I Talk Like a River

The boy narrating this stunningly beautiful picturebook wants to talk about the natural world surrounding him, but finds it difficult to say the words that fill his head. ‘The P in pine tree grows roots inside my mouth and tangles my tongue,’ he tells us, and on a ‘bad speech day’ he can’t find the right sounds to say anything at all.  
On one level, it would be true to say that I Talk Like a River is about stuttering, but there’s so much more to the lyrical and intensely immersive experience it offers than such a label would imply. Feeling different or left out; expecting to be mocked; living with stomach-churning anxiety – these things will sadly strike a chord with children everywhere, and give this personal account its universal edge.     
After school on one particularly distressing day, the boy’s father takes him to the riverbank. Quietly they look for colourful rocks and water bugs. And there, watching the rush and churn of the water as it flows across the landscape, the boy’s father says something that shifts his world and makes him see things differently. 
‘See how the water moves?’ he asks. ‘That’s how you speak.’
In a series of visual close-ups, the river tumbles past the boy, and we sense change coming. Turning the page, we find ourselves face-to-face with him. Sunlight streams onto his shoulders and illuminates his ears, and broad lines suggest his brows and downward-looking eyes. As we open the gatefold a rush of pure energy is released, and we see him wading into water that shimmers with reflected light. 
That life-changing comment – pulled from the moment and intensely apt, but also somehow slippery – was made by a father to one specific child: his son, the writer of this picturebook. Jordan Scott grew up to become a poet, and it was this experience by the riverbank that stopped him trying to ‘overcome’ his stutter and led him towards a better understanding of his own, unique way of communicating. This picturebook ends with a similar idea. The boy returns to the classroom to talk about the visit to his favourite place: the riverbank. And in telling everyone about the river, he talks like the river – with all its stops and starts, its rush and babble and its many moments of calm. 
This poetic and deeply memorable picturebook has a quality that stops you in your tracks and pulls you in. It addresses one child’s experience of stuttering, but categorising it as an ‘issue book’ or expecting it to provide a quick-fix message for children who stutter would misrepresent this book’s intention and appeal. I Talk Like a River is a personal account of discovery: one that takes us to the heart of an experience and shows us what it’s like to live another life. It’s affecting and accessible, and offers different learning opportunities, depending on our needs. 
Sydney Smith is known for his ability to play with light, and for the dark line that has characterized his work thus far. Light falling through windows, onto water, and – memorably – through earlobes is still a major feature here, but, eager to capture the essence of Scott’s poetry, Smith has pushed his own boundaries in this book. Gone is the dark line, to be replaced by watercolours that feel less certain, together with a range of approaches that communicate intense emotion – just look at the spread where the clearly-delineated classroom on the left-hand page dissolves into a sea of faces on the right, or the close-up that follows, dominated by the boy’s enormous ikon-eyes and sgraffitoed with lines depicting the crows and pine trees in his mouth.   
These images don’t just show us how the boy feels, they make us feel it, too. I Talk Like a River is a lyrical and intensely visual exploration of how it feels to struggle to speak out. It has something of universal importance to communicate, and will resonate with readers of all ages.