This is a very difficult book to review, and yet it also demands that I write one, if only to prevent this jewel of a child-sized work of philosophical poetry from sliding into the abyss of picture books I have and will have read. Because this one is special. The boy who is its protagonist has no name, nor any particular real-world setting. Instead, he has a series of places and characters he encounters and interacts with as he tries to discover where he is going and why, where he would like to be and how to get there. The illustrations are vaguely cartoonish, but nevertheless convey, often taking up only a small portion of the white page, the contours of the atmosphere of each step of the boy's journey. He could be anyone of any age. In that sense this is not strictly a children's book, for all its clear, simple language and shapes. The emotional import of the boy's ponderings could not pack a more powerful punch with the most complex of language and the most photorealistic detail: on one page I almost started crying, as the boy stands in a swamp studded with rangy trees and reflects that he does not know where he is going, but he must be lost because he does not want to be where he is. The stark yet gently muddy tones of the image, in contrast the bright clean white and pastels of the boy, are almost heartbreaking. It is impossible not to be the boy in the illustration, and this is the genius of the book: the boy has no name, no identity, no home. He is everyone and no one. He is a cartoon outline, like we all are, trying to find his place, the picture where he belongs, and to fill himself with understanding.