As children's books push their boundaries, they face a marketing nightmare. More and more books fall between adult and children's marketplaces. A publicist for a major publisher told me recently that his co-worker has come up with a term to fit the dilemna. Transectional, he calls these books, for they fit either (or sometimes neither) an adult or children's category.

The quality of these books is diverse in range and impetus. Some are pseudosophisticated picture books which represent an adult's idea of what children might like or should learn, others shoot for a cutting edge parody, and a few manage to capture the universality of human experience with glorious words and images often appreciated more by adults than by children.

Bookstore owners don't know where to place these books, publicists are confused about how to promote them, but one thing is sure, the books keep coming. This year I was surprised that there were very few noteworthy books for children between the ages of four to eight, a literary period typically thought of as the picture book years. Most of the picture books demanded older readers, as if admitting the fact that children are "visual" readers. Sadly, many of these books focused on gimmicks rather than image and word to hook their readers.

If we could only lose the age-specific stigma of picture books we might develop standards to produce better picture books for all ages. We could then recognize books that go unacknowledged, either for their fault or their valor, because the free float between adult and children's markets.

Probably my least favorite picture book this year was Maira Kalman's Swami on Rye: Max in India (Viking, $16.00; ages in question). Maira Kalman burst on the children's book scene when she illustrated a Talking Heads song, Stay Up Late (Viking, $14.95) and she's been pleasing Generation Xers ever since with her cutting-edge highly-stylized art and self-referential style. Once her career was jump started, she began writing about her canine hero, Max, who now appears in his fourth starring role.

Kalman once again does the culturally elite proud, but if it's a story you're looking for, you're barking up the wrong tree. The book begins with Crepes, Max's wife, "composing an opera. (Arias. Divas.. Credenzas.) And at the same time, like a glowing golden kernel, she was growing. She was pregnant." Max, elated, deflated, ticklish, goes out to fetch her herring snacks and is transported by Vivek Shabaza-zaza-za to far off India where he searches for enlightenment.

Here's a sample of Kalman's discourse, I quote the "genial genie, garrulous guru, suave swami" who tells Max, "When we are alive (which we are), we are bound to ask ourselves, as we become parents, or get a horrible stuffyrednose, or worse yet lose our favorite lucky button, 'What (after all) is the Meaning (anyway) of Life? Why? Why? Why are we here? Where did we come from? Where are we going?..."

The book continues to ramble through everything from pregnancy to enlightenment. When it became obvious to me that this wasn't a book for children (mine made me stop reading on the first page), I struggled on alone, thorough too clever word plays, past pseudosophisticated jokes about culture, with hasty views of the Taj Mahal thrown in to alleviate Kalman's diatribe that had me fading in and out so often that I remained unenlightened as to the book's purpose and so on edge by its conclusion that I wanted to meditate just to recover. Kalman's quirkiness worked better for me in her visual expression. From the black and white pen and ink sketches on the end covers to the Indian cityscapes crowded with details and people who dance and whirl through the pages.

While Swami on Rye made my head spin, Alice McLerran's The Ghost Dance (Clarion, $15.95; thoughtful 10 and up) whirled me into its rhythms of picture and prose. Its blend of poetry, history, and spirit, is voiced almost as a prayer from two artists who are sensitive to the wounds of the earth and wish for its restoration. The Ghost Dance is based on the vision of two nineteenth century Paiute spiritual leaders who, the author notes, "sparked movements that linked native nations across two-thirds of the United States." Seeing the devastation wrought by encroaching settlers, they hoped that a nonviolent sacred dance, invoking ghosts of old, might recover the losses. The 1890 vision of one of the visionaries, Wovoka, was misinterpreted by as a war dance, and resulted in the massacre at Wounded Knee.

The book is a literary symphony. In the first movement, McLerran sets the scene by describing winds sweet with prairie grass and plains filled with buffalo. The second movement is sudden as the author abruptly jerks readers from those gentler times with intensity of harsh-verbed prose as white men kill, strip hides that rot, rip, and push ever west. Third movement is filled with the sadness of people trying to heal the wrongs in spite of previous failures. The final section ends as McLerran brings us to today where we still breath amid fouled streams of the tired earth and she hopes: "Maybe if we all dream./ Maybe if we all sing./Maybe if we all dance."

The book is a dance between author and illustrator, for it wouldn't succeed as well without the pictures of Paul Morin. Morin, like McLerran, motivated by his spiritual perspectives, has a strong sense of visual poetry that is perfect accompaniment. On some pages, he etches strong circular images representing the sacred hoop. On others, there are monochromatic oils rendering vivid historical truths. Still others are assemblages made of elements like eagle feathers, dream catchers, a ceremonial buffalo skull.

