Adding both texture and verisimilitude, Whatley spatters dark flecks of paint across his watercolour images, mimicking the ash, embers, and burning debris that swirl through the air in a bushfire. Whatley’s endpapers complement the story, opening with threatening smoke, ash, and flames, and closing with a clearing blue sky and a hint of rain. In this often moving book, French and Whatley convincingly evoke the terror of bushfires and the resilience of those who endure such natural disasters.

‘Whatley’s endpapers complement the story, opening with threatening smoke, ash, and flames, and closing with a clearing blue sky and a hint of rain.’

Briony Stewart adopts a naturalistic style in Here in the Garden (University of Queensland Press, $24.95 hb, 36 pp, 9780702250101). This is a tender exploration of loss set against the backdrop of the cycles of nature, as a small boy plays in his back garden over the course of a year. Attuned to the changing seasons, the boy reminisces about the games he played with his pet rabbit before it died –collecting autumn leaves, planting seedlings, riding on a tyre swing, smelling the flowers, and playing under a sprinkler.

Stewart’s atmospheric watercolour and pencil illustrations are at their best when showing botanical detail, especially the fluttering flight of autumn leaves. She has a strong sense of design, and sets up the tone of the story with endpaper images of dandelion thistles blowing in the wind.

The story switches back and forth, verbally and visually, from the present to the past. The inclusion of the rabbit in the images from the past could be confusing for younger readers and may require parental explanation. However, this is an excellent book to stimulate discussion about the loss of a loved one, and about the importance of remembering and celebrating shared experiences.

Cartoon-style illustrations are often a popular choice for humour-based picture books for younger readers. This style provides the perfect accompaniment to Damon Young’s whimsical text in My Nanna is a Ninja (University of Queensland Press, $24.95 hb, 36 pp, 9780702250095). With its cheeky approach, this book takes a non-stereotypical view of the world of grandmothers, as a young boy contrasts three energetic and adventurous women with his own remarkable nanna (who is obviously a ninja because she wears black, goes on secret missions, skewers watermelon slices on a sword, and bestows secret goodnight kisses).

My Nanna is a Ninja
(excerpt)

In this character-driven story, illustrator Peter Carnavas presents the four idiosyncratic nannas with humour and pizazz. Featuring loose-lined pen-and-ink and watercolour images on predominantly white backgrounds, his portraits of the ethnically diverse nannas engage directly with the reader. This rambunctious book unashamedly blurs the lines between imagination and reality, wish fulfilment, and the secret life of grandmothers.

Illustrator Andrew Joyner also uses cartoon-style illustrations to add dimension to the late Jan Ormerod’s text in The Swap (Little Hare, $24.95 hb, 32 pp, 9781921541414). This exuberant and entertaining tale about sibling rivalry showcases Ormerod’s imaginative storytelling and Joyner’s ability to imbue animal characters with distinctly human characteristics.

Caroline Crocodile is having difficulty accepting her new baby brother. When she and the baby go to the shops with Mama Crocodile, Caroline is left in charge while her mother goes to exchange a hat. Caroline discovers that The Baby Shop has an unusual refund policy: she can swap her baby brother for a range of other animal babies. Caroline chooses a panda, an elephant, then tiger twins, all with disastrous results, until she finally realises that her green, dribbly, scaly, little brother is just right after all.

Despite the inclusion of umbrella strollers and e-readers, Joyner’s illustrations have a distinctly 1950s vibe. They feature creamy paper, muted colours, cloth nappies, vests, and old-fashioned cash registers. There are echoes of Richard Scarry’s Busytown illustrations in Joyner’s crowded street scenes, and his detailed imagery repays close attention as his expressive anthropomorphised animals cavort across the pages. Joyner’s witty cartoon style and Ormerod’s quirky take on dealing with sibling jealousy combine to produce an extremely enjoyable read.

‘Despite the inclusion of umbrella strollers and e-readers, Joyner’s illustrations have a distinctly 1950s vibe.’

For some picture book narratives, simplicity, clarity, and strong graphic design elements are the best stylistic choices. The text of The Bouncing Ball (Random House, $19.99 hb, 32 pp, 9780857980045) by Deborah Kelly is appropriately repetitive, as a small, red ball bounces from one person to the next, being played with, lost, and rediscovered. As Kelly’s concise and rhythmic text details the ball’s journey, she subtly introduces the concepts of serendipity and continuity.

Illustrator Georgia Perry responds to Kelly’s narrative with clean-lined, colourful illustrations. They feature collage-style imagery and patterned elements that contrast strikingly with blocks of flat, saturated colour. Perry also varies the page layout, mixing double-page spreads with smaller images framed in white. She uses panels of four small images to highlight the repeated refrain in the text, as the ball is picked up, bounced, turned over, and bounced again by each new ‘owner’. The story ends in a blaze of tropical colour that highlights the limitless possibilities inherent in the ball’s peripatetic progress.

Marc Martin employs a similarly creative collage style in Max (Viking, $24.99 hb, 32 pp, 9780670077434), an endearing tale about a seagull who is addicted to fish and chips. Like all seagulls, Max is cheeky and mischievous, but he is also loyal, and when fish-and-chip shop owner Bob suddenly closes his shop and moves away, Max waits patiently for him to return and then goes looking for him.

This well-told story emphasises the importance of companionship. Martin’s cleverly structured illustrations, with their varied graphic design elements, effortlessly draw the eye across each page. Martin has a strong understanding of visual pacing: he slows the story with contemplative double-page spreads, such as Bob and Max fishing; changes the mood through colour and body language, as when Max waits for Bob to return; and picks up the pace with a range of images in different sized frames, as when Max goes looking for Bob.

Martin also uses the white image of the seagull’s head as a central resting point for the eye. Images radiate out from this central point through the flashing painterly movement of wings or patterned panoramic views of harbour, shops, and streets. This satisfying story showcases Martin’s masterful use of visual language. It also shows just how important stylistic choices are in creating a successful picture book.