A search for one's place in the world provides the storyline: The narrator, a drum, feels like an outcast because he alone-unlike his family and friends-cannot play a melody. Like all kids growing up, he must find out where he fits. The narrator, a drum, wanders the streets of Coelho's vividly realised city of musical instruments-where even the birds sprout miniature trumpets from their mouths-feeling like an outcast because he alone, among all his family and neighbours, can't play a melody. He adores his violin brother, cello father and piano mother but feels he has nothing to offer to their music. "My father is Cello, and oh, what a fellow. The tone of his laugh is low, smooth and mellow. But me? My name's Drum. BOOM-CLACK, RAT-A-TAT. My head is a snare and I wear a hi-hat. My stomach's a bass drum, my arms are drumsticks and my only song is CLICK-CLACK, CLACK-CLICK". But one day a trio of saxophones ask him to join their band and what they tell him gives him an epiphany "So that's what a drum does! I now understand. I don't carry a tune; I carry a band". But he must still prove it to himself, and that takes all his courage. Loubriel's story of bravery and identity, infused with Latin rhythms and joy, provides a fine vehicle for Coelho's vibrant technique and palette. Coelho's city of music bursts with exuberance. In backmatter, Loubriel, a lifelong drummer, explains how the drum kit lays a song's foundation. The bass drum is the heartbeat; the hi hat is the dynamic metronome; the snare drum is the drum kit's singer.
