The most striking aspect of picture books for 1981 is that they are almost wholly fantasy or near fantasy. This is a continuing trend and an unfortunate one in that it limits the viewpoints presented in Australian material. There is little available for adults to read with young children that portrays everyday life at home within the family, or venturing further into the community of kindergartens, schools, shops, birthdays, family excursions and other experiences. Depictions of the minutiae of a child’s existence need to be neither bland nor boring as the number of domestic picture books from other countries show.

There are few realistic people, especially realistic families, in Australian picture books. The appearance of Jan Ormerod’s Sunshine was therefore unexpected and doubly welcome. There is nothing in the pictures to tie this to any particular country and being wordless there is no speech pattern or word choices to indicate the setting. I feel it will be a loss if Jan Ormerod’s family remains unlocalised (or turns into an English family since she is now living there).

We badly need picture books which, while the experience they show may be universal, recreate the individuality and particularity of the Australian seasons, suburbs and countryside. This is in no way a cry for a return to gumnut babies. It is not the fantasy element that is lacking but the naturalistic depiction of children, particularly small children, in a variety of family situations and in a variety of Australian settings.

Perhaps this is an unrealistic expectation from the publishers’ viewpoint but I hope that marketing facts do not demand that our picture books need to be blandly international to ensure overseas sales, or that an Australian child’s experiences need be regarded as irrelevant or untranslatable to overseas readers.

As well as Sunshine (soon to be joined by a companion titled Moonlight) we did have the appearance of ordinary family situations in two cheerful stories from Peter Smith and Bob Graham, Jenny’s baby brother and Peter and Roland with their casual illustrations. Jenny’s Baby Brother is also worth adding to the list of non-sexist picture books with vigorous active school age Jenny who can’t see much use for her baby brother until the day he shows some action by flicking a spoonful of custard in her eye and goes on to become an apprentice and companion in her activities.

Last year there were also only three titles which showed family life (Amy’s Place, Marty Moves to the Country, and Lachlan’s Walk). This year we are in fact one down since two of the above titles are by one author.

From here we merge by degrees into fantasy. Two books depict boys who create imaginary monsters. The creature in There’s a Dinosaur in the Park! after being hand-fed on tins and paper, goes on the rampage ridden by the rather curiously shaped little boy who found him. The lively beast then disappointingly changes back into a dinosaur-shaped litter bin as the sun sets. In How to Demolish a Monster there is a whole series of imaginary creatures thought up by Danny as he and his brother take their father’s lunch to him in the Queensland bush. Each monster is aggressively and successfully destroyed (also in their imagination) by Danny’s older brother Paul. Paul then turns tail and races home after a con­frontation with a frilly necked lizard. An adult may wonder which of the brothers was scaring which, but to a child the ending seems rather pointless and flat.

Another batch of books relies on the acceptance of one element of imagin­ation or exaggeration in an otherwise realistic setting. Perkins Street is removed from real-life suburbia by the cartoon-style illustrations, the flat bright colours and the almost acceptable stretch of the imagination needed to believe that Mr would be converted into a devoted gardener. Great Great Aunt Eliza in a Tall Story with her ‘saggy baggy body’ and ‘dark black eye­patch’ attempts to take Clara’s escapade with the jellybeans into the realm of fantasy. But the slight story does not really mean much (though it has a nice punch line) while the main characteristic that Pamela Allen’s black and white illustrations give Clara is that of showing off her pants.

The carefully drawn trucks and machines in Mike’s Birthday Bulldozer may be of interest to children going through a truck craze but the storyline is as stilted and wooden as the characters depicted in the illustrations. The flatness of the text and the trade catalogue effect of the pictures work against the enormous leap of the imagination required by the storyline.

With Bumble’s Dream and Ice cream for Rosie there is a greater degree of conviction in both plot and illustrations. The cover perhaps does Mr Bumble a disservice as he knows flying machines can only be built with a large quantity of junk. The homely details of the junk yard, neighbours’ comments such as ‘There he goes with another load of junk, and with that foolish hen following him everywhere’, and barefoot podgy Mr Bumble himself lend the reality that fantasy must be based on. The first part of the book, the realistic prep­arations, are in fact more convincing than the Flight of the Bumble Bee. While less substantial than previous books the Armitage’s Ice Creams for Rosie also relies on a single leap of the imagination. If you owned the only ice cream shop on the island and the ice cream runs out during a heatwave, then a parachute is the obvious way to get new supplies in time.

