Forchildren,theworldispossibility.Butgrown-upswoulddowelltorememberthatpossibilityextendstoplacesfulloflightandsteepedindarkness,withplentyofotherspacesinbetween.Childrenarehumanafterall,andassuch,theyaresometimesinnocent,sometimescruel,andfrequentlyimpossibleforotherstotrulyunderstand.Inherdebutgraphicnovel,TheNightingaleThatNeverSang,JulianaHyrrigivesusstoriesthatarestolenfromreallife,seenthroughachild’seyes--anddonotlookawaywhenitcomestothescaryparts.Ifitcanhappenoutthere,itcanhappenwithinthesepages,too.Hervisualstylecomprisesthesmudged,scribbled,andsmoothlinesonemightexpectfroma(very)youngartist,butalsopulsing,boundlessbackgroundspaintedwithnear-manicenergy.Ifthereisanytruepuritytobefoundhere,it’sonlyinthereflectionofhowachildfeels,beforethosefeelingsaretemperedwithadultideasofwhatoughttoberevealedinpoliteconversation.Nightingaletakesusalongfortherideaschildrendiscoveranddreamtheirworld,throughglimpsesoftadpolesandtentforts,fieldtripsandforestventures,straycatsandsleepovers.Onthesurface,thesearescenesanyonemightrecognizefromtheirownchildhood,butit’sreallyabookfilledwiththeblankspacesthatgrown-upswon’ttalkabout,scribbledoverwithchildhoodlogic.
