Who here hasn’t wanted to rip apart an assignment, a project or a bill? The star of Isabella Kung’s Nunu and the Sea feels this universal urge. But Nunu, young and overwhelmed with emotions, really does it.
Evocative, emotional and dynamic, Isabella Kung’s art is the runaway star of Nunu and the Sea. The first gloomy pages introduce us to Nunu as she bursts into her room and rips much of it apart, destroying the one vibrant thing in it: a glowing origami house. Between the gray color palette, precise details and Nunu’s facial expressions, Kung makes it easy to feel her distress.
Nunu lies on the floor amid the wreckage of her tantrum, sobbing. When her tears become an ocean, Nunu makes an origami boat and sails off. The art begins to shift, as dismal grays slowly give over to deep blues and eventually pinks and purples. The ocean waves, glimmering stars and the sky’s deepening colors reflected in the water create movement as Nunu travels forward, learning and repairing. Rather than taking her away from her troubles, Nunu’s travels teach her about her emotions, her own strength and the value of mending what we’ve broken. The origami animals Nunu creates along her path radiate kindness and gentleness, despite not possessing faces—a clear demonstration of Kung’s artistic skill. Throughout, fragments of the yellow origami house trail along like breadcrumbs, leading us home again. Kung’s spare and direct statements are well-suited for the story. Educators are often taught that when working with a dysregulated child, the fewer words you can use, the better. More effusive text would be needlessly distracting, since Kung’s art is already so evocative. Kung slips in some repetition and alliteration to lend a sense of calm and safety.
It would be easy to get lost in the beautiful artwork of Nunu and the Sea and forget the rest of the story, but it’s worth it to follow along: We can all use these empathetic teachings about finding a way through big feelings, moving forward and making amends.