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Where's Waldo? #5
Où est Charlie ? Le Livre Magique
Traversez la jungle marécageuse, explorez les couloirs du temps, aidez des marins à combattre des monstres... Ouah ! Que d'émotions ! La charliemania va encore faire des victimes ! Soyez vigilants, lecteurs intrépides, et gardez vos sens en éveil: écoutez une joute musicale, sentez des fleurs enivrantes, goûtez des gâteaux appétissants, caresser des centaines de chiens... Et surtout, faites bon usage de votre cinquième sens: la vue ! Ouvrez l'oeil pour trouver Charlie, Ouaf, Félicie, Pouah, Blanchebarbe et une foule d'autres personnages et objets cachés dans toutes les pages.
32 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1997
15 people are currently reading
411 people want to read
About the author
Martin Handford
458 books107 followersMartin Handford, the man behind the mind-boggling Waldo books, began his career as a freelance illustrator specializing in drawing crowd scenes. The turning point came when he was asked to create a book showcasing his impressive talent, and the character Waldo was born—originally to provide a link between each scene. "I can't tell you how pleased I am that Waldo has taken on a life of his own," Martin Handford says. "I'd like to inspire children to open their minds to explore subjects more, to be aware of what's going on around them. I'd like them to see wonder in places that may not have occurred to them." Martin Handford lives in England.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 55 reviews
October 3, 2024
Never found the lad, but I had fun trying
January 2, 2026
fant han ikke, men jævla bra skrevet
May 25, 2022
Why did I search for you?
Your absence echoing your presence back to me, a single chord, sublime in its simplicity, haunting in its resonances.
Was it loneliness, then? The summer stillness of my childhood room? A world outside for the children who loved soccer and music and insects; a world closed to me by gates invisible yet solid as steel?
Or, perhaps, empathy? Your eternal stare reminded me of my father, leaving a handful of notes on the table as my parents went out to dinner. Your ability to disappear so quickly, so guilelessly, was that of my mother in a crowded room. Anybody but me, it seemed.
Was it ownership? To an intellectual boy in a dusty town, so little is his own. Something tangible. A place to write my name. "This Where's Wally book belongs to...".
Fantasy, sure. Any of my long string of child therapists would have drawn this conclusion from the top of the deck. The Cake Factory. The Odlaw Swamp. The Mighty Fruit Fight. These were places into which one could comfortably retreat, like well-worn memories from a time one had never lived, like something passed down in the songs of hope and woe sung by the balladeers who kept my ancestors' souls warm throughout those long, medieval winters.
Obsessive-compulsiveness, said one therapist - of the newer school - but my lack of interest in cataloguing the exact time on every clock in The Corridors of Time sent that theory spiralling rapidly toward the bin. She became the latest on the list of rejected specialists, quickly reduced to "the one with the Miss Piggy garbage bin" in family anecdotes.
For my own diagnosis, perhaps it was fear. Fear. For if I could not even find Wally and Wenda and Woof, how was I ever to find a future? The world would always be off-brand Lego and movies taped to VCR from the television and sitting politely on the sofa while adult guests enjoyed pâté and cheese, every so often deigning to ask me a question to which they had no interest in the mumbled answer.
Loyalty? I had long fancied myself to be noble. I had followed Wally and friends through four weighty tomes; what kind of a Sancho Panza would I be to abandon them at this juncture?
Looking back, from somewhere further down the mountain, I delude myself into the notion that my search was born of love. (The stroke of death, says Shakespeare, is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired.) The feeling came much easier to me then. A quick wit, an innovative outpouring of words and ideas, and emotion arose. Not to the surface - "never to the surface" is on my family crest - but somewhere close beneath. The bubbling cauldron, the fiery furnace, the precarious rope-bridge of human sentiment which was tamped down amongst my human companions but could dance effusively between the pages of a book.
With hindsight, I may never know why I searched. Why I still search. As the fires and floods claim our land, however, I am drawn to an undeniable truth. The worst of nature will ravage us. The worst of corporations, the worst of anger and hate, the worst of human evil - all will have their fill. But what they claim is only ever corporeal, ephemeral, at heart physical. What they must leave behind are memories and ideas. The two greatest innovations of our species.
