THE GALE

In this adaptation of Nobel Prize winner Mo Yan’s short story of the same name, a grandfather and grandchild gather satintail grass on a windy day.

In rural China, amid the early-morning fog, Yeye and the child set off toward the lush meadows miles from their house. Every summer, Yeye cuts the satintail grass, which is then fed to the livestock. The child, now 7, joins him for the first time. Among the quiet, “half-waking world,” Yeye sings a “nonsense” tune that “feels strange—happy, yet sad” (“A small peace offering can end generations of wrong… / A careless reply can wipe out half a kingdom”). When black clouds unexpectedly roll in, Yeye and the child must quickly leave. A formidable gale arrives, sweeping away the carefully gathered grass; in its aftermath, Yeye’s eyes well with tears, but the pair push on. Lyrical prose pensively explores ideas of perseverance and acceptance. The visible brushstrokes of the acrylic-on-cardboard illustrations beautifully render movement: of the wild, grassy fields, the morning fog, the afternoon clouds, and the actions of Yeye and the child. While the palette is primarily muted and earthy, the use of several perspectives and angles further energizes the pages. As “the wind tears away the half-dried grass, scatter[ing]” and spiraling it through the sky, readers themselves will experience the tumbling as they turn the book sideways to view the vertical spread.

Gentle yet powerful.