Australian picture book authors and illustrators rarely now go in for animal fantasies. Aktil’s appearance last year was greeted with enthusiasm and the resourceful mouse reappears, this time delivering fireworks for a wizard as part of a bicycle trip. An even more resourceful animal is the gingernut cat who accompanies intrepid Mrs Arbuckle around the world in a search for a pet, leaving Mr. A at home watching the footy on TV. A Pet for Mrs Arbuckle introduces a new author/illustrator with a very engaging story to tell. It is not easy to show successful human/animal partnerships and the success of Smyth and James is emphasised when compared with another 1981 title The Flying Machine. A human animal partnership is shown here too but neither Bo, the rock and roll band man nor his friend Lin the platypus engages the interest or the affections. An elderly woman and a ginger cat feature also in Whistle up the Chimney though the cat, constantly watchful, doesn’t have any lines. Mrs Millie Mack and her cat keep busy enjoying the garden and its produce from spring to autumn and relaxing by the open fire in the winter. Again, the meticulous realistic detail of Mrs Mack’s furniture, clothing and cat prepares the way for the preposterous appearance of the trains that appear out of the flames. ‘Three times a week the Mixed Goods ... twice a week the Express ... every other day except Thursdays and Public Holidays the All Stations Passenger.’ It is a delightful fantasy with a text complete with sound effects that reads well aloud and with illustrations that constantly reveal new details (like the ‘visit to your library’ poster in the All Stations Passenger). Trains are also the subject of the McLean’s new book The Steam Train Crew which is perhaps not so much fantasy as nostalgia for slower days when train crews who went blackberrying without leave could perhaps, if they were very fast, catch their train again, have their blackberries and eat them too. This book is more satisfying than the Riverboat Crew relying more on structure to accomplish the action of the plot.

Trams, straight out nostalgia for days past, are the subject of the Tram to Bondi Beach. Flowing wash illustrations suggest the constant movement of the trams and the sea breeze. The storyline could easily be transposed to today’s paper boys with a slight alteration of transport but the illustrations showing cover-up bathers, caps, ladies hats, ‘vintage cars’ and a shoreline only partially built up all set the story firmly in time and place.

The three remaining picture books I looked at fall into the category of myth and fable. The Frog and the Pelican is an extremely attractive and carefully produced book and a worthy winner of the 1981 Children’s Book Section of the ABPA Book Design Awards. The text is not quite of the same high standard as the physical production but we will hopefully see more of Des O’Brien as an illustrator. Similarly with Novak’s Fish and Bird, the richly glowing illustrations stay in the mind longer than the slightly whimsical fable of the human condition Like Frog and the Pelican it is a thoughtfully designed book with careful balancing of illustration and text. The text itself is in an unusual (for OUP picture books) hand-lettered format.

The other book in this genre is Kath Walker’s Father Sky and Mother Earth. This is her first children’s book since Stradbroke Dreamtime ten years ago. The traditional creation elements do not seem to blend well with the modern conservation theme but the Aboriginal perspective gives an added and welcome dimension.

Ted Greenwood continues to expand in themes and approaches. His 1981 publication Everlasting Circle can almost be called a documentary picture book. It is a poetic, realistic evocation of the life of a female shearwater from egg to chick, her incredible migratory flight north and back to continue the cycle – the rhythm of the flock for the rest of her time.

As a whole though, the picture books of 1981 are of an encouragingly high standard. The appearance of new names like Des O’ Brien, Julie Vivas, Jan Ormerod and others augurs well for continued development. I hope though, that by this time next year there may be more titles that have realistic natural and varied family settings.

The range of fiction includes some promising new authors, new directions for established authors and an interesting couple of documentary books.

One of the latter, Night of the Mutton Birds is almost a companion to Ted Greenwood’s Everlasting Circle – mutton bird being the common name for shearwater. Mary White’s story tells of a Cape Barren Island boy’s conflict be­tween his acceptance of the family’s annual birding expeditions and the new ideas he learns from a conservationist who is studying the birds. The book is filled with details of the birding process and the birds themselves. Whilst heavy handed and didactic it is interesting to see any book looking at aspects of child­hood in this little known part of Australia.

Another short documentary novel The Persian Carpet Story, is set in Iran and is a straightforward account of a family whose way of life is far removed from Australians. The book is dedicated ‘to generations of anonymous young carpet weavers who lived and died in poverty’ and is told without sentimentality.

The poverty and hardship of the young girls and their family in The Persian Carpet Story, hard as it is, is far less than the extreme dangers experienced by the Vietnamese family in Voyage of the Lucky Dragon where death is probable and violent. This is the first book for young readers that sets out the experiences of those refugees who left Saigon to escape political persecution and whose only alternatives were long stays in camps such as Bidong or a voyage, often without the necessary equipment and supplies, south to Australia. It will be interesting to compare Bennett’s novel with the recently published book Why Must We Go?, a collection of experiences by female Vietnamese refugees now attending a Melbourne secondary school.

