US Press
February 2020
This picture book is a deep contemplation about neurodivergence and perceptions of difference, despite its spare text. In a massive surrealist industrial city where the hordes wear cat masks as they operate machinery, a young girl dons a mouse mask and “goes quiet.” In a first-person narrative comprised of short phrases, the narrator states that she is different, “the note that’s not in tune.” The illustrations are dark in color and in sentiment. They are both charcoal smudged and intricately detailed, with the city’s controlled chaos leaving a feeling of claustrophobia on the page. The setting seems both old-fashioned and futuristic, and bustling spreads are well-balanced with several paneled pages and and those with ample white space. The story turns around when the girl finds a library and literally climbs out of her darkness into an inner calm. This allows her to recognize her place in the world and her potential voice. She states, “When I am heard I will build cities with my words. They will not be quiet.” While not a light read, this book is an important resource for children who don’t feel they fit in. Purchase this hauntingly beautiful story to show them that they are not alone.
October 2019
In this magical, slightly haunting picture book, a young girl struggles to communicate with other people and make herself heard. Feeling separate from the world around her, the girl stays silent, using books to escape and develop her imagination until she realises that when she is ready to be heard, she will find her voice. I Go Quiet is really beautiful. The story and the message it carries is wonderful, while the illustrations are stunning. It’s honestly one of the most visually pleasing books I’ve read; I absolutely love the way the words are incorporated into the images instead of simply being added as straightforward captions. The only thing I wasn’t too sure about is the target age-group of this book. It gives a brilliant message for young children, and the picture-book style with such a small amount of text suggests quite a young audience. However, it’s pretty dark and I don’t know how appropriate it would be for very young readers.Whatever the intended readership may be, I thoroughly enjoyed it.
r
January 2020
Every time reviewing a book I start with some research into its creator, especially an unfamiliar one like David Ouimet. Not surprisingly, have found his persona and journey as quirky and charismatic as his debut children’s book “I Go Quiet”. The universal language of music clearly helped David craft the beautiful language of “I Go Quiet”, rich with musical connotations. The main character is a little girl who feels timid, small and misunderstood. She tells of her experience of feeling out of place, being the note that’s not in tune and going quiet as a result, making no sound, singing silence as loud as she could until eventually she finds her way and dreams of one day making a shimmering noise… Stealing the words of the famous Clive James, Ouimet can “turn a phrase until it catches the light”. His beautiful words are matched by equally amazing illustrations. Some monochrome, some in black and white with an occasional sunlit scene. I find this picture book transfixing. Another soft spot I have for “I Go Quiet” is its celebration of the value of reading. The misunderstood and lonely girl finds a refuge in an old library and immerses herself into the world of books which shift her feeling small in a hostile world. She starts to believe in herself, into her connection to everything around and sees an opportunity to one day make a difference.This book’s theme and the excellence of its visual story-telling is reminiscent of Shaun Tan’s The Red Tree. I am delighted to have discovered the talent of David Ouimet. Can’t wait to see what he does next.
February 2020
“Sometimes, I go quiet." A girl-hood up, slumping forward in resignation-walks to school, where “I don't know how I am supposed to be./ I am timid. I am small./ How should I sound?/ How should I look?/ When it's my turn/ to speak,/ I go/ quiet."
One can hardly blame her. The paintings in I Go Quiet, by musician and debut author/illustrator David Ouimet, depict a gloomy, factory-evoking school where from the front of every child's desk hangs a dehumanizing white mask that the kids wear to some sort of assembly. Think Hogwarts by way of George Orwell. The girl feels set apart from everyone else: “I am different./ I am the note/ that's not in tune./ I go mousy. I go gray." Sure enough, while the girl's mask has pointy ears like the other kids', hers also has whiskers and a mouselike snout. During the assembly, a spotlight shines down on her: she's caught without her mask on. She flees to the reassuring isolation of the rear of the auditorium. Later, sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria (“I would leave if I could fly"), the girl imagines her escape on the back of a hybrid beast that lofts her into the air. In the real world, she turns to books: “When I read, I know there are languages that I will speak."
