Once upon a time, picture books were for kids, cartoons were for toddlers, and comic books were for juvenile delinquents. Not any more. But while comics and animated movies have finally come of age, picture books, it seems, have been left in the playpen. Australian-born Shaun Tan is one of the few writer/illustrators who have successfully managed to market picture books to adults. His stories are simple yet cerebral, and his images illuminate the subtext of his subtle narratives in a way that makes you wish all books had pictures.

Tales from Outer Suburbia is Tan’s fourth solo project, and contains fifteen unique tales of surreal suburban strangeness. When not making picture books, Tan has worked as a concept artist on Pixar’s Wall-E and on the animated adapation of Dr Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who. I spoke with Shaun in the Toronto offices of his Canadian publisher, McClelland & Stewart, about radio isotopes, industrial waste, and the contemporary importance of broad swords.

THE WALRUS: It seems like you’re creating a new genre. Where is all of this heading?

Shaun Tan: Not really anywhere in particular. I don’t have that kind of manifesto. I don’t have a vision. I’m following my nose and dealing with one project at a time. I have some sense of the culture around me but it’s not very developed or informed. It’s kind of scattered. I draw a little bit of knowledge from what’s happening in literary fiction, what’s happening in science fiction, what’s happening in children’s books, what’s happening in the fine art world, what’s happening in mainstream illustration. Also, what’s happening in Australia, which is, you know, my immediate neighbourhood, is an influence. I wouldn’t really have much of a clue about illustration trends in the United States.

So you don’t have a clear agenda? You just do the projects you want to do?

Exactly. I work in a converted bedroom that’s turned into a studio in the suburbs of Melbourne. It’s quite an isolated pursuit.

Do you think that divisions between fine art and illustration are changing?

Possibly. It doesn’t really matter so much to me. It’s unlikely to change. In some ways I understand [the division] and I think there’s a case for it. Because fine art is like the pure physics of visual culture, whereas illustration is like the applied physics and some of the modern art is like a particle accelerator, and the illustration is a bit like those ideas applied. It’s like the radio isotopes in a particle accelerator that they use for something like storytelling. Does that make sense?

Do you think it’s valid to say that fine art and illustration need to be viewed differently?

Yes, but it’s dissolving. Pop culture has dissolved it. Illustrated books are gaining more respect, but that sort of thing isn’t that important anyway. You’re just talking about groups of people and whether you want their approval, and whether there’s some culture capital attached to that. I can only do what I feel is the best thing to do.

You’ve been working in film. Do you enjoy collaborative projects?

It’s very different, it’s a different sort of project and I don’t feel any sort of ownership over those projects. It’s more like working with people to create something that just works. And often other people have very good ideas about getting there and what does work, especially with film. Like I rely a lot on the experience of others; animators, the producer is very involved creatively, the sort of editorial comment, directorial input from other sources, and its interesting to work where the work is a product of a conversation. At the same time, real creative work happens in isolation. I can’t imagine drawing together with somebody. I don’t know how that would work, but you go away into your private world and you come back and you check how these ideas interact. All art is a form of communication. Even if you’re working in isolation on a book it’s a collaborative effort because the reader has to interpret it. If it was truly individual, it would be so idiosyncratic that no one could make sense of it. So you are sort of thinking, casting your mind to others.

How did Pixar describe what they wanted?

They said “This is the concept: a planet covered in garbage.”

Actually, when I first saw Wall-E, I didn’t know that you were involved with it, but I thought, that looks like Shaun Tan.

Really? I wouldn’t want to claim anything. A lot of other artists contributed; the idea of piles existed already. Pixar approached me, not because of any one particular style, but for my way of thinking. I hope so anyway. It could be that they saw one picture and said “Oh he does really good industrial landscapes, let’s get him.” No, it was a sort of slightly kooky approach, a bit unexpected. I’m always surprised at how my work turns out myself and, as well as I just have this interest in certain motifs. Like industrial things attract me. Made objects and their decay, and that sort of thing.

How do your stories evolve? Do you conceive of them while you’re writing them, or are they fully formed in your mind when you sit down to write?

I conceive of them as I’m writing them.

Because I feel reading your stories like I’m watching the idea evolve as it did in your own mind. Tell me about your process.

I work with multiple drafts, all written in longhand, and I don’t write in a continuous line; I skip. I keep a sketchbook, and the sketchbook pages are covered with little drawings of different things spread out, and when I write, it will be very lightly in pencil, because I’m not very confident about it. I scribble ideas and then have little arrows telling me that this should go here and this bit should go here, and then maybe a little drawing – you know, mixing it up. The first part is always like a vomit of stuff and then I’ll go through and go “This bit is irrelevant, this is stupid, this is embarrassing, but this bit is good.” I’ll take that bit and do the whole process again, just keep doing that. Most of them evolve that way. Some of them you think about a lot, like you’re kind of writing them in your head, because when it comes time to write, you can get it out really quickly. The story about the deep sea diver wandering around the suburbs, that came out pretty easily, I think because I knew the characters.

I feel like the strength in so many of these stories is the ending.

Yes. I think when you’re dealing with such short fiction, the ending almost becomes the entire thing.

Also, the ending is often an image.

The good think about a visual image is that it’s instant. It’s strange. Instant strangeness in front of you. And it invites reflection. It’s always good to have after a story, that moment of pause, like when read a novel and you get to the end. It’s a pretty profound moment.

Hopefully.

Yeah, hopefully. It’s sort of bad when it’s not. And then you read it, and I always read the last paragraph twice, to digest it. You close it and think about it. An image has a similar function. It’s meditative. Like a punch line without being funny.

Is your fan base more children or adults?

It seems to be split. I’m not really sure, I would say it’s more adults, in terms of the depth of the fan base, the level of appreciation. I actually write and illustrate for adults. You could call them almost elaborate cartoons for adults, but they are accessible to children.

Many of your previous