PJ Lynch’s most successful children’s book, The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey, is about a friendship between a widowed wood carver and a boy whose father has died. Jolly stuff. The Susan Wojciechowski story struck a chord with readers, though. First published in 1995, it sold more than 1m copies in America and was later turned into a film, starring Tom Berenger.
While Christmas Miracle put the Belfast-born illustrator on the map, it also alerted the God squad. “I got sent loads of religious stories,” says the artist, surrounded by sketches, pens and brushes in his Dublin studio. “Christmas Miracle has a spiritual overtone and a lot of people think it’s a religious story, which it isn’t. None of the ideas were good. I would have considered doing them if any were half decent, but they were terrible.”
Not that Lynch was dissuaded from what he calls “the big issues: life and death, love and longing”. Sarah, Plain and Tall tackled the subject of bereavement, as did the Douglas Woods-authored Grandad’s Prayers of the Earth. Lynch explored immigration in When Jessie Came Across the Sea, and history in Lincoln and His Boys, a poignant reflection on the family life of the American president.
The 49-year-old illustrates with all ages in mind. He’s working with Woods again on No One But You, an exploration of nature’s sensory gifts, in which his vibrant, paintings chime perfectly with the text. “It’s probably more poetic than other books I’ve done,” he says. “Usually with my stuff, there’s a strong plot. [Woods] would call himself a pantheist: God in nature and all around. Although I wouldn’t examine my spirituality the way he does, it would probably tie in with the way he sees things.”
Lynch’s stylistic work has drawn comparisons to classic illustrators such as Arthur Rackham, and it’s not confined to picture books. He has created posters for Opera Ireland and the Abbey Theatre, and designed stamps for An Post. The Irish Examiner recently commissioned him to produce a poster for a series of articles on Irish clergy, and another on the country’s relationship with alcohol, which gave him an opportunity to depict Irish cailíns swigging lager and vomiting in the gutter.
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Children’s illustrators of yesteryear must have longed for such distractions. EH Shepard resented that he was remembered for his illustrative work on Winnie the Pooh and The Wind in the Willows instead of his political cartoons for Punch. Lynch, on the other hand, regards his work with pride: “I don’t accept it’s a lesser art form. I won’t be patronised about the art form that is children’s picture books.” He finds they have expanded, not quelled, his creative vision.
Lynch spends a day every week doing life drawing at the Royal Hibernian Academy in Dublin, which helps his observational skills and painting technique. “The benefits feed into all of my work, whether I’m inventing a character from imagination, or painting using photographic reference.”
He rejects the notion than a picture-book illustration is any less important than a gallery piece. “There’s a snobbishness about gallery art. I don’t think people who work solely in that genre should be sniffy about artists whose work reaches a much wider audience. I think it’s telling that a children’s book, to be successful, has to appeal to many thousands of people, whereas you can be a successful gallery painter and have a handful of buyers.
“Some of the best artists never acknowledge boundaries between disciplines. Take Picasso. He was doing all sorts of art. Earlier in his career, he was designing posters. He was illustrating books throughout his career. Alphonse Mucha, one of my heroes, was doing easel painting and murals, as well as designing posters and bank notes.”
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Lynch’s multi-faceted approach, and distaste for art snobbery, is traced to his college days in Belfast. In the early 1980s, Jordanstown actively discouraged figurative drawing. “It was a dreadful time for art education. The prevailing trend was abstract expressionism. They were so terrified of being seen to be provincial that they didn’t want anyone doing anything old-fashioned or traditional,” he recalls.
At art college in Brighton, however, the world of illustration opened up to him. Among his tutors was Raymond Briggs, author and illustrator of The Snowman. Lynch found Briggs tremendously inspiring. Not only had he made a successful career out of books, but he tackled big subjects, including nuclear holocaust in When the Wind Blows and a denunciation of the Falklands war in The Tin-Pot Foreign General and the Old Iron Woman. “I learnt there were no limits to how far you can go with kids’ books,” says Lynch.
While Briggs wrote modern allegories, Lynch was drawn to fairy tales, legends and myth: a response to his upbringing in Northern Ireland. “My mother is from north Antrim, the countryside,” he explains. “Without knowing it, she was steeped in fairy lore [with] a lot of notions about banshees and fairy thorns. For such religious people in the north, they had this pagan superstitious side.”
After his early collaborations — which included A Bag of Moonshine (1986) and Melisande (1989) — Lynch began illustrating stories by classic Irish authors, including Oscar Wilde and WB Yeats. In later years, he worked on stories by Dickens and Hans Christian Andersen. He was, in a sense, following a tradition. Norman Rockwell, the American painter, illustrated Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer.
When collaborating with contemporary authors, however, illustrators often play second fiddle. “A lot of people tend to privilege the author, just because their name or contribution comes first. Maybe they think that being a writer is working in a superior art form.” Lynch has a comfortable working relationship with publishers, but says contracts are usually in the author’s favour. His illustrations were used as a template for the 2007 film adaptation of Christmas Miracle, but the artist received no payment. It’s not a subject he wishes to dwell on: “It would just seem like sour grapes.”
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Nevertheless, illustrators do the lion’s share of work when creating a picture book. What might take the author an afternoon takes Lynch a year. “See all these drawings for a book I’m doing,” he says, gesturing at his studio wall, which is adorned with sketches of Arabian deserts and mythical creatures. “I could spend a whole day drawing a camel’s head, rubbing it out, redrawing it. It’s a desperate waste of time because it could be reproduced tiny and nobody will see it.”
Lynch’s perfectionism may be what makes his work so memorable. In researching Lincoln and His Boys, he visited Springfield, Illinois, where Lincoln lived before becoming president. The illustrator had envisaged solemn grey backgrounds but discovered that Lincoln’s house was filled with florid Victorian decor. “Mrs Lincoln loved to buy all that sort of stuff. Her wallpaper was atrocious,” he says.
Rather than simply illustrate the text, Lynch expands the story. “There are subtexts, little jokes, references,” he says. “If you are interested in art you might look through my books and see a reference to Gustav Klimt or Picasso. A picture book can work on lots of different levels. You want kids to come back to it again and again.”
Children’s books often toy with the art form, as was the case with Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar and Janet and Allan Ahlberg’s Peepo!, while Brian Selznick’s The Invention of Hugo Cabret, which Martin Scorcese has adapted for the big screen, is a peculiar concoction of picture book, movie and graphic novel. Ebooks might be overtaking online paperback sales, but Lynch believes the picture-book market is innovative enough to survive.
“Creative people have to embrace it,” he says. “The Heart and the Bottle, by [the Northern Irish illustrator] Oliver Jeffers, was turned into an app: a great way to experience the pictures and text. I think the two can live side by side.”
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Children’s books do influence and inspire in a way gallery walls sometimes never manage. Children immerse themselves in illustrations; and what they see can stay in their minds for life. “Only if it engages them,” shrugs Lynch. “If the artwork doesn’t do anything for them, they will drop it unceremoniously.” There’s no harsher critic than one in pyjamas with a rapidly approaching bedtime. c
No One But You is published on Thursday by Walker Books