EYES READ WORDS AND THE words become little paint brushes — the arms and legs of the “ks” and “ms” and “rs” like stray bristles — and these brushes are dipped in the paint pots of the eyes and then paint, on the blank canvas of the mind, bright and colourful pictures.
Other times it goes the other way: we see an arresting picture, and in the mind there is a rush of questions and interjections — What’s this? Look at that! — at any rate, the reaction in the mind is something verbal.
Words, processed, become images; images, processed, become words. A neat, essential balance, whose fulcrum is the versatile eye.
Such a good idea, then, to combine words and illustrations in a book. Comic strips and children’s books have been doing so for generations. Manga’s immense popularity in Japan has spread to the West. Bande dessinée, that Belgian speciality, is an institution in Europe.
But what happened to the adult illustrated book? It can’t just be economics that deprives us of the pleasures of the descendants of Gustave Doré, William Blake and company. After all, graphic novels, the avant-garde pleasure of a minority, are routinely published; you’ll find them in any good bookshop, and some of them are spectacular. Could it be that publishers just can’t be bothered? I’m delighted that Canongate, with its usual flair, decided to bring out an illustrated edition of my novel Life of Pi — and why should international competitions be the sole preserve of architecture? Let there be a competition stretching across oceans to find the illustrator.
The jousting of imaginations was impressive. There were hundreds of submissions. Getting down to a shortlist wasn’t easy, but the podium was capacious. We placed 15 finalists on it: Canadians, Australians and Britons were rounded out by an American, a Filipino, and a Croat.
Selecting the single winner in this no-silver, no-bronze contest proved hard. It was no longer a process of separating the best from the good.
The finalists were all excellent. Now it was a question of deciding what kind of book we wanted.
Bright, in-your-face manga? Charming, wistful linocuts? Witty, breezily-drawn watercolours? Clean and detailed pen-and-ink drawings? Lush and stylised impasto? High art, pop art? And beyond the style, what vision of the story did we want reflected in the illustrations? Something Pi-centric? Something harrowing? Something soothing? More gods than animals? More ocean than people? It was like being told to go through the National Gallery and select a single painting.
After much private mulling over, and a two-hour international conference call, we members of the jury made our choice: Tomislav Torjanac, from Croatia.
His palette of colours is bold and rich. His illustrations are exquisitely textured; the oil paints crest and swirl before the eyes. Concerning the details — the shape of the lifeboat, the curious ecology of the island, the ways of the Japanese — he is rigorously accurate, but this meticulousness is merely the starting point for a powerful and lyrical vision of the story that does not simply illustrate what the words say but interprets them. His narrative perspective is startling; we are truly with Pi for the whole voyage.
Overall, the effect is of great, beautiful art, highly personal and at the same time reaching out to everyone.
So this illustrated Life of Pi will be the same novel as before, the curious story of a religious boy who ends up in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger, a story I thought no one would read, and yet now with a difference: every few pages the reader’s eyes will stop projecting images on to his or her mind materialised from my black markings and instead will take dictation based on the stunning illustrations of Tomislav Torjanac.
The winner: Tomislav Torjanac:
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