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Freya and the Snake
When a dangerous snake enters the safe space of a family, a child and parent have different ideas about how to handle the situation.
When Freya and her siblings spot a snake near where they’re playing, Freya names it Snakey. But her parents are concerned, worried that Snakey will bite someone. Her dad tries to capture the snake, planning to take it far away. Only, that’s much harder to do than he expects. So, to make sure Snakey doesn’t harm his family, her dad decides he must take a different approach. One that offers a more permanent solution. One that Freya says she’ll never forgive him for.
Told with empathy and honesty, this thought-provoking book explores death, forgiveness and what happens when a child disapproves of something their parent has done. Highlighting both family relationships and those between humans and wild animals, it takes an unflinching look at making difficult decisions – and living with the consequences.
When Freya and her siblings spot a snake near where they’re playing, Freya names it Snakey. But her parents are concerned, worried that Snakey will bite someone. Her dad tries to capture the snake, planning to take it far away. Only, that’s much harder to do than he expects. So, to make sure Snakey doesn’t harm his family, her dad decides he must take a different approach. One that offers a more permanent solution. One that Freya says she’ll never forgive him for.
Told with empathy and honesty, this thought-provoking book explores death, forgiveness and what happens when a child disapproves of something their parent has done. Highlighting both family relationships and those between humans and wild animals, it takes an unflinching look at making difficult decisions – and living with the consequences.
32 pages, Hardcover
Published June 3, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
March 28, 2025
This book is too long and while I would not say it’s inappropriate it’s just not one I think most parents want to read to their kids. Freya sees a snake. She tells her parents. Dad spends a few pages trying to catch the snake. Instead of catching it, he kills it. Freya calls him a murderer And after that I don’t care anymore. I understand the need for books like these but first off this is too long. Secondly there’s no specific reason given why the snake has to be caught. It appears they’re in nature where snakes should be and the lesson should be leave the snake alone and it will leave you alone. Instead, we have a fear of snakes that ends up with Dad being portrayed as a murderer. this is not a book I enjoyed or whatever recommend.
July 4, 2025
America first. Not a great sentiment. Not, sadly, an uncommon one. It worms its way into all kinds of aspects of our lives too. That subtle jingoism affects everyone, even folks who would profess loudly not to adhere to it. Nowhere is that more evident than in picture books. My friends, I’ve worked with some of the most open-minded, accepting, lovely librarians you can imagine. But pull a single odd European picture book out of a bag and suddenly their faces scrunch up and they say those terrible words, “I don’t know why I don’t like it… I just don’t like it.” Well I do. Because whether or not you’re aware of it, many of us grew up with strictly American children’s literature. To dive into picture books from other countries, particularly books that don’t feel like they were made from around these here parts, can be jolting. This is true both in the look of the books and in the subject matter. Now Freya and the Snake does look different than a book that might originate in, say, San Diego but there’s nothing inherently off-putting about the art. Dive a bit into the text, however, and you’ll discover an incredible story that highlights a universal child moment of distrust and acceptance unlike anything else on the picture book market. There’s also a great big snake covered in blood. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Freya’s the first one to spot the snake. Her family is relaxing beside the sea and her father makes careful plans. He’ll carve a snake hook, capture the snake, and then release it somewhere where it can live out the rest of its life. Trouble is, Dad is an awful snake catcher. Like, seriously terrible. When it becomes too much and Mom suggests that maybe an alternative method is in order, Dad gets an oar… and kills Snakey (as Freya has named it). Naturally, Freya is horrified. Then furious. The other members of her family don’t understand, but she holds a funeral for Snakey (snake-murderers are not invited) and when Dad returns from town with ice cream she refuses to take part. Nothing will divert her from her anger, not even her older sister showing her photos of people who have been bitten by snakes. Finally, Freya’s dad takes her out in a boat to talk it over and they reach a kind of rapport. He loves her and she loves him. She loves a snake murderer.
