The Adventures of Pinocchio
By Carlo Collodi
Walker Books, $39.95
IT seems appropriate to avoid starting this review with a lie. Until yesterday, I had never read Pinocchio. As a kid growing up in the 70s, it was Walt Disney’s version that came to mind every time I thought about that little boy carved out of wood. Turns out, the original story is far more imaginative, unsettling and intriguing.
Carlo Collodi was born in Florence in 1826. His parents were servants and dirt poor, so poor that almost all of Collodi’s nine siblings died before they reached adulthood. Like Pinocchio, Collodi must have dreamt of a different life and things did change drastically when a benefactor agreed to pay for Collodi’s education. When he was 22 he joined the Tuscan Army, and later became, among other things, a journalist.
In 1881 he started writing a serialised story for a weekly children’s newspaper. Storia di un Burattino (Story of a Puppet) ran for two years, until 1883 when the collection was published as The Adventures of Pinocchio.
Loaded with morals and life lessons – “One must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us” – the original story about a puppet who longed to be a real boy is much darker and more interesting than the Disney interpretation. And you won’t find Jiminy Cricket in a suit, either. The character of Pinocchio is fleshed out (no pun intended) and most of his encounters with the world are gritty and memorable. But the real hero of this new edition is the amazing illustrations. This is the latest classic edition by Australian artist Robert Ingpen (winner of the Hans Christian Andersen Medal) who has previously illustrated 11 other Walker Books titles, including The Wind in the Willows, The Secret Garden and Peter Pan and Wendy.
In a flick of a brush, Ingpen captures Pinocchio’s wilful spirit, his pride and vulnerability. While the full-page illustrations are stunning, I love the tiny drawings too, especially Geppetto’s tools. There’s so much emotional subtly, not to mention beauty on every page and Ingpen really pays attention to the minor characters who cross Pinocchio’s path on his quest to become a real boy.
This is a beautiful book, illustrated by one of the most talented artists alive today. I was lucky enough to interview Robert some years ago – he was a disarming, fascinating man, so if you’d like to read it, click here.
Walker Books, $27.95
THIS picture book begins with Jodie studiously finishing off a drawing of a duck wearing a top hat, adding the final flourish at exactly 9.59 on a Thursday morning, which happens to be the same time that her little brother Jonathan pushes “slowly to his feet”, and takes his first wonky steps.
Mum’s in the kitchen learning how to play the tin whistle, while outside, the world prepares for another day; there’s people jogging, an ambulance whizzes by, a soldier says goodbye to his mum, a homeless woman pushes a shopping cart full of her belongings and Joseph Pascano avoids the cracks in the path so the sharks won’t get him. The ripples grow ever wider, as readers get aerial views of Jodie’s house, street, neighbourhood, and finally, the city. But Silver Buttons is not about geography, it’s about the small moments that make up our day, the ordinary and the extraordinary, the ones that go unnoticed, but happen anyway, and the one’s that only come around once.
A UNICEF Bologna Illustrator of the Year winner, Graham’s illustrations are humming with energy, warmth and humour. Every page delivers another layer to the story, making this a thoughtful reading experience for adults and children alike. I’ve always loved Graham’s characters and their environments; kitchens are crowded (not a gleaming bench in sight), dogs are scruffy, gender lines are blurred (Dad often wears the apron), different cultures are represented, and there is a strong suggestion that everyone has interesting internal lives. His characters are relatable, compassionate, relaxed, and engaged with the world.
Silver Buttons isn’t only an outstanding picture book, it’s also a subtle, non preachy, reminder to look beyond our own front door and seek a connection to something bigger.
RULES OF SUMMER By Shaun Tan
Summer has always been the season of adventure – the days seem longer, darkness comes late and time feels less demanding. In Shaun Tan’s latest picture book, summer is also the season of discovery as two boys embark on a quest that either takes place in their own small, suburban world, or in another world entirely.
This is just one of the many opportunities for the reader to speculate about what may or may not be happening, as a nameless narrator passes on poetically-brief warnings about the consequences of not following certain arbitrary ”rules”, the first of which is: ”Never leave a red sock on the clothesline”.
Like most of his best-selling books (The Arrival, The Lost Thing, The Red Tree), Tan creates a new visual language with a story that begins on the cover where the boys can be seen at play in a landscape both exotic and achingly familiar. Rules of Summer poses an unending number of questions, making it both wholly original and endlessly fascinating.
