Graphic Witness: Four Wordless Graphic Novels

by George A. Walker (Editor), Frans Masereel, Lynd Ward

"If you care about graphic novels, you need this book."
- New York Times best-selling author Neil Gaiman

Graphic Witness features rare wordless novels by four great 20th-century woodcut artists European and North American. The stories they tell reflect the political and social issues of their times as well as the broader issues that are still relevant today.

Frans Masereel (1899-1972) was born in Belgium and is considered the father of the wordless graphic novel. Graphic Witness includes the first reprint of his classic work, The Passion of a Man, since its 1918 publication in Munich. American Lynd Ward (1905-85), author of the provocative Wild Pilgrimage, is considered among the most important of wordless novelists. Giacomo Patri (1898-1978) was born in Italy and lived in the United States. His White Collar featured an introduction by Rockwell Kent and was used a promotional piece by the labor movement. Southern Cross by Canadian Laurence Hyde (1914-87) was controversial for its criticism of U.S. H-bomb testing in the South Pacific.

An introduction by George A. Walker places each wordless novel in its context and examines the influence of these works on contemporary culture, including film, comic books and contemporary graphic novels.

Graphic Witness will appeal to readers interested in social issues, printmaking, art history and contemporary culture.

Genres: Graphic Novels, Comics, Art, Fiction, Graphic Novels Comics, Politics, Anthologies

424 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2007

Reviews

[Laurent De Maertelaer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fantastische verzameling woordloze romans in houtsnedes. Met uiteraard Frans Masereel ('The passion of a man', 1918) en Lynd Ward ('Wild pilgrimage, 1932), maar ook 'Southern Cross' (1951) van Laurence Hyde en vooral het meesterlijke 'White collar' (1938) van Giacomo Patri (een ware ontdekking voor mij).
Nawoord van Seth en boeiend voorwoord van samensteller/houtsnijder George A. Walker, die dieper ingaat op de verschillende technieken en de benodigde instrumenten.

[Helen · Rating 4 out of 5]

This volume contains four wordless graphic novels, as well as an introductory essay by George Walker and afterword by Seth. Some of these works were suppressed for political reasons, because they were produced at a time of struggle - the 1930s - and one of them contains a scene that was for me at least too graphic: The decapitation by the struggling protagonist of "Wild Pilgrimage" of the sadistic overseer with the killer holding up the decapitated head afterwards. This was too much for me, since it reminded me of the horrible decapitation on video of the American in the Mid-East years ago - which was so horribly shocking at the time - and such cruelty is still so shocking. Right after the protagonist commits this grisly murder, though, he is in turn shot in the head by a cop and the final image shows him on the ground, with the stylized industrial plant in the background and his a woman grieving in the middle distance. He had never managed to last at any job he had, and his end was just as miserable as his entire working life had been.

The art work throughout the book is top notch - each page contains one image, created by linocuts, using various tools - the process of producing such prints is explained in the introduction. The fact that there are no words makes no difference; these stories can be "read" in any language. Some of these works are akin to a movie storyboard - the action flows, and the reader or viewer can imagine the dialog - exactly as one can "fill in" dialog in a silent movie. There is no need to hear every line of dialog, because the action carries along the plot. This is even more so in these novels without words. This is a form of graphic novel which is not prevalent today, although the form was quite common years ago. The wordless novel format was ideal for stories critical of the bosses or the oligarch. All of the stories in this volume have some sort of social message. It is no wonder these works were banned under various regimes, not even allowed in the US at various times. I mentioned above the one scene in the four novels that I thought contained gratuitous violence; the remaining scenes do not contain this level of grisly violence - although lynchings are also portrayed in "Wild Pilgrimage." The working, struggling ordinary person is the hero - or even, an entire people: The final work deals with the residents of Bikini Atoll in the South Pacific which was evacuated before it was blown up by a hydrogen bomb by the US. The residents had to leave their idyllic paradise. Some who did not are then shown once the bomb goes off, with portions of their bodies flayed away, and other horrible ends - as they and all the wildlife around them all die in the blast. It is possible to "read" the book rather quickly since there is one image per page - one stark image that could actually stand alone as a work of art. The works are page turners since the reader wants to know what will happen next to the hero. These are works that are certainly eye-opening -they question the fundamentals of the capitalist system and militarism. No wonder they were suppressed.