Death. And picture books. The sheer range of them staggers. For parents unaware of this fact, discovering the presence of death in a book for young children can be a shocker. Suddenly their children have questions they never had before and the parent (who probably thought they could put this talk off for at least another year or two) is put on the spot. They may end up resenting the book for putting them in this position. “How dare this seemingly innocuous title force me into a stage of parenting that I wasn’t ready for yet!” Fact is, that’s just the nature of death, isn’t it? There’s no ideal moment. I’m not saying that there aren’t parents that bring up death out-of-the-blue apropos of nothing, but usually this talk is spurred on by some kind of an event. The beloved goldfish at the library passes on or they see a dead baby bird on the sidewalk. Much of the reason that they get mad at picture books has to do with the fact that they didn’t really understand what that kind of literature was capable of. And death-related texts for kids come in all forms. There’s the rote grandma-passes-on kind of stuff. There are the stories where a character (sometimes a side character) dies and it’s not seen as a big deal. There are clever books like Death Is Stupid that comfort kids by identifying with their grief (while also acknowledging the stupid things people say to the grieving). And then there are the Europeans. European picture books for kids take an entirely different attitude towards death. They show it. They talk about it. They acknowledge it. And in the process, and for whatever reason, they often make American parents feel very very uncomfortable in the process.
This is what Freya and the Snake is up against as it is published here in the States. Finnish in origin, it discusses a rather universal moment: When a trusted and beloved parent chooses a child’s safety over that of an animal’s. It’s also that moment when you promise a child something, even if it’s not explicit, and then have to go against your word. Freya’s unquestioning trust in her own father takes a significant blow. She then does something incredibly universal, but that I’ve never seen in a picture book before. I’ve a special soft place in my heart for titles that highlight universal childhood experiences but that have almost never been put down on a page before. So while all the other members of the family get on with their lives, Freya’s just sort of left there aghast. How are they all still happy when a snake has been MURDERED by her snake murdering father? The image of her staring out a window while everyone else plays outside and eats ice cream (she refuses her cone since “I don’t want ice cream from a snake-murderer”) is worth a thousand words right there. She is fully in the thrall of her own righteous anger, and there’s a power to that. Feeling justified in your rage is intoxicating in its own way, and as any parent will tell you, trying to get a kid to let go of something that has made them mad can be a Herculean task in and of itself. The capper, the way the book ends, sticks the landing with absolute perfection. The Dad has taken Freya out onto the sea in a rowboat and they’ve talked a little. He concedes that he could do something different next time. She realizes why he did what he did at all. “My dad loves me. I love him. I love a snake-murderer.” Because dammit she still believes what he did was wrong, but because she is human she’s learning how to juggle the complexity of loving someone despite their flaws (and even their betrayal).
Dang it’s good. It’s also a remarkably excellent translation. After Dad has repeatedly failed to capture the snake in a humane manner, Mom says that the snake hunt needs to be “a little less sentimental.” That’s a clear-cut warning to the parents reading the book to their kids. Child readers? They’re in the same boat as Freya. They have no idea what’s coming. They may well be just as shocked as she is by what happens. For that reason, I go back and forth on the book’s cover. European picture book covers often give an odd sense of their interiors. Just take the delightful John the Skeleton (winner of the 2025 Batchelder Award) which showed a skeleton covered in snails against a fluorescent pink background. That scene never happens in the book and makes a sweet story look relatively gross to the unknowing potential reader. Similarly, the cover of Freya and the Snake, where she’s playfully surrounded by a reptile, gives the distinct impression that this is your standard girl-and-a-wild-animal friendship story. Gonna be some real surprised parents out there when they see that it’s actually a lot more twisty and interesting than that.
It's kind of funny, but apparently when they were cleaning up this book for the American market (and yes, some books for kids in other countries have to essentially put their books through the puritanical U.S. wringer in order to meet our strict standards) they re-illustrated the dead snake. In the original it was a kind of Tomi Ungerer-type of situation where the snake was entirely bifurcated into two pieces by the dad’s oar. The current iteration leaves the snake intact but it still includes the blood so, y’know, there’s that. But I don’t think it’s the blood that’ll surprise some readers. It’s the honesty. This is a remarkably realistic situation where the parents aren’t perfect, the girl is within her rights to be mad, but everything that happens is done out of love. A love of your children and a need to protect them, even when they themselves get angry about it. A love for the unlovable in nature, even snakes. It’s messy and human and ultimately a really fantastic story through and through. You may not love a snake murderer yourself, but I challenge you not to love this story about a girl who loves a snake murderer. A Finnish tale with something universal to say.
