, meet a kind tailor, find the blue button, lesson learned. For a middle-grade audience that’s okay sometimes, but I was hoping for more stakes or a trickier dilemma. The seagull Patch is cute, but his helpfulness borders on deus ex machina during key scenes. Also, while the sensory details are strong, the magic’s rules are vague: why does only Tavi hear threads? Why would a button go missing in such a way that it needs a magic listener to find it? These questions aren’t necessary for a picture-book vibe, but they kept me from fully investing. Nicely written but a bit predictable.

Sweet, atmospheric, and quietly subversive. I wasn’t expecting to get emotional reading a children’s picture chapter story, but Tavi’s bravery in choosing to mend rather than break things up really hit home. The moment when she tugs a thread loose from a tangle and the whole path of stitches leads her to the button is both a satisfying mystery and a lesson in patience. I appreciated the little sensory flourishes — lemon curd on her fingers, the market sounding like dandelion seeds of laughter. The ending felt comforting rather than saccharine. Would love a sequel where Tavi and Patch undertake another seaside mystery!

Charming and wise. I teach a class of 7–9 year olds and we used this as a springboard for a lesson on repair — both of objects and relationships. The narrative does an excellent job of making mending heroic without melodrama. The tailor’s patient instruction, Tavi’s nimble fingers, and the way a frayed thread’s song leads her to the missing blue button are all scenes kids connect with. I loved the sensory lines — especially the crooked chimney leaning like an old man listening. My students were particularly taken with Patch and tried to draw him after the reading. Great book for classrooms and libraries.

Heartfelt and quietly adventurous. The prose is gentle and sensory — I was right there with Tavi smelling beeswax and lemon curd. The book shines in small moments: the kettle singing when it thinks it might boil, old coats letting secrets out as tiny stitches, and Tavi’s tender listening to the hum of threads. I loved how the author never makes Tavi’s smallness a weakness; instead it becomes her superpower. Patch the seagull is a brilliant sidekick (that scene where he distracts a gullible market dog so Tavi can slip past was hilarious). This is an excellent read for children who like cozy fantasy and craft-based adventures.

Cute, warm, and perfect for reading aloud. The image of Tavi perched on an upturned crate watching stitches gather into order is one I’ll keep coming back to. There’s a strong sense of place: salt in the air, damp wool at night, fishwives calling prices. The discovery of the missing blue button feels earned because Tavi’s ability to hear threads is used thoughtfully — it isn’t a magic fix-all but a skill she hones. The tailor’s workshop scenes and the rescue of the button with Patch’s clumsy help are charmingly described. If I have to nitpick, a couple of moments (like the final confrontation to retrieve the button) felt a touch tidy, but that’s fine for the intended age. A lovely story about small acts of care being brave.

Absolutely adored it — made me nostalgic for small seaside towns and the smell of fresh bread. There’s a lovely scene when Tavi follows a trail of stitches under a bench in the market; I could feel her tiny fingers coaxing a wild thread straight. Patch the seagull stealing a scrap of ribbon (then returning it, of course) gave me a proper giggle. The book treats mending as an act of bravery in a way that doesn’t feel preachy, and the relationship between Tavi and the tailor is quietly sweet — like mentorship without syrup. My only tiny gripe is I wanted just a bit more about how the threads’ music works (a little extra worldbuilding), but honestly that mystery is part of the charm. Will be buying this for a dozen kids I know.

I appreciated the restrained, lyrical storytelling here. The opening paragraph — houses like smooth stones, roofs tucked like sleeping birds — sets the tone perfectly. The craft details (Tavi's fingers smelling of lemon curd and mending paste, her mother’s shed that smelled of beeswax and tar) give the story a tactile realism that works well with the fantasy element of hearing threads. The scene where Tavi holds the needle “like a small, kind sword” is simple but memorable, and the market morning vignette grounds the narrative in community life. I also thought the pacing was appropriate for a 7–11 audience: steady, not rushed. Overall, a gentle, well-written tale about courage and care.

This was such a cozy little gem. I loved how the town of Pebblewick felt alive — the way mornings smelled of wet rope and warm bread had me picturing the whole harbor. Tavi is a wonderful protagonist: small but brave, and the image of her crawling into the narrow sunlit paths of the workshop made me smile. The hum-of-threads idea is pure magic; the scene where she listens to a thread sigh and then follows the trail of stitches to the missing blue button was quietly thrilling. Patch the seagull is an absolute delight (I laughed at the part where he swoops down and almost steals the mending paste). The author’s language is gentle and tactile — you can practically feel the beeswax and tar of the shed and the grit of the market. Best of all is the message that mending is brave. My 8-year-old niece adored the pictures and wanted to be a mender afterward. Highly recommended for bedtime reading.