In the Picture
THE aggregate of this autumn's picture-books is altogether less impressive than some of its parts —a criticism that has obtained for several years now. This branch of literature for children under eight suffers from a dearth of good new illustra- tors and from good illustrators who think that they can write; until more new lamps are lit beside the old, and until it is widely appreciated that the text of a picture-book is no less important than the illustrations, the overall position is not likely to improve. In Tidgie's Innings (Faber, 16s., first published 1947), V. H. Drummond tells with great verve, humour and selective sharpness of style of a moonlight encounter be- tween a team of cricketing dogs and a team of cricketing bears—all of them toys—and of the memorable part played by the last, least and most lovable of the bears, Tidgie. The strange, spindly drawings, highly reminiscent of Stevie Smith's illustrations for her own poems, are a perfect adjunct to the text. Cannonball Simp, the ugly pug who has lent his name to the title of John Burningham's new book (Cape, 16s.), is another of nature's outcasts and, like Tidgie, his end is better than his beginning. Unwanted and unloved, he is deposited near a rubbish dump inhabited by a troupe of melan- choly rats; things go from bad to worse, but eventually he joins another troupe—a circus where, with a sad-faced clown, he stars in the turn of turns. The text is no more than a peg for John Burningham's finely observed, techni- cally brilliant paintings. He is not afraid to follow his heart, to draw what he feels he sees rather than serve up the kind of photographic representation characteristic of so many picture- books today. His use of colour is subtle, his vision of things infectious. Both these books are for six-year-olds.
Charles Keeping, second to none at drawing beasts of burden, takes the life history of Black Dolly, a Welsh mountain pony pressed into ser- vice pulling a junk cart through a 'place of rust and rags, bones and bottles,' as the subject of his visually thrilling new book (Brockhampton Press, 12s. 6d.). His text is astringent, elemental, just the right thing, while the pictures swirl with feeling and movement and make wonderful use of a limited palette: shocking pink, tangerine, rust and olive green. It is quite extraordinary that Mr Keeping has not yet won the Kate Greenaway Award; may this book secure it for him. No vintage car should have to suffer the indignity of being called Gumdrop (Brockhamp- ton Press, 12s. 6d.). What nonsensical whimsy. Gumdrop's somewhat arbitrary adventures are told by Val Biro in illustrator's prose and pleasantly ironic but rather too static drawings. Adventure at Mont-Saint-Michel, by Napoli (Macdonald, 15s.), suffers from a second-rate text, too, though the story itself—of how Centaur& sets off across the great sandflats of Normandy to find where the sea goes to when the tide is out—is a goad one. The pictures en- shrine immense expanses of sand, sea and sky, and the inclusion of several photographs, inter
spersed with the pictures, is as effective as it is audacious.
Elizabeth and Gerald Rose's retelling of The Sorcerer's Apprentice (Faber, 16s.) is uninspired.
I wonder if Mr Rose knows Dukas's swirling, tempestuous tone poem; he might have learnt much from it. His pictures lack innocence; they are too knowing; they do not create an enchanted world. It is precisely this ability to create a complete world, in which a child can lose and find himself, that distinguishes Beni Montresor's first picture-book, May I Bring a Friend? (Collins, 13s. 6d.), the story of a little boy in the habit of dining with the King and Queen, who never fails to take one of his animal friends along with him. The quality of his theatrical, faintly comic pictures is matched by Beatrice Schenk de Regniers's charming verses. Not all kings, of course, are so accommodating. The Story of Saul the King (Constable, 15s.), told in stately prose by Helen Waddell, abridged by Elaine Moss, makes awesome, though often pathetic, reading. The end of the story struck me as very curious, being in effect a justi- fication of suicide. Doreen Roberts's dark, motionless pictures are highly arresting.
The Oxford Children's Reference Library makes its bow with three titles : The Universe, by Colin Ronan, Exploring the World, by Patrick Moore, and Animals, by Maurice Burton (21s. each). Each book consists of forty-three openings or 'chapters,' in which there is an equal balance of text and illustration. The texts are simple without compromise of accuracy, though Mr Moore gets himself into a bit of a muddle about who discovered America; the illus- trations are largely representational. The idea of a reference series for young children, rather than a single alphabetical encyclopaedia, is
daring and, to my mind, dubious. All the same, one cannot but wish success to such a full- blooded and finely executed enterprise.
KEVIN CROSSLEY-HOLLAND
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