Apart from horse books series such as Silver Brumbie, there have been few Australian animal books in recent years. A new author, Gordon Aalborg, produced a straightforward account of the life cycle of a feral cat in the Cotter River area of the ACT. The book has rather too many sermons on the unsavoury Australian habits of littering picnic grounds and dumping unwanted household pets. But it is an interesting subject recounted by a knowledgeable enthusiast. There is little or no anthro­pomorphism, the facts speak for themselves.

Several 1981 novels were set in points of time other than our own, two of these outside Australia. The furthest away in time and place was Time for Tarquinia set in ancient Etruria, and for older readers Melisa Woodruff, a lively romantic story with the conflicts of the English Civil War as background.

Of those set in Australia, The Hills of the Black Cockatoo is an account of a family of Tasmanian Aboriginal chil­dren whose tribe has been slaughtered by whites, and their competent survival alone until they join members of a friendly tribe. While some racial stereo­typing is evident and the emphasis is on the skills that enable the children to find food and evade capture, readers should still return to Nan Chauncy’s Tangara and Mathinna’s People for a deeply felt and more satisfying account of this part of our history. There is still very little Australian historical fiction for children. The misery and hardship of the early settlement days has too often been watered down to make it suitable ‘for young readers’ – Rose’s Drummer Crispin and Nicholson’s The Convict’s Daughter being two exceptions. Later periods, such as the goldrush days, have often been turned into straight adventure stories with little characterisation. We still need more authors who can combine historical knowledge with skilled and vivid writing to recreate our’ past for children. With The Mountain Between, Valerie Thompson concludes her trilogy of life on the Australian goldfields and in the cities of the 1850s with a well-constructed story that brings out the contrast between the free adventurous life of a young independent boy on the diggings and the more confined constrained life that must be led within the family circle. Closer to us in time but still a period setting is Thiele’s The Valley Between. The slow moving tightly knit rural community of Goodunda in the 1920s may seem as remote as the goldfield days to today’s city children. The episodic series of Benno’s escapades is set against a background of children and adults who, whilst not developed in depth, provide a gallery of entertainment. The novel may be most enjoyed by adults as a piece of warm nostalgia although some chapters would be excellent for reading aloud to children. Max Fatchen’s Closer to the Stars is also set in a country community, this time in 1941 but twelve-year-old Paul has a more complex life than Benno and the adults in his life confront him with more complex decisions.

The novels with contemporary family settings are largely by newer authors. but two from established writers show a welcome willingness to look at new areas of experience. Joan Phipson’s A Tide Flowing I feel is her most impressive book so far. In some ‘problem’ novels. particularly American, major disasters such as divorce. disability or death seem to be all too easily overcome. After a short period of distress the child’s character is usually presented as having grown and matured after working through the problem. usually with the help of a sympathetic adult. Joan Phipson shows another reality. Mark’s desperate loneliness and withdrawal after a shattering family tragedy and a number of difficult disappointments leaves him no easy way out. it takes four years for Mark to work out his own path, firstly through identification with the loneliness and freedom of the albatross. an identification that becomes almost an obsession, then through the friendship of an older girl terminally ill and confined to a wheelchair. Her search for new experiences and joy override her own pain, loneliness and fear and the sharing of thoughts with Mark enables him to make the final steps to becoming a whole person. Unsentimental and objective, this is the first Australian novel for young people to really face such issues. While it is not perhaps entertaining reading, the final resolution is one of calm hope and the novel deserves a wide readership by thoughtful young people. Mavis Thorpe Clark has not before used a city setting for a novel. In Solomon’s Child set in Williamstown, she examines a related theme to Joan Phipson’s novel – what effect dramatic changes in family situations have on a child. The treatment here is more conventional and prosaic. Judith’s confusion when her father leaves her and his de facto wife to resume life with his ‘real’ wife manifests itself in shoplifting, assault and theft of a car resulting in an appearance in the Children’s Court. Unlike Mark, Judith is not left to struggle alone. The affection of her school friends, social worker and teacher who encourages her artistic talent, and the knowledge of her mother’s love and support, not to mention the inevitable words of wisdom from a local fisherman, all help her mend her ways and look forward to a happy future when she will have a husband and a baby and live happily ever after. Although issues such as homeless youth, drugs and boy-girl relationships are touched on, the overall view seems to be that happiness is to be achieved through conforming to society’s basic rules – and there may a degree of truth in this. As in many others of Mavis Thorpe Clark’s novels we are also given a solid background of facts about the setting (Williamstown) and the issues involved (the legal system as it affects minors).

Lack of conformity to society’s basic rules causes problems for Trevor Huon in Simon French’s Cannily, Cannily. The basic rules for boys in the country town where Trevor and his seasonal worker parents are staying include having a settled home, short hair and a willingness to play footy as if your life depends on it. Trevor’s parents view the life, especially the sporting life, of this place with detachment and a degree of irony from the security of their shared viewpoint. Trevor. trying to establish acceptance with his peers at school and cope with a macho teacher who is also the footy coach, cannot imitate their detachment. His struggle to keep his individuality but conform enough for acceptance is a losing battle and dignified flight for the family is the only answer. His parents as well as Trevor realise that total conformity to the town’s norms would be necessary for acceptance and none of them want this. If any sort of conforming to society’s rules is to take place – for example settling down – then it will be in a place of their own choosing.