Freya’s the first one to spot the snake. Her family is relaxing beside the sea and her father makes careful plans. He’ll carve a snake hook, capture the snake, and then release it somewhere where it can live out the rest of its life. Trouble is, Dad is an awful snake catcher. Like, seriously terrible. When it becomes too much and Mom suggests that maybe an alternative method is in order, Dad gets an oar… and kills Snakey (as Freya has named it). Naturally, Freya is horrified. Then furious. The other members of her family don’t understand, but she holds a funeral for Snakey (snake-murderers are not invited) and when Dad returns from town with ice cream she refuses to take part. Nothing will divert her from her anger, not even her older sister showing her photos of people who have been bitten by snakes. Finally, Freya’s dad takes her out in a boat to talk it over and they reach a kind of rapport. He loves her and she loves him. She loves a snake murderer.
Death. And picture books. The sheer range of them staggers. For parents unaware of this fact, discovering the presence of death in a book for young children can be a shocker. Suddenly their children have questions they never had before and the parent (who probably thought they could put this talk off for at least another year or two) is put on the spot. They may end up resenting the book for putting them in this position. “How dare this seemingly innocuous title force me into a stage of parenting that I wasn’t ready for yet!” Fact is, that’s just the nature of death, isn’t it? There’s no ideal moment. I’m not saying that there aren’t parents that bring up death out-of-the-blue apropos of nothing, but usually this talk is spurred on by some kind of an event. The beloved goldfish at the library passes on or they see a dead baby bird on the sidewalk. Much of the reason that they get mad at picture books has to do with the fact that they didn’t really understand what that kind of literature was capable of. And death-related texts for kids come in all forms. There’s the rote grandma-passes-on kind of stuff. There are the stories where a character (sometimes a side character) dies and it’s not seen as a big deal. There are clever books like Death Is Stupid that comfort kids by identifying with their grief (while also acknowledging the stupid things people say to the grieving). And then there are the Europeans. European picture books for kids take an entirely different attitude towards death. They show it. They talk about it. They acknowledge it. And in the process, and for whatever reason, they often make American parents feel very very uncomfortable in the process.
This is what Freya and the Snake is up against as it is published here in the States. Finnish in origin, it discusses a rather universal moment: When a trusted and beloved parent chooses a child’s safety over that of an animal’s. It’s also that moment when you promise a child something, even if it’s not explicit, and then have to go against your word. Freya’s unquestioning trust in her own father takes a significant blow. She then does something incredibly universal, but that I’ve never seen in a picture book before. I’ve a special soft place in my heart for titles that highlight universal childhood experiences but that have almost never been put down on a page before. So while all the other members of the family get on with their lives, Freya’s just sort of left there aghast. How are they all still happy when a snake has been MURDERED by her snake murdering father? The image of her staring out a window while everyone else plays outside and eats ice cream (she refuses her cone since “I don’t want ice cream from a snake-murderer”) is worth a thousand words right there. She is fully in the thrall of her own righteous anger, and there’s a power to that. Feeling justified in your rage is intoxicating in its own way, and as any parent will tell you, trying to get a kid to let go of something that has made them mad can be a Herculean task in and of itself. The capper, the way the book ends, sticks the landing with absolute perfection. The Dad has taken Freya out onto the sea in a rowboat and they’ve talked a little. He concedes that he could do something different next time. She realizes why he did what he did at all. “My dad loves me. I love him. I love a snake-murderer.” Because dammit she still believes what he did was wrong, but because she is human she’s learning how to juggle the complexity of loving someone despite their flaws (and even their betrayal).
Dang it’s good. It’s also a remarkably excellent translation. After Dad has repeatedly failed to capture the snake in a humane manner, Mom says that the snake hunt needs to be “a little less sentimental.” That’s a clear-cut warning to the parents reading the book to their kids. Child readers? They’re in the same boat as Freya. They have no idea what’s coming. They may well be just as shocked as she is by what happens. For that reason, I go back and forth on the book’s cover. European picture book covers often give an odd sense of their interiors. Just take the delightful John the Skeleton (winner of the 2025 Batchelder Award) which showed a skeleton covered in snails against a fluorescent pink background. That scene never happens in the book and makes a sweet story look relatively gross to the unknowing potential reader. Similarly, the cover of Freya and the Snake, where she’s playfully surrounded by a reptile, gives the distinct impression that this is your standard girl-and-a-wild-animal friendship story. Gonna be some real surprised parents out there when they see that it’s actually a lot more twisty and interesting than that.