Why does I Go Quiet deserve to be on top of a stack of picture books about how reading is power and imagination is liberating? Consider, for example, a double-page spread showing the masked kids marching up and down the school's stairwells. The image resembles a cross section of a machine, each child a dead-eyed cog. Ouimet seems to be speaking (and painting) not about one person's anxiety-he doesn't individualize the girl by giving her a name or parents-but about a larger concern: the seductiveness of conformity, the threat of human obsolescence through automation. From the moment the girl arrives at school until she heads home that night, Ouimet's illustrations are dichromatic: slate and cream, sepia and black, and so on. But on her walk home (“When I am heard/ I will build cities/ with my words"), she sees a moonlit city in color. Later, from her bed, she looks out her window. Outside is a pair of white birds-a change from all the black ones that haunt prior pages, and perhaps a sign of hope.
February 2020
This eerie, brooding picture book for older readers follows a girl whose sense of alienation isolates and silences her. She trudges alone through an unrecognizable, dreamlike city and into a gloomy, dystopian institution filled with hostile peers. All the children carry catlike masks, to be worn at prescribed times. The girl’s is a mouse mask; in one spotlit scene, she removes it. “I would leave if I could fly,” she says, looking up at the ceiling. Yet there is redemption. Reading is the girl’s solace, she says, and although artwork by musician and artist Ouimet, making his picture book debut, stays dark, readers see intricate, delicate tendrils of life beginning to spread: “When I read, I feel that every/ living thing is part of me.” In this way, she is led to solid ground: “I may be part of everything too,” she decides. “And I am not small.” Though the conclusion doesn’t bear traditional signs of transformation, Ouimet provides the girl with promise: a sense of refuge, faith that all will be well, and a voice that will, “someday,” be heard.
February 2020
A child is too intimidated to speak in a dark, forbidding environment. Appearing small and isolated among richly detailed, atmospheric, even frightening illustrations that present a bleak, dystopian, mechanistic world where grim uniformity is the norm, the school-age narrator describes feeling misunderstood and alone. Because the child is timid and small and different, the child chooses silence. The world surrounding the narrator is oppressively populated; it’s primarily awash in somber shades of browns, blues, and grays. Both the white-appearing narrator and diverse classmates resemble hollow-eyed, sorrowful automatons and occasionally wear mouse masks. Some students sport peculiar hairdos. It’s unclear if the sober society depicted is real or if the author/illustrator is suggesting that this world feels this strange to the introverted, shy, and quiet. Yet all isn’t hopeless in this disquieting story: Though the narrator seems troubled at being muted, the child possesses a lively imagination and recognizes how important silence is when reading, which is depicted as liberating. At the end, the protagonist is confident that this love of reading will someday enable a powerful voice that will finally be heard. Ouimet overplays his pessimistic hand, for, at this point in the narrative, his colors, oddly, don’t significantly brighten. This is off-putting and belies what seems to be meant as an uplifting, empowering message about books and communication. Not very child friendly, though it’s thought- and conversation-provoking for older readers willing to engage with picture books.
UK and International Press
February 2020
I Go Quiet by David Ouimet succeeds at that most difficult of literary tasks, how to employ very few words and yet convey issues of great complexity. In this arresting new picture book he tells the story of an unnamed girl and her lonely life as a quiet person in a cacophonous world. Set in an oppressive dystopian cityscape, we join her on her journey to enlightenment. With plaudits from the likes of Philip Pullman and Dave Eggers, this unusual book will linger in your thoughts long after you put it down. The muted, sometimes industrial vibe of Ouimet’s illustrations conjures a densely populated city, through which our young protagonist passes anonymously. Surrounding characters are depicted as a uniform mass, each of them carrying a mask to be donned in certain situations, a symbolic nod to our own everyday conformities. As an introvert in a world that prizes the extrovert, this pensive schoolgirl refutes the lie that schooldays are the happiest days of your life.
‘I am different. I am the note that’s not in tune. I go mousy, I go grey.’
She imagines herself soaring into the sky like a bird, but the key to freedom is not of the feathered kind. Books and imagination will provide our melancholic heroine with wings, and her silent voracious reading leads to the understanding that books are not merely a refuge from life, but a way of understanding it and a potential gateway to freedom. Reminiscent of the work of the great Shaun Tan, I Go Quiet is richly atmospheric and focuses on cultivating resilience in a life of seeming isolation. Just like Tan’s books, it transcends genre. Speaking to the misfit in all of us, and particularly the introvert, it beautifully reinforces the famous quote by Rumi, ‘The quieter you become, the more you will be able to hear.’