While the lone red sock fails to catch a breeze, two boys crouch behind a fence as an enormous, fiery red rabbit, like a macabre animal run amok from a parade, squeezes down a back lane, a pink eye scanning the scene. The image first appeared in Tan’s The Bird King and other Sketches, and it’s interesting to note the changes the original work has undergone in this new setting.
In ”Never step on a snail”, a tornado bears down on an ordinary street on a cloudless day, and in ”Never give your keys to a stranger”, one boy watches television with a giant cat, while another peers through the window. Locked out? Too scared to come in? And what about the bird that appears on almost every page? Harbinger of doom, a talisman? Are the boys brothers or friends? There are no facts, only the answers you create.
About halfway through the book, the tone changes. ”Never ask for a reason” features the boys fighting as a group of creatures that appeared in earlier pages looks on. Tan’s pallet turns from blazing reds and yellows to smoky greys with ”Never wait for an apology”, which shows the younger boy, alone in a bunker surrounded by a menacing flock of black birds. An ordeal of some sort has taken place.
Visually, Rules of Summer shares its DNA with The Lost Thing, in which empty fields or blue patches of sky inevitably bump into a smoke stack, a nameless factory or an industrial wasteland on the suburban fringe.
Despite the incongruous nature of many of the images, there remains a vein of recognition throughout the book and when read on an emotional level, the characters aren’t nearly as aimless as they first appear: friendship, fear, adventure, that moment when you realise you’ve suddenly strayed from the familiar into the foreign – are all exquisitely rendered.
Rules of Summer is about superstition and the consequences, real and imagined, that come with the territory that is childhood. For older readers – anyone who isn’t considered a child – the book offers countless interpretations and layers that will make each encounter memorable.
■ Frances Atkinson blogs at slightlyfoxed1968.wordpress.com
This review first appeared in The Age and Sydney Morning Herald, 16th November, 2013.
AS someone who has spent practically all their working life at a newspaper (until recently), I feel slightly ill at the thought of the printed book becoming obsolete. I don’t think it will happen, in the same way as I don’t believe The End of Newspapers means the end of good journalism. But like the media industry, the printed word is currently in a unprecedented position. Change is inevitable, and welcome, but making news today (in Australia, anyway) is the announcement that Amazon has now officially opened its Australian Kindle Shop in an attempt to lure away customers from independent booksellers. Anyone living in Australia who loves buying books understands the dilemma: books are expensive, with paperbacks ranging around $35 and new hardbacks, anything up to $50, so while fantastic, independent shops struggle to keep their customers, the lure of cheap books often wins out.
I’ll admit it, I’ve used a couple of the massive online sites, but rarely and these days I search Bookworld before heading off shore. What online can’t give me is pleasure of walking into my local bookshop, the tactile satisfaction that comes with browsing books on a shelf, the exchanges that happen when you talk with experts who understand books and know what you like. For me, and extra $10 is worth the price if it supports independent bookstores and our writing industry.
I’m lucky enough to live in Melbourne – a UNESCO City of Literature and although some have fallen by the way, we’re still spoilt when it comes to bookshops, amazing places that help shape the city: San Francisco has City Lights, Paris has Shakespeare & Co, London has Dents, Portland has Powell’s and here, we have Readings, Hill of Content, The Avenue, Collected Works, The Sun Bookshop, Embiggen Books, My Bookshop, Hares&Hyenas, and The Little Bookroom, to name but a few. I can’t imagine my city without these fantastic stores.
THERE is nothing quite like the anticipation that comes with reading a new book. I’m pretty haphazard in how I come to my next read: book reviews play a part, hype and buzz another, but so do trusted recommendations from bloggers, friends and people in the publishing industry.
I’ve had two books waiting in the wings: the stack – that holding pattern for books: Eyrie by Tim Winton (Penguin, $45) and Autobiography by Morrissey (Penguin, $22.95). I jumped into Eyrie. I was taken with the premise: a middle aged, disenchanted guy named Keely, living in a high rise apartment in Fremantle crosses paths with a woman who loomed large in his teenage years. Gemma, once a beautiful a young girl, is now a battler and looking after her grandson, an insightful young boy who forges a connection with Keely.
