On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden | Book Review

On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden
Published by Avery Hill Publishing, 2018 (first published in 2016)
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Walden’s science-fiction epic is a graphic novel told across two timelines. The first follows Mia as she befriends and falls in love with Grace, the new girl at school. The second, which plays out simultaneously, follows Mia several years later as she joins the crew of a ship that travels around the galaxy, repairing historic buildings. It becomes clear that she has an ulterior motive, however. Having lost all contact with Grace for more than five years, she wants to find and reconnect with her first love, to make peace with the way they parted company.

I really enjoyed the characters and the story, feeling suitably invested to keep the pages turning with ease. The sense of camaraderie between the crew is great, and the balance of charm and adventure makes for a fun read. The sci-fi society that Walden created is undoubtedly interesting, but I felt the handling of the world-building was underwhelming, failing to capitalise on the narrative’s full potential. There are no men seen or mentioned anywhere in this universe, for example. As a result, everyone’s sexuality appears to be very fluid and open, which I thought was great. However, there are references to Earth, and a very well-handled non-binary character, which means they exist within a society that acknowledges the concept of multiple genders. How and why, then, have they come to exist entirely without men? This is a prime example of an interesting idea that is given no context; the lack of development leaving the reader with unnecessarily distracting questions. Given that the book is approaching 600 pages long, there was ample opportunity to explore these finer details and flesh out the world.

In terms of the visuals, there are, again, some very interesting ideas, and I loved the colour palette. I would describe the art style as a little ‘busy’, however. Coupled with a not particularly detailed finish, this left certain characters, objects and goings on somewhat difficult to decipher, particularly during action sequences. The text is also very small. This didn’t bother me, personally, but I can see a lot of people having to strain their eyes to be able to read it.

An altogether easy and enjoyable reading experience that was worth the time, if not as well executed as it could have been.

***

If you’d like to pick up a copy of On a Sunbeam, you can find it on Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Advertisements

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui | Book Review

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui
Published by Abrams Books, 2017
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

In this deeply personal yet outwardly ambitious graphic memoir, Thi Bui recounts her family’s experience of displacement following the collapse of South Vietnam in the wake of the war, and their attempts to resettle in the US.

The book opens with the birth of Bui’s first child. Becoming a parent forces her to evaluate her relationship with her own parents; a relationship that has been tempered by supressed emotion carried with them from their homeland. By exploring her parents’ childhoods in relation to her own, she hopes to better understand why they became the people they did. Though on the surface the book thus functions as a multi-generational family memoir, this serves largely as a framework, allowing Bui to look at the notion of inherited trauma and whether or not it’s possible to break the chain of fear, anger, and resentment that refugee parents often unknowingly pass on to their offspring.

The timeline is fluid, rather than linear, creating an anecdotal feel. Instead of walking us through everything step-by-step, Bui weaves past into present; her own childhood into her parents’ childhoods, and so on. This ties nicely into the book’s central theme, reflecting the idea of shared heritage. It also allows her to highlight the similarities and differences in their experiences, as well as the culture divide between Vietnam and America.

The graphic memoir format works very well for this particular story. Traversing several countries throughout their lives, and speaking different languages (English, French, and Vietnamese) depending on their location and circumstances, art serves as a consistent universal language that binds everything together in a coherent, visual way. The style itself employs simple yet expressive watercolours, with muted peach tones running throughout.

An example of the art style, courtesy of Thi Bui and Abrams Books.

There are uncomfortable truths to be gleaned from the Bui family’s experiences, like the immense class divide, the impact of poverty, the strict surveillance, and the harsh persecution that reigned during French colonisation and the resulting war between the North and South, but also long after US troops had left Vietnam (something the Western media did little to reflect at the time). It also shows how unwelcome many refugees seeking a better life were made to feel in the US (parallels with the world’s current political climate are hard to ignore). Through all of this, Bui asks herself how much of this refugee experience informs who she is, and how much is down to her alone. More importantly, she wonders if immigrant families will always carry the burden of their lineage, or if future generations may be free to grow up independent of that stigma.

I found this eye-opening on a historical and political level, as well as engaging on an emotional one. The book was supposedly a long time in the making, but I think Thi Bui has crafted something quite special, offering a unique and overlooked perspective on an important piece of recent history.

***

If you’d like to give The Best We Could Do a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Literary Witches by Taisia Kitaiskaia | Book Review

Literary Witches by Taisia Kitaiskaia, illustrated by Katy Horan
Published by Seal Press, 2017
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This gem of a book celebrates some of the most ground-breaking and inspiring female writers from throughout history. The title, and the book’s overarching theme, comes from the assertion that their way with words – their ability to conjure worlds and incite emotion – is in itself a kind of magic. Like those accused of witchcraft, many of these writers were vilified for refusing to adhere to societal expectations, but by challenging the norm and embracing their talent, they were able to forge their own power and agency.

