One of my favorite children's stories, "The Photograph," uses dramatic irony.
It's an extremely short story by James Marshall. Martha the hippo visits a photo booth; the result is a terrible, unflattering portrait. But Martha, with her immense self-regard, sees only evidence of dazzling beauty. No one corrects Martha. The story ends in this odd, uncomfortable way: We, in the audience, observe something that Martha cannot observe.
Jon Klassen has (I think) studied James Marshall. Klassen also likes to produce images that are in tension with the words on the page. "No one saw me steal this hat," boasts a little fish (but a crab is a silent witness, in a distant meadow of seaweed). In "Sam and Dave Dig a Hole," the two heroes are always just inches from uncovering a diamond--but they're unaware, because they don't have the cosmic perspective that we readers have.
One of my beloved Klassen scenes has two little ones studying masks, mounted on a wall. "We're not meant to touch them, just look at them," says one child. "Of course," says the other. "I understand." And--in the next image--without authorial comment--Klassen has captured the two little children's hair and chins, peeking out from behind the "forbidden" masks.
Life often has these little gaps: between speech and thought, between words and actions, between perception and reality. I like how Klassen pays close attention to human behavior.
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