Family troubles are the theme of Dianne Bates’ first novel, Terri. Twelve-year-old Terri has been used to spending six months in the city with her mother and stepfather and six months in the country with her father, the preferred parent. On this visit, Terri finds her father is now sharing his life with a woman whom she instantly dislikes. Terri is depicted as a realistically irritating and nasty girl and there is an interesting variety of lifestyles shown, from rigidly God fearing to hippie commune.

An interesting new author, Gillian Barnett takes a look at children in an upper middle class Melbourne suburb whose exploration of a vacant mansion and its rambling garden near their homes leads to a desire to save it from the developers. The Inside Hedge Story (like Cannily, Cannily it suffers from an unwieldy title) has two lively and realistic main characters in Abby and Francis and while the plot creaks a bit, it has plenty of incident. There are not too many straightforward lively ‘good reads’ for this age group and another one is welcome.

Another new author, Thurley Fowler, produced what should have been a light enjoyable family story with a touch of adventure in an interesting setting. However, the characters lack the liveli­ness of Gillian Barnett’s and tend to rely on stereotyping. In particular, I found the portrayal of Jennifer with the ‘feminine’ stereotypes of a mania for housework, mindless chatter and adoration of Robbie, excruciatingly embarrassing.

Thomas Shapcott, the poet, has branched out into children’s books with an adventure story Flood Children set in Queensland. The flood scenes with evacuations by boat and the accompanying turmoil are realistic and alive but the adventure itself, with parents conveniently off stage in the classic mode, is full of melodrama with a mad­man called Mr Death, lost deeds to a property and the acquisition of a fortune (or at least $3,444!). Keith Leo­pold’s first book in English, When we Ran, is also set in Queensland but the adventure involves more up-to-date elements with ruthless killers, a woman who had been a member of the Baader­Meinhof gang, and a man who had been a Nazi war criminal, though as one of the children involved points out, ‘It was all so long ago in a different world, and they had both been such good people since’.

The remaining half dozen novels run the gamut of the fantasy genre from time travel to tall story.

Christobel Mattingley’s Rummage is full of characters slightly larger than life, caricatures with names like Mrs Coralie Clinkett and Miss Sara Snodgrass, and prose that breaks into a rhythmic lilt from time to time. Patricia Mullin’s illustrations with their mixture of realism and exaggeration exactly complement the text. I don’t know where the dividing line is for a novel and a picture story book. Rummage with its unnumbered pages and profusion of illustration merges the two forms.

Two fantasies rely on time travel, M. Pearce’s The Altar of Shulaami with a fast moving ‘escapist’ mixture of archaeology, alien invaders and human sacrifice set somewhere between Egypt and Libya, and J. Bernard-Waite’s The Riddle of the Trumpalar with a Sydney setting and a return to the convict days to seek help to save the one remaining magic tree. The two elements of time travel and magic do not combine well here. Three books use a distinctly Australian setting to better advantage in very different ways. Cliff Green’s intrepid skipper Riverboat Bill and his crew appear again with Further Adventures of Riverboat Bill, this time rollicking their way through underground caverns to inland Australia helped again by the tincan-eating fire-breathing Bunyip Lawrie Ryan’s first try at fantasy, The Hole in the Forest, creates a warm and gently funny world inhabited by the wombats and frogs who live in the for­est though I’m not sure about the necessity or validity of the nameless Aboriginal old man with his magic stones. Aboriginal people, their spirits and their attitudes towards the land are an integral part of Patricia Weightson’s Behind the Wind, the powerful conclusion of the Wirrun trilogy.

There are still gaps in Australian children’s fiction which will probably remain unfilled for some time, perhaps until the next generation of authors. We have few novels that explore the particular intensity of feeling and relationships of teenagers. Authors elsewhere such as K.M. Peyton, M.E. Kerr, S.E. Hinton, and of course Judy Blume have shown the variety of possibilities for this older age group.

Stories with urban, particularly inner-urban settings are still practically non-existent, as are those with a multicultural background. More easy to read stories for younger children are also needed, both fantasy and solidly domestic and we could do with more family stories for all age groups that show both children and adults with individuality and depth. Hopefully some of the new authors mentioned in this article will continue to develop and explore the variety of lifestyles and experiences of Australian children.

Margaret Aitken was Children’s Service Consultant, Library Council of Victoria.

Patricia Scott was a storyteller, lecturer and consultant in areas relating to children’s literature, language development and librarianship.