author vs. illustrator

As someone who regularly reads illustrated books (graphic novels in most cases, but also picture books when I am looking to gift them to my niblings), I am fascinated by collaboration between authors and illustrators. Sometimes they are one and the same, but when they are not, I have questions about their dynamics – how much creative control does the author have? The illustrator? What makes a good artistic team… good? In their picture-book-with-comics sensibilities, Author vs. Illustrator, author Donald Lemke and illustrator Bob Lentz break the fourth wall and create a story on page with plenty of power struggles, changes of directions, and surprises to make readers of all ages laugh and understand more about the writing, creating, and bookmaking process. 

At the far reaches of Earth, high upon a mountaintop, a bustling city is under attack by a... cute little furball? Wait—what?! That’s not right. The author wrote this book about a “ferocious beast,” not a cuddly critter. Turns out, the book’s illustrator has other plans. Page by page, these clashing collaborators are writing (and drawing) themselves into the story for a full-on creator combat—a bookmaking BATTLE ROYALE! Can the author make a successful book with no pictures? Can the Illustrator tell a tale without words? (A picture is worth a thousand of them, he says.) Or will this dueling duo get on the same page at last to create the ultimate happy ending?

From Lemke & Lentz (the quirky collaborators behind Call of Doodie and Book-O-Beards) comes a laugh-out-loud picture book about the not-so-simple process of creating a picture book. Full of over-the-top humor and under-the-radar lessons—including the skills of teamwork, conflict resolution, and respect—this book is a must-have for young writers, budding artists, and lifelong book lovers.

 

In this picture book, the author and illustrator share the roles, choices, and process of a creative team. Using avatars of themselves, they show and tell through comic book dialogue how books are made: a process of trial and error, listening to each other, and making joint decisions. In the book-within-the-book that they are creating on page, Captain Sprinkle must defeat a legendary beast… but why is it so small and cute?! Miscommunications and creative choices filled with elementary grade humor (they give it jalapeño breath, the hero can shoot ice cream cannons, and so on) make for an engaging lesson in book-making and storytelling. 

The structure of this picture book is one of its most interesting features – the authors recreate themselves as comic characters in order to show how they go about making books. Their dialogue alternates as the author shares an idea, and then the illustrator pitches in with an innovative illustration of that snippet. As the process continues, it becomes clear that the illustrator and author have very different ideas of how the book should look, who has ultimate creative control, and how to work together successfully. While there’s not much deep characterization of the authors themselves, they hilariously demonstrate the process of creating dynamic stories and character design through their back-and-forth banter. The plot is simplistic enough for all ages to follow, though the dialogue includes advanced vocabulary that will appeal to older audiences.

This title offers a view into how books are made, but it’s not all smooth sailing. The main conflict is one familiar to anyone who has ever worked on a group project: a disagreement on roles and control. It is resolved by the characters sharing ideas gracefully and productively (but not before some shouted ALL CAPS words!). The lessons within the pages on healthy teamwork, collaboration, and resolving conflict will be welcome to all ages of creators or future-creators. As Lemke’s avatar says on page 36: “In a way, a book is a lot like a chili dog… When the parts come together, it’s totally worth the indigestion.” It’s meant for young readers, but I am tempted to use Author vs. Illustrator with my high school students to teach authorial choice as part of a unit on graphic novels. It’s definitely innovative!

Before we wrap up, the art! Lentz’s illustration style includes the aforementioned comic book avatars of the creators, including details like Lemke's dog and Lentz’s snacking, but otherwise their time on-page is mostly accompanied by white space and sparsely-traced suggestions of an office-type background. On the other hand, the “book” they are creating together gets the full color treatment. The step-by-step evolution of Captain Sprinkles’ and the beast’s character design is one of the most interesting visual aspects, and will make for a laugh or two as well. On the last page of the book, the creators include a brief collage of photos of some of their own inspiration, and how it ties into the creation of the book – a nice touch and teaching tool.

In all, Lemke and Lentz have created a picture book about making books – and as a dynamic duo have made it fun, funny, and interesting to boot. Author vs. Illustrator is silly, instructive, and honest – a great combination!

Recommended for: the early reader crowd (ages 6+), young readers who either love comics or may be interested in creating their own, and anyone fascinated by the creative interplay between authors and illustrators.

 

Donald Lemke and Bob Lentz's picture book Author vs. Illustrator will be out from Capstone Editions tomorrow, Thursday August 1, 2024. 

 

Fine print: I received an advanced digital copy of the text from the publisher (Capstone) at Picture Book Palooza. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

under the whispering door

I love the idea of cozy fantasy. Like, genuinely love it – after all I am a snuggle-in-bed-with-a-book sort of person in my downtime (or during the summer, a reading-under-an-umbrella-while-sipping-on-seltzer sort of person). Reading books that match the vibe sound objectively wonderful. But. BUT! Sometimes, a book that has been billed as cozy does nothing for me. And unfortunately, that was the case with T.J. Klune's Under the Whispering Door. You may remember Klune as the author of hit fantasy The House in the Cerulean Sea. Or from several of his other books – he’s really hitting the fantasy mainstream these days. Unfortunately, after holding onto this book for three years (!!!) and making a good faith effort, it was a DNF (did not finish). I’m reviewing it anyway at the behest of my friend Huck, who said “Write a review anyway! People need permission to stop reading books!”

