Inkling
Inkling
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Annotation: When an inkblot, who can write, listen, learn, and draw, jumps out of Mr. Rylance's sketchbook, Ethan believes he may be the answer to their problems and names him Inkling.
Genre: [Humorous fiction]
Catalog Number: #200535
Format: Perma-Bound Edition
Publisher: Random House
Copyright Date: 2020
Edition Date: 2020
Illustrator: Smith, Sydney,
Pages: 256 pages
Availability: Available
ISBN: Publisher: 1-524-77284-4 Perma-Bound: 0-7804-6617-9
ISBN 13: Publisher: 978-1-524-77284-0 Perma-Bound: 978-0-7804-6617-3
Dewey: Fic
Dimensions: 20 cm.
Language: English
Reviews:
ALA Booklist
Mr. Rylance, a famous graphic novelist, is battling a bad case of writer's block after the death of his wife. Meanwhile, his son, Ethan, is struggling to complete a school graphic-novel project and frustrated with his father's inability to move on. When an inkblot that can write, listen, learn, and create beautiful pictures pulls himself from Mr. Rylance's sketchbook, Ethan names him Inkling and thinks the blot could solve their problems. Inkling is a truly engaging character turns hilarious, when he mimics the language of the books he reads, and poignant, when he wonders about his identity and purpose. The omniscient narrator adds tension to the story, as several human characters discover the truth about Inkling and fight to use him in nice or nefarious ways. The undercurrent of loss and grief, not to mention questions of agency and personhood, give the story weight but do not weigh it down. Smith's energetic and expressive ink drawings are the perfect complement and contribute to the storytelling in playful ways. Oppel's latest is serious fun.
Horn Book
Sixth grader Ethan--the son of a famous artist--unfortunately can't draw. But then a sentient blot of ink escapes from his father's inkwell, slowly gains communicative abilities, and aids his drawing. This intriguing illustrated fantasy and unusual friendship story goes off the rails when "Inkling" disappears, having been kidnapped by his father's publisher's daughter. Still, it's a highly original concept and an entertaining page-turner.
Kirkus Reviews
"No one was awake to see it happen."No one except Rickman, the cat, who was snooping around for something to eat. He saw the whole thing: The ink in Mr. Rylance's sketchbook came to life, slithered across the page and lifted right out of the book, leaving no sign it had ever occupied the white paper. Ethan, Mr. Rylance's son, hates drawing, but everyone thinks that because his dad is a famous graphic novel artist, Ethan has talent. The terrible truth is that he can't draw, but his friends have designated him the artist for a school project. Then Ethan meets the splotch with a mind of its own and dubs it "Inkling." Inkling has taught himself (Oppel genders Inkling male with pronoun use) to read and communicates by forming words on paper—and he can draw! But then Inkling goes missing. Has he been kidnapped? Did he run away? The third-person narrative follows Ethan, a classmate, and Inkling, neatly developing the inkblot into a memorable character in his own right. In a metafictive touch, the corners of the pages are themselves splotched, giving readers the feeling that they're part of the story. Ethan's 9-year-old sister has Down syndrome but isn't a sentimental plot device; she adds an extra layer of true humor and warmth to the story. The characters all present white in Smith's vignettes.A sweet and funny story about an unusual friendship. (Fantasy. 7-12)
Publishers Weekly
With none but Rickman the cat awake to see it, a blob of ink wrenches itself free from a sketchbook and begins munching its way through a nearby math textbook, -slurp the ink into itself- and leaving a blank, shiny page in its wake. Ethan, the son of a once-successful graphic novelist, discovers the blotch (and its skillful contribution to his graphic novel assignment) and names it Inkling. As Inkling consumes print media, expanding and learning with each absorbed word and image, Ethan and his family-especially his sister, Sarah, who has Down syndrome-become more attached to the lovable creature, whose upbeat personality provides a distraction from their grief over the loss of Ethan and Sarah-s mother. But keeping Inkling and using it to make art poses ethical questions for Ethan and his father, not to mention for a company looking to turn business around. Gray-scale illustrations by Smith (Town Is by the Sea) ground readers in the medium through which Ethan and Inkling communicate. Inkling-s evolving abilities model a realistic creative arc-the creature mimics its most recent literary meal (-I-M UTTERLY ENRAPTURED-
School Library Journal
Gr 4-6 Ethan Rylance has the weight of the world on his shoulders. His mother recently passed away, and his once-successful father is struggling with his career as a graphic novel creator. Because his father is grieving and experiencing depression, it falls to a frustrated Ethan to act as caregiver and playmate to his intuitive and empathetic little sister who has Down Syndrome. On top of the strains of his home life, Ethan is struggling with a school assignment. His classmates assume that artistry is in his genes and Ethan, ever eager to save face, agrees to be the illustrator of their group project to create an original graphic novel, even though he has no notion of how to begin drawing and his father is too preoccupied to advise. But when the ink from Mr. Rylance's sketchbook comes to life one night and begins exploring the family home, everything changes. After discovering the shape-shifting splotch of potential creative energy, Ethan christens his helpful new friend Inkling. For a time, Inkling remains secret, but as the buoyant and optimistic creature grows larger and takes on characteristics of what he devours, more and more people in Ethan's circle find out. Inkling is able to reproduce the art and text he has eaten, a trait that the Rylance family thinks will solve all their problems, but instead brings them to a head that father and son must confront together. VERDICT A unique story about the creative process and the journey through grief. Recommended for fiction collections. Lauren Younger, Nicholson Memorial Library, Garland, TX
Word Count: 49,889
Reading Level: 4.6
Interest Level: 3-6
Accelerated Reader: reading level: 4.6 / points: 7.0 / quiz: 198303 / grade: Middle Grades
Reading Counts!: reading level:3.7 / points:11.0 / quiz:Q75784
Lexile: 650L
Guided Reading Level: N
No one was awake to see it happen, except Rickman.
He was taking one of his midnight prowls, padding past the bedrooms of sleeping people, hoping to find something interesting to eat. He was nearly always hungry. Against the wall he found a dead fly, a chocolate chip, and a small piece of red crayon, which he also ate. He was not a picky cat. At the end of the hallway, he slipped into Mr. Rylance's studio. In front of the drafting table was a chair he liked, and Rickman heaved himself up. It took two tries because he was heftier than he should have been.