Author and illustrator speak eloquently of past, present and future; of the hopes and visions of others and of their own desires and dreams. Both this and the Kalman book have a richness of imagery, but I found Kalman's expression jarring while McLerran and Morin hold their artistic and philosophical vision in a way that is thought provoking , exciting, and universal.

Lurking on the Internet, in my children's book group, I read an e-mail whose author noted that Tom Feelings considered his new book, The Middle Passage (Dial, $40.00; ages thoughtful 9 and up) more for adults than children.

The book begins with a long introduction by the author as he tells the story behind the story. The Middle Passage began when he fled the sadness of 1960's Civil Rights America to find the joys of Africa. "As a black American I knew where the sorrow and pain came from, and it was beginning to overwhelm me personally. I wanted to know where the joy I felt, down deep came from...So in 1964 I moved to West Africa. Africa. The original home of all black people."

Working in Ghana, he saw joy, and Africa heightened his feelings of identity, and "reaffirmed much that was positive that I had deep inside me about black people." One day, he was asked, "What happened to all of you when you were taken away from here?"

Questions and answer came to him in bits and pieces over the next thirty years; personal, spiritual, historical and intrapersonal insights merging into an oversized, wordless, emotion-packed volume of journey. For as Feelings captures the horrific passage of African slaves en route to slavery in his sixty-four narrative paintings, he also speaks of his own journeys, the journeys of those he knows, has known and never knew.

The layouts are different, some spreading over two pages, others in opposition to each other, still others in segments, each demanding their own attention, each speaking of pain, sorrow, and survival in a language universal to all men.

There is in these black and white a uniting of intention and intuition that creates a driving power. The white figures are very white, ghost-like, soulless. Your focus continually returns to the black figures until the nuances of motion and emotion are almost too much to bear.

There is variety in perspective. Many of the paintings are long, but not high, giving the feeling of the cramped under deck conditions the slaves faced. Often Feelings makes the pictures fuzzy, urging viewers to look more closely to find focus.

Feelings moves fluidly back and forth from specific to universal. On one page spread you see a multitude of black bodies. The ones in the foreground are chained and curled tightly, protecting themselves from the white figures who lash whips above them. There are rows and rows of these bodies behind them, each posturing in a similar way. The page turns and you view a white ship sailing on the backs of two black men whose faces are contorted in a mixture of rage and horror .

One of the things that first drew me to picture books was the simple expression of philosophy. The magic of capturing a whole world in few words with pictures that leave room for wonder and wondering. These are the things the children's book genre has to offer adults...if only they will see.

Side Bar: Best Books for the Younger Set

Buried in the masses of gimmick and movie-tie-in books, there were some noteworthy books which children will enjoy hearing and parents will be happy to read.

Down the Road, written by Alice Schertle, illustrated by E.B. Lewis; (Harcourt Brace, $16.00; ages 4-8) Hettie walks alone, down the dusty road to bring her parents morning eggs from town. Schertle makes poetry out of the ordinary, portrays a loving family that fosters independence, and perfectly balances plot and character. E.B. Lewis' realistic watercolors show the warm comfort of small town life and family with vivid colors, changing vantage points, and emotive expressions.

Piggie Pie, written by Margie Palatini, illustrated by Howard Fine; (Clarion, $13.95; ages 4-9) The greatest outloud read I've discovered this year, the story tells of Gritch, a greedy and not-so-bright witch who's got an itch for Piggy Pie. But there's a problem for she needs eight plump piggies. Palatini threads themes of the "Old MacDonald" song that make for fun chorusing and Gritch's fantastic name calling is sure to prod giggles. Fine's joins in with playful illustrative details that augment laughter.

Children Just Like Me written and photographed by Barnabas and Anabel Kindersley; (Dorling Kindersley, $16.95; ages 6-10) is a collection of interviews and engaging photographs of children from thirty countries from around the world. Meet children like Celina Tembe who lives in Brazil's Amazon Rain forest and grieves the felling of trees and Tadesse Assefa a nine year old Ethiopian who's grown up amid war and dreams of doing something good and important for people.

Fairy Wings, story by Lauren Mills, paintings by Lauren Mills and Dennis Nolan

(Little Brown, $15.95; ages 5 and up) Fia is the only fairy born in her kingdom without wings. When the fairies are captured by a cruel Troll, Fia rescues them with courage and ingenuity. Amid archetypal fairy tale images, Mills and Nolan place a heroine with contemporary concerns who dares to be different, retains her true spirit, and triumphs because of her pluck and love.

Math Curse written by Jon Scieszka and illustrated by Lane Smith; (Viking, [($3.25+ $1.75) X3] + $1.99 = $16.99; ages 8 and up) Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith add math and literature and get the story of a young heroine whose questions multiply. The interactive possibilities of the book are equaled by the discovery of hidden mathematical references, and the humor gives the book an exponential power of enjoyment. This is a book for those who love to wonder, and parents who want to encourage their children's divergent thinking.

