For Brian Selznick fans
Over the course of his three recent children's books, The Invention of Hugo Carbet (2007), Wonderstruck (2011) and The Marvells (2015), brilliant American artist/author Brian Selznick has essentially developed a new form of graphic novel for this audience. Although his are indeed graphic novels in a very real sense, they bear little resemblance to the comic book styled publications that usually define this genre, of which there are many fine examples. Nor are they exactly like the wonderful textless narratives from masters such as David Wiesner and Shaun Tan. Indeed, there is no sense at all in which these are 'picture books' in the accepted understanding of that term, partly because they are in every way full-length, rich and complex novels, and also because the pictures are not merely illustrative of the text, but an alternative narrative device in their own right. Instead, in Brian Selznick's books, substantial sequences of textless, double-spread images carry whole sections of the narrative. However, these are then interspersed with other purely prose passages which either continue the pictures' narrative, or provide a different but complementary one. Brian Selznick's stories are wonderful and the way they are told is quite breathtaking. The finest of the very fine trio is, in my view, the latest and most complex, The Marvels. (See my post of September '15.) However, they are all wonderful and together one of the most significant, imaginative and enchanting of recent contributions to the canon of children's literature. If you don't know them, you should read them yourselves and then certainly introduce them to as many children as possible. They will learn a whole new way of reading and appreciating fiction.
Now a UK author/artist, has taken up the considerable challenge of this particular narrative format and produced an equally stunning contribution of her own. Pam Smy has adopted a similar image/text approach to the Brian Selznick books, but her content is very different and both her graphic and writing styles are distinctively her own. She is also immensely skilled in both areas.
Wonderful prose, stunning pictures
Even if her book comprised the extant prose alone, it would be a remarkable achievement. This narrative elucidates the thoughts and feelings of a 'disturbed' girl in a 1980s orphanage, the titular Thornhill, already an old and run-down institution. The deceptively simple but very effective writing captures her voice perfectly and the diary account of her situation and treatment gradually reveals her true and complex personality quite magically - and disturbingly.
However the interwoven, complementary story told through the images is equally strong. This recounts how a second girl, this time living in 2017, and not without issues of her own, discovers the story of the first. The pictures convey her narrative with perfect clarity, but are as much about atmosphere and emotion as they are about incident. The striking, greyscale images, strong, simple, yet often subtle too, capture both of these most tellingly and this narrative format cleverly lures the reader into a different, but equally potent, quality of imaginative involvement.
But of course it is ultimately the interrelationship of the two narrative strands which makes Thornhill most original and effective . Less is often more here and the fact that much is revealed, in both words and pictures, by implication rather than direct exposition, renders it even more potent. This radically different way of reading fiction is utterly compulsive, richly involving and deeply affecting. It is a truly life-enhancing book.
More than a ghost story
I do not think it is much of a spoiler to say that Thornhill is a ghost story; this is strongly telegraphed by the style of its images, not to say by direct pictorial reference, at one point, to Susan Hill. As such, it becomes spine-tinglingly chilling as the narrative develops However, at heart, this is not so much a story about ghosts as one about very real children. In fact it carries a profoundly important message about humans and humanity , which, I am sure, will reach countless readers through its compelling storytelling. It is a compassionate book about compassion; about the importance of accepting others for who they truly are, not what they appear to be. With obviously heartfelt passion, it speaks of the importance of sharing our love with those who seem to make it hard for us to do so; with those who may appear not to want our love, to need it or perhaps, even, (from our position of 'superiority') to deserve it.
Somewhere in Cambridge lives a remarkable little household of artist/authors. Pam Smy's husband is Dave Shelton, creator of the delightful A Boy and a Bear in a Boat, one of my all-time favourite books in the entire universe of children's literature. Now Pam Smy's own, very different, but equally exciting, book has come along to join the greats.
What, no dust jacket?
I have only one regret about the physical presentation of Thornhill. My issue, I suspect, lies not at all with the author but with the publisher. Its interestingly impressed boards notwithstanding, it is a crying shame that such an important and special contribution to children's literature has been issued without a dust jacket. Its lack sadly takes the edge off what is otherwise a beautifully produced volume, worthy of its content.