On the drafting table, Mr. Rylance's big sketchbook lay open. Animals and buildings and people jostled on the pages. Some pictures had scribbles through them, some were very sketchy, and others looked like they were ready to make an appearance in one of Mr. Rylance's finished graphic novels. But these were all just ideas. They had no stories to go with them yet.
When it happened, it made no noise, but Rickman saw the whole thing.
The black ink looked suddenly wet, like the pictures had been drawn that very second. The lines glistened, then trembled. From every corner of the sketchbook, the ink beaded and started slithering across the pages toward the crease in the middle. As the ink moved, it left no smear behind it, just blank page. The lines of ink joined other lines, melding into weird shapes, sometimes smooth, sometimes pointy, getting larger. When they all met in the center of the book, they formed a big black splotch, about the size of a fist. For a moment it was motionless, as if resting.
Normally, Rickman took no interest in the arts, but this was different. He put his paws on the edge of the drafting table and leaned forward for a better view.
The ink rippled, like dark water with something swimming beneath the surface. Then it was on the move again, flowing down the crease until it reached the bottom of the page. It thickened along the edge, as though it was trying to pour itself over--but it couldn't. It seemed to be stuck.
Rickman's ears flattened against his skull. A thin tendril of ink lifted from the page, maybe half an inch or so, like a tiny arm desperate to escape quicksand. Then it got slurped back in.
Next a thicker spike of ink rose up, straining, reaching over the edge of the sketchbook, one second, two, before it collapsed back. Almost a minute passed and nothing happened.
Rickman yawned, showing his still-sharp teeth. This was getting boring.
All at once the ink rippled, as if a stiff wind blew across it, and then the entire splotch contracted and rose into a little mountain peak. It trembled, tensed, and then sprang. All the ink lifted right off the sketchbook--leaving the pages totally blank--and landed with a small splash on the drafting table.
Rickman purred low and deep in his throat. This was getting interesting again. This might be something worth eating.
Already little strands of the ink splotch were being pulled back toward the sketchbook, as if it were a magnet or a black hole. The splotch struggled, fighting its way inch by inch across the drafting table. The book had a powerful pull, dragging some stringy tendrils of ink toward it. But just when they were about to touch paper, they recoiled as if burned, rejoining the main inky splotch.
When it finally reached the far edge of the drafting table--leaving no trace of ink in its wake--it came to a rest, quivering slightly like something exhausted, but also amazed, and maybe even excited, because it started doing some kind of dance. It swirled round and round, spinning itself into all kinds of strange and beautiful shapes. Like it was celebrating its freedom.
Rickman's paw came slamming down on it, claws extended. The splotch went spiky in surprise, then streaked between the cat's claws and right over the edge of the table. It scurried along the underside, tested a table leg with a black, inky tongue, and then slid itself down to the floor.
While Rickman sniffed at the drafting table, the ink started flowing across the floor. It had no plan except to get as far away as possible. When it was halfway to the door, Rickman turned and his sharp eyes caught it. But by the time he'd eased himself off the chair, the ink had seeped out into the hallway.
There was light in the hallway, so the ink made itself skinny and slunk cautiously along the baseboard. Anyone looking would have missed it, or thought it was just shadow.
But Rickman knew better. He was old, arthritic, and overweight, but he hadn't forgotten how to hunt. He prowled down the hall, head dipped low, then pounced. The ink must have sensed him coming, because it shot straight up the wall, faster than any shadow. Rickman banged his nose against the baseboard and landed clumsily on the floor. His nose wasn't the only thing that hurt. Nothing is more important to a cat than its dignity, and he glared up at the ink splotch. The fur on his back lifted. With a hiss, he leapt, claws extended.
The splotch darted higher, just out of reach, and then swelled itself into a terrifying imitation of Rickman: an enormous black cat, back humped and jagged. Its vast, inky claws shot down the wall to swat Rickman. Yowling, Rickman somersaulted backward, then bolted.
The ink shrank back into a small blob and jiggled a bit as if laughing. It left no marks on the wall as it moved higher, onto the framed poster of Mr. Rylance's best-known character, a mutant superhero called Kren.
But the moment the splotch tried to climb the glass, it slid right back down to the frame. It shuffled along a bit and tried again, with the same result, pouring off the glass like water. There was no getting a grip on this stuff! The ink gave up, moved back onto the wall, and kept going.
It wanted to find somewhere safe. When it reached a doorway, it slid inside the darkened room and down to the floor, where it paused. It sensed all the things in the room without knowing what they were. It had no words yet, no names for things like a desk, a bed, and a boy sleeping on the bed in a knotted tangle of sheets that made it look like he'd been battling something. The boy's feet were on the pillow, and his head was where his feet should have been.
Beside the bed was a pile of books, and the ink splotch stopped warily. It waited. It sent out a tiny tendril, but these books didn't try to suck it in. Only Mr. Rylance's sketchbook seemed to want to do that. The ink slid closer.
It moved over an open math textbook and erased every word, number, and diagram it touched. It actually slurped the ink into itself. The ink paused, and formed itself into an isosceles triangle, and then a rhombus, before flowing on, erasing as it went. It left a blank trail behind it like a slug trail, except it wasn't slimy. It was just shiny blank paper.
Off the math book and onto a novel. It wiped out most of the title and the cover illustration--it was in color, and the splotch seemed to like color because it gave a happy shimmer--and then found itself on a piece of illustration board.
The board had been divided up into squares and rectangles of different sizes. Most of them had stick figures penciled inside them, but in the very first squares were ink drawings. They weren't very good. There were lots of smears. The ink splotch slid across, erasing as it went, and then stopped in the middle of the board.
This seemed like a good hiding place. The splotch stretched, then made itself as small as possible. It liked it here. The feel of the creamy paper was pleasing. The ink turned itself round in circles a few times, like a dog trying to get comfortable, and then was still.