Perhaps it was enough to know that I would carry Wally with me. Forever would I know that no matter how lost Wizard Whitebeard became (his chronic shoelessness a source of great concern to my younger self), no matter how many cunning plans Odlaw devised, how many hills and dales were scoured by Wenda and Woof, they would all end up together, on the final page, waving their farewells. I knew that some companions will never leave us. Some ideas will never be destroyed by folly. Some memories must remain.
Because the secret of this life is that we never find that which we seek. We find so much besides that the journey replaces the destination. We all must begin with a list of items to search for. But we all must learn that the real search begins when we reach the end of the list.
It is the knowing how to search that will save us.
And by Wally I was saved.
Your absence echoing your presence back to me, a single chord, sublime in its simplicity, haunting in its resonances.
Was it loneliness, then? The summer stillness of my childhood room? A world outside for the children who loved soccer and music and insects; a world closed to me by gates invisible yet solid as steel?
Or, perhaps, empathy? Your eternal stare reminded me of my father, leaving a handful of notes on the table as my parents went out to dinner. Your ability to disappear so quickly, so guilelessly, was that of my mother in a crowded room. Anybody but me, it seemed.
Was it ownership? To an intellectual boy in a dusty town, so little is his own. Something tangible. A place to write my name. "This Where's Wally book belongs to...".
Fantasy, sure. Any of my long string of child therapists would have drawn this conclusion from the top of the deck. The Cake Factory. The Odlaw Swamp. The Mighty Fruit Fight. These were places into which one could comfortably retreat, like well-worn memories from a time one had never lived, like something passed down in the songs of hope and woe sung by the balladeers who kept my ancestors' souls warm throughout those long, medieval winters.
Obsessive-compulsiveness, said one therapist - of the newer school - but my lack of interest in cataloguing the exact time on every clock in The Corridors of Time sent that theory spiralling rapidly toward the bin. She became the latest on the list of rejected specialists, quickly reduced to "the one with the Miss Piggy garbage bin" in family anecdotes.
For my own diagnosis, perhaps it was fear. Fear. For if I could not even find Wally and Wenda and Woof, how was I ever to find a future? The world would always be off-brand Lego and movies taped to VCR from the television and sitting politely on the sofa while adult guests enjoyed pâté and cheese, every so often deigning to ask me a question to which they had no interest in the mumbled answer.
Loyalty? I had long fancied myself to be noble. I had followed Wally and friends through four weighty tomes; what kind of a Sancho Panza would I be to abandon them at this juncture?
Looking back, from somewhere further down the mountain, I delude myself into the notion that my search was born of love. (The stroke of death, says Shakespeare, is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired.) The feeling came much easier to me then. A quick wit, an innovative outpouring of words and ideas, and emotion arose. Not to the surface - "never to the surface" is on my family crest - but somewhere close beneath. The bubbling cauldron, the fiery furnace, the precarious rope-bridge of human sentiment which was tamped down amongst my human companions but could dance effusively between the pages of a book.
With hindsight, I may never know why I searched. Why I still search. As the fires and floods claim our land, however, I am drawn to an undeniable truth. The worst of nature will ravage us. The worst of corporations, the worst of anger and hate, the worst of human evil - all will have their fill. But what they claim is only ever corporeal, ephemeral, at heart physical. What they must leave behind are memories and ideas. The two greatest innovations of our species.
Perhaps it was enough to know that I would carry Wally with me. Forever would I know that no matter how lost Wizard Whitebeard became (his chronic shoelessness a source of great concern to my younger self), no matter how many cunning plans Odlaw devised, how many hills and dales were scoured by Wenda and Woof, they would all end up together, on the final page, waving their farewells. I knew that some companions will never leave us. Some ideas will never be destroyed by folly. Some memories must remain.
