Parents can use kids’ natural affection for Owly himself to draw out empathy for those outsiders who may be misunderstood, for those who cannot find the words to express themselves in acceptable ways within group settings. I’m not sure if this conceit was one of Runton’s intentions, but sometimes even unintended ends justify a variety of means.Īnd with simple life lessons and the obvious emotional carnage his characters suffer at the hand of being perhaps too invested in their loneliness and pain, Owly marks a suitable tool for social pedagogy. While the bones of the narrative (Runton’s illustrations) remain unchanged, the way a reader chooses to convey the story to small listeners will evolve and grow through multiple readings. Runton’s tales about an overtly sincere, disarmingly careful owl can function as a genuine vehicle for teaching parents better ways to tell stories. Without words, Owly may be the perfect investment for families with young children, a book that can be read over and over and told differently every time.

These are all things that can be said about Andy Runton’s Owly, and yet none of these adequately describe this charming little book. There is no evidence of brilliant craftsmanship shining through Runton’s illustrations (not that Owly‘s art isn’t brilliantly crafted, but more that it just doesn’t grab you by the collar to scream in your face expounding on how brilliant it is). The art, too, is low on detail and finish, using broad brushstrokes and few lines to convey character and place. The stories are simple (even perhaps simplistic) and the characters are all dressed in heart-on-sleeve fashion. That there are nearly no words means that readers will spend all their time reading pictures instead of divvying time between text and illustration. One can breeze through the entire volume in under fifteen minutes. It’s difficult to know exactly what to say about Owly.

Andy runton