Excerpted from Inkling by Kenneth Oppel
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

"Astonishing"—The New York Times Book Review

A brilliantly funny, highly illustrated story about how a little ink splot changes a family forever. Perfect for those who love Hoot, Holes, or Frindle!


The Rylance family is stuck. Dad's got writer's block. Ethan promised to illustrate a group project at school--even though he can't draw. Sarah's still pining for a puppy. And they all miss Mom.

Enter Inkling. Inkling begins life in Mr. Rylance's sketchbook. But one night the ink of his drawings runs together--and then leaps off the page! This small burst of creativity is about to change everything.

Ethan finds him first. Inkling has absorbed a couple chapters of his math book--not good--and the story he's supposed to be illustrating for school--also not good. But Inkling's also started drawing the pictures to go with the story--which is amazing! It's just the help Ethan was looking for! Inkling helps the rest of the family too--for Sarah he's a puppy. And for Dad he's a spark of ideas for a new graphic novel. It's exactly what they all want.

It's not until Inkling goes missing that this family has to face the larger questions of what they--and Inkling--truly need.

• A New York Times Notable Book
• A New York Public Library Best Book of the Year -- top ten selection
• "A true-to-life family, some can't-put-it-down excitement, a few deep questions, and more than a little bit of magic. This book is everything, and I loved every page." —Rebecca Stead, Newbery Medalist for When You Reach Me


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