The second in a series of ten lectures on David Wiesner: The quasi-autobiographical “Hurricane”—a standard feature of the “perfect childhood”.

Last time we talked about the upbring­ing of Calde­cott Medal dar­ling David Wies­ner.This time, let’s talk about “Hur­ri­cane,” a pic­ture book with a lot of text by the artist who is known as the “mas­ter of word­less books.”

How many words are in this book? I’m the trans­la­tor, so I know the exact num­ber: over 1500 words in Chi­nese. That’s rel­a­tive­ly long for a typ­i­cal pic­ture book, but not excep­tion­al­ly long. How­ev­er, it’s prob­a­bly the most text-heavy of David Wies­ner’s self-writ­ten and illus­trat­ed works. This book is spe­cial; it’s a qua­si-auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal sto­ry about his child­hood expe­ri­ences. The sto­ry isn’t complicated—it tells how his fam­i­ly sur­vived a hur­ri­cane. This is quite ordi­nary for peo­ple liv­ing near the coast, but David Wies­ner imbues it with a fan­tas­ti­cal qual­i­ty, and the child­hood depict­ed in the book is par­tic­u­lar­ly envi­able. This book can be seen as good mate­r­i­al for under­stand­ing David Wies­ner’s cre­ative sources, and it also gives us a glimpse into what a “per­fect child­hood” might look like.

Hur­ri­cane copy­right page + ded­i­ca­tion page

The book’s cov­er depicts two boys and a cat look­ing out a win­dow dur­ing a stormy day. The boys gaze intent­ly at the sky, while the cat seems to be peer­ing side­ways at some­thing below. This is a clas­sic David Wies­ner nar­ra­tive style: the scenes and char­ac­ters seem imme­di­ate­ly obvi­ous, but a clos­er look at their actions and expres­sions reveals a hid­den sto­ry, a touch of mys­tery that com­pels you to won­der: what hap­pened?

Turn­ing to the title and copy­right pages, the illus­tra­tion shows a boy in a yel­low rain­coat stand­ing in a yard. The copy­right page is ded­i­cat­ed to Car­ol, George, Bar­bara, and Pat. Who are these four? They are David’s old­er broth­er George and his three old­er sis­ters, Car­ol, Bar­bara, and Pat. So, where is the youngest, David? He’s the boy in the yel­low rain­coat, and the old­er boy is George. To sim­pli­fy the plot, the three sis­ters are omit­ted from the book, leav­ing only the two broth­ers. In real­i­ty, the events in the sto­ry are shared by all five sib­lings.

When David Wies­ner won the Calde­cott Medal for the sec­ond time in 2002, he specif­i­cal­ly men­tioned in his accep­tance speech, “Although most of the time my old­er sib­lings treat­ed me like a naughty lit­tle broth­er, they always took my cre­ativ­i­ty seri­ous­ly. They shared their artis­tic knowl­edge and whole­heart­ed­ly encour­aged me to con­tin­ue my stud­ies.” Lat­er, when he went to art school, he learned that many of his class­mates had expe­ri­enced huge and painful fam­i­ly strug­gles, so he looked back at his warm and har­mo­nious fam­i­ly envi­ron­ment and felt par­tic­u­lar­ly grate­ful.

Okay, let’s con­tin­ue read­ing the book. The sto­ry begins by show­ing the fam­i­ly’s prepa­ra­tions before the hur­ri­cane arrives. The moth­er is return­ing home from the gro­cery store with gro­ceries, the father is rein­forc­ing things in the yard, and the two boys are anx­ious­ly search­ing for their cat, Han­ni­bal. The read­er has already seen the black and white cat; it has like­ly dis­cov­ered some­thing and, despite the approach­ing storm, has tak­en it upon itself to track it down.

The kit­ten in “Hur­ri­cane”
Cov­er of “Mr. Waf­fle”

David Wies­ner fans will notice at least two things: First, David loved cats from a young age. His Calde­cott Hon­or Book, *Mr. Waf­fle*, fea­tures a black cat with white spots as its pro­tag­o­nist, and the mod­el for that cat was actu­al­ly one of David’s own! Sec­ond, the cat’s name is “Han­ni­bal.” Does that ring a bell? Han­ni­bal was a Carthagin­ian gen­er­al dur­ing the Roman era, a mil­i­tary genius renowned through­out his­to­ry who near­ly destroyed the Roman Repub­lic. The fact that two boys named their cat Han­ni­bal sug­gests they have a fond­ness for his­to­ry, espe­cial­ly war sto­ries, and a yearn­ing for dis­tant lands.