Each writer receives a double-page spread. On one side, we are presented with a stunningly surreal and suitably gothic portrait produced by Katy Horan. Drawing on iconography from their work to add subtlety and meaning, I could happily display each and every one on my wall. Here are some examples to whet your appetite:

Audre Lorde, Emily Brontë & Virginia Woolf

Forugh Farrokhzad, Toni Morrison & Sandra Cisneros

Alejandra Pizarnik, Angela Carter & Anne Carson

On the other page, we get a few short, third-person vignettes about the writer in question. Poetic, magical, and hugely evocative, they too draw on themes and ideas from the writer’s life and work to offer a unique and artistic snapshot of their experiences, inspiration, or mindset. Do they occasionally dip into self-indulgence? Arguably so. But the fairy tale-esque tone works perfectly within the context of the book’s framing. Here are a few excerpts from different writers’ sections to give you an idea of what to expect:

On Jamaica Kincaid: ‘By day, the island of Antigua sleeps like a white, sandy lion. At night, the lion opens his jaws to swallow young girls whole. When her childhood ends, Jamaica fights her way out of the lion’s mouth and swims all the way to America. […] Jamaica puts a pot of soup on the stove. It is hearty with hurt, the hurt of nations and families. She leaves the house and goes about her business. By evening, the soup boils down to a thick black sludge. Jamaica scoops it up with her pen and writes.’

On Virginia Woolf: ‘Crossing the street on a rainy day, Virginia leaps easily from one pool of consciousness to another. She loves these puddles, the creatures wrapping around her ankles in each. But before she can get to the next street, Virginia sees her own pool: it floods with rain, rises higher, becomes a deep, turbulent river. She will not survive this one.’

On Mary Shelley: ‘At night, no matter what she does, Mary’s laboratory becomes a cemetery. Lantern becomes moon, instruments become shovels, tables turn to coffins. Mary sighs. She places her hand into the enormous, awkward paw of the waiting Creature, and they walk together among the graves.’

Following several such paragraphs for each writer, we have a brief, more traditional biographical note, as well as some recommended reads from their oeuvre.

I was thrilled by how diverse this is. There’s a fantastic mix of literary giants and virtually unknown writers from across the world. I was reminded to pick up some of the greats, and discovered some fascinating new figures I’d love to learn more about. By not limiting itself to the widely accepted literary canon, we are also presented with lots of women of colour.

Informative, creative, and beautifully presented, I know I will come back to this regularly, both to pick up recommendations, and to enjoy Horan’s gorgeous artwork. This would make a fantastic gift for anyone who loves literature, feminism, art, and a little dash of the uncanny. But don’t just get it for others. By all means, treat yourself to this little treasure trove.

***

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris | Book Review

My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris
Published by Fantagraphics, 2017
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Styled as the diary-cum-sketch-pad of a horror loving 10-year-old girl, My Favorite Thing is Monsters is a playful, meta, and engrossing read. Taking place in 1960s Chicago, there is an element of mystery at the story’s core, with our protagonist determined to uncover the circumstances surrounding the death of her enigmatic upstairs neighbour, Anka – a troubled Holocaust survivor.

Set against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, Ferris uses the lens of this tumultuous time period, Karen’s singular narrative voice, and the secrets uncovered from Anka’s past, to explore themes of xenophobia, class divides, intolerance, abuse, grief, and homophobia. With such heavy themes, and a focus on outsider characters living on the fringes of society, you’d expect things to be wholly dark and depressing, but our protagonist’s unique world view and charismatic approach to storytelling injects just enough light to keep things balanced.

Being a graphic novel, the artwork is equally important, and thankfully it lives up to the high standard of the text itself. Ferris plays with colour, style, layout, and form to create an authentic scrapbook feel, adding an extra layer of immersion to the reading experience.

In a lot of ways, the book also serves as a love letter to horror and art, the heroine’s passion for both influencing her own experimental and fluid approach to drawing. This is also seen in the often surreal imagery she employs, and the use of the character’s pulp horror magazine cover recreations rather than traditional chapter breaks.

I will say that, despite its generous length, this doesn’t really serve as a complete story. Many threads are left open, with questions still to be answered. Given that this is volume one, that’s no surprise; just be prepared to commit to the follow-up if you want the whole picture. Given how much I enjoyed this, however, I for one will have no hesitation in reaching for volume two when it’s released later this year.