Because the secret of this life is that we never find that which we seek. We find so much besides that the journey replaces the destination. We all must begin with a list of items to search for. But we all must learn that the real search begins when we reach the end of the list.
It is the knowing how to search that will save us.
And by Wally I was saved.
March 29, 2024
This is my favorite of the seven
February 24, 2009
I absolutely love search books (I loved them as a kid and still love them just as much). The Waldo books are my favorite. I love the play on words. I've found everything you can possibly find in this book.
December 31, 2013
It's safe to say all of Waldo's self-built solitude from spying for years on end has taken a toll on him and his psyche. Watch as each page reveals an unravelling hero, slowly losing it.
Or maybe that's what he wants you to think... this guy is good...
Or maybe that's what he wants you to think... this guy is good...
September 16, 2009
How can anyone rate these low? My 4 year-old is working on this right now and I love it because of all of the questions he asks me. Younger kids should be started on these sooner.
Read
January 9, 2026Couldn’t find
May 14, 2020
Un incontournable grand classique à partager entre petits et grands🙂
Les enfants se l'arrachent pour trouver Charlie et y passent des heures entières.
J’adore...je suis une grande fan!
Les enfants se l'arrachent pour trouver Charlie et y passent des heures entières.
J’adore...je suis une grande fan!
April 12, 2020
Re-read
The smallest member of the household has been keen on these finding puzzles of late, and I was happily dragged on this nostalgic trip. We looked at three spreads per night before bed, and we would only turn the page once we found Charlie (Wally en anglais) but we got bragging rights for finding his companions or their various objects. We also periodically paused to giggle at the amusing scenes. A nice way to bond at the end of a stressful day.
The smallest member of the household has been keen on these finding puzzles of late, and I was happily dragged on this nostalgic trip. We looked at three spreads per night before bed, and we would only turn the page once we found Charlie (Wally en anglais) but we got bragging rights for finding his companions or their various objects. We also periodically paused to giggle at the amusing scenes. A nice way to bond at the end of a stressful day.
February 17, 2008
The last page is really hard. You have to find Woof, but all of them look the same. There are hundreds of dogs on this page and they all look the same. The one that is the real Woof has 5 red stripes on his tail.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 15, 2007
Golly, I love Waldo... and it takes me so long to find him, gosh darn it.
May 19, 2008
Where's Waldo?
I love this book. it makes you look for Waldo you really have to focus otherwise you can't find him. I only got to the second page and I couldn't find him anymore....
I love this book. it makes you look for Waldo you really have to focus otherwise you can't find him. I only got to the second page and I couldn't find him anymore....
May 19, 2008
I love where's waldo books!
Recommended to teenagers.
Recommended to teenagers.
November 26, 2008
Oh, I miss my childhood!
January 15, 2010
waldo is hard to find
November 19, 2010
YAY!!!!!!!!!!
November 30, 2010
This is a epic book but it is really hard finding him though.
September 17, 2016
My son enjoyed this when he was younger. It was fun looking for Waldo with him.
August 9, 2012
Fun book! To choose "read" is simply wrong.
November 15, 2012
Kids will have a lot of fun trying to find Waldo.
May 19, 2013
This is my favourite where's wally books, the places are so strange and unique I just love it.
April 8, 2016
I asked my boys to help me. Plenty to hunt for. Very clever.
January 27, 2015
Waldo was such a good book. It was excited me as a kid whenever a teacher had this book in her classroom
December 15, 2015
How can you NOT love Where's Waldo book?! The illustrations and setting are phenomenal and often hilarious, and Waldo is just challenging enough to find to make the books fun.
April 9, 2016
Will I ever find this man?
May 25, 2016
Descobrir o Wally nunca é fácil, por isso eu aconselho a procurarem-no com amigos e família, não só para se divertirem como para passarem bons momentos.
May 20, 2017
Enjoyed this so much!
May 28, 2017
I registered a book at BookCrossing.com!
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/13132165
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/13132165
September 1, 2017
Me están entrando unas ganas de buscar estos libros en mi antiguo cuarto...con eso lo digo todo.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 55 reviews