It's kind of funny, but apparently when they were cleaning up this book for the American market (and yes, some books for kids in other countries have to essentially put their books through the puritanical U.S. wringer in order to meet our strict standards) they re-illustrated the dead snake. In the original it was a kind of Tomi Ungerer-type of situation where the snake was entirely bifurcated into two pieces by the dad’s oar. The current iteration leaves the snake intact but it still includes the blood so, y’know, there’s that. But I don’t think it’s the blood that’ll surprise some readers. It’s the honesty. This is a remarkably realistic situation where the parents aren’t perfect, the girl is within her rights to be mad, but everything that happens is done out of love. A love of your children and a need to protect them, even when they themselves get angry about it. A love for the unlovable in nature, even snakes. It’s messy and human and ultimately a really fantastic story through and through. You may not love a snake murderer yourself, but I challenge you not to love this story about a girl who loves a snake murderer. A Finnish tale with something universal to say.
January 31, 2025
Thank you to NetGalley for providing me with an e-arc.
Okay. So. I did not like this. In some regions of the world it makes sense to have books about being cautious with snakes, but I don’t live in one of those regions and frankly, I just disliked this. The plot was stilted, there wasn’t really any acceptable conflict resolution, I didn’t appreciate how oddly violent the story was, and this art style I dislike. Perhaps I’m too much of a bleeding heart, but there is already such a bad stigma around “undesirable” animals that I don’t find this book informative or charming. Freya was right it was messed up her dad killed that snake. And frankly, the title and cover are misleading as I thought based on the title and the colours and posing of the cover that this was going to be cute and lighthearted. It was not.
Okay. So. I did not like this. In some regions of the world it makes sense to have books about being cautious with snakes, but I don’t live in one of those regions and frankly, I just disliked this. The plot was stilted, there wasn’t really any acceptable conflict resolution, I didn’t appreciate how oddly violent the story was, and this art style I dislike. Perhaps I’m too much of a bleeding heart, but there is already such a bad stigma around “undesirable” animals that I don’t find this book informative or charming. Freya was right it was messed up her dad killed that snake. And frankly, the title and cover are misleading as I thought based on the title and the colours and posing of the cover that this was going to be cute and lighthearted. It was not.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 1, 2025
Freya is enjoying a sunny day by the water with her family when she spots a snake. She names it Snakey. Her parents worry about the snake biting one-year old Hugo, so they decide to catch it and move it elsewhere. Despite their best efforts, including Dad carving a bespoke snake hook out of a branch, Snakey escapes every time. Freya’s big sister thinks it’s hilarious, but Freya is worried. And when Dad kills Snakey by whalloping it with an oar (yikes!) she decides never to speak to him again.
This is decidedly not a gentle American-style view of death for kids, but it feels realistic, is sometimes funny and will definitely provide a subject for family conversation. I for one thought that the parents should have just kept a closer eye on the little one and let the snake live and let live. But parents sometimes do surprising things to keep their kids safe. So this book earns a trigger alert. Still, the artwork is entrancing, with beautiful line drawing, watercolors and digital collage textures. The people, who are white, and some images are outlined in a delicate red, making their personalities feels strong: the know-it-all big sister, the emotional middle child, the needy (but adorable) little baby, and the parents who are just trying to do the right thing. There’s an endearing two page spread near the end which shows a variety of animal families in the countryside, and readers can take a reprieve from the heavy subject matter for a moment in contemplation of beauty. FYI, Freya does eventually reach detente with her father. In the tragi-comic ending, she observes, “My dad loves me. / I love him. / I love a snake-murderer.”
This is decidedly not a gentle American-style view of death for kids, but it feels realistic, is sometimes funny and will definitely provide a subject for family conversation. I for one thought that the parents should have just kept a closer eye on the little one and let the snake live and let live. But parents sometimes do surprising things to keep their kids safe. So this book earns a trigger alert. Still, the artwork is entrancing, with beautiful line drawing, watercolors and digital collage textures. The people, who are white, and some images are outlined in a delicate red, making their personalities feels strong: the know-it-all big sister, the emotional middle child, the needy (but adorable) little baby, and the parents who are just trying to do the right thing. There’s an endearing two page spread near the end which shows a variety of animal families in the countryside, and readers can take a reprieve from the heavy subject matter for a moment in contemplation of beauty. FYI, Freya does eventually reach detente with her father. In the tragi-comic ending, she observes, “My dad loves me. / I love him. / I love a snake-murderer.”