At this point, I sug­gest read­ers turn a few pages to the page where broth­ers George and David dis­cuss storms and weath­er recon­nais­sance planes in their bed­room. Pay atten­tion to the wall­pa­per. It con­tains a lot of infor­ma­tion the artist wants to con­vey about their liv­ing envi­ron­ment. It includes books, a mag­ni­fy­ing glass, an ele­phan­t’s head, a boat in bot­tles, medals, and so on. Some of the images are a lit­tle unclear to me, but it’s clear that it reflects the inner world of boys around ten years old. The text on this page, led by old­er broth­er George, dis­cuss­es rather tech­ni­cal weath­er-relat­ed knowl­edge. This is part of David Wies­ner’s upbring­ing.

The two broth­ers in “Hur­ri­cane”

Turn­ing to the front, a scene of the fam­i­ly hav­ing din­ner by the fire­place is described in the text: “The whole fam­i­ly is togeth­er, and it feels safe. Out­side, there’s a creak­ing, howl­ing wind, and occa­sion­al fierce roars.” The image clev­er­ly uses the per­spec­tive of a cat lying on the table to present the warm scene of the fam­i­ly gath­ered around the fire­place. Although the bad weath­er caused a pow­er out­age, the fire­light in the fire­place was warm and reas­sur­ing. The father was in charge of tend­ing the fire in the fire­place, the old­er broth­er was lying on the floor watch­ing, and the younger broth­er was nes­tled in his moth­er’s arms on the sofa… David Wies­ner’s father was an engi­neer, whom David proud­ly called a “sci­en­tist.” Although his father was­n’t par­tic­u­lar­ly artis­tic, he was very sup­port­ive of his chil­dren’s inter­ests in that area; and his moth­er’s atti­tude towards him was uncon­di­tion­al accep­tance. She kept every­thing David had drawn as a child.

The first half of the book *The Hur­ri­cane* uses the back­drop of a rag­ing hur­ri­cane to present a lov­ing and spir­i­tu­al­ly rich fam­i­ly. After the hur­ri­cane, a large tree that has fall­en in the neigh­bor’s yard becomes the focus of the sto­ry, and the two broth­ers and their cat Han­ni­bal embark on an adven­ture across time and space. Three con­sec­u­tive dou­ble-page spreads depict their jour­ney: first to a jun­gle with ele­phants and leop­ards, then a large sail­ing ship sail­ing the sev­en seas, and final­ly, a space voy­age land­ing on a plan­et inhab­it­ed by extrater­res­tri­als.

On the page with the ele­phants, there are ele­phants in the dis­tance that appear to be from the African savan­na, while in the fore­ground on the left, an ele­phant is depict­ed as a mount. Why this asso­ci­a­tion? Read­ers famil­iar with his­to­ry will know that when the leg­endary war­rior Han­ni­bal Lecter crossed the Alps, his army includ­ed a force of dozens of ele­phants. How­ev­er, in this illus­tra­tion, Han­ni­bal is por­trayed as a play­ful and glut­to­nous kit­ten, mak­ing this com­par­i­son quite humor­ous. Lat­er, the pirates and octo­pus­es at sea, and the space­ships and aliens in out­er space, are clear­ly relat­ed to the adven­ture and sci­ence fic­tion books and films they reg­u­lar­ly read or watch.

It’s par­tic­u­lar­ly note­wor­thy how their game began and pro­ceed­ed. Let’s reread the writ­ten account:

First, the old­er broth­er George exclaimed, “Wow, what a huge tree! It’s like a sleep­ing giant!” This sparked their bound­less imag­i­na­tion and excite­ment.

So, David, the younger broth­er, imag­ined the thick tree trunk and branch­es as a jun­gle, and sug­gest­ed play­ing an adven­ture game in the jun­gle, “lead­ing the expe­di­tion team, fear­less­ly into the deep­est part of the jun­gle, where fierce leop­ards lurk every­where.” Where did the leop­ards come from? Look down, it’s just that lit­tle cat! The lit­tle cat leads to the image of fierce felines, and Han­ni­bal’s name leads to the image of war ele­phants.

Next, they imag­ined the tree as a large sail­ing ship, sail­ing around the sev­en seas. This time, the old­er broth­er was in charge of steer­ing, while the younger broth­er was in charge of keep­ing watch to pre­vent attacks from pirate ships. You can get a sense of this: in the broth­ers’ con­ver­sa­tion and game, the old­er broth­er George was main­ly respon­si­ble for the tech­ni­cal aspects, while the younger broth­er David was main­ly respon­si­ble for the bound­less and exag­ger­at­ed imag­i­na­tion.

