IT'S NOT VERY COMPLICATED

The unnamed narrator, a young child illustrated with light-brown hair and light skin, lives next door to Louise, a child the narrator’s age illustrated with light skin and dark-brown hair. They draw together on the ground with large colored chalk, creating a forest of “big trunks…and leaves of all colors,” which is sometimes “roll[ed] over” by a passing car. (Yikes.) One day, Louise asks the narrator what is inside the narrator’s head. Unsure, the child decides to look. This is unusually—and effectively, given Ribeyron’s collagelike style—illustrated by showing the child literally pushing back the top of their head. To the child’s surprise, the child finds a forest—or rather, a series of forests. A sequence of exquisite double-page spreads showing evocatively rendered forests (described as “quiet,” “shy,” “secret,” etc.) present as visual metaphors for different states of mind. Crisp edges are mixed with free-form lines, exploring the balance between boundaries and creative expression. The narrator goes to tell Louise about the forests, but “Louise was gone. Forever.” This sudden and unsettling turn of events is unexplained, and the narrator, unable to cry, thinks perhaps they have no heart inside. So the child opens up their heart area and looks. What’s within will delight readers. (This book was reviewed digitally with 13.4-by-19.6-inch double-page spreads viewed at 16.8% of actual size.)

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