There aren’t a ton of picture books about The Cultural Revolution in China, but as China’s history fascinates me, I was very happy to find The Red Piano.
It’s an incredible book about a young girl, a re-education camp, and the piano that connects her to memories of her old life, to freedom.
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“For several years now, pages from Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier have been passed round the camp, from hand to hand. The father of a friend sends parcels. Several sheets are hidden in each package. If there is an inspection, they are confiscated and she has to hope for another package.”
There is a piano, miraculously, hidden in the camp. Music is what helps the girl survive. Remember. Feel human, feel hope.
One day, she’s discovered, and punished. “The music in her heart subsides.” Until, another day, it is all over.
The illustrations are bleakly beautiful. Stark. Cream paper, ink gray, bleeding bursts of red.
The story is inspired by concert pianist Zhu Xiao-Mei‘s true story.
You may also want to check out the middle grade memoir, Red Scarf Girl, which covers the same historical period.
Sophie Blackall is an illustrator extraordinaire and I’m so glad she’s lent her talents to picture books.
Non-picture book people may know her from her book, Missed Connections. It’s an extraordinary compilation of Craigslist yearnings illustrated as only she could illustrate them. (You can buy prints of those goodies in her etsy shop.)
Or you may know her from her NYC Subway poster. The elementary school set certainly knows her from the series Ivy & Bean by Annie Barrows with artwork by, you guessed it, Sophie Blackall. Lastly, she’s partnered with organizations trying to eradicate measles and rubella in children.
For our purposes, it’s all about those PICTURE BOOKS. She’s been a part of, like, dozens of them.
Blackall lives in Brooklyn by way of Australia. She uses Chinese ink and watercolor. Her PEOPLE are expressive, exaggerated, whimsical yet realistic. And one thing to love about her work is how diverse it is in terms of the people she portrays. All kinds!
Her use of PATTERNS is wonderfully bonkers.
Over time, it seems to me, her illustrations have gotten more and more honed: the people and action without distraction of context. But she puts all the perfect, engaging details in there! A shark puppet here, a butterfly backpack there; a knit tea cozy, a jade bowl. MINIMAL, YET DETAILED. Yeah, she’s good.
And boy does she know how to dress characters! Everybody looks awesome in her work. Dapper and FASHIONABLE, always. (Even if you’re a wild boar, your clothes will be pretty nice—albeit dirty.)
Finally, Blackall plays with SCALE in a way that makes picture books really shine. Big then small. Zoomed out, then in.
And I must mention her masterful POLKA-DOTS! Easy to spot in almost every book. (She also hides a whale in most books, another fun thing to spot!)
Ruby’s Wish by Shirin Yim Bridges, illustrated by Sophie Blackall (2002).
“Illustration is one of the oldest and most enduring forms of communication.
Our ancestors drew on walls to record triumphs and tragedies, to leave messages and to tell stories. We have photography and film now to document reality, but DRAWING IS MAGIC.
Take out a marker and begin to draw in a rowdy kindergarten class, and children will fall silent, mesmerized.”
Both of these picture books were created by the team of Michaël Escoffier and Kris Di Giacomo. Both are awesome examples of a picture book text that is enhanced, illuminated, imbued with irony and humor by illustrations. They are quite a team indeed.
BRIEF THIEF by Michaël Escoffier and Kris Di Giacomo (2013).
It’s so irreverent. It mentions poo, which kids get a huge kick out of. It’s about a chameleon and a common problem everyone can relate to. No more toilet paper!
So what does Leon the chameleon use instead?
“These old underpants here will do the trick!”
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He figures nobody cares about those old underpants with holes in them anymore.
But then, he hears a voice:
“Hey! Who do you think you are?”
It identifies itself as Leon’s conscience. It makes Leon feel pretty badl about using those abandoned underpants for his business.
So Leon washes the underpants and puts them back where he found them.
And that’s that. Except, only through pictures, the reader finds out it wasn’t Leon’s conscience after all! We find out who those underpants belonged to! Then, last and best, we see where that owner wears them! And it’s not what you’d expect.
Oh no, those aren’t dirty old underpants with holes. Oh no! They’re…
…bunny’s superhero mask!!
Hahahaha. Priceless, right?? And it’s only accomplished through visuals. That’s where the success and surprise of the joke lies.
