|Reflection (n): the return of light after striking a surface; an image; representation; counterpart|
|The foyer next to the main Dymocks bookstore in George Street, City|
|Reflection (n.): a thought occurring in consideration or meditation|
As amazing as Amazon is, there is not a button for physicality. For this bricks and mortar, real people and real shelves stocked with books is a good move. Having a range to choose from, like Borders, Kinokuniya, Abbeys, Angus & Robertson, Gleebooks, and Shearers, I stuck with that good old faithful, Dymocks. I had five books in mind, all Australian (“My place” by Nadia Wheatley, “The Tram to Bondi Beach” by Libby Hathorn, “The Adventures of Blinky Bill” by Dorothy Wall, “The Magic Pudding” by Norman Lindsay and “Snugglepot and Cuddlepie” by May Gibbs), and I did not any one of them. Not only did the book need to be physical, but so did the child! What if this baby did not match that book?
My last century sensibilities came with a rush. The current batch of books are hip: fonts are mixed, sizes are mixed, colours are mixed, orientations are mixed! The illustrators have dumbed-down individuality and are churning out a quasi Disney come Japanese anime drawing. Oh, for a Julie Vivas or a Graeme Base. After much angst, I bought “The Waterhole” by Graeme Base, “Peepo” by Janet & Allan Ahlberg and “Each Peach Pear Plum” once again by the Ahlbergs. Simple and repetitive language, teamed with illustrations of immense detail with depth and sincerity.
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