*Picture Books for Adults

BookPage, 1994

I remember a friend from California who loved picture books, but one day realized that her kids were getting too old to enjoy them. She sighed as she told me, "I guess I'll just have to admit that I'm buying them for myself." She's one of many adults who became captured by children's books and don't want to give them up.

There are some children's books whose wit, wisdom, and beauty better grace a coffee table than a child's book case. There are books I've offered to adults to help them over a difficult bump because their written and visual images speak more eloquently than I can. Adults should remember that children's books are born of a storytelling tradition that have kept people alive during famines and wars. The next time you're looking for a gift for a friend who has everything, consider a picture book!

Two classic books have been published whose appearance will please adults. For those who admire time-honored poetry, Neil Waldman gives new representation to the power and strength of William Blake's The Tyger. Waldman, with his usual strong sense of color and design, places images of brilliant orange and black striping or an eloquent ethereal blue hand against black and gray backgrounds that dramatize the wonder Blake created in 1794. (HBJ, $15.95)

Nancy Willard re-invents The Sorcerer's Apprentice when she views through the eyes of plucky Sylvia who comes to work for the magician Tottibo. As with so many of Willard's books, her skillful weaving of word, wit, and story is enjoyed by children, but really appreciated by adults. Her rhythms, word sounds, and amazing eye for detail, call from the page for an outloud reading and her sophisticated play with tradition can't help but make an adult marvel. Sylvia is commissioned to make clothes for all the creatures in Tottibo's care, "For plump or puny, large or lean,/ you'll have my trust sewing machine." Sylvia's response is proper for both the traditional apprentice and a young woman who eschews tradition. "But I want magic," Sylvia cried. And magic she gets, as Willard works her enchantment to a satisfying end with measured meters as sure as a Tottibo's power. The illustrations by Leo and Diane Dillon are as rich and as sure a path to propelling readers into another world as an expert sorcerer's spells. (Scholastic, $15.95)

I'd forgotten the greatness of W. Somerset Maugham's Appointment until it surfaced in picture book format adapted by Alan Benjamin and illustrated by Roger Essley. For those who've forgotten, it's the story of Abdullah, a servant surprised to see death reaching out for him at the market. He flees to a far off town, but his master discovers that death was only surprised at seeing him for she has "an appointment" to meet him in the very same city to which he's escaped. The full-color pictures are dark and subdued and lend an air of mystery to the curious tale. (Green Tiger Press, $16.00)

Last year two friends lost a son. Soon after I discovered Through the Mickle Woods written by Valiska Gregory. It tells the story of a king who mourns the death of his beloved queen. Grieving separates him from life until a small child, who also mourns this kind woman, shows him how vibrant life can be. A letter from his dead wife persuades the unwilling king to journey into a thick woods to the den of a story-telling bear. To a child, the meaning of the three stories might be disconnected and confusing. They speak clearly to an adult heart that has known loneliness, disappointment, and confusion. An adult needs only a gentle reminder to remember how healing comes from daring to care and live and love again. Gregory's prose is adult eloquent and succinct. The author is not timid about using powerful images or feelings, but messages are to be gleaned. The illustrations by Barry Moser show the darkness of a mourning heart and the brightness brought by reaching out. Both of these moods are framed by a snowy wood that lends a quiet tone of thoughtfulness. (Little Brown, $15.95)

Author-illustrator Ann Grifalconi highlights a New Year's Ceremony of Beginnings in Flyaway Girl. Nsia is a long-legged girl who is perched on the edge of her young womanhood. Nsia's mother is torn between wanting her daughter to enjoy freedom and needing her help in preparing the family gathering. This is the first year that Nsia must work as well as play. Gathering special reeds for her mother, Nsia hears ancestral voices gently guarding her, surrounding her in the natural world and helping her become "Wise Little Woman!" The artist describes her blending of photography, cut outs and paints as "magic realism" which allow the African images to speak for themselves. The book strongly reminds us of our connections to the earth and humanity in the face of transition and is an comforting gift for parents trying to help their children across this bridge to growing up. (Little Brown, $15.95)

I wish more children's book authors would write picture books for grown-ups. Nick Bantock is a talented children's book author and illustrator who has turned his attention to writing a trilogy for adults. The books began with Griffin & Sabine (Chronicle Books, $17.95) and each is a series of beautifully designed postcards and letters between an artistic man and a mysterious woman that absorb adult readers who open envelopes, compare art, gather clues, puzzle out eccentricities, and tingle with the forbidden feeling of reading someone else's mail. The series now concludes with The Golden Mean (Chronicle, $17.95) which resolves the tension enough to become a finale, but leaves enough curiosity and mystery keep wonder alive. The series reaches the younger side of adults and those who have been distanced from picture books by age can once again become absorbed participants.