This one depends on the visual story throughout. If you were to read just the text, you might think this little girl really does have superpowers. After all, she says she does so matter of factly you just might believe her. I would.
It’s only through pictures we see on the page that we know where those superpowers come from:
She flies because her father throws her in the air.
She makes things disappear by eating them (when those things are cupcakes).
She goes through walls by poking a sock puppet through a hole. And so on.
The power and enjoyment of the story depends on the reader seeing the truth about the narrator’s “powers.” If we were told in text, it wouldn’t be as satisfying.
And this is the beauty of picture books, a form that puts words and pictures together so they can mingle and tell stories and surprise us.
For another, older example of a picture book whose illustrations tell a different story than the text, see Nothing Ever Happens on My Block by Ellen Raskin.
Who knew a book about the tiniest organisms on earth could be so beautiful and fascinating? Nicola Davies did.
Get out your microscope because the illustrations are just as wondrous as the subject matter.
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Aren’t they wild and beautiful? Just seeing these images might make a future scientist out of a reader. (Or an artist.)
This picture book opens up a whole new world, one we never see but is always there. Yeah, microbes are small. So small “millions could fit on [an] ant’s antenna.” And on our own skin? Billions. More than all the people on Earth.
While this could have a major yuck factor, not with how it’s done here. The only factor I felt (and I’m kind of a germaphobe) was fascination. Plus, while some stuff microbes do is damaging (e.g. making us sick) most of their work described in this book is crucial and key.
I love it when I randomly come across something that fits perfectly with a picture book I admire. Enter the work of felt artist, Hiné Mizushima.
Get this: she’s created a series of giant felt microbes. It’s true! And they’re for sale in her etsy shop as wearable brooches! What better gift for the scientist in your life (or yourself)?! Complete with their own little petri dishes!! They. Are. Cute.
Mizushuima’s felted giant Daphnia remind me of adorned birds and reindeer all at once.
What first got you interested in microbes?
I’m not sure but the beautiful transparent models of microbes at American Museum of Natural History in New York in 1980s might have been the first things to get me interested.
—Hiné Mizushima
What draws you to microbes as subjects?
They are pretty and look weird! I am always fascinated by old educational scientific stuff, so I wanted to make my own twisted little guys. I also just wanted to use petri dishes and specimen labels for my work!
—Hiné Mizushima
And if you want a giant paramecium, she’s got that as a beautiful brooch too! It’s just like the one pictured in the book except this one’s got sweet button eyes and looks a bit like a raincloud.
So remember, bacteria aren’t always bad! This book and these brooches say so.
To microbes! Show your appreciation by wearing one on your sweater!
This is a picture book to sit with. It seems simple, but there’s something profound about it. A girl with a red balloon boards a yellow bus. The bus stops for a bear (at a bear-shaped bus sign). And the balloon blows away.
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The bus driver follows the balloon but always stops for any animal waiting for a ride along the way. Rabbit, penguin, elephant, and finally, giraffe (who happens to have a crow on her back).
Just when the bus full of creatures is upon the elusive red ballon, here comes the crow with its sharp beak. And POP. No more balloon.
It’s never totally clear who is speaking in this book, but I get the sense it’s often that kind bus driver. At the end, I imagine he’s the one who says, “Cheer up…Look up in the sky!”
Everyone looks to the sun, a giant fiery balloon setting in the sky.
“And we’ll see it again tomorrow.”
That moment with the sun, the other red balloon that never blows away or pops, that moment is breathtaking. And here’s where the profound part comes in. The whole journey, going after that red balloon, led the girl and her animal crew to the red balloon sun. The thing that will be constant every day, the thing that marks every day’s journey. The thing we can’t chase after but will never disappoint.
Yeah, I love this book for that idea.
But also for the expressions on the characters’ faces. The heart-shaped trees. The way each spread could be a perfect painting for a child’s room: colorful, complete, yet mysterious.
As iconic as that yellow school bus or animals in children’s books is that red balloon.
Most iconic? The one from the French film (then book) of the same name. Who wouldn’t be entranced by a bright red balloon with a spirit of its own amidst all that gray?
The Red Piano by Andrê Leblanc and Barroux (2010).
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My Red Balloon
