Hughes’ touch is tender too. We see Granny sitting in a bed wearing an NHS hospital gown under her old green cardie.  Amelia, the child protagonist, is there, comforting her grandmother via a memory book she’s made. So, the main character has learned something and applied it; a prescript in some Writing for Children texts. 

So, what did I learn about picture book writing from The Forgettery? 

• Even a whimsical world needs the scaffold of a well-thought out concept. 
• A credible setting (physical and emotional) built with the right words and tone, enables the illustrator’s imagination to take off.

Here is an on-trend feminist retelling of a Greek classic, the Medusa myth which I’ve always found particularly misogynistic. You’ll recall that Medusa is a beauty, vain about her hair, who is raped by the god Poseidon in Athena’s temple. Instead of being sympathetic, the goddess turns Medusa’s crowning glory into a nest of vipers and gives her a gaze that turns men to stone. Naturally, a ‘hero’, (Perseus,) comes along and cuts off her head ...with the help of Athena! 
  
Burton employs the Alternative Perspective approach to imagine the tale from teen Medusa’s point of view for a young adult audience. The rape content is not explicitly stated nor shown, but Poseidon, conceived as a giant but anatomically vague male  lurking in the sea depths, gets the point across and avoids problems the book might have encountered in the American market. ​

​Even if the reader didn’t know the myth, the story works for the intended age group; it’s a doomed romance with an intriguing sprinkle of fantasy – flying sisters – the Gorgons, humanised here and turned into the kind of big sisters every troubled girl would love to have. But essentially, it’s a story about the liberation to be found in accepting oneself as one is, warts (or in this case, snakes) and all. 
 
For me, the most interesting part of this reimagination is the relationship between Medusa and her snakes. With admirable economy Burton shows them as manifestation of the girl’s emotions, therefore an intrinsic part of her, while also individualising the snakes. It’s a lesson in micro pen portraits for walk-on (slither on) characters. 
 
I can’t gush enough about Lomenech Gill’s artwork. You can read about her process here. Gill's style is monotone graphic in some plates, Old Master-rich in others. (Burton states in the afterword that the famous Caravaggio painting of Medusa with a realistic face was the catalyst for her reimagination of this tale.) 

As is supposed to be the case in picture books, the collaboration of writer, artist and art director adds to the story. So, the border of drying octopuses, their sorry tentacles bleeding into the text, is a powerful addition to the dramatic atmosphere of this book.  Well done to the team concerned.
 
This is a book to have and to pass on, as much for its production values as for its feminist sensibilities. 

​Here is the creative writing teaching maxim:  show, don’t tell, in action.   Waddell shows (in dialogue and action) the particulars of how Rosie and Mum manage this potentially tense situation. The effect?  The reader,  aged 4, 34 or 64, feels enormous empathy for the individual characters, as well as that cosy feeling of… ‘Ah- yes, I know how that is!’ So, the reader is fully engaged by the universal and the particular. 

​This being a quiet book, there is no obvious conflict, no real excitement. However, the reader doesn't loose interest. When Rosie’s goal is achieved on the last page, one can't help thinking  “Aww!” Sentimental?  No, because the well-judged words and pictures have fully earned our emotional response. That's good storytelling. 

​For me, this quiet book is a classic example of how to do heart-warming:

• make it real
• make it relatable