[Jeff · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Graphic Witness” is a four-novel anthology of four of the greatest wordless authors. The collection includes a helpful introduction to the medium and a biography snapshot of each artist. The stories included are “The Passion of Man” (1918) by Frans Masereel, “Wild Pilgrimage” (1932) by Lynd Ward, “White Collar” (1938) by Giacomo Patri, and “Southern Cross” (1951) by Laurence Hyde.

”The Passion of Man” - “The Passion of A Man,” is the first and also the first woodcut novel of Frans Masereel. Although this is his first, all of his tropes are here: black ink images created by woodcut, no words, an expressionist art form, a nameless man who is led astray by a scandalous woman, and a railing against capitalists.

This is an import work because it is the beginning of Masereel’s excellent body of work. But it, in itself, isn’t incredibly impressive. After all, it’s only 25 cuts. It is neat, though, to see how it all began.

”Wild Pilgrimage” - Like all of the other woodcuts I’ve read, there’s some tropes: a man on a journey, illicit sex, expressionism, leftist worker ideas. In this one, a man goes on a journey in the wilderness. Throughout his black and white journey, there are reddish-copper fantasy scenes. He witnesses a man being lynched, he attempts to engage a sexual fantasy with a farm wife, he is kicked off the farm, and he returns to lead a failed labor revolt.

I’m not sure if it’s the diminishing effect of reading too many woodcuts in a short time or if this book is just inferior to the others, but this one didn’t seem as good as the others I’ve read recently.

”White Collar” - “White Collar” is the sole wordless novel by Italian-American artist, Giacomo Patri. Rather than woodcuts, he uses linoleum cuts! Most images are in black ink but the more fantastic elements are in a coppery-red ink.

The story is essentially the story of the struggles of an artist during the Great Depression. We see the artist unable to pay bills, unable to pay for an abortion for his wife, an eviction from their house, etc. In the end, he joins a workers’ union and goes on a march.

I found this story interesting because it breaks down the wall between blue and white collar workers. Both are subject to unfair labor practices by their overlords.

”Southern Cross” - “Southern Cross” is Laurence Hyde’s 1951 woodcut novel about the United States’ hydrogen bomb testing on the Bikini Atoll.

I did not realize that was the premise going into the novel. It begins with a happy family on a tropical island. It almost seemed Edenic. I’ve read enough woodcut novels now to expect something much darker than this. Sure enough, it turns into a hydrogen bomb destroying everything. There’s one image of an eyeball capturing all of the destruction that really grabbed my attention.

[Dave Schaafsma · Rating 5 out of 5]

The first wordless stories I read were by Eric Drooker (Bloodsong), but after reading Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics it is clear that telling stories through pictures has a long, thousands-years-old tradition (think Bayeux tapestries, etc). So is Drooker doing a graphic novel? Beckett bemoaned (in Malloy?) "I gotta use words when I talk to you!" Not sure it matters except to academics how these things get categorized, but the four wood-cut based stories archived in this stunning collection make it clear you don't need words to tell powerful stories about important issues. Amazing stuff, highly recommended.

[John Pistelli · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book, edited by George A. Walker, collects four wordless novels or picture novels of the early twentieth century. The picture novel is a form that flourished largely between the two world wars and was then forgotten except for a few devotees, most of them comics creators who saw in these visual narratives the forerunners of the modern graphic novel. And, as the graphic novel has risen to prominence, so the picture novels have been recovered.

As the title of Graphic Witness implies, the authors of these picture novels conceived of themselves as moral chroniclers, depicting in vivid and iconic imagery the evils and passions of their time. Walker’s superb introduction charts a global movement that begins in Europe around the Great War, arrives in America in time for the Depression, and finds its way to Japan after World War II before working its way back to the West. The creators of this new form were, broadly, men of the left, protesting the brutalization of the worker under capitalism, the inhumane conditions of the modern metropolis, and the state/capital war-machine that set the workers of the nations at each other’s throats. (The political ambiguities of this interwar working-man’s leftism, with its idealization of blood and soil and its fear/adulation of the feminine, is discussed in my review of Lynd Ward’s Gods’ Man.) On top of that, Walker’s introduction also includes a set of informative sidebars on the technique of wood, linoleum, or lead engraving as employed by the creators of the picture novels.