November 2019
An introverted girl struggles to find her place in a noisy world. She believes she is too insignificant and misunderstood to communication with the people in her life. Anxious about how she thinks she should look and speak, the girl stays silent, turning to books to transport her to a place where she is connected to the world, and where her words hold power. As she soon discovers, her imagination is not far from reality, and she begins to see possibilities for herself beyond the present. A future where voice will finally be heard is within her.
Ouimet's illustrations have graced book's pages before, with Robert San Souci's Dare To Be Scared series, and Nancy Etchmendy's Cat in Glass and other Tales of the Unnatural. Just the titles of those books give you a hint of Ouimet's style.
However, I Go Quiet is Ouimet's debut as both author and illustrator, and what a debut it is.
He weaves a magical tale about how it feels to be lonely.
The book will be compared to the likes of Shaun Tan; with brooding, haunting pictures that manage to convey deep emotions. Each page begs you to linger on it. Looming shadows and intricate drawings draw you in.
Every subsequent reading reveals more and more. Ouimet has perfectly matched the illustrations to the poetic, simple story. Like Tan, Ouimet conveys a deep understanding of being an outsider, and both authors approach reality with a sense of hope.
I Go Quiet is a timeless story and a book that I wish was around as a child. It sees those of us who are introverted, acknowledges those feelings, and validates them. There's no preaching, or message to change - it simply lets you be.
October 2019
September 2019
Graphic novels have the potential to use few words (or indeed, no words at all) to convey something greater, and David Ouimet's I Go Quiet is an exquisite example. Following the story of an introverted girl who is struggling to find her place in a noisy world, it focuses on her silence: the world is loud, she is quiet; she tries to talk and is misunderstood, and so she goes quiet once more. Through books, creativity and imagination, the possibilities unfold before her, allowing her to envisage a future in which she builds cities with her words and knowing that one day – if not yet – she will make a shimmering noise and be heard.
The illustrations are gothic and haunting but beautiful, paired with sparse words that deeply convey isolation and loneliness felt within a young girl. Though dark in one sense, it's wrapped in wonder and hope. That notion of hope is key; there's no rush, no need to force a change, instead a crack in the door that she can walk through when she is ready.
It's the kind of book you wish you could send to your childhood self, and the kind that warms the heart as an adult. A simple but stunning story.
September 2019
The haunting illustrations paired with words that dive deep into the depths of loneliness and isolation felt by children makes for an astonishing, almost genre-defying read. But Ouimet pairs these factors with themes of hope and wonder, spurring on children to find their voice, their potential, their happiness at their own pace and in their own time. Books that encourage those who feel different from the world around them to embrace their uniqueness are ones that will resonate with many a millennial and, more importantly, their children. It’s clear that I Go Quiet belongs in this category and will remain iconic for years to come.
There is no doubting the power of words. Plenty of research has been done highlighting the very many advantages of stories and the magic of books and there are countless case studies of young people unhappy in the real world who find hope in the characters and lands they can explore through literature. It is this idea which forms the basis of David Ouimet’s stunningly illustrated book, I Go Quiet.
A young girl travels through her daily life in self-imposed silence. People don’t understand her, she is worried about saying the wrong thing, she is different and so she dreams instead: what if she could fly? What if she could soar? What if she could ride through forests on the back of magical beasts? Parallels can be drawn here with the recent Truth Pixie books by Matt Haig which have a similar theme of a young girl struggling to find her voice. The message in I Go Quiet is so heartfelt that although a children’s book at its core many adults will think back to their own childhoods as they read and smile at the message of hope and promise which, with hindsight, they will have the luxury of recognising.
The images are dark and really do give a feeling of living in a sombre place until she flies, she soars, she rides. The figures in the illustrations have similarities to those of L.S Lowry, so many in number and, like Lowry’s, set against an industrial cityscape. Initially this oppressive city overwhelms the young protagonist but through reading she realises it could be something far more, she could create something far more.
