Arthur R. Chandler E.H. Shepard: The Man Who Drew Pooh

The Man Who Drew Pooh is quite a shallow study of that man, in contradiction of its otherwise promising title, but this may be in deference to Shepard's dying wishes to delay any detailed biography until 30 years after his death in 1976. Shame then that patience didn't prevail, and the material herein was not saved to be included in a more comprehensive work.

Instead, the result is that the book flows much like walking past a sequence of museum exhibits; the text is simply the labels to the items held at the University of Surrey archives, upon which it is based, and it loses something somewhat without conjunctive adhesion. Alas, the paucity of historical annotation means that the images occupy more page real estate than the text, forcing the reader to jump pages in order to view the picture currently being referenced. Later on, the textual information does become denser, probably reflecting Shepard's diaries, which were an invaluable archival resource, but like diary entries, the flow remains disconnected and unstructured, providing little more than a dispassionate commentary muddled by his ever more busy life, post-Pooh.

However, there is enough information offered to recognize that Shepard was an exceedingly gifted and prodigious artist, even from a young age, and amazingly economic with paper, using both sides of the same piece at least once, unlike the book alas, which has somehow made its way through printing short of a side or so. This is annoying in the least, but what remains is a charming collection of works, sourcing a long career drawing for Punch, wartime sketches, many book illustrations, and culminating of course in his decoration of A.A. Milne's 4-plus books featuring Winnie-the-Pooh. Of Shepard's famous interpretations, it is interesting to recall how Christopher Robin Milne noted in Enchanted Places the migration of Pooh's eyes lower on his face, enlarging his forehead to make him look more juvenile, which follows the same development during Mickey Mouse's evolution, and perhaps giving the Bear With Little Brain a more Neanderthal appearance. Unfortunately there is no such analysis in the book.

The Man Who Drew Pooh works as a collection of Shepard's drawings, but lacks the descriptive annotation needed to promote them from being unconnected events to actual chronological facets of a man's life experience. There's also little reference to the alternative archives of Shepard's works. This affectionate compilation does work well in parallel with Shepard's autobiographical works Drawn From Memory and Drawn From Life, which are submitted as part of the evidence that Shepard was very much more than just The Man Who Drew Pooh. Strange then that the book chooses to end by highlighting this one most popularly known aspect of him; although it is easily forgiven - Shepard's visions are as much part of our memories as Milne's prose. They have persisted beyond their Disney reinvention (although some may know and cherish the films more than the original books) to be icons of all our childhoods.