A brief afterword by the Canadian cartoonist Seth reflects on the relation of these picture novels to comics and, later, the graphic novel. His conclusion is a complex one: the picture-novelists themselves, he says, were obviously influenced by silent film and at pains to distance their work from the vulgar comic strip; yet their abortive ambition to create adult narratives using sequential art has been realized today in the form of the graphic novel—which is, aesthetically, in continuity with the comics tradition going back to the Yellow Kid that the picture novelists eschewed. This nuanced and somewhat counterintuitive interpretation seems right to me.

To the books themselves:

Frans Masereel, The Passion of a Man: The Belgian artist Masereel, later a friend of George Grosz and praised by Thomas Mann and Hermann Hesse, is considered the first major figure in the picture novel tradition. This brief narrative, which goes from a man’s birth in poverty to his execution as a revolutionary, is an allegory for the suffering of the individual in the modern world. Its title and its title page evoke the Passion of Christ as an analogue for man caught in the industrial machinery, though, as one image in the narrative makes clear by showing a cross hanging behind the court that sentences the hero to death, official Christianity is on the side of the oppressors. Masereel’s images are blocky and primitive, almost medieval, as befits his point of view on the subject matter; though broadly Expressionist, there is none of the modernist stylishness that will characterize later artists’ styles in their own woodcut novels. The hero is at several points refreshed by women—from his mother, who breastfeeds him behind a fence in her urban outcast state, to a lover who oedipally propositions him by displaying her own breast—and by nature and study—he decides to lead a revolt against the capitalists after brooding in the forest and then reading a book (never named—The Communist Manifesto? Bernie Sanders’s platform?). The narrative’s brevity and simplicity are at once its strength and weakness: it tells the moral truth without subtlety or pretension, yes, but are Masereel’s nobly suffering poor women, broodingly thoughtful working heroes, and bloodthirsty capitalist fatcats an adequate representation of the modern? The point is not to chide Masereel for lacking political nuance—which is not a legitimate aesthetic criterion—but to note the loss of interest that comes from his retailing of cliches. His ideas of good and evil are so utterly received, rather than imagined, that the book fails to live up to its passionate title.

Lynd Ward, Wild Pilgrimage: This is a more surreal version of the story one finds in Masereel (and in Ward’s earlier Gods’ Man, irritatingly mis-titled God’s Man throughout Walker’s introduction). In this version of the “oppressed worker escapes/revolts” narrative, the worker’s fantasy sequences are printed in red, in distinction to the black ink that predominates. Ward’s woodcut technique is polished, owing as much to Art Deco as to Expressionism, with fine lines and iconic figures. Such artifice pleasingly contrasts with the novel’s “wild” depiction of nature as a free but threatening space—including the sexual nature of men. Ward’s superiority over Masereel and the other artists in Graphic Witness is indicated by Wild Pilgrimage’s final red-printed dream sequence, in which the worker-hero attacks the fatcat capitalist and decapitates him, only to find that he is holding up his own head. Which is to say: what if the external enemy posited by socialism and fascism alike is not external at all, but is rather the resentful projection onto others of our own appetites? (And how many sociopolitical movements of today would have to grind to a halt if their partisans seriously asked themselves that difficult question?) It is this psychological insight that sets Ward above the other merely political practitioners of the picture novel collected in this volume. He is less a witness than a prophet.

Giacomo Patri, White Collar: This, a kind of pamphlet sponsored by organized labor, hammers home a fairly simple allegory about the economic fragility of the middle class, and the consequent benefits to that class of allying with the workers’ movement. (One imagines an organizer distributing it today to graduate students in the humanities.) Patri’s linocut art is as clear as it needs to be, if sometimes far too literal (as when a chain store helpfully called “Chain Store” drives the protagonist’s small shop out of business). The message remains relevant—if not necessarily unimpeachable—but this is propaganda, not art.

Laurence Hyde, Southern Cross: This book, the only post-WWII text collected here, protests the testing of nuclear weapons at Bikini Atoll, and the consequent despoiling of that island’s environment and disruption of its inhabitants’ lives. But Hyde’s beautiful art—especially in his depiction of marine life—is in service to a sentimental allegory about “noble savages” that undermines rather than reinforces the book’s political message: would it somehow be better to nuke the Atoll if its inhabitants were a population of office workers or, dare I say, leftist woodcut novelists? Lovely art, though.

