Sean Williams

I've almost run out of David Cornish's illustrations for The Changeling. This is the last full-page image, capturing a very lonely young boy running away from home with everything he owns slung over his shoulder.

Perhaps it's a little self-indulgent to claim any kind of parallel between Ros and the book itself, especially when HarperCollins is going to look after it very well in the big, bad world. I do, however, feel a bit nervous about its fate. More so than usual, I mean. Maybe it's because it's taking so long to get into print, or because the writing of it has crossed so many complicated times in my life, or because it taps into so much of my childhood...I don't know.

However that anxiety's come into being, David's captured it well. I want to leap into that picture, pick Ros up and whisk him off to somewhere everyone loves him.



Last...

"The night was utterly dark. Only when lightning struck, as it did with increasing frequency, could Ros see anything at all, and then just for a split-instant. Afterwards, dazzled, he could barely see the ground ahead of him."

The Changeling is set in the same world as The Books of the Change and The Books of the Cataclysm, so there were always going to magical hi-jinks along the way.

In this illustration, David took another unexpected turn, one I particularly like. To have Ros busting out of the frame like this is very appropriate at that point in the story.

Having artists take your words and add their own creativity to them is a humbling experience. It's hard, afterwards, to draw a clear line around the work and state with any confidence where ownership lies. Certainly, my mental images of Ros, Kuller and the camel changed after seeing David's work. I'm very sad he didn't get to finish the project, as I'm sure he would've done amazing things with crabblers (yet more giant spiders), gypsies, golems, and a one-eyed Stone Mage...



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"Ros could have stopped there but the flame kept coming. He emptied all his rage and frustration into it, all his despair and fear and uncertainty, all the betrayal he felt from his family and all the hatred he felt at himself."

This is one of my favourite pictures that David drew for The Changeling. It's hard to explain why without giving away the plot, but this picture comes at a relatively upbeat point in what has been up to then a pretty dark story. And it features the camel, which has a character all of its own. While writing this novel as part of Adelaide Uni's Creative Writing Program, the call to spare the camel was overwhelming from my fellow students. That was as surprising as it was gratifying.



"The world was a blur by the time he reached the back door. He slipped twice before reaching the camel and clambering awkwardly onto its back. Whether it recognised the smell of its former master, hoped for better treatment from Ros, or simply responded to the command in his voice, it raised itself up on knobbly knees with a weary sigh and then clambered to its feet."

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The Changeling is the first book I've written that really taps into my childhood fears. Well, the issue of giant spiders does crop up elsewhere, but that remains an adult fear, so it's not really what I'm talking about here.

The latest of David Cornish's pictures for the book eerily captures the terror I once felt for my father. He wasn't a bad man, but when I was little he scared the crap out of me all the same. Looking at this picture, I am ten all over again.



"Ros's father was a big man and craggy with it. His hands were like clubs, toughened by a life on the land. He hadn't always been surly, but his temper had soured as the dry months dragged on. Anger showed in the tightness of his lips and the set of his broad back. Although Ros did his best to help, it was never enough."

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Continuing the series of pictures David Cornish drew for The Changeling, here's one of my favourites. These would have served as illustrations for the first quarter of the final novel, and perfectly capture, imho, the mood and setting of the story.

I see this one, and I want to weep. Poor Ros.



"Ros waited in the thickening dark, telling himself that there was nothing to be frightened of in the shadows, no matter what he imagined. Alone, though, it was harder to concentrate on the charm Escher had taught him. The faint flame he eventually managed to conjure danced fitfully in his grasp."

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