***

If you’d like to give My Favorite Thing is Monsters a go, you can pick up a copy from Book Depository by clicking here. If you’ve already read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Let’s connect: Twitter | Goodreads | Support me on Ko-fi

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick | Book Review

Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick
Published by Scholastic, 2011
My rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

With Wonderstruck, Brian Selznick has created something that feels quite special. The story is split into two narratives which run simultaneously. The first is set in 1927 and follows Rose, a deaf girl who is disappointed to learn that her local theatre is to scrap the silent films she loves in favour of ‘talkies’, which she won’t be able to enjoy alongside everyone else. With her favourite actress set to appear on stage in New York, she runs away from home to try and meet her face-to-face. The second is set 50 years later, and follows Ben, a young boy whose mother has just died. When he finds clues about the father he has never known amongst his mother’s things, he too sets off for New York to try and find him.

Though both children are in search of a sense of belonging, it soon becomes clear that there is more than thematic relevance linking the two stories. I loved that they ran parallel to each other, shifting back and forth on-the-fly, rather than alternating chapter-to-chapter. It allowed the ever-increasing narrative connections to really shine, the two initially disparate tales weaving ever closer together.

Stylistically, it is also incredibly clever. Whilst Ben’s half of the story is told through conventional text, Rose’s half is told solely through illustration. Not only does Selznick’s beautiful black-and-white art style mirror the mood of the silent films his heroine adores, but it does so well to reflect the way Rose sees the world as a deaf person, relying on visual cues alone. It’s a simple yet ingenious way to sensitively represent disability in fiction.

An idea of the contrasting narrative styles.

There were aspects of the story itself which I certainly enjoyed (one in particular that I thought was very well executed – no spoilers though, of course), but I will say, it was never the main draw for me. I felt that Selznick didn’t quite capitalise on the full potential of the excellent setup, and there was a moment towards the end when things became a little info-dumpy. This was a shame given how subtly everything had previously been building towards the emotional climax. Whilst poignant and charming, it wasn’t the gut-punch payoff I had been hoping for.

That said, the uniqueness of the structure and style, and the immersive beauty of the book’s visuals made this a highly original and very memorable reading experience that I thoroughly enjoyed.

If you’ve read Wonderstruck, I’d love to hear your thoughts! If you’d like to pick up a copy, just click the link above.

Spotlight | Shaun Tan

Shaun Tan and a selection of his books.

Shaun Tan is an Australian artist and writer. He is, in fact, one of my favourite artists, hence why I had to include him and his work in my spotlight series – in which I highlight my favourite things from the bookish world.

Tan’s work often sits on the boundary between this world and the fantastical, with elements of nature, technology and fairy tales serving as clear inspiration. He writes and illustrates original works, serves as an illustrator and cover designer for others, and also crafts ‘silent graphic novels’, which are stories told entirely through pictures, with no words whatsoever.

Some examples of Tan’s beautiful art, taken from various works.

In his art, Tan creates ethereal worlds, populated by captivating scenery and dreamlike creatures, but often uses these seemingly bizarre creations to make commentary on contemporary, real world issues (like The Arrival focussing on the immigrant experience, and The Red Tree exploring the feeling of depression). As such, I think he will appeal to those who enjoy surrealist art, but like stories that retain a grounding in our own world.

Some more examples of Tan’s artwork.

He works in a number of different mediums, and has even adapted his art into an Academy Award winning short film. He is also a skilled sculptor. One of my favourites amongst his books, in fact, is The Singing Bones, which comprises a series of sculptures depicting tableaus of classic tales and characters from the works of the Brothers Grimm.

Fairy tale inspired sculptures from The Singing Bones.

As with any artist, there’s not much else that needs to be said, other than to let his work speak for itself.

Spotlight | Dieter Braun

Dieter Braun

Today in my series all about sharing bookish love, I’m shining the spotlight on Dieter Braun, a German illustrator who has released two companion books, Wild Animals of the North and Wild Animals of the South. Each celebrates the variety of species native to its respective hemisphere, with the animals depicted in Braun’s gorgeously vibrant and expressive art style that has an almost geometric inspired quality to it, making it a unique and instantly recognisable style that I love. I could open either of his books on pretty much any random page and would happily have it framed on my wall.

The pictures are accompanied by simple but fun facts about the animals’ characteristics, habitats and suchlike, like how a single humpback whale can weigh as much as six adult African elephants; giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans; and macaws can live for up to 60 years and mate for life. These add an extra layer to the books and make them suitable for all ages, which I also really appreciate. In fact, I think they would make particularly wonderful gifts for any lover of nature or art.

Aside from that, there’s not much else to say, so I’ll just let his work speak for itself.

Some examples of Braun’s beautiful artwork, taken from his two books.