This Is Not My Hat, by Jon Klassen

I love Jon Klassen’s first ‘hat’ book, I Want My Hat Back, the simple tale of a bear who is trying to track down his lost headwear. The bear is so sweet (‘I love my hat,’ he tells us), yet edgy too (check out the ending), while the subtlety of the story and the way it’s told is pure genius - and it never ceases to be funny. Honestly, no matter how many times I read I Want My Hat Back (and that’s a lot), I always laugh.

For This Is Not My Hat, Klassen has taken all the same elements from the first book, refined them, boiled them down and simplified them even further, creating a book that is just as tongue-in-cheek, funny and clever as the first, and with a similar concept to I Want My Hat Back and yet simultaneously entirely different.

Little Fish has, ahem, stolen a hat. The Big Fish he took it from was asleep at the time, and Little Fish is pretty sure Big Fish won’t notice, but just to be on the safe side, he’s going to go over here and hide in these big tall reeds where he’s sure nobody will find him...

The brilliance of this book, for me, lies in the characterization: Big Fish through the drawings; Little Fish through his words. Only Little Fish speaks, but the fabulous illustrations let you know exactly what Big Fish is thinking – all through, pretty much, just Big Fish’s single visible eye.

It’s just… well, brilliant. How Klassen creates so much character in such a simple way is really extraordinary. Not a lot actually happens in the pictures – it’s mostly just black water, a fish, and some plants – and yet it conveys so much all at the same time. This is combined with Little Fish’s words, which tell a story slightly contradictory to the pictures: ‘He probably won’t wake up for a long time,’ says Little Fish above a picture of Big Fish who is very much awake.

The silence at the end of the story – which tells you all you need to know – perfectly reflects the fact that pictures often speak louder than words, and that when it comes to telling stories, less if often more, something that Klassen clearly understands well. This wonderful ability is reflected by a rare double nomination for the 2014 Kate Greenaway Medal: This Is Not My Hat along with The Dark, written by Lemony Snicket but illustrated by Jon Klassen. I like the work that Klassen has done with other writers, but the techniques he applies to his own stories are exemplary, showing his wit and understanding of the world and how people think.

This Is Not My Hat is succinct, clever, funny and immensely enjoyable no matter how many times you read it, a picture book that is as much for adults as it is for children. My (metaphorical) vote is cast.

The Dark, by Lemony Snicket and John Klassen

The Dark is one of those books that is kind of reassuring yet still somehow kind of creepy. Even though the eponymous character, the dark, turns out to be quite helpful and kinda friendly it’s still a little nerve-wracking and I’m still a little worried about ‘him’. Which, when you think about it, is pretty true to life. I know that the dark itself cannot harm me, but despite supposedly being a gown-up, if I wake up in the middle of the night after a bad dream, the first thing I do is reach out for the light, flipping the switch to shatter the darkness from around me.

Much about The Dark is true to life. Dark hides in the corners of rooms, behind doors, in the basement; and Laszlo is afraid of it. Mostly Laszlo is afraid that the dark will visit him in his own room. And then it does. “I want to show you something,” the dark says, leading Laszlo around the house and down into the dark’s own room, the basement. “Come closer,” says the dark. What is it going to do? What does it want?

… But the dark only has the best of intentions for Laszlo, showing him not a big black hole or a scary monster, but where to find a new light bulb for the nightlight in his room. Phew.

Right from the beginning Lemony Snicket treats the dark as a character, describing how it lives in the same house as Laszlo, how it hides in cupboards and spreads itself out at night as if it is a decision-maker with a will of it’s own. This construct is taken the next level when the dark sneaks into Laszlo’s room and speaks to him. The thing about it is even though the dark is quite friendly – it never hurts Laszlo and is helpful more than anything else – I think just the idea that the dark is alive and breathing and waiting is in itself creepy. Thus the story is ultimately reassuring – the dark, although it’s always there, does not have ill intentions – but still makes the hairs on the back of your neck stick up.

Jon Klassen’s striking illustrations have earned him a place on the shortlist for the 2014 Kate Greenaway Medal. Simultaneously soft and sharp, they represent the same mix of reassuring versus slightly odd as Snicket’s story. At first glance the images appear quite plain and simple, with straight lines, a plain colour palate and muted tones, but on closer inspection you can see the detail that he has worked into them to create the atmosphere of things being ever so slightly off. Everything is very angular, the rooms often viewed from slightly unusual angles, light and shade travelling across the spaces he has drawn in not entirely predictable ways.

Klassen plays with the dark and the light in the same way that Snicket does with his words as well, the dark ever-present on the edges of the drawings. Laszlo’s torch-light cuts through the dark in clear lines; the dark speaks from boxes of black that fill doorways and stairwells. But Laszlo himself remains mostly expressionless throughout the story, staying on the sidelines of most of the illustrations, thus allowing the dark to be characterized much more strongly than the little boy, to dominate many of the pages.

The Dark is a great book to read as an adult, but it’s just that little bit too sinister for me and I don’t think I would personally but for it young children unless they were extremely hardy! It is remarkably clever: the dark doesn’t use any words that in any way could be construed as threatening or sinister, yet as the reader I cannot help but feel creeped out, that it is very sinister – but when I stop and think about, I realize that I only feel like that because I already believe that the dark is bad. If you came to this story not pre-conditioned to feel like this, would it still be scary?