Artistic licence
K. CROSSLEY-HOLLAND
Through the Window Charles Keeping (Oxford University Press 20s) A Brother for Momoko Chihiro Iwasaki (Bodley Head 18s) Where the Wild Apples Grow John Hawkinson (Muller 16s)
Through the Window is at once the most singular and most exceptionable picture or picture-story book of the season. Its conception seems .to me to be a mistake on the part of Charles Keeping and its publication irresponsible on the part of the Oxford University Press. This might not matter so much if Mr Keeping were not one of the finest illustrators working in this field in England today, and if the Oxford University Press were not associated with children's books of the very highest quality. As it is, the book is certain of very wide exposure and, therefore, influence.
Jacob, a small boy in the East End, looks out of an upstairs window at the street which is all he knows of the world and is therefore 'the whole world to him'. He watches the movements, under the shadow of the church opposite, of the friendly roadsweeper, of his enemy who spits at people, above all of the old woman known as 'Old Soap' and her • mangy dog. Suddenly there is commotion. The chiaroscuro pictures become highly dramatic. Two dray-horses, escaped from the brewery, gallop down the street. Something happens, just out of sight.'Now the pictures show 'Old Soap' carrying a limp dog, and men in attitudes of helpless sympathy and self-reproach. Jacob thinks of his own dog; he thinks of his tea; and he breathes on the pane and makes a drawing---of 'Old Soap' smiling, carrying her dog, alive and kicking.
Heaven knows, I am not opposed to the judicious presentation of reality to young
children—and this book is for very young children; the publisher indicates an age- range of three to six. But this grim and unrelieved little saga, which presents but does not comment, in effect asks a child how much he or she can take. The events de- scribed may be true to life, but they are only part of life; they are presented within no context, and they are therefore seen out of perspective. By sealing off the end, moreover, with the drawing on the pane—the child's conscious or unconscious attempt to mend the broken link, to reassert normality— Charles Keeping absolutely precludes any escape into healing fantasy. Jacob's re- action is certainly an interesting and, I think, true comment on how children be- have; but that is a matter for adults, not material for a children's book. It is high time Mr Keeping realised that he has a responsibility not only to his art but also to his audience. Precisely because his pictures are so fine, there is every possibility that this arrogant book—in which the shadow of the cross on the church opposite recurs again and again as a symbol of death—will profoundly disturb a large number of those children who are unfortunate enough to see it.
Momoko is waiting for her mother to bring her baby brother home. She is keyed up; she senses the wonder of new life and life renewed; she dreams how she and her brother will in friendship play in the garden together. With a minimal (but impeccable) text and with washed water colours that are graceful and impressionistic, Mrs Iwasaki has created a deeply satisfying book. Its appeal must primarily be to small girls; and they cannot possibly be expected fully to appreciate the subtlety of these pictures—the girl, wondering what her brother looks like, goes on all fours towards a grey cloudscape full of evolving shapes. But there is every reason why young children should be presented with pictures of such quality, and most will respond to the warmth, wonder and excitement in them. The brevity of the text is understandable; but children like to follow a story-line and it is, I think, arguable that if the text were longer, children would also care to stay longer with the pictures.
So many artists think themselves their own best authors (and so wreck their picture- story books) that it is a pleasure to report that John Hawkinson is just that! His story of a girl and a white horse who live in a valley where the wild apples grow, and who will have nothing to do with the trippers who invade it, says something valuable, without being in the least didactic, about independence of spirit and about the need for awareness of, and communion with, the natural world. The pictures suggest a cross between Chinese landscapes and cave paintings. They seem to me rather variable in quality but, for all that, they are unusually serene.
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