When is a pickle more than pickle? In Sarah Howden and Sabina Hahn's picture book, it's more than a pickled vegetable when it falls from the sky and imparts wisdom to those who seek its knowledge of life.
From The Wise Pickle, written by Sarah Howden, illustrated by Sabina Hahn
When a pickle lands next to a dry cleaner and begins to speak, recognizing that it had lived a lot of life, it is overheard by a rat. Surprised by a talking pickle, other animals, including a small bird, a worm, a chipmunk and a mouse, gather. But it's the pickle that starts the discussion with, "You might ask me, What do you have to say, pickle, that's so important? Why do you think you're so wise?" (pg. 10)
From The Wise Pickle, written by Sarah Howden, illustrated by Sabina Hahn
As the animals ask about its life, there is a deep discussion of purpose, journey, and choices. The animals provide a pillow, food—unnecessary—and even summon a dog to ultimately eat the shrivelling pickle, thereby fulfilling its métier to provide food. But fate—or was that a gull?—intervenes, and the wise pickle's end is deferred with a new pathway to be taken.
If Sarah Howden's story tells readers anything it's that things can always change. You might see yourself on one path, when something changes, sometimes without personal liability, and a new path opens up. It may lead to the same outcome, but maybe not, and being flexible helps to see the positives in the new direction.
From The Wise Pickle, written by Sarah Howden, illustrated by Sabina Hahn
But Sarah Howden doesn't just give us a deeply philosophical look at life's journey—there's also a look at who we revere and why. She also tells her story with a dry humour, which is bolstered by NYC's Sabina Hahn's pencil and watercolour art. Sabina Hahn keeps the humour, claiming she used pickle brine in her illustrations. Still, it's the starkness of her art that elevates Sarah Howden's story from cute to meaningful. There's a pickle that expresses itself with only its eyes, animals that show concern and reverence for the brined cucurbit, and connection between all of them.
Looks like there's a new guru in town—by way of falling off of someone's plate—and it has some life lessons to share. I will still enjoy my garlic dill pickle, but I may never look at it the same way, thanks to Sarah Howden and Sabina Hahn.
Something bad has happened. There is much concern for the child, with his mother offering hugs and his aunt asking him if he's okay. But the boy doesn't want to talk about. What he does want to do is dig a tunnel and crawl inside. So he does.
From The Tunnel by Sarah Howden, illus. by Erika Rodriguez Medina
Taking a small plastic shovel, the child starts digging into the floor of his bedroom. Deep, deep he digs, excavating a meandering tunnel that encounters worms and beetles and moles and more.
From The Tunnel by Sarah Howden, illus. by Erika Rodriguez Medina
It's dark down there but I don't mind.
In fact, the boy realizes, after he comes up to the surface outside his home, that no one knows that he's out there.
I could just disappear.
From The Tunnel by Sarah Howden, illus. by Erika Rodriguez Medina
That empowering thought is enough for the boy. He doesn't have to disappear right now.
I'll go home for now, I tell myself.
But I can always come back.
By returning home after his jaunt, the child can now take comfort in his room and his mother's presence.
I think she knows I need a secret place.
She might have secret places of her own.
I think she knows we sometimes travel far away.
Alone, where we don't have to talk.
I'm glad Sarah Howden never reveals to young readers what nature of bad this boy experienced. By leaving it open, it could be anything and thus relevant to any child who has felt a trauma. His response, then, could be theirs. They might recognize the need for a parent or concerned adult to try to help but not knowing how. Fortunately, Sarah Howden gives this child the freedom to choose what he needs: to be silent or to escape, whether figuratively or literally.
There is starkness in his situation and in Sarah Howden's words, so the bleakness of Vancouver's Erika Rodriguez Medina's artwork mirrors that atmosphere. There's not much colour in this child's life right now, nor are there in Erika Rodriguez Medina's illustrations. It's pretty much black and white, with some grey and only minimal red. I'm sure that's how this child feels. Whatever has happened to him, it has turned his world into monotones, gradations of badness. There is some colour, not unlike the goodness that is shadowed in his life, but it is so close to him that he might not be able to see it until he can look at it from a distance, perhaps outside his house or himself.