In conclusion, this is a valuable historical compilation, but its contents, with the exception of Wild Pilgrimage, mostly belong to the history of propaganda rather than to the history of art—a timely warning to today’s politics-besotted generation of the dangers of political art, even as it also reminds us of lost possibilities for visual narrative. A blurb by Neil Gaiman on the back cover speaks of “the genius of Ward, Masereel, Patri and Hyde,“ but on the evidence of these four books, only Ward seems to merit such praise.

[Cyndi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Each one of these exquisitely rendered vignettes is full of depth, character, hardship, beauty and profundity. All with out one word to process. The linocuts are so detailed that the reader easily perceives movement and form. This book also contained one of the most beautifully crafted introductions I have ever seen. I think I will have to purchase this one. Repetitive reading is in my future.

[Lars Guthrie · Rating 4 out of 5]

There’s a brand-new Lynd Ward anthology out, ‘Six Novels in Woodcuts,’ from the Library of America. It includes the justly acclaimed ‘God’s Man,’ as well as five other wordless picture books from this great American artist. It’s edited and introduced by Art Spiegelman.

I found out about ‘Six Novels’ in the New York Times, where Steven Heller rather dismayingly notes that the work ‘collects all of Ward’s books.’ That’s terribly inaccurate, and does a disservice to Ward’s profuse output, especially as an illustrator of children’s books. Even if Heller means only works where Ward is the sole author, he ignores two fabulous children’s books, the 1953 Caldecott Award winning ‘The Biggest Bear,’ still in print, and another wordless novel, the incredible ‘The Silver Pony.’ Ward was also working on a new wordless novel at the time of his death in 1985, which has been published in its unfinished state.

Ward’s work is extraordinary and deserves this place in the canon. My library, however, has not yet stocked ‘Six Novels,’ a situation which I hope will be remedied soon. But when I searched for it, I noticed the library did have ‘Graphic Witness,’ a nice 2007 compilation of four pioneers in engraved wordless picture books who heavily influenced many of today’s graphic novelists, including Ward’s ‘Wild Pilgrimage.’ While it doesn’t have an editor with Spiegelman’s cachet, George Walker contributes an excellent introduction where he draws on his own expertise as a woodcut engraver and illustrator. And there’s an afterword by Seth.

‘Graphic Witness’ allowed me to finally view the seminal ‘Passion of Man,’ a mere twenty-five woodcuts that track a life story and a politically-charged tale of the disenfranchised working class. Franz Masereel produced this highly influential and powerful German work in 1918, and it sets the stage for three American stories: Ward’s 1932 piece, ‘White Collar’ by Giacomo Patri from 1939, and Laurence Hyde’s 1951 ‘Southern Cross.’

All are great examples of beautiful relief printing, socially conscious art, and wordless story telling. Hyde’s critical recounting of the atomic bomb test on Bikini Atoll was an especially wonderful surprise for me.

If you admire Spiegelman, or perhaps are a fan of Eric Drooker, who collaborated on the movie ‘Howl,’ and created some amazing wordless books himself (‘Blood Song’ and ‘The Flood’) you should take a turn through ‘Graphic Witness.’

And anytime you see Lynd Ward’s name on an older children’s book, like ‘Johnny Tremain,’ check him out. A national treasure.

[James F · Rating 4 out of 5]

This collection contains four wordless novels:

Die Passion eines Menschen (The Passion of a Man) [1918] 25 pages -- Masereel was a Belgian artist who worked mainly in France and was published mainly in Germany. This book is the biography of a labor leader from birth through childhood, working as a child laborer, being fired, being arrested for stealing food, becoming a radical, leading a strike, and being executed. Told in 25 woodcuts, this was the first of the "wordless novels", mostly in an Expressionist style, which influenced the later development of the "graphic novel." It is probably not a coincidence that the genre began around the same time as the silent cinema came to maturity, as both were attempts to narrate stories through visual images alone; although the novels outlived the silent screen, continuing into the fifties, their period of popularity was primarily the twenties and thirties.

Lynd Ward, Wild Pilgrimage [1932] 102 pages -- Another story of a worker who becomes a farmer then returns to the factory to fall in a labor conflict, told in alternating real and dream sequences.

In addition to his adult works, Ward was also an author and illustrator of children's books who won a Caldecott medal for illustrating his own book The Biggest Bear.

