Lost Thing

I bought this "children's book" in 2005 and I am just now reviewing it. Yes, it has stuck with me that long.The Lost Thing is one of those creative works that’s marketed towards kids, yet might have even more value for adults. Sort of a “picture book” equivalent of Watership Down. With its highly detailed steampunk aesthetic—both in its main images, and the pseudo blueprint schematic designs along the borders—it reminds one of Terry Gilliam, Orwell, German expressionism, and in a weird way, the films of Hayao Miyazaki. Like Miyazaki, Shaun Tan seems to have a tremendous ability to create a surreal world—one that runs on its own internal logic which in itself serves as a mirror to reflect the illogic of how we behave in our day-to-day lives. Frankly, it’s a masterpiece.Some have expressed ambivalence as to the theme and purpose of the Lost Thing. To me, it could not be more obvious. In addition to just having plain gorgeous, dystopic artwork—the Lost Thing is clearly a despairing cry against conformity, apathy and worldliness. You see, the titular "Thing” is a very strange hybrid between robot and animal. It’s bright red and almost Lovecraftian in its size. It makes its first appearance on the beach, in clear view of everyone. People should be gawking at this behemoth. Just witnessing it should leave an indelible mark on their brains, a story they could tell their grandchildren. Yet, save for the main character—a boy who happens upon the Thing during a bottlecap-collecting excursion—no one even gives it a second glance.From all the beachgoers to the main character’s parents to the downtrodden occupants riding the subway trams… It’s not so much that the Thing isn’t accepted or that it sticks out like a rusty thumb; it’s that no one cares. The characters have become so apathetic—their value systems so revolving around the latest news of the day, normalcy, and a media so pervasive that it has killed all sparks of curiosity in its audience—that when something rare and wonderful appears, these automatons don’t reject it so much as they are blind to it. (The boy's parents literally just go on watching TV even as this big red Thing occupies their living room.)Being aware of this book’s theme makes the ending subtly dark. After having successfully delivered the Thing to a new “home” of sorts—a strange little world of misfits, hidden from the “regular strangeness” of the rest of the book—Tan implies that the main character is destined to become just like his soul-blind parents. As the years go by, he will become more and more assimilated to “normalcy.” He will adapt the value system of the world he inhabits. Mature adults know that life is all about working in a cubicle, collecting that paycheck, vegging out in front of the TV, and never, ever feeling wonder or curiosity about anything. Wonder and curiosity are fine for silly children. But at a certain point one needs to put aside such childishness and be a real man (or woman); do your job, don’t question, don’t stick out from the crowd, and pass those Cheetos.The parting words from the main character say it all:“I still think about that lost thing from time to time. Especially when I see something out of the corner of my eye that doesn’t quite fit… I see that sort of thing less and less these days though. Maybe there aren’t many lost things around anymore. Or maybe I’ve just stopped noticing them. Too busy doing other stuff, I guess.”And throughout this monologue, Tan pulls the “camera” back to show the boy as just another passenger speck on a subway tram amidst a sea of subway trams. It’s like Terry Gilliam’s Brazil for grade-schoolers.***I have to emphasize how entrancing the artwork is. Another reviewer said that he found himself coming back to this book a couple times a week ever since he bought it. I’d wager that it’s because of the artwork. This is NOT one of those kids books in which the author and publisher cynically try to outdo one another in how far low than can set the bar, based on the idea that “Kids and their parents will buy any old crap. Just pump something cutesy out so we can market it.” (More on one such children’s book below.)Rather, every page of The Lost Thing is suitable for framing. From the Kafkaesque government building depicted from an extreme top-down view, to the shot of our main character sitting amidst rows of identical industrial suburban houses, to the hidden alleyway offset by the massive gear in the foreground—you might be compelled, as I was, to investigate if framed prints are available to purchase. (They are. They’re expensive.)On that note, can we hope for a scanned pdf release in the future (like they do with comic books)? True, it’s not the same as an actual copy of the book, but it would do in a pinch. At present, it looks like physical copies of The Lost Thing are only available "used and new from these sellers," and I'd hate to think of a world in which Shaun Tan's masterwork disappears entirely.***EDWINA…I’d like to do something a bit strange at the end of this review and contrast The Lost Thing to another, totally different children’s book that we happened to purchase right around the time we got The Lost Thing. (It's totally different, yet in its own blundering way, manages to evoke the same themes.) And that other book is called “EDWINA: The Dinosaur Who Didn’t Know She Was Extinct” by Mo Willems.You see, in all the ways that The Lost Thing is wonderful, Edwina is awful.Whereas Edwina seems to convey all the wrong lessons with its skin-deep insipid narrative, The Lost Thing is remarkable in its mission statement and the brains it uses to convey that statement. Whereas Edwina seems to be from the school of children’s books that say, “Hey, it doesn’t matter if the artwork is terrible because it’s just for little kids”—Tan takes the stance of a true artist and seems to have put his blood sweat and tears in every image, regardless of the fact that such details might likely be lost on the book’s target audience.But most importantly, whereas Edwina seems to celebrate conformity and mediocrity, celebrate going along with the crowd, and makes fun of those that would question the status quo—Shaun Tan delivers a beautifully-rendered, passionate and subversive critique against such a grotesque worldview. Mo Willems' Edwina seems to believe that above all else—above being true to your convictions—people should just be content to fit in and “go with the flow.” Shaun Tan on the other hand recognizes that oftentimes single bodies of water can be stagnant, and that conformity inevitably leads to the death of human potential. Shaun Tan celebrates the individual, whereas Mo Willems mocks it.In a strange way, because it is so mindless–Mo Willems' book makes for an unwitting companion piece to Shaun Tan's thoughtful masterwork. The contrasts are striking. By being so diametrically opposed to the values of curiosity, non-conformity, and sticking one’s neck out—Edwina's mere existence only drives home the themes of The Lost Thing even deeper. I've no doubt that Edwina and her friends--uninquisitive Stepford ciphers, all of them--would feel right at home on that beach where the Thing first makes its appearance. They'd fit right in with the automatons.

This is a short book written for children. A young boy finds a small, living being that he does not recognize, but that he ends up taking home. The people who he asks, including his own parents, don't know what the thing is either, but neither do they wish to become involved, and therefore share in the responsibility of the thing's well-being. This makes a very real commentary on the indifference in today's society, the ability of people to see only that which they wish to see, and to be blind to that which they do not. The boy is the only one who even notices this lost thing, the only one who cares, and the only one who is willing to try to find out where it belongs. A simple story to be sure, but one that should be listened to. Would any of us notice the lost thing? Would we care enough to help? Or would we simply turn a blind eye and walk right by? Something to think about.

Wonderful book from a talented artist. Enchanting for adults and children.

This oddly compelling book is beautifully illustrated and takes the reader into another world. It is my favorite of Shaun Tan's books, something you'll return to again and again. Highly recommended.

There is something haunting about this story and it's illustrations. I saw the animated film version of this story and wanted the book as a reminder.