There are some settings we associate with stories and literature more than others: deep dark forests with shadowy trees and dangerous creatures; choppy seas that tumble boats and threaten lives; castles with tall turrets and dragons soaring overhead; derelict houses with cracked brickwork and hidden dwellers.
And lighthouses. What is it about lighthouses that make them such fascinating fodder for children’s literature? Is it their loneliness, their proximity to the sea and potential danger and mishap, their ability to shine a light into the dark, or perhaps their history? Or all of these.
Sophie Blackall’s wonderfully astute picture book shines a light on all of these facets, but perhaps concentrates most on the history, drawing a picture of a particular fictional keeper of a specific made-up lighthouse.
Choosing a mix of Chinese ink and watercolour, Blackall imbues this picture book with a sense of timelessness as well as a clear sense of history, the mood fluctuating with the passing of time. This is, in essence about change.
Confronted first with illustrations that depict an old-fashioned black and white wedding photograph, a quill pen, a letter to a loved one, a needle and thread, the first pages feel like a log in themselves, a recording of what’s past. Then into the narrative, and Blackall starts with a bird’s eye view of the lighthouse – and an immense, colour-changing, highly patterned sea – looking part like a shoal of fish, part like a net, rendered in turquoises to pink, all surrounding the very stark red and white lighthouse on its small rocky island.
Each spread colours the sea differently – a deep blue with more traditional waves on one, a murkier green in a wind-swept double page, crashing waves with white foamy tops in another. The passing of time, the changing of seasons.
And within some spreads vignettes can be seen – smaller round circular pictures that show the life of our keeper, eating fish for his dinner, writing letters to loved ones, fishing out of the window. These circles are reminiscent of a boat’s portholes, or the face of a clock, or perhaps just the roundness of the rooms of the lighthouse.
But all hold a fascination – through them we see the cross-section of the lighthouse, but also the whole life of the keeper, from supplies being delivered, to a wife being delivered, to the wife herself delivering a baby, and then onto more dramatic scenarios including illness and rescues, until finally news comes that the lighthouse keeper himself is being replaced with a mechanism, and the family leaves for the mainland coast.
This most wonderful picture book tells both of the mundanity of the keeper’s life – the slow pace of the day, the importance of routine, the marking of time, but also the large changes around him too – the changes in weather from fog and storms to beautiful sunsets, the big changes that mark a life – weddings, births, and of course the leaps in mankind as science takes over.
The book is physically long and tall like a lighthouse, with red endpapers like the colour of a lighthouse top, and the illustrations as meticulous as the careful logbook of the keeper.
Cleverly, the text too matches the rhythm of the waves, the solitariness of the job. There is simplicity in the list of tasks, but also a poetry in the sound of the wind, the clanging of the bell for fog, the majesty of the wide sea.
A section at the end gives much more historical fact and detail, and explores the author’s inspiration. This is a mesmerising lyrical view of a lighthouse, and lighthouse life, which shines a beam of light into the children’s picture book section. Don’t crash on the rocks – find your lighthouse book here.