Margaret Dunkle

Swans are said to mate for life and The Stone Swan builds on the love and anguish of such a relationship as the focus for a lesson in environmental responsibility. A pair of swans, lagging behind the rest of their flight, take solitary refuge in a wetland adjacent to a new housing estate, unaware that it is targeted for ‘development’. The cygnets hatch as the water levels subside and the male swan becomes trapped in a tangle of exposed rubbish and plastic twine. He is near death from exhaustion when a child from the nearby estate finds and frees him. But the peril is not over, for a causeway is being built across the wetland, isolating the swan family from the rest of the flock. The male manages to climb to the top of the roadway, but he will not go on without his mate and she will not leave without her babies. The story ends as she and her young, now fully fledged, fly off to join the flock on their annual migration while the human child witnesses her last farewell to the swan-shaped stone that has appeared on the causeway. Bell’s sombre illustrations in ink and watercolour reinforce the tragic mood of the story. A final page provides background information and references for this timely picture book that could be used effectively in primary school ecology studies.

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When, or if, children and young people get around to reading books they do so for one of only two reasons: as the response to adult (teacher or parental) pressure, or in the expectation of enjoyment. The pleasure principle is therefore of paramount importance to the writers, illustrators and publishers of juvenile literature, many of whom seem not yet to have grasped the fact that they are in a highly competitive market – not with each other, but with all the other primary producers vying for the free time of the young consumer. Today as in no other period of history young people have a bewildering assortment of choices for the hours sandwiched between school and bedtime, and time spent reading a book (which you have to do in school anyway) is time subtracted from sport, telly, video, or any of the multitudinous other well publicised alternatives. A book, therefore, has to be seen as well and truly worth the effort to qualify; and the ones that make it are those with which a young reader can instantly identify, those which offer adventure, comedy, or life experience at the interest and appreciation travel of their intended audience. ... (read more)

This month’s widely varying collection has a common denominator, a lively creative energy, the willingness to experiment and innovate that has earned for Australian picture books a world-wide reputation. Although as different as possible in themes, attitudes and even expertise, each of these authors and artists has something genuine and interesting to say: there are no potboilers, no tired time-servers, no books published merely to churn out a new title for the market. Praise is due not only to their creators, but to the publishers willing to take a punt.

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‘What am I?’ murmured the Bunyip, ‘What am I? What am I?’* setting off on a search for personal identity that has become a recurrent theme in Australian literature for young people, particularly in novels for older readers on their own adolescent journey of self-discovery.

Nadia Wheatley’s Evie is sixteen, but “a very young sixteen”, in her own and others’ opinion. She supervises her young half-sisters with practised competence and accepts responsibility for much of the housekeeping, but in the manner of a sleepwalker. ‘‘Evie hated being asked what she thought of things, because everything seemed as grey and floppy as everything else…(she) thought less of herself too, because other people thought she was boring and because it was very frustrating for Evie herself never knowing what she liked or wanted”. Life in suburban Campbelltown had been pleasant but unremarkable, despite the low-keyed hostility between Evie and her stepfather and her inability to find a job since leaving school. Then the family shifted to old, inner-city Newtown with its rich and crowded past, and unimaginative Evie became caught up in a violent drama that shifts between past and present which jolts her into a new awareness of herself and her surroundings. The plot of The House That Was Eureka is woven around an absorbing and wholly convincing recreation of the Depression of the 1930s, with the traumatic experiences of the Cruise family, destitute and threatened with eviction, running parallel to the problems of today. The theme, however, is self-discovery, as Evie identifies with the vanished Lizzie Cruise and draws from her growing understanding of Lizzie’s dreams and ambitions the insight to understand her own.

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New themes, new variations on older ones, and new directions for established authors and artists characterise this selection of picture books. Publishers are to be commended for their willingness to support experiments; if the result is not always wholly successful, the very fact that new talent and new ideas are encouraged is of far greater ultimate importance.

Stories of giants and midgets belong to the folk literature of all cultures; and have been the especial favourites of children, who seem them the dramatisation of some of their own frustrations in an outsize world.

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