Picture books: not just for beginners

“What is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”

What indeed, Alice! Lewis Carroll’s question perfectly captures a child’s natural desire for imagination, dialogue and imagery over dense, heavy prose. And at a time when children’s reading for pleasure is in such perilous decline, we should be taking this question extremely seriously.

Research by Nielson and Harper to understand children’s increasing disengagement with reading has revealed that many parents stop reading picture books to children when they have developed the skills to read for themselves, assuming their children have outgrown the perceived simplicity of such books.

Well, I am here to challenge that assumption.  

Rather than thinking of illustrations as a concession to readers who cannot manage words alone; it is time to start appreciating picture books for what they truly are providing: another way of thinking, feeling and making meaning.

Take the truly exceptional wordless picture book ‘The Arrival’ by Shaun Tan. Many of the images stand alone in their skill and exquisiteness, but it is so much more than a collection of interesting pictures. If you think picture books are all Gruffalos and bedtime rhymes (marvellous in their own way, of course) and you think a graphic novel is nothing more than a comic with literary pretensions, prepare to think again.

'The Arrival' by Shaun Tan

The book draws on the experience of European migrants to the US in the 19^th Century. In the author’s note, Tan cites the Ellis Island Immigration Museum and photos taken between 1892 and 1954 as a major influence on the book. Indeed, one of the most powerful sequences in the book is the inspection and processing that the nameless arrival goes through when he reaches his destination. Tan’s sequential art evokes the indignity, confusion and low-level terror of such bureaucratic tyranny in the most moving way.

If you are a parent reading this, you might now reasonably be wondering whether such a difficult subject matter is appropriate for a child of seven. But this is precisely where we need to distinguish between the business of literacy and the business of literature. If we see picture books merely as devices for teaching children to read, we risk overlooking their real power: to introduce children to unfamiliar worlds, challenge their assumptions and help them imagine lives that are very different from their own. And when shared with an adult, books like The Arrival offer wonderful opportunities for conversation, allowing children to ask questions, explore difficult ideas and make sense of experiences they might otherwise never encounter.

Engaging with images in this way has also been shown to support children’s creative and critical thinking, (Farrar, Arizpe and Lees, 2024). By looking for clues, asking questions and reading between the lines, children are learning to interpret visual information, question what they see and develop an appreciation of artistic choices. A well-chosen illustration can illuminate what language leaves ambiguous, complicate a narrator's account or convey an emotion that would take paragraphs to explain.

Consider Joanne Schwartz and Sydney Smith’s Town Is by the Sea. On the surface, it follows a boy through an ordinary day in a seaside town. But Smith’s illustrations tell a more complex story. Through shadows, dark shapes and contrasts between light and darkness, they evoke the danger of the mine where the boy’s father works. The pictures reveal something the child narrator cannot fully articulate. Readers must look carefully, make connections and infer meaning. The illustrations do not simply decorate the story; they deepen it.

'Town Is by the Sea' by Joanne Schwartz & Sydney Smith

Anthony Browne is one of the great modern picture book storytellers, unafraid to explore the darker, more unsettling corners of childhood. Beneath the surreal humour and visual trickery lie complex themes of family relationships, loneliness, power and vulnerability. In The Tunnel, the antagonism between a brother and sister becomes a journey through fear towards empathy and understanding; in Gorilla, a lonely girl’s longing for her emotionally distant father finds expression through a fantastical encounter with a gorilla. Browne’s recurring images of jungles, shadows, distorted figures and human-like animals give visible form to feelings children may struggle to articulate: jealousy, anxiety, isolation and the desire for parental love and attention. His pictures are rich with visual metaphors and hidden clues, making his books rewarding long after the first reading. These are not merely stepping stones towards ‘proper’ literature, but psychologically astute works that trust children to engage with ambiguity, darker emotions and the complexities of family life.

But with so much out there, how do we separate the wheat from the chaff? (And there is, unfortunately, a lot of chaff). The Klaus Flugge Prize offers a useful starting point. It celebrates promising newcomers to picture book illustration, recognising the achievements of illustrators making their mark in this demanding art form. Picture books are extraordinarily difficult to make well: an illustrator must create a convincing world, establish a visual rhythm that draws us from page to page, and judge precisely what to show, what to leave unsaid and how images and words work together.

The prize’s criteria include storytelling, characterisation, originality, technical skill and promise. Dor the pictures bring the story to life? Do they create atmosphere, reveal something the words don’t tell us or make us look twice? Is there a distinctive artistic vision, rather than simply a series of attractive images? The very best picture books offer layers of meaning that reward rereading and leave room for a child’s own imagination.

There is a rich variety of illustration to discover. From the atmospheric landscapes of Sydney Smith to the nature-inspired work of Jackie Morris and the wordless storytelling of Aaron Becker, picture books introduce children to different artistic styles and ways of seeing. They can nurture an early appreciation of art, while showing that images, like words, can be ambiguous, surprising and open to interpretation. Could anything be more important in the age of instagram?

Illustrated storytelling is not confined to picture books. Graphic novels and illustrated chapter books offer different routes into reading, particularly for children who find a page of uninterrupted text daunting. They are not lesser forms of literature, nor should they be treated simply as stepping stones towards ‘proper’ books. Words and images work together in complex ways, and readers deserve the freedom to enjoy both.

But we should also think carefully about the images we give children. AI-generated illustrations may be quick and convenient, and their polished, familiar aesthetic can be immediately appealing. Yet children’s books are an art form, shaped by the imagination, experience and distinctive vision of human artists. There are real questions about consent, copyright and the livelihoods of illustrators, too.

My concern is not simply that AI images might replace human artists. It is that, if we become accustomed to images generated instantly from familiar patterns, we risk narrowing our sense of what illustration can be. Children need opportunities to encounter art that is strange, challenging, imperfect and original — work that stretches their imaginations rather than merely replicating what they are seeing on screens.

For too long, illustration — particularly in children’s books — has been treated as a lesser art, something charming but disposable. Thankfully, that is changing. Archives and collections preserve original artwork and manuscripts, while institutions such as Seven Stories champion the history and creativity of children’s literature. These efforts recognise that illustrations are not merely the finishing touch to a story: they are artworks in their own right, shaped by individual vision, skill and imagination.

This matters when we consider the reading crisis. If we want children to discover the pleasure of books, we need to offer them stories that invite them in, rather than insist that there is only one right way to read. Pictures can be that invitation.