“You are a nar­whal,” Flem­ing writes, “shy, / swift, / small (for a whale).” With one giant tooth that is “taller than a man,” not to men­tion “green with algae,” “alive with sea lice,” and still, researchers say, of uncer­tain func­tion, the sleek, mot­tled form in So’Oteh’s glow­ing, light-drenched marine set­tings floats socia­bly with oth­er mem­bers of its pod. “Side by side by side,” the whales peek out through a gap in the ice until hunger leads to a rolling dive into dark­er regions for food. Length­en­ing days sig­nal that it’s time to move to sum­mer waters, avoid­ing preda­to­ry orcas; at summer’s end, the annu­al migra­tion con­tin­ues, despite the spread of ice across the water and rov­ing polar bears that make access to the air haz­ardous. Simul­ta­ne­ous­ly immer­sive, lyri­cal, and infor­ma­tive, Fleming’s text shines, accom­pa­nied by So’Oteh’s lumi­nous art. Nar­whals may not (yet) be endan­gered, the author con­cludes, even if their Arc­tic habi­tat is def­i­nite­ly threat­ened by cli­mate change. The species may be of “least con­cern” to the Inter­na­tion­al Union for Con­ser­va­tion of Nature, but in the wake of this sym­pa­thet­ic por­trait and its sub­stan­tial­ly fac­tu­al after­word, read­ers will find these real-life uni­corns of “most inter­est.” Rich in facts and feel­ings, a warm invi­ta­tion to join the pod of sea mam­mal lovers. (Kirkus Reviews, starred review)