Comics review: Hilda and the Bird Parade by Luke Pearson

A welcome embrace of the European tradition.

Hilda and the Bird Parade
Luke Pearson
Nobrow, 48pp, £11.95

Given where Britain is – geographically, that is, not in some new-age state-of-mind way – it's strange how little European comics have influenced British. Two of the giants of Franco-Belgian comics, Tintin and Asterix & Obelix, are well-known and loved here; and others, like Moebius and Milo Manara, have penetrated the comics world through international successes like Metal Hurlant and The Incal. But while British artists who work in the style of American comics are ten-a-penny, there are far fewer who throw themselves wholesale into any of the European traditions.

Luke Pearson's Hilda series is a lovely exception to the rule. The series began with Hildafolk, a short story in London publisher Nobrow's "17x23" project. Aimed at helping "talented young graphic novelists tell their stories in a manageable and economic format", Hildafolk vindicated the project almost immediately, and led to the first true book in the series, Hilda and the Midnight Giant, and its sequel, Hilda and the Bird Parade (selected as one of our five graphic novels to watch for last autumn).

Hilda is a young girl who lives with her mother and has adventures. A city of dwarves appears every midnight outside her house, which only she can see; a mountain appears to go for a walk every evening; she meets a man made out of wood, and Twig, a dog with antlers.

But at the same time, there's a modern edge to the stories. Hilda's family dynamics are not treated with the same fantastical air as her trips in the fjord. Her mother is a realistic single mum, coping admirably with the stress of trying to look after an increasingly energetic and adventurous child while also making a living as an illustrator (Pearson drawing from life, there). And when the family move to the city of Trolberg, in The Bird Parade, Hilda swaps her pleasant country strolls for games of knock- knock-ginger, kicking cans, and chucking stones at birds.

The books have a strong Scandinavian twinge, and owe a heavy debt to Tove and Lars Jansson's Moomin series of books and comic strips. The modernised elements allow Pearson to show off the way his own style diverges – and improves on – the Janssons', though. The panoramas of Trolberg, the interiors of Hilda's houses, and the crowd scenes during the Bird Parade itself are all things which make the most of Pearson's attention to detail and eye for design.

Special praise must be given to his adeptness at two of the more neglected parts of the comics world: his colour work and his lettering. Most of Pearson's other work, particularly his adult book Everything We Miss, uses a restricted palette, and the lessons learned from them are applied to the full-colour Hilda books. Daytime scenes are rendered in bright primaries, but when the action switches to the cool blues of night-time or the sickly orange of the lamp-lit parade, the attention to detail barely takes a hit.

The book is hand-lettered – no computers here – and is a textbook example of how the ability to affect the minutest aspects of a letterform can alter the tone of the speech. It's an effect which works subconsciously, as well. You don't need to do a close-reading of the book to understand how effective that freedom is in communicating Hilda's mother's despairing anger:

Both of those wonderful examples of craft are proof too that Pearson is not talking down to his audience. The Hilda series are all-ages (think Pixar, rather than Disney, for instance), and it is clear that at no point did anyone involved in making the book think "they're just eight-year-olds". It's an attitude which spreads even to the physical presentation. The series is sold in Franco-Belgian style albums, hardbound with cloth edges and high-quality paper. Its intended audience may not be able to tell you why its nicer, but they will definitely understand that it is. But if the book were limited to just its intended audience, that would be a crying shame. Like the best of Miyazaki or Hergé, Pearson's stories can, and should, be enjoyed by everyone.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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SRSLY #13: Take Two

On the pop culture podcast this week, we discuss Michael Fassbender’s Macbeth, the recent BBC adaptations of Lady Chatterley’s Lover and Cider with Rosie, and reminisce about teen movie Shakespeare retelling She’s the Man.

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The Links

On Macbeth

Ryan Gilbey’s review of Macbeth.

The trailer for the film.

The details about the 2005 Macbeth from the BBC’s Shakespeare Retold series.


On Lady Chatterley’s Lover and Cider with Rosie

Rachel Cooke’s review of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

Sarah Hughes on Cider with Rosie, and the BBC’s attempt to create “heritage television for the Downton Abbey age”.


On She’s the Man (and other teen movie Shakespeare retellings)

The trailer for She’s the Man.

The 27 best moments from the film.

Bim Adewunmi’s great piece remembering 10 Things I Hate About You.


Next week:

Anna is reading Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner.


Your questions:

We loved talking about your recommendations and feedback this week. If you have thoughts you want to share on anything we've discussed, or questions you want to ask us, please email us on srslypod[at], or @ us on Twitter @srslypod, or get in touch via tumblr here. We also have Facebook now.



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See you next week!

PS If you missed #12, check it out here.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

Anna Leszkiewicz is the New Statesman's editorial assistant.