Giacomo Patri, White Collar: Novel in Linocuts [1938] 128 pages -- Another wordless novel, this one deals with the story of a white collar worker (an advertising illustrator) who loses his job and his prosperity during the depression, and learns to consider himself as part of the working class movement. It was used as an organizing tool for white collar union efforts at the time.

Laurence Hyde, Southern Cross: A Novel of the South Seas [1951] 122 pages -- Probably the last, or among the last, works in the wordless tradition of Masereel (until the tradition was "rediscovered" in the present age of the Graphic Novel. It tells the story of the evacuation of the Bikini Atoll for the atomic tests.

[Steph Myers · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's not warm and fuzzy. I sought it out, because I really liked the Arrival and was looking for more wordless graphic novels. This book is actually a compilation of four socio-politically focused graphic novels by four different engravers done at different time between 1918 and 1951. They take on the subjects of racism, class justice, nuclear testing and more. It's a great "read", especially for anyone who loves art. The beginning of the book talks about the techniques and tools used to make the engravings and how tools and materials can create very different and distinct signature looks. The stories are not heartwarming. There are no happy endings, but given the timeframe they were "written" it's understandable. They were commentary. It would a great companion to teaching Grapes of Wrath or Metropolis.

[Morgan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Each one of these novels is utterly brilliant. To have them all together in one volume is an important study on the similarities and distinctions between some of the 20th century's early wordless woodcut authors. George A. Walker's overview provides fantastic insight into the techniques and tools that these and other artists used to make their work. And the work itself makes the reader thirsty for more!

[Tyler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I want to give this 5 stars, but as I didn't have time to actually "read" everything, that is, take in the story and spend time with each page, I don't feel like I can give it the full 5 stars. Maybe soon, when I finish the book. In any case, some of the most beautiful art I've seen, and a very interesting look at the beginning of comics.

[Marissa · Rating 4 out of 5]

Four masterful graphic novels, laboriously created through various print-making techniques. It is fascinating to realize how old some of these works are, although they have an incredibly modern look and message.

[BVC · Rating 4 out of 5]

In particolare, l'opera completa di Ward e diverse tavole di Hyde sono immensi.

[Harley Quinn · Rating 4 out of 5]

4★: SILENT STORIES, LOUD CONTEXT. These works were early ancestors of the modern graphic novel, told entirely through woodcut or engraving images, without dialogue or captions. I’m pretty sure I read a graphic novel about the history of comics and don’t remember this style mentioned. Because they were carved/etched, it seems like so much more planning and forethought would be required. The collection was an interesting hybrid: four visually arresting but uneven silent narratives (fiction), elevated by a strong non-fiction framework that explains why these works matter historically, politically, and artistically. Individually, the stories range from “didn’t get it” to “understandable with effort” to genuinely affecting. Where the book truly shines is in its contextual material—the introduction and afterword clearly articulate the lineage of wordless novels, their social urgency, and their influence on modern graphic storytelling. As a collection of stories it’s solid but variable (3.8 stars); as a curated historical artifact, it’s essential and thoughtfully presented (4 stars). The four stories were:

🖋️The Passion of a Man (Frans Masereel, 1919) — an allegorical life story of suffering in the modern world.
🖋️Wild Pilgrimage (Lynd Ward, 1932) — follows a worker seeking freedom and confronting societal pressures.
🖋️White Collar (Giacomo Patri, 1938) — focuses on the fallout of the 1929 crash and labor unrest.
🖋️Southern Cross (Laurence Hyde, 1951) — criticizes U.S. hydrogen bomb testing in the South Pacific

The four stories range from post-WWI disillusionment through the Great Depression and into Cold War nuclear anxiety. The collection made me think of how the Bible must’ve been pieced together... completely different authors covering very different events/issues.

Published 18 years ago in 2007, this book currently has a 4.1-star average by 306 GR peeps.

[Michael · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of four socially relevant woodcut books from the early 20th century, the books comment on the loss of social freedoms in Germany in the early 20th century, the struggles of workers, and the senseless destruction of the south-Pacific homes of island natives during the U.S.'s atomic bomb testing. Mostly, I'm just amazed by the art. It's hard to imagine how much work goes into a woodcut book, and they all look terrific. Hyde's in particular is beautiful, if heavy-handed in its presentation of idyllic island life and depiction of American soldiers as callous brutes.

There's a decently interesting if not particularly inspired introduction by editor George A. Walker, as well as a pointless afterward by cartoonist Seth.

