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tasmanian_bibliophile's review
4.0
‘I want to tell you a story…’
I opened this book and stepped into a personal tale, one that many of us dread: a reminder of mortality. And how do we tell very young children about the serious illness of a parent or anyone else central to their lives? This was the question Chloe Hooper had to face when her partner Don Watson was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive blood cancer. How could she tell their two young sons? By instinct, Ms Hooper turns to the bookshelf. And, while looking for a way to tell her sons, she explored children’s literature. As she discovered, several authors including the Brothers Grimm, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Saint-Exupéry, P.L. Travers and J.R.R. Tolkien had each suffered childhood bereavements.
Over some months, Ms Hooper agonised, looking for the right stories, the right words to use for her six- and three-year-old sons. We live in a culture now where death can be an abstract, exiled from many lives until well into adulthood. While reading Ms Hooper’s journey, I am reminded of the first significant losses in my own life: two family members before I turned ten. Were we prepared for those deaths? Not that I remember, and not being permitted to attend their funerals meant I could pretend that they had not died. For a while, anyway.
I returned to this book, feeling for Ms Hooper as she tries to do the right thing, the best thing for her partner and her sons. Ms Hooper’s needs become secondary: her life caught up in managing family needs while trying to plan for a less certain future. Children’s literature is full of adventure, of heroic journeys but not all endings are happy.
Ms Hooper’s quest for answers took her through many books I remember from my own childhood. While no one story held the answers she was searching for, her exploration showed her (and us) how some authors respond to personal tragedy.
This beautiful book, with its illustrations by Anna Walker, is profoundly moving.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
I opened this book and stepped into a personal tale, one that many of us dread: a reminder of mortality. And how do we tell very young children about the serious illness of a parent or anyone else central to their lives? This was the question Chloe Hooper had to face when her partner Don Watson was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive blood cancer. How could she tell their two young sons? By instinct, Ms Hooper turns to the bookshelf. And, while looking for a way to tell her sons, she explored children’s literature. As she discovered, several authors including the Brothers Grimm, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Saint-Exupéry, P.L. Travers and J.R.R. Tolkien had each suffered childhood bereavements.
Over some months, Ms Hooper agonised, looking for the right stories, the right words to use for her six- and three-year-old sons. We live in a culture now where death can be an abstract, exiled from many lives until well into adulthood. While reading Ms Hooper’s journey, I am reminded of the first significant losses in my own life: two family members before I turned ten. Were we prepared for those deaths? Not that I remember, and not being permitted to attend their funerals meant I could pretend that they had not died. For a while, anyway.
I returned to this book, feeling for Ms Hooper as she tries to do the right thing, the best thing for her partner and her sons. Ms Hooper’s needs become secondary: her life caught up in managing family needs while trying to plan for a less certain future. Children’s literature is full of adventure, of heroic journeys but not all endings are happy.
Ms Hooper’s quest for answers took her through many books I remember from my own childhood. While no one story held the answers she was searching for, her exploration showed her (and us) how some authors respond to personal tragedy.
This beautiful book, with its illustrations by Anna Walker, is profoundly moving.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
fifinlayson's review
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.5
Content Warnings
Graphic: Cancer, Death, Terminal illness, Grief, and Death of parent
Moderate: Medical content and Suicide attempt
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