A Book without Pictures

“What is the use of a book without pictures?”

For most of my life, I have condemned images as a lesser art form to words. Henry David Thoreau wrote:

"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; -- not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself."

The medium of painting, film, and photographs seemed limited; confined to the physical, the tools and technology available to the artist at that moment in history. Reading - one is limited only by their imagination. It is solitary pursuit, and consumes the mind - unlike watching a movie, or regarding a picture, which requires only partial attention. Indeed, the written word seems the purest art form. The most human - as suggested by Mr.Thoreau.

A couple days ago, I enrolled in an online course concerning children's literature. The course examined how words and pictures work together to infiltrate a child’s mind and remain there - embedded somewhere in the foundation. Resonant.

I learnt to read at age six. This ability to dephisper lines on a page, however, did not occasion my love in books . In fact, my infancy was spent largely embroiled in books - my parents share memories of me sitting contendly, flipping through the pages of “Olivia,” or “Each pear, plum peach,” muttering to myself. I was looking at the pictures. And, gleaning off what limited experiences I had in life, learning to relate these images to a story. To the sounds my parents made when they read that page out loud. Pictures gave shape and body to the words that were to come later.

I have been conducting a casual survey in which I ask people one book that has affected them. Most pause, guilt clouding their countenance, - then recollect a childhood favourite, of which’s minute details remain emblazoned in their minds. My friend mentioned Lily (a bunny) comparing her baby brother to a raisin - and whispering the alphabet in disarray in his ear. My mum described the comfort Bilbo Baggons must have felt when he slept for six days after an adventure that, in her memory, is less distinct. Many of these books were read aloud, accompanied by pictures. This harks back to the origin of storytelling. Prior to the written word, stories were passed down orally; augmented by the tone of voice, hand movements, masks, objects, pictures, the light of a fire. Words and pictures are meant to coalesce. Stories are not one dimensional.

Therefore, I do not believe pictures should not be limited to children’s books. Nor do they need to restrict the imagination. I have become besotted lately with the photographer named Julia Camercon. Her photographs were inspired by various pieces of literature, and were often inscribed with bits of poetry. Rather than constrict my imagination, they ground that scene, or stray verse, into my mind. It is like having a conversation with someone about a book - you learn of their perspective, their interpretation. Similarly, Ms.Cameron has eternalized her response to a particular story - and perhaps her culture’s reaction as a whole. She demonstrates to me a new way of interacting with a story. It is, indeed, a thrill to view the flesh and blood of an character - the ability a writer’s word retain to craft this very real person, or scene.