In the next space scene, the tree has trans­formed into a space­ship, and the two broth­ers are hold­ing onto a large flag. What is that flag made of? It looks a lot like a bed sheet or a cur­tain!

There­fore, we can briefly sum­ma­rize that the games chil­dren play tire­less­ly and end­less­ly in nature, even using a fall­en tree, share sev­er­al char­ac­ter­is­tics:

  • The first is to use what­ev­er is avail­able local­ly;
  • Sec­ond­ly, they con­nect their exist­ing knowl­edge with their pre­ferred imag­i­na­tive mate­r­i­al;
  • Third­ly, it often requires mutu­al inspi­ra­tion among part­ners;
  • Fourth, games are often invent­ed ran­dom­ly by the cre­ators them­selves, with cre­ativ­i­ty con­stant­ly accu­mu­lat­ing;
  • Fifth, the game­play and rules are entire­ly deter­mined by the play­er, some­times based on the sug­ges­tion, but usu­al­ly through nat­ur­al nego­ti­a­tion and dis­cus­sion, and roles and con­tent can be changed at will.

So, the most amaz­ing thing about this kind of game is that it blends per­fect­ly with the envi­ron­ment, offer­ing end­less pos­si­bil­i­ties for imag­i­na­tion. And because it’s com­plete­ly autonomous (not arranged or pre­scribed by oth­ers), chil­dren will nev­er get bored. This kind of game is also very help­ful for chil­dren to ver­i­fy, exchange, and expand their knowl­edge.

On the next page, the two broth­ers, tired from play­ing, are hid­ing in the shade of a tree drink­ing bev­er­ages. The text reads, “That tree was a very pri­vate place, big enough to hold their own secret dreams, small enough for them to explore togeth­er.” Was­n’t it an ide­al play­ground? Unfor­tu­nate­ly, soon adults came and sawed it down and took it away; it was a large tree that had fall­en into their neigh­bor’s yard. Final­ly, the two broth­ers leaned against the tree clos­est to their own yard, hop­ing that if it fell, it would fall into their yard!

In the final word­less image, a kit­ten stares out the win­dow into a storm, where rows of deli­cious fish seem to swim over­head. Read­ers will see sim­i­lar fan­tas­ti­cal scenes in his lat­er works, such as *Dream Fac­to­ry No. 7* and *Tues­day*.

Inte­ri­or pages of “Dream Fac­to­ry No. 7”

While *The Hur­ri­cane* isn’t David Wies­ner’s most rep­re­sen­ta­tive work, it explains to his fans, in a qua­si-auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal style, the source of his bound­less and fan­tas­ti­cal imag­i­na­tion. This imag­i­na­tion stems from his almost per­fect child­hood: a lov­ing fam­i­ly with excep­tion­al­ly har­mo­nious sib­ling rela­tion­ships, uncon­di­tion­al sup­port among fam­i­ly mem­bers, and con­struc­tive inspi­ra­tion. More­over, while rich­ly nour­ished by books and art, his liv­ing and play­ing envi­ron­ments were remark­ably close to nature, pro­vid­ing him with con­stant oppor­tu­ni­ties to be nur­tured by it. A dev­as­tat­ing hur­ri­cane, how­ev­er, became a cher­ished child­hood mem­o­ry for David.

David Wies­ner’s path to adult­hood was cer­tain­ly for­tu­nate, but not with­out its chal­lenges. His most unfor­tu­nate expe­ri­ence came in 1983 when, at the age of 27, he and his wife Kim were strug­gling to make ends meet in Boston when a fire destroyed their apart­ment build­ing. Every­thing he owned was gone, includ­ing the pre­cious oak draw­ing table his father had giv­en him. How­ev­er, he quick­ly recov­ered, his work matured, and soon he had the oppor­tu­ni­ty to col­lab­o­rate with Hol­ly­wood direc­tor Steven Spiel­berg, illus­trat­ing the nov­el and cre­at­ing posters for the sci­ence fic­tion film *E.T.*. This improved his finan­cial sit­u­a­tion, allow­ing him to return to his sig­na­ture style and achieve suc­cess. There­fore, a “per­fect child­hood” can actu­al­ly instill a sense of secu­ri­ty, con­fi­dence, and resilience, enabling one to face any set­back with equa­nim­i­ty.

Let’s take a break first, and we’ll talk again in the next episode.