I really enjoy Winton’s writing and I admired many moments in Eyrie, but I had trouble getting swept up by Keely, Winton’s middle-aged protagonist. What I did enjoy was Winton’s ability to build tension and how firmly he located me in Keely’s world. You know something is coming, what you don’t know is if Keely will survive it. In the end, I was glad I’d read it, but it’s not a book that will stay with me. That said, I’ll always read Winton – when it comes to capturing the ocean, the curve of a wave, he’s untouchable. That alone keeps me coming back for more. You can find a good interview with Winton by Jason Steger here.
I’m still reading Morrissey’s Autobiography, but it’s so frustrating. I love The Smiths and while I’m really enjoying the parts about his childhood growing up in Manchester (so bleak and brutal) musical influences and his lonely days trying to work out where he fits in (he nearly really does), there’s just so much drivel. His one liners can be brutal and beautifully poetic, but all too often they are followed by a slab of ponderous musings that go nowhere. What do I want? More wit, more humour, more grit. Who knows, maybe it’s all in the last couple of hundred pages. I’ve just read a par about Morrissey spotting his literary hero, James Baldwin in a hotel lobby in Barcelona. He’s deserperate to approach the author, but doesn’t want to risk having his illusions shattered. I think it’s too late for me.
Jane Godwin, illus Anna Walker
There’s no getting around it, the first day of school is a biggy. One minute you’re busily searching for that missing puzzle piece, or putting a Band Aid on Ted’s wonky arm, the next you’re road testing a back pack and writing your name on a brightly coloured piece of plastic that Mum calls a ‘lunch box’.
Polly, Sunita, Tim, Hannah and Joe know exactly how you feel. In Starting School, readers follow this mildly nervous bunch as they take their first steps inside the classroom. Hannah is feeling excited, but Tim’s not quite ready to say goodbye to Mum. Polly is doing her best to be brave, while Tim finds distraction in a book about dinosaurs.
It’s a day full of firsts, but their teacher Miss Quick is never far away and does her best to make everyone feel welcome. First up is a tour of the school, and before you can say monkey bars, Hannah and Sunita are good friends and Tim and Joe have found a ladybird. Back in the classroom, Miss Quick runs through the rules (put your hand up when you want to say something), and makes sure everyone knows where the toilets are. Before you know it, the bell has rung and the playground is full of parents waiting to hear about The Big First Day.
Anna Walker’s illustrations are a delight; she manages to capture each personality and reveal the unspoken in the tilt of a head, stripy tights, or little, nervous hands. The colours are muted and soothing and the book is brimming with her own particular eye for detail.
One of best aspects of the book is that it acknowledges a few of the worries some children might have about starting school – practical things like queuing up at the tuck-shop, getting lost, or finding the toilets. Jane Godwin’s text is playful, but it is also direct and reassuring, and may go some way to help children feel a little less nervous about that first day.
This is the fourth (hopefully not the last) collaboration for Godwin and Walker (Cat and the Big Red Bus, Today We Have No Plans, All Through the Year) and once again they’ve managed to create a beautiful picture book for young readers.
*this book was kindly sent for review.
The Wishbird by Gabrielle Wang, Penguin, $14.95
ALL books tell a story of one kind or another, but not all books are written by storytellers.
How can you tell? It’s different for every reader, but for me it’s when I’ve reached a certain point in a book and I realise the author has caught me in the fine webbing of a good story. I feel immersed in the world on the page, I care about the characters and maybe most importantly of all – I want to know what happens next.
The Wishbird is one of those books. It tells the story of Oriole, a young orphan girl who has spent her life in the Forest of Birds with her guardian Mellow (a wishbird), and a flock of avian companions. Life is sweet – she’s surrounded by birdsong and protected by all the creatures in the forest. But when Mellow’s health suddenly declines, and Oriole has a prophetic dream, their peaceful life in the forest comes to an end. As Mellow slowly dies, he talks more about his past – and Oriole realises that in order to save him, she must travel to the City of Soulless, a place where music and colour are banned, to find answers that will change her life forever.
The Wishbird is not only full of rich characters (especially Boy and Lady Butterfly), engaging story arcs, and gorgeous line drawings, it is a layered, thoughtful book about finding courage in the face of daunting challenges, the power of friendship, the importance of family, and seeing past the superficial. Wang’s writing is lyrical, evocative and honed, and every detail has a purpose, it either moves the story along, or adds depth to the story.
The Wishbird may have been written for younger readers in mind (ages seven and up), but it’s really a book for anyone who wants to be gently drawn in and taken away by a true storyteller.