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What better way then to draw a Third Illustration to The Graveyard Book where in Chapter 2, Bod and Scarlett have been friends for awhile but when they enter down through the Crypt and enter The Indigo Man and The Sleer (only here, I've drew the Indigo Man) where Bod protects Scarlett from these Strange Crypt Creatures.
The Graveyard Book (c) Neil Gaiman
Now, I know that Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett have very different styles of writing, although they compliment each other greatly.
BUT.
When I read the Graveyard Book, in which, Silas, an old and generally powerful vampire, decides that the best way to save his adoptive son from being kidnapped by the cops, is to THROW HIMSELF in front of the moving cop car, and then play dead for a while (mind you, it doesn't kill him, but he admits in the book that it actually hurts a lot), the first thing I thought was " That stupid man would fit in perfectly in Ankh Morpork".
I mean come on!! That moves is in line with Otto's nearly suicidal fascination with the light, and is carries such a "Vimes-esque" level of drama. That bitch was extra and dramatic for no reason and I love him for it.
It's been forever that I've promised to make an artwork of these two so here they are.
My interpretation of Silas and Bod (Nobody Owens) from #TheGraveyardBook by Neil Gaiman (@neil-gaiman)
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"He looks like nobody but himself! Nobody Owens"
Nobody Owens 🤝 Charles Rowland
More of The Graveyard Book stuff ⚰️💀⚰️
So, I finished "The Graveyard Book" by @neil-gaiman this week-end and truly I have many thoughts and feelings about it, so will probably write a review for school later - i still haven't stop crying about the last pages. This book destroyed and drained and ruined me emotionally -i needed to write something to deal with it because of that bittersweet of an ending. I guessed i became too attached to fictional characters, AGAIN.
Anyway, here is a tribute to best witch girl, Liza. I simply loved her friendship with Bod, they are lovely lads who deserve all the love.
Liza doesn't have a point of view in the book and since she is my personnal favourite i tried to write about what her feelings may be? I hope if you see this Mr.Gaiman, you will enjoy this little drabble.Thank you, for saving my life with that book. It has become my favourite of all times - it is deep, with many great reflection on life and narratively great and emotionally heavy. Thank you, from the bottom of my reader's heart. You are the gretatest writer and inspiration I ever encountered, in my years of reading.
Say you'll miss me
Liza Hempstock has been dead and burried for a long time and rather honestly deemed herself to be happier that way. Life was wasted on the living - they were stupid, truly idiots and hadn't an idea about the chance, the potential they had - only discovered it too late, always too late.
So, she quite enjoyed it, to be dead.
But for all the witch girl hadn't lived a particulary exciting existence, there was a curse that remained unchangeable no matter the centuries.
She was alone, truly and forever.
Unimportant. She has had plenty of time to deal with it and it had became more of an habit than a bitterness now.
She thought it pretty funny, to see that even her own death had something of a mocking, cursed isolation; and sometimes it was a little morose too, without anything to truly change about it.
Nothing ever changes in death. Everybody, be them respectable or cursed, knows that.
But then, there had been the live boy.
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She misses him in every corner.
Somehow, Bod is everywhere yet nowhere to be seen.
She sees him each time she looks at the shimmering tombstone he has made for her so long (a lifetime, a childhood -) ago; sees him whenever she goes bored and passes near Silas' dark chapel; and misses him each day at the lonely Potter's field because he simply is not here, maybe never will be and she can't bother him nor watch him and-
Time is long, when you are dead.
(She could only get to silently watch interesting people for a distraction, if there was any at all. Often, there was not. Never indeed.)
Sometimes, she knows she had been the stupid one back then - and wishes she had taken more time to talk and maybe laugh with her long-time only friend, in the times his parting seemed only to be a mere far-away fact, instead of teasing him in her silence and taking pleasure in mocking his stupid of a brain when disappearing from his view in typical phantom witch girl fashion.
An unnerving, hammering thought that was, really.
Because she liked that, to annoy him. Boys were perpetually confused and lumpkins at that age after all, alright? Even Mistress Owens said so, and for all little Liza cared about other people's thoughts, she did know Bod's mother was rarely wrong.
Yet, every now and then, she remembers the macabray dance, and remembers holding him a little closer and remembers his little hurt eyes whenever he looked up and she wasn't here; and she misses even the only thought of waiting near the apple tree for his coming, measuring if she might or not appear to his greyish eyes, considering if she would adress him a word that day. She still remembers what it is like, to have a friend who cares.
Because she can't even have that now. Probably won't have it anymore.
I will miss you too. Always.
He is not here, won't be for another lifetime and she aches.
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She hopes it, that he is living strong and enjoying the change he makes in the world - and if she ever finds out that idiot is not then she shall eventually give him a lecture when he comes back here, if only he does.
It is odd, to not be able to protect him anymore like she used to when he strayed too far from home as a child. The boy has grown fast, and well, and loved, hasn't he?
But for all lumpkin he can be, she still trusts him, always has. And wherever he was, she prayed he was having the time of his life, far away from his bygone home, years distant from his tiny graveyard on the hill in search for everything in this big, unknown world of the living.
thinking about... them..........
