In the early days of human existence, we transferred knowledge to one another through the oral tradition. We literally told stories to one another. Back then, we needed one another to survive. Alone, our species is vulnerable. We passed down ‘life hacks’ from one generation to another. Grandad and his mates learned (through failure, no doubt) the best way to hunt a dangerous animal, and they told the next generation how to do it.
Oral tradition and tribal living have, in general, stood the test of time as an effective way of knowledge transfer and human survival. Indigenous Australians are a pretty good example of this if you think that survival over 65,000 years and counting is considered success.
But, like with most things, there are positives and negatives.
On the one hand, the oral tradition meant that deep, multi-sensory knowledge could be transferred between generations fairly easily. The connections to these stories would have been so personal that empathy for the experiences and emotions felt through them would have been unlike anything my privileged mind could imagine. But, on the other hand, unless someone with knowledge was able to transfer it to another before they died, the risk of lost knowledge, potentially life-saving knowledge, was high.
Over the years, as technology has ‘improved’, it’s given us the ‘freedom’ to become less reliant on one another for survival. And while we might be living in closer proximity to one another than ever before, the written tradition has re-structured our society in such a way that, at least in the developed world, one can live in general comfort and safety without needing another human being for most things. I’ve over-simplified this a bit, but you get my point.
At 35 years old, I look back on my childhood and wish I got to know my grandparents more. They’re no longer with us, and I can’t help but feel that along with them, a lot of knowledge was lost too; knowledge I probably could’ve used. Since then, I’ve started this career in picture books, and I’ve realised something.
Even in this modern, busy life that we lead, our society still values books, at least when it comes to our youngest generation. Parents and grandparents still believe that reading books to their kids and grandkids is a worthwhile activity to do together, in the same place and time as one another. But here’s the thing. I’ve been trying to rack my brain for another object on our planet that humans still value enough to introduce into their lives in this way. A physical object that creates a shared time and place for our oldest and youngest generations to come together, disconnected from the internet, and share in an idea with one another. I think picture books might be the only one.
So then I think, wow. In this last surviving space for intergenerational, synchronous story-telling and knowledge transfer, lay the ideas I’ve added to the world. Right there, sandwiched in this weirdly precious moment. Books like Queen Celine and Eric the Postie. The ideas and messages in these stories planted in the brains of two or more generations at once. An idea sent to this tiny tribe from a foreign land. What will they do with this new information? Will it change a mind, or spark a conversation? It’s a responsibility that I don’t take lightly, but one I’m immensely grateful for having the opportunity to be a part of.