Hana is a refugee in France because there is a war in her country. At night, she sleeps with her mom in a museum, very close to "Mademoiselle Vole". But, that is a secret, you mustn't say it. Until the day where...

Seven Lives relates the joys, fears, doubts and thoughts of a cat with many faces and representations as diverse as its states of mind. The cat, a metaphor for the child, tries to define and understand himself: who does he look like? Who does he inherit from? Who does he love? Who is he really? How to be unique and so multiple at the same time..;

Poems in Landscapes is a collection of poems for children written from engravings and engravings painted from poems. The poems evoke the sensation of bodies in nature, the engravings integrate the body as a natural element. Here, everything is playful, everything echoes the world of childhood and the particular attention paid to details in the world. The tiny and the gigantic rub shoulders, marvellous animals appear, mountains, trees, water, beasts and the human body merge.

These Poems to face the good weather and enjoy the bad are humorous considerations on the passing of time and the scansion of the seasons. The form responds to the content of the text: thus the word tunnel becomes graphic thanks to two enlarged -nn-. Bad weather is written in raindrops.

But what a mess all these ideas are!

As soon as night falls

they enter one by one

they jostle, dance, follow each other

they sit on the arm of the sofa

they moo

and off they go!

welcome to the great circus of ideas!

Tout le monde craint le roi de la savane. Le lion sait d'ailleurs profiter de son pouvoir pour terroriser les autres animaux et s'offrir de bons repas ! Personne n'oserait le contrarier, mais un jour arrive un petit lapin bien rusé...

Comment va-t-il réussir à sauver sa peau ?

Ce conte est bilingue français-arabe.

Il était une fois un jeune homme qui vivait paisiblement avec sa mère sur une colline verte. Guidé par la flamme de la sagesse, il va se battre contre le terrible tyran qui règne sur le pays, et dont la haine des animaux à plumes n'a d'égale que la peur qu'ils lui inspirent. À l'aide de poules merveilleuses et des habitants du pays, il deviendra un héros libérateur de son peuple.

Wasmiya, le petit nuage rose, aimerait bien avoir des amis. Mais le soleil, la lune et les étoiles ne veulent pas jouer avec lui. Wasmiya est triste, jusqu'au jour où...

Cet album est bilingue français-arabe.

"As a curious bird or an overgrown boy, I entered these secret landscapes with their travelling colours, thinking that rocks and mists speak to us and that we only need to know how to listen to them." So begins Poèmes de roches et de brumes, where raw materials and volutes rub, brush against each other and mingle in Carl Norac's poems and Arno Célérier's illustrations, between masses of cut-out paper and mists of openwork lace.

Le loup, le lion et le renard vont ensemble à la chasse. Chacun court, chacun attaque, chacun attrape. Mais chacun aura-t-il sa part ?

Un conte où l’on découvre que le meilleur partage n’est pas toujours celui qu’on croit.

All the chairs on which I have sat, all the chairs that have counted, the chairs of my life... Based on this theme, Raphaële Frier recounts her first chair as high as the roof of the world, the waiting chair, the long chairs that obscure the short ones, the kitchen chair that stands next to flour and the smell of gravel, sad chairs like the one of the absent person, or wacky chairs like the flying chairs. And in turn, Clothilde Staës engraves with her beautiful heightened engravings, the chairs that have counted in her life.

Une fois son blé moulu, Abou az-Zoulouf s’empresse de rentrer chez lui. Il fait déjà nuit, la route est longue et dangereuse. Bientôt, il s’aperçoit que le loup le suit. Abou az-Zoulouf, malgré sa candeur apparente, a plus d’un tour dans son sac. Il se tire de ce mauvais pas d’une manière qui, à coup sûr, fera du loup la risée de tous les lecteurs.

Un conte traditionnel de Syrie.

The first one, I met him in a park in my neighbourhood. (...) It was behind the fifth tree that we hid to kiss (...) I ate the cherries from the seventh, the pears from the eighth, the figs from the ninth (...).

The Evening Poems are a ritornello dedicated to what frightens us, what we don't know, the tiny things that crawl under the earth or that rummage in the dark when night comes, the worries that creep up on us... These are poems on the theme of twilight and mystery, of the night that is both frightening and attractive, with the instruction to use rhymes, wordplay, and alliterations in -oir and -uit.

A tale where we discover that the smartest one is not the one we think... "Open up my children, I am your mother..." says the hungry fox, imitating the voice of the hyena. Unless... Bilingual French / Arabic