February 3, 2025
I hate to say it but this may not sell well in US bookstores -- that said, I thought the story was very real and the MC's feelings authentic. Ambiguity about what is dangerous and what is not is very real - especially to a child, or the parent of a child. The act of killing, even of a perceived threat, also carries tremendous weight and in this case, it's not the usual bug but something more solid and animated - a snake - which makes it more visceral for some reason. Our mixed feelings in these cases are well portrayed here and the child's anger at her father is pretty important. At some point, all children realize their parents aren't perfect, and sometimes, they may even seem terrible. I like that the MC is process ing feelings about death, the perfection of parents, and hard choices against the backdrop of pastel, whimsical beach scenes, sunsets, and pastoral meadows, and I like what it shows about childhood. This may be a hard book to like for some, but for some children, it may be just the ticket.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 31, 2025
This just might be the worst children’s book I’ve ever read. I don’t know how it got published. This family encounters a snake. The snake is not poisonous or aggressive. The father decides it needs to go because it may bite the baby. He tries to catch it to move it far away but was unsuccessful. So he kills it. Freya,one of the children, was horrified and calls him a snake murderer (rightfully so). There is a scene at the end where the author tries to mend the relationship between father and daughter but based on the last words of the book, the disillusionment caused by the murdering of the snake will never go away. I was reading this aloud to my 2 year old granddaughter when I realized the snake murder was going to happen and I changed the story and chose to read aloud different things. I’m glad she was too young to understand the book or that I felt the need to alter it. It wasn’t just bad. It was traumatizing.
July 30, 2025
Freya and her siblings – one older, one much younger – spot a snake on their island, so the father hunts it down, and eventually gets to smash its head in. And before you complain about me, it really is as blunt as that. Freya then complains about the dad, before being made to be more clued in about having to prevent snakebites and fatalities and suchlike. It's really quite the most bizarre thing – that, or the way this ended up being award-nominated in its original language. The story is useful, to an extent, for those who live alongside lethal animals, but if you don't expect it it's really quite awful, and the art really wasn't to my taste either. Finally the text is too dense and in too small a font to appeal to young eyes, even if it takes up little of the page each time. So I'm struggling to find positives. One and a half stars.
June 4, 2025
This story is about a little girl named Freya who finds a snake. She names it Shakey. The story is okay when it tells about the girl and snake being friends, but some of it is bad or scary especially for little kids because the snake gets hurt and the pictures show blood. There is blood on the snake's head and on the rock and on the oar. It is also sad when the snake gets hurt. I think it might be too sad or too intense for some kids especially if they are little. It could be okay for older kids. (review by Jonathan, 5th grade)
August 29, 2025
Oh! I LOVED this! I so wish this had been around when my kids were little. And isn’t this a critical issue for eco-conscious families – teaching kids to care about animals and then killing them when they come into the home or yard.
There is something so important about that first time when our parents let us down, display hypocrisy we can understand, come up short. I love that Freya sticks to her conclusion to the end, that she doesn't agree with giving up on humane treatment even when it becomes very inconvenient.
This is a small masterpiece. More like this.
There is something so important about that first time when our parents let us down, display hypocrisy we can understand, come up short. I love that Freya sticks to her conclusion to the end, that she doesn't agree with giving up on humane treatment even when it becomes very inconvenient.
This is a small masterpiece. More like this.
February 28, 2025
Netgalley ARC - well that was not a fun read. I relate to the sense of injustice of our narrator, but I hate that there was like... no resolution or real comfort or even a reason. The snake literally didn't have to die. It wasn't doing anything.
November 3, 2025
This is one of those translated books I'd bring into my college classroom to point out the differences between contemporary US picture books and those from Scandinavian authors. With its honesty and unique art style, it's a compelling picture book!
February 19, 2025
There is absolutely a way to teach children about snake safety especially snakes in the wild. This however was not it for me.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews