Uje Brandelius (text) & Clara Dackenberg (artwork)
translated from Swedish by Nichola Smalley
(Lantana Publishing)
A picturebook, as we know, is more than the text and the pictures. The interplay between visual and textual narratives creates a third narrative, held in a space that the reader inhabits, and which allows them to create meaning (this space is often referred to as the readerly gap). There are different types of interplay in picturebooks; The Playdate falls under the type described as counterpoint narrative. Counterpoint narratives can be defined as the textual and visual narratives telling different stories, or rather giving the reader different perspectives of the same story, sometimes even contradicting each other. This could be because the narrator is not privy to some of the information the artwork is giving us (This is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen) or because the narrator is, for whatever reason, unreliable ( The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs! by Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith, and No! by Marta Altés, for example). In The Playdate, the narrator, a little girl, tells the reader about her trip across town with her mum to go to her friend Henry’s house for a playdate. As the story develops however, it becomes obvious that things are not quite as they first seemed. The little girl is an unreliable narrator for the simple reason that she is seeing the world through a child’s eyes, lacking the experience and knowledge to “read” certain situations. The visual narrative is here to give us the information that the child misses. This dissonance between text and picture provides space for children to work out what the dynamics are between the four characters. Though it is not obvious from the start; to begin with, the reader is led to believe this is a regular playdate:
It is only with the spread directly after that the reader understands what the relationship is between the two mothers:
Throughout the book, there are instances where the two women keep their distance from each other.
At lunchtime, the boy’s mother offers for the girl and her mum to share their meal but the girl’s mum refuses and they eat the food they have brought, sitting in a different room. As they are about to leave, the girl’s mum invites them to their flat to play; Henry’s mother’s lacklustre response and her body language once again portray that distance. These episodes reinforce the dynamic, both economic and social, between the two women, an invisible line not to be crossed. The narrator matter-of-factly recalls these events, leaving unintentional gaps as she fails to read the situation.
This system of “show, don’t tell” is also present in peripheral details and some may even be directed at a potential adult co-reader, such as the punk/anarchist music posters dotted around the flat. Uje Bradenlius is a musician whose band, Doktor Kosmos, are known in Sweden for their political songs. But beyond this, there is also there also an interesting social class discourse – through this we can deduce that Henry’s parents are left-leaning in their political ethos, but could be seen, by employing a cleaner (and possibly an immigrant, though this is never overtly said), to be also using an unfair system, one that should go against their principles, to their advantage. “La gauche caviar”, as the French would say. The irony of the mum cleaning the Sex Pistols poster, with her duster on the word CLASS, certainly will not be lost on adult co-readers.
When they are on their way home, the girl confesses she has stolen a much coveted toy from her friend, having seen it discarded (and, seemingly, ready for the bin/donation) in a spare room. What might surprise many readers is the lack of scolding her mother. The girl knows she has done wrong, and struggles to understand her mother’s silence.
In consecutive spreads, the mother is seen as contemplative as contemplative, maybe a bit shut off. But when her daughter eventually asks her if she is cross, the answer is “no, I’m not cross with you”.
Does it matter that the ending is somewhat ambiguous and that seemingly the bad deed remains unpunished? The Playdate is a radical picturebook, it “challenges conventions and norms—about society and, often, about childhood—and it inspires change, especially movements for social and environmental justice.” (source). It’s not here to tell its readers that stealing is wrong, it is here to offer a space to think, one that is made larger by the counterpoint narrative, and to encourage readers to make connections and to create meaning that enables them to ponder on what is right and what is wrong and support them understanding people’s circumstances and actions.
Counterpoint narratives are effective in radical picturebooks because they allow them to tackle tough subjects without overtly saying so; the message becomes more powerful when children make the connections themselves. The readerly gap is often associated with a space where children are free of influence or didacticism from adults, but that doesn’t mean that the picturebook makers are not guiding the direction in which this meaning is created. The Playdate offers a perfect example of a constructed gap which, through its counterpoint narrative, encourages its readers to awaken to socio-economic realities that they are witness to but not necessarily be able to recognise in their everyday life. It’s a rare, beautiful book, unflinching and compassionate, and which offers a viewpoint that is crucial at a time where societal inequalities seem more intense than ever.
The Playdate is out now. It’s available in Shelf Editions , your local indie bookshop or via bookshop.org:
Source: review copy
