They are rude. They are naughty. They are horrid. They are boars. Wild boars. Boris, Morris, Horace, and Doris have few redeeming qualities . . . they have none, actually. “If you share your treats with Morris he will stomp on them with his beastly feet. STOMP STOMP STOMP. If you try to help Horace with his mittens he will make a nasty smell and snort with laughter. SNORT SNORT SNORT.” Perhaps the most surprising thing about Meg Rosoff’s story is that it never arrives at what we’ve come to expect as an inevitable resolution—one that will show the boars in a better and sweeter light. “Perhaps it is best if we all agree that there is no such thing as a nice wild boar. Then if you happen to run across one that is fluffy and sweet . . . you will be pleasantly amazed. But not at all fooled.” Boars will be boars, after all. And there are some readers and listeners who wouldn’t want it any other way. (Ages 4–8)