Author: Rebecca Resinski

Guy Billout, Thunderbolt & Rainbow

In this picturebook Guy Billout pairs short profiles of mythological figures on each left-hand page with an image on the right-hand one. The images themselves are not overtly mythological. Rather, they show contemporary scenes of mostly urban spaces (and in many instances of identifiable places in New York City). People are rarely pictured, and the built environment tends to take center stage. Readers are invited to think about the connection between the picture and the corresponding mythological profile. For instance, in the spread devoted to Hephaestus we see a partially open, steaming utility hole, red-hot within, and a factory smokestack. The illustration for “Underworld: Hades, Lord of the Dead” presents a policeman and his dog awaiting a subway train which is about to emerge from a dark tunnel. Human structures often assume a monumentality of their own, like the bridges pictured in “Rainbow: Iris, the Messenger,” which echo and dwarf the rainbow in the background of the image. Other times, human constructions are shown as subject to larger natural forces, as the aerial cable car swinging midair in “Wind: Aeolus, Keeper of the Winds.” Only the last spread directly depicts a Greek deity: Zeus with a thunderbolt stands on the balcony atop a skyscraper, while King Kong looks down on him from an even higher building. In this image, and throughout the book, Billout asks us to meditate on the various and shifting relationships among humans, the things they build, the stories they tell, and nature. Billout does not present a thesis or offer a conclusion: that’s not the point. Instead, this is a book for musing, for visiting and revisiting. Guy Billout’s Thunderbolt & Rainbow is a reminder that picturebooks aren’t just—and in some instances aren’t even primarily—for young readers. Although the writing in Thunderbolt & Rainbow isn’t difficult, the overall project as well as the spare, sophisticated aesthetic of the illustrations may be more appealing to older audiences.

Dugald Steer, Mythology

Steer’s Mythology is presented as an artifact containing other artifacts. It purports to be the copy of a reference book by the fictional Lady Hestia Evans which a young man (also fictional) named John Oro brought with him to Greece in the early 19th century. Oro writes an account of his trip in the margins of the book. The text also incorporates a variety of tokens and moveables—for example, a silver cardstock obol coin, an envelope of oak leaves from Dodona, a twist of golden fleece, and a pop-up Pandora’s box. These features are pleasing to the hand and for many readers will be one of the main draws of the book. There is some tension, however, between these delights and the overt message of Oro’s story. While Oro begins his journey with the idea of collecting antiquities for a museum in Greece, his greed leads him to keep his finds for himself, and in many instances, what a reader relishes handling is Oro’s plunder. Oro is presented as a latter-day Midas figure, a negative object lesson, though readers are nevertheless invited to enjoy his loot. The relationship between the explicit and implicit messages of the book could become an opportunity for reflection or a teachable moment. Potential readers or buyers should keep in mind that the book’s add-ins may make it inappropriate for very young readers and that in shared contexts like classrooms and libraries some of the pieces may go missing.

Anne Clare LeZotte, Deer Run Rome

Ann Clare LeZotte presents Deer Run Home in short free verse chapters written in the voice of Effie, a Deaf girl in the current-day United States. Effie’s stepfather is sexually abusive, her mother is in denial, and her father is neglectful. School too is fraught: Effie is repeating fifth grade due to setbacks exacerbated by remote instruction during the COVID pandemic. At both school and home, Effie’s opportunities for communicating in American Sign Language—the language in which she’s at home—are devastatingly limited. Meanwhile, she witnesses the expansion of suburban sprawl and the displacement of the local deer population. Things begin to change when Effie forges a friendship with Cait (who has cerebral palsy), her English teacher encourages her to write poetry, and her at-school interpreter suspects that Effie’s domestic situation is terribly wrong.

Effie’s story may seem a world away from Greek mythology, but the first and last poems of Deer Run Home focus on Iphigenia, the daughter whom Agamemnon decides to sacrifice so that the Greek forces can sail to Troy and whom Artemis rescues at the last minute by substituting a deer for the maiden. LeZotte uses this myth as a springboard rather than a strict template for Effie’s narrative. Neither of Effie’s dubious father-figures has the social status of an Agamemnon, but both subordinate Effie to their own desires and inclinations. Effie’s small band of supporters is more helpful than the chorus in Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis. And ultimately a deer needn’t die so that Effie might live. There is no superhuman intervention in Effie’s story: humans bear the weight of making life better or worse for one another and for the creatures around them.

The language of Effie’s poems may seem simple, but there is an intensity in her words and predicament that can make Deer Run Home an emotionally challenging read. While LeZotte is not gratuitously graphic, she does not shy away from showing the traumatic toll of sexual abuse, parental neglect, and social isolation. The publisher suggests an audience age-range of 10-14, but older readers, including adult ones, may find much to treasure in this book with its emphasis on claiming one’s voice and listening to others’—whether the words used are spoken, written, typed, or signed, in poetry or prose.