[Parker · Rating 5 out of 5]

I bought this book for a graphic novel class, and assumed I'd sell it someone else next year. I wasn't planning to like it, but was impressed and surprised by how much I loved this book. It takes a bit to get into a flow of extrapolating the story, but hugely rewarding to piece it together. The art is also fantastic in most every story. I really loved this collection of stories although I think "White Collar" is among my favorite for having a very clear plot.

[Roy Zheng · Rating 5 out of 5]

Words were originated from images and graphical representations. And wordless novels intend to express universal ideas thru images beyond the boundary of words and language, then it might not be surprising to see these earlier sequential arts all bear a kind of socialist ideal at heart. Images are meant to unite, words divide.

[Mike Reiff · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fantastically illuminating histories on a hidden corner of graphic novel history, and then five fantastic hidden gem visual narratives, each potent in their political messages and humanistic meanings.

[Freddy · Rating 3 out of 5]

Four novels, concerning historical social and economic issues, told via relief-printing techniques/woodcuts.

[Jesse Richards · Rating 2 out of 5]

Beautiful, but the stories were simplistic and one-note. Worst was the printing - a large book that used huge white margins, reproducing these beautiful woodblock prints at a relatively tiny size.

[Ian Hrabe · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fascinating look at sequential art as socio-political agent for change.

[Christopher · Rating 5 out of 5]

These Stories don't have happy endings. phew.

[Pablo · Rating 3 out of 5]

Fascinating idea but lapses into monotony.

[Ingrid · Rating 5 out of 5]

Expressionist art, very much of its time and painfully relevant again/still. The preface is helpful, the stories are good, each page stands up alone.

[sare · Rating 5 out of 5]

Four very moving works of art. This is the type of work i feel guilty reviewing, it almost cheapens the value of it- if you're considering this book, buy it or get it from the library.

[Meade · Rating 4 out of 5]

These were really interesting and a lot of the woodcuts were gorgeous. Hard to believe how much work went into each one! I think I still like Lynd Ward the best for the detail and feel of his work. Being created in the '30s, most of these have themes of unemployment and labor unions, so are basically political. It is so interesting how they tell real stories with no words (or just a few that show up on signs, etc.). Until I recently came across these types of books, I didn't realize just how much the genre has morphed over time, and how adult the beginnings of the graphic novel were (as opposed to growing out of Sunday comics). Well worth a look.

[Garconniere · Rating 4 out of 5]

Brilliant collection, with just enough context to immerse oneself in this gorgeous, underrated form of storytelling.

[J.I. · Rating 4 out of 5]

In truth, I don't find the wordless novel particularly compelling. I find it interesting, and these wood and lino books are gorgeously rendered, and quite powerful in their own way. Unfortunately, all of the artists, largely because of the need to render everything visually, tend towards hyperbole and simplicity in order to convey information, and so the gorgeous art becomes bogged a little too much with moralizing instead of telling human stories. Still, it is a collection of incredible art that shouldn't be forgotten (even if it largely was in our culture).

[Jason · Rating 4 out of 5]

i don't know why i'm not giving this five stars. It is supremely talented and amazingly capable and effective for what it does. Without words, you just concentrate on the aspects. The scenes effect one another to create an image of the story. The effectiveness of light as Kelly put it, "they are drawing with light." In that way, as normal drawing is basically negative(drawing shadows) these cuts are made from what is actually there and shown, the effectiveness of technique, the way lines are drawn with light sputtering out or a face is drawn crassly or intelligently; the whole process is so involved it's draining. As all these stories are about atrocity, tragedy, uprising and inevitably doom. They are brilliant treatises on subtle emotion. And they are talented, beautiful and patient. i just don't want to give it five stars. They didn't blow me away. They are perfect, yes. But it's not mind-bending. It's mind-grating.

[Mark · Rating 3 out of 5]

The woodcuts in this book are impressive, powerful and emotional. And the narratives conveyed are engaging. The ability of these artists to tell their stories without words is interesting, but I couldn't help but feel each book would have been even more powerful with words rather than without. In each case, I felt something was missing, that the story never fully developed. I wonder if it isn't that reading a story into one or two pieces of visual art is satisfying but enlarging it into a book of 100+ images points out that there is a definite narrative intended, the nuances of which you fear you may be missing. Or maybe I'm just more of a word guy, although I do love the combination of woodcut and words with "The Man Who Planted Trees"