Alongside these alluring images there is a beautiful extended metaphor of a musical note which draws the short story together starting as a “the note that’s not in tune” and ending as “a shimmering noise.” This is an altogether charming book which can be read and read over and over again and still leave the reader smiling by the final turn.
September 2019
Words and pictures
There are a comparatively small number of hard to classify books, by highly talented artist/writers, that seem to me to fall somewhere between the graphic novel and the older children’s picture book. They are generally characterized by few words, if any at all, yet often deal with very sophisticated subject matter, brilliantly explored through stunning artwork. Too often overlooked as being unchallenging for more able readers (which is most certainly not the case) they not only provide a rich and stimulating independent reading experience but also make wonderful resources for imaginative, thoughtful teachers and their classes. David Wiesner and Shaun Tan are prominent amongst artists-authors who have produced some truly mind-blowing books of this type. And David Ouimet’s recently published I Go Quiet is a particularly outstanding example.
Words
The very short text is superficially simple, but is actually profound in its ideas and implications. It shows perfectly how a few words can say a very great deal. A young girl feels herself alienated from a noisy world, and so turns inward; literally and metaphorically, she goes quiet. Yet she frees herself through imagination. This book is itself a compelling testament to all books, to their power to liberate, to educate in the fullest send. And, in the end, the loud, clear message of I Go Quiet is superbly positive, supportive, encouraging. Silence will find its voice in good time, and what a voice that will be.
Pictures
Yet it is David Ouimet’s detailed, idiosyncratic and compelling illustrations which carry the greatest power within this work, adding multiple layers of both meaning and mystery to the text. Primarily monochrome, yet playing mesmerisingly with darkness and light, they are often disturbing, hauntingly surreal. The countless people who populate this world all carry masks of conformity, which they sometimes do and don’t wear, yet their faces are mask-like either way. Across one double page spread, these hordes seem to pass through some vast, dark machine, like product on complex conveyors. In another they are arrayed as a vast ancient army, malevolent terracotta warriors. At what appears to be school, ranks of desks with their masked/unmasked pupils stretch, towards infinity, multiple indoctrinated clones. It is no wonder our girl goes quiet. Yet, when her imagination is freed, the drawings rush, swoop and soar towards flight in exhilarating abandon. And, in the vast library, the girl climbs and climbs up the dark stacks of books until her hand reaches towards the light, the sky, the grass.
Images
These are images that ask questions, many questions, questions in their wholeness and even more in their detail, more questions than answers. But therein lies their power and their potency.
This is a book to disquiet, but ultimately one to comfort and support too. Support for those who feel intimidated , those who feel alienated, and perhaps do not even want to belong, for those who go quiet, for those who read and learn and imagine. It provides the encouragement, the hope, the certainty, that someday they will make a ‘shimmering noise’.
October 2019
Oh, where to begin with this stunningly beautiful, deeply emotional little book? When a book arrives with glowing endorsements on the front and back covers from Neil Gaiman, Philip Pullman and Stephen Fry, it almost feels redundant for me to add my humble tuppence worth of opinion; I’d imagine many readers would already be leaning towards reading I Go Quiet just on the recommendations of those exceptionally fine writers alone.
Nonetheless, I’m going to try and say a little about it – I feel compelled to, this book just spoke to me, right from the moment I first put it on the shelves of the bookstore I work in. I was totally taken with it right away, right from the cover, before I had even opened a page.
Sometimes that just happens with readers, we find treasure and some part of our literary soul recognises something new and important that we simply must read. Over the years I’ve referred to that sudden tingle I get from a new book, that feeling that I just know I will love it even before reading it, as my bookselling Spidey-sense, and it has never steered me wrong.
Our protagonist is a young girl – rather lonely, isolated, alone even in a busy crowd. She moves through the beautifully painted city scenes, some in dark, industrial Gothic shades of grey and dark blue and black, others brightly lit daytime scenes of a handsome, bustling city, full of life. In each, though, she is solitary, walking alone through empty nocturnal streets, or again always alone through the crowded, sunlit daytime scenes. The vast school scenes and the endless ranks of others hint at Gilliam Brazil-like darkness and emphasise her aloneness: there is that feeling in crowds that everyone else around you seems to know what they are doing, where they are going, what their part is in the greater group and how to get along with it.
