The defining feature of any book from Flying Eye Books is that they are made to be treasured, none more so than Smart About Sharks by Owen Davey. The disposable, fleeting nature of modern consumption, with products devoured on the hoof and slung thoughtlessly in the trash, is countered the moment you hold Davey’s book in your hands. Like art, it is something to be gazed upon; something to be absorbed and assimilated in the mind and the soul, not grabbed, ripped at and stuffed in the gullet.
Davey’s illustrations are something else; they deserve a wide audience and much acclaim. I first discovered his work when drawn to the cover of the wonderful Knight Night, a delightful picture book, perfect for fearless four year olds who love to swish a sword and battle to the death, or at least until a toe is stubbed, the tears flow and a cuddle is needed. It’s full of stylised images often using a palette based around one bold colour (orange dominates in Knight Night, next to browns and muted yellows). Continue reading
Over the years I’ve placed many things on a pedestal – footballers, musicians, artists and authors. Norman Whiteside, for anyone with a recollection of football in the early eighties, was the first – his posters adorned my bedroom walls, and everything he did was majestic, a colossus in the midfield of an otherwise mediocre team.
While Norman always had a blu-tacked space in my room – he’d still be up there if I had my way – others soon joined him. Almost every heavy metal band of note was pinned up at some point, poodle hair and all. Then, as I moved through those deeply serious teenage years, black and whites of Dylan appeared, as well as whatever French impressionist was in the bargain bucket in Athena (whatever happened to Athena!). Later, it was prints of Hemingway front covers and probably a Sartre too, just to show how damn clever I was.
If it’s fair to say that Shackleton’s Journey – William Grill’s extraordinary award-winning debut – raised the bar, then you can only conclude that his follow-up has taken the bar, twisted it unrecognisably, flung it repeatedly round in circles and hurled it far into the stratosphere. The bar has been obliterated. It is no more.
The Wolves of Currumpaw re-tells a story from nineteenth century New Mexico where man, or more specifically white man, is pitched first against Native American and then against wolf. Hunters pursue Lobo, the fierce and evasive leader of his pack, using poison, traps and every deceptive ounce they can muster to track and destroy him.
It is a eulogy to the wildest and most misunderstood parts of nature. And it is also a story of redemption, as it is Ernest Seton’s story being told – the hunter who, after his deadly encounter with the wolf, is transformed, re-born; he kills no more and dedicates his life to conservation. Continue reading
When does a book cease to be a book? When does a collection of words and pictures on a page become something approaching high art, to be placed on a pedestal with the finest of paintings or the most beautiful pieces of classical music? Where the line is drawn is a matter of taste and predilection but, one thing’s for sure, The Wonder by Francesca Sanna has crossed the boundary. This is more than a book. By any measure, it’s a work of art.
Much credit must go to the publishers, Flying Eye Books, who have produced a book of tremendous quality – it begs to be held and treasured. The hardback cover is fringed with a thumb-width of fabric; the paper is free of tacky gloss and has a texture more like cartridge paper; the font sits serenely on the page, allowing the illustrations to come to the fore. There’s the kind of detail that tells you The Journey has been designed by people who have love in their hearts. I want to meet them, hug them, and say ‘thank you’. Continue reading