 

Welcome to Charon's Crossing.

The tea is hot, the scones are fresh, and the dead are just passing through.

When a reaper comes to collect Wallace from his own funeral, Wallace begins to suspect he might be dead.

And when Hugo, the owner of a peculiar tea shop, promises to help him cross over, Wallace decides he’s definitely dead.

But even in death he’s not ready to abandon the life he barely lived, so when Wallace is given one week to cross over, he sets about living a lifetime in seven days.

Hilarious, haunting, and kind, Under the Whispering Door is an uplifting story about a life spent at the office and a death spent building a home.

Wallace is dead, and whatever he expected of the afterlife, it wasn’t this: a newbie Reaper named Mei picking him up from his own funeral (at which no one cried – the indignity of it all!), a tea shop called Charon’s Crossing that serves as a halfway house for the dead before they move on, and the motley crew of characters inhabiting that place, including Hugo, the ferryman. All Wallace wants is to go back to his job… but obviously the universe, life, and death have other plans for him. 

Klune asks you to take a lot on faith at the start of his books: that the person with the miserable job will find redemption, that the world that has been described only piecemeal and the characters bantering back and forth about nonsense will be comprehensible, or at least charming in retrospect, that the fanciful architecture he describes will not collapse on the characters’ heads, and that protagonists with old man names will be successful love interests. In addition to all of this, in this book Klune is writing about the dead, and so you know the whole thing will feel, at times, either heart-rending or emotionally manipulative (or both!). Listen, I’m not saying I don’t believe everyone who raved about this book and its coziness, but I am saying it took a lot of doing to finally pick it up (three years of “ehhhh… not right now”) and to get past the first six chapters. Another week of waffling and reading an additional chapter or two at a time did not change my feelings, and so I finally put it down.

Let’s talk about what Klune does well first. His writing is objectively masterful. He has a deft way of describing the little indignities and discomforts of life, and interactions that make you want to cringe and close your eyes. It is pretty amazing actually! I’m not sure I’ve ever read characters that I could feel were so clearly miserable as Linus in The House in the Cerulean Sea and Wallace in this book. Relatedly, Klune’s characters have authentic inner voices. Finally, I really appreciate his dedication to writing romantic arcs for queer characters, and for depicting mental health struggles and disability within his stories. Visibility for both groups in art is important! 

Unfortunately, the *charm* of Klune’s previous book did not kick in quickly enough, or at all (I admit to skipping ahead to see if I would enjoy the leadup if the ending was satisfying enough, and it wasn’t). I found myself frustrated at characters talking through or at each other, rather than with each other. I kept thinking that not enough grace was offered between characters, for the sort of book this purported to be. The constant confusion/frustration/anger that Wallace is experiencing as the narrator really comes through – perhaps too well. Also, I have some knotted and complex beliefs about the afterlife in general (thanks, American religious upbringing!). I think I could feel in the three years I waited to pick up this book that it might not be for me for that reason, and it was weird to be proven right. So, it was not for me. 

That said, there were some objectively lovely passages in the book, and this one, from page 81, where Wallace is speaking at the start, stood out to me for its honesty: “‘I can’t grieve for myself.’ Hugo shook his head slowly. ‘Of course you can. We do it all the time, regardless of if we’re alive or not, over the small things and the big things. Everyone is a little bit sad all the time.’” 

In all, Under the Whispering Door attempts poignant, quirky charm in a story about second chances and what happens after death, and it doesn’t stick the landing. If you’re looking for cozy stories about eccentric tea shops, let me direct you to Becky Chambers’ novella A Psalm for the Wild-Built.

Recommended for: T.J. Klune completists, and those interested in contemporary fantasy with queer representation and found families.

mortal follies

It's been well over a year since I've posted a review here... but I'm back today to talk about a fun, slightly ridiculous, histori-magical romp of a romance: Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall! I really enjoyed Hall's breakout hit, the contemporary London-set Boyfriend Material several years ago, and so I've been eyeing his career ever since. The second book in this magical Regency series, the upcoming Confounding Oaths, had such a lovely cover and interesting summary that I immediately wanted to get caught up and read the first! And then of course, Mortal Follies, published a year ago in June, ALSO had an insanely beautiful book cover. End result: I ordered a copy even though I have literal stacks of other books on my summer reading list.  

It is the year 1814 and life for a young lady of good breeding has many difficulties. There are balls to attend, fashions to follow, marriages to consider and, of course, the tiny complication of existing in a world swarming with fairy spirits, interfering deities, and actual straight-up sorcerers.

Miss Maelys Mitchelmore finds her entry into high society hindered by an irritating curse. It begins innocuously enough with her dress slowly unmaking itself over the course of an evening at a high-profile ball, a scandal she narrowly manages to escape.

However, as the curse progresses to more fatal proportions, Miss Mitchelmore must seek out aid, even if it means mixing with undesirable company. And there are few less desirable than Lady Georgianna Landrake—a brooding, alluring young woman sardonically nicknamed “the Duke of Annadale”—who may or may not have murdered her own father and brothers to inherit their fortune. If one is to believe the gossip, she might be some kind of malign enchantress. Then again, a malign enchantress might be exactly what Miss Mitchelmore needs.

With the Duke’s help, Miss Mitchelmore delves into a world of angry gods and vindictive magic, keen to unmask the perpetrator of these otherworldly attacks. But Miss Mitchelmore’s reputation is not the only thing at risk in spending time with her new ally. For the rumoured witch has her own secrets that may prove dangerous to Miss Mitchelmore’s heart—not to mention her life.

The story opens with Miss Maelys Mitchelmore, a very earnest, innocent, and goodhearted young lady of nineteen, making the rounds of society in Bath. Along with her cousin, Mr. Caesar, and flighty heiress friend Ms. Bickle, the three are making good inroads into that society… until Miss Mitchelmore is suddenly stricken with a curse. When this curse makes her dress unravel into nothingness at a ball, the Duke of Annandale, a scandalous and scorned woman of twenty-four (the Duke moniker is mocking, since rumors say she killed all of her brothers and her father by sorcery to inherit) comes to her rescue, and is dangerously charming in Miss Mitchelmore’s direction… and a fascination (and story!) is born. 

 

The most interesting and unusual thing about Mortal Follies is the world in which it is set – one full of curses, magic, and gods both old and new living alongside science and logic – but with more equality and progressive viewpoints. It feels as if the author Hall said, what if I set a lesbian romance in an alternate magical Regency era, but I also decided to mend many wrongs, and made it altogether a more welcoming and wonderful place for LGBTQ+ characters? This choice, along with others (a sprinkling of archaic language, lighthearted dialogue between characters, and the constant intervention of the supernatural) result in a frothy confection of a tale – sweet, easy to consume, and a nice escape from the everyday.

 

Within the world of the book, Hall amuses himself (and a well-read audience, if they catch the references) with an allusion-rich text. There are mentions of stories and traditions from Greek mythology and fairy tale and myth throughout, and Hall also alludes to Jane Austen (Ms. Bickle “tinging” Mr. Willoughby & Mr. Wickham, for instance) and adapts an Arthur C. Clarke quote about magic and science at another point as well. These Easter eggs will delight many readers.

 

Much of the airy and entertaining feel of the book comes down to the mythic bits interwoven in the tale (for instance, Miss Bickle is constantly suggesting unusual and dangerous fairy exploits), but also through Hall’s use of language. This can be formal and archaic at times: words like apposite, pettifoggery, and more pop up, and Miss Bickle uses several neologisms (creating the word “ting” for instance, which is analogous to the modern verb “to ship” – to want characters to engage romantically). If you can’t tell already, Miss Bickle will be a favorite character. She is a constant source of comic relief, as she always has something nonsensical to suggest, in the most charming manner possible. A frustrating friend to have at times, but marvelously loyal to Miss Mitchelmore, who can use her support given the curse she suffers under.

 

Alternatively, the love interest, Lady Georgiana Landrake, the Duke of Annandale, is not very likable: she is sarcastic, mocking, and snide to start, but also moved to be a white knight in Maelys’ awful predicament. This push-pull of wanting Maelys and responding to her, but putting her off by acting meanly and protesting that she cannot have good things because she will poison or ruin them, or that Maelys is too young or doesn’t know what she wants, comes off as condescending and callous. Contrasted with Maelys’ virtues (a strong sense of fairness, patience with friends, etc.) and slow-blossoming awareness that she is perhaps not heterosexual after all, Georgiana’s feigned indifference and insistence on her own wickedness makes everyone both confused and miserable. While it conforms neatly to the trope of Byronic and brooding heroes in the Regency genre, it is somewhat derivative here – and the reader may find themselves wondering if Maelys might've found a better object for her affections if she had looked around a bit more. Hall’s skill in mending characters’ misunderstandings does make for a satisfying romance by the end, and the story neatly makes the point that even morally gray almost-villainesses deserve love.

 

There was one very annoying element that almost ended the reading experience before it could truly get underway: the conceit of a fairy sprite narrator (in this case, Robin Goodfellow). After the fifteenth time he turned into a candle flame, or a vapor, or a shadow to spy on the characters it became tedious. The mentions of little acts of chaos, the omniscient asides that Robin provided about gods and goddesses and their foibles, and the recurring mention of getting kicked out of the fairy Courts did nominally add more magic to the story – but their repetitive nature and the constant shift between perspectives was exasperating. Beware!

 

In all, Mortal Follies is a lighthearted mashup of Regency romance and fantasy, and enjoyable in almost all aspects. Hall’s confection of a world has surprising depth at times, and will appeal to fans of the ever-growing field of romantasy.

 

Recommended for: readers who like the sound of Regency romance + curses + lighthearted fun + sapphic awakenings, and anyone in the mood for a summery, allusion-rich fantasy set in a world that isn’t as cruel or prudish as ours was in 1814.