From The Tunnel by Sarah Howden, illus. by Erika Rodriguez Medina
Sarah Howden could've given her picture book a happy ending in which the boy's distress is erased with his tunnel and the love of family but, let's face, that's not very realistic. Trauma does not disappear because of good intentions or diversions. But, both Sarah Howden and Erika Rodriguez Medina show us that there is some light and colour in his life and they make sure he sees it too.
Cordell Barker's short NFB film Runaway was released in 2009 but its black humour and commentary on greed and self-importance will now reach a new audience of young readers with this adaptation to print medium. Though the 9-minute film has very little discernible dialogue, Sarah Howden's adaptation fills in the narrative about a cow walking on railway tracks when a train is left without its conductor.
From Runaway by Cordell Barker, adapted by Sarah Howden
Sarah Howden's narrative begins with a commentary about how uncomplicated cows are compared to humans who are "always up to something." (pg. 9) There are the wine-drinking, cigar-smoking and billiards-playing top-hatted rich men, and one lady with her black dog, in the first car behind the engine. In the next car with their livestock are the pointy-hatted folk who are crowded to the rafters and who pass the time with music and beer. In the caboose, three train crewmen sleep. As "They were all going about their business, no questions asked" (pg. 14), the little dog escapes into the locomotive. The Captain, not missing an opportunity to ingratiate himself with a rich patron, shoves back the fireman and is promptly bitten by the urchin-like canine. While the rich woman takes the Captain back into her chamber to tend to his wound, the train is left without a man at the helm. The train is now a runaway and all the more after the Fireman falls onto the levers when the cow is hit. (It's okay. The cow survives.)
As the Fireman searches for the Captain, the oblivious patrons continue with their preferred activities. The train loses its caboose on a wild ride down a mountain and destroys a bridge after passing over it but the worst is when there is insufficient fuel to get the train up the slope on the other side of the bridge. Will the passengers work together to find a solution?
From Runaway by Cordell Barker, adapted by Sarah Howden
How the story in the print edition of Runaway ends is up for interpretation though the cow does live to see a glorious sunset. The rich people do take advantage of the common people, promising them money for their clothes to be used for fuel, and then unhitch their car and take back the money. The Captain and lady and her dog eventually reappear and get caught up in the efforts to save the train. But how much can they do when a train is hurtling up and over hills out of control?
Cordell Barker's story takes the reader on an alarming ride of both a train without a conductor and a culture without goodwill. A little benevolence and the tale of this train and its occupants could have had a far different ending. But, with greed and self-importance overriding all common sense, this train is doomed. Regrettably, Runaway is a stark metaphor for our narcissistic world, even more so than in 2009, by reflecting a society that emphasizes taking care of the self before all else. Only the Fireman can see the need to put self aside but even he cannot prevent the disaster when all work against the whole and think only of the self.
From Runaway by Cordell Barker, adapted by Sarah Howden
As in any graphic novel, the art helps tell the story. The art in Runaway is strong in its depiction of the different classes of people, with the rich in their train car decorated in rose with food artwork and the commoners in their earthy-coloured attire living with their food animals. Even the conductor, expecting to be called Captain, aspires to more in his highly-decorated bicorn hat and jacket festooned with golden epaulets. But the art also tells us what the Fireman is thinking, how the cow conducts herself as she needs, and that the rich on the train take glee in taking advantage of the poor and even delight in their demise.
Because Cordell Barkeruses dialogue sparingly in the short film, Sarah
Howden needed to "fill-in-the-blanks" for young readers for whom the complexity of the circumstances might not be evident. They will understand the story, just as they might understand a fairy tale, but to give them insight into the greater picture of Runaway, Sarah Howden highlights the humans' actions from a distant perspective, trying to understand what they do and why, all which will help explain the outcome of the story. Her words give landscape to the story without explaining everything, allowing young readers to apply their own visual literacy skills and interpretation to the allegory of what can go wrong when self and greed override all.
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The original short film is available on the NFB's YouTube channel at https://youtu.be/qUGHv2VAESE and is an accomplishment of movement, tension and social statement. Just be prepared: it's only a happy ending for the cow in this version.