Our girl, as she observes, doesn’t know how to be in these groups. She fears she hears whispered words as she passes by, as if the larger group is talking about this strange, solitary little figure.
It’s a feeling most of us will have had at some point – it is so very easy to feel alone even in a vibrant city crowd, to think everyone around you seems to have figured out this Life stuff except you, that they all know what they are doing and, perhaps, they are laughing at us for clearly not knowing. And it’s usually nonsense, everyone else is often thinking the same of other people. But that depression and isolation, that lowering of our own self-worth, these things aren’t rational, and telling ourselves that we are being silly and it isn’t really like that doesn’t help our mental state.
Like many of us she has a retreat – she has books. What beautiful scenes Ouimet paints, as she browses the bookshelves, enormous, towering stacks of shelves in a dream library that looks like something straight from the mind of Borges. She finds books, reading, words, imagination, escape. The world may be scary, but the books are always there, they are always waiting for her, never judge her. We’re all readers here, I’m sure many of us have experienced similar feelings, embraced the warm, papery touch of books to carry us away from everything that is wrong with our lives in the so-called real world (I’m often unsure that in fact the Real World is any more real than the many worlds I have traversed in books, if I am honest).
But this is not just a retreat from a lonely reality, the library, the books, the stories, the words, they are not just some substitute for the real world for the girl. No, they are her gateway to understanding the wider world and that she does really belong in it. She reads how everything is created of the same stuff, and that means, she realises, that she too is part of everything in return. She’s not that different, she’s not alone, and if she is quiet, it is because she is biding her time, assembling her words, her stories, and when the time comes:
“When I am heard, I will build cities with my words. They will not be quiet.”
I was utterly spellbound by I Go Quiet. I recognise in it the child I was, lost in bookshops and libraries, I recognise also the adult me who still loses himself in pages. And I recognise the influence of those books, of those words, their power to fire the imagination, to inspire, that reading is not a retreat from the world, it is an engagement with it at the most fundamental level, an attempt to understand and articulate the human experience, and that reading can empower us to face the slings and arrows of the world, arming us with a shield made of book covers and a sword forged from words.
The artwork is simply beautiful, painted pages, often using double-page spreads. Using very little text, strategically placed and sized to infer more emotional depth, placed on the pages rather than in speech bubbles or dialogue boxes, I Go Quiet has a mixture of the graphic novel format and the style of a traditional children’s picture book, which seems appropriate as it is an all-ages work, suitable for both younger and older readers.
It’s a short work, with little text, but that doesn’t matter, because it is the kind of book you read slowly, drinking it in, then you re-read it, looking for more details in the gorgeous art. I’ve read it several times now and each time I find myself wonderfully lost in its emotional currents, feel it making me both cry and smile.
Unusual, moving, and utterly beautiful.
Joe Gordon
September 2019
When this book came through my mail box I took one look at it and said to myself “read it now”. The cover has immediate impact. It begins with a girl who feels lost, alone and misunderstood in the world she lives in. She wanders through this old world that has a feel of the Industrial revolution, sometimes wearing a mouse mask. All the people in this picture book wear mouse masks and look insignificant in the world they are in. As the book progresses the girl begins to feel she does belong and does have a future as her imagination takes over and her knowledge of reading books gives her power. Stunning message written with text that is almost poetry. The illustrations are equally stunning and at times have a filmic quality. The world the girl lives in looks horrible but she finds hope for the future.
If this is not the best picture book of the year I want to see the one that is. For everyone but sophisticated readers will see it’s power.
October 2019
David Ouimet and his publishers have produced a stunning, imaginative sophisticated picture book. It deals with a girl who is extremely introverted. Shy and unassuming she doesn’t even have a name. She goes through life feeling overwhelmed and struggles to find a place where she can fit in. She longs to be heard. This is her journey. I adore the fact that this solitary, nameless girl finds solace in books. Books and reading helps her and gives her courage. The illustrations are dark and moody but they are also beautiful and hopeful. It is for the more mature reader but this would be a great book to unpack with a class and delve into the depths of its beauty and meaning. Love it.