My Big, Dumb, Invisible Dragon

June 15, 2019
The weight of profound loss looks just like a dragon as it sits atop a grieving child. "Have you ever seen an invisible dragon?" the unnamed narrator asks, describing how just such a creature came one day out of the blue and changed everything--making it hard to get out of bed, casting heavy shadows, ignoring tantrums and attempts to bargain. Gradually, though, the dragon takes leave for ever longer intervals, and, at last, after a day in the park with a friend and then an eighth birthday party, even when present it seems less oppressive. The nature of the loss is never directly mentioned, but the narrator remarks that "We had to get used to movie night without her famous peanut brittle popcorn," as the child snuggles disconsolately with a sad-looking adult, and Sif leaves further hints in glimpses of an open photo album and an extra apron in the kitchen. The semitransparent, cartoonish dragon never looks threatening; by the end it has not vanished but shrunk down to a manageable size. Finally, pointing out that the initial question about seeing an invisible dragon was silly, the child closes with a wonderfully perceptive insight: "You can never see one by looking straight at it. You have to look at the person underneath." The white-presenting child is never gendered. Both sensitive and sensible: If some dragons can't be vanquished, with time and help they can be borne. (Picture book. 6-8)

COPYRIGHT(2019) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

July 1, 2019
Told in the voice of a child navigating the loss of his mother, this story depicts grief as an invisible dragon, not scary and ominous so much as big and present. The boy negotiates shared space with this unwelcome guest and tries many tricks to get rid of it, but on some days, he embraces the dragon: “I’d reach up and pull his big, dark wings around me.” Lucas stays true to the boy’s perspective through a landscape of shifting emotions, creating a narrative that reads childlike and true, with dashes of humor and playfulness amid the somber subject matter. Sif’s illustrations, awash in tone-appropriate blues and purples, feature expressive characters that encourage empathy. With its commitment to the child’s subjective experience, this is a welcome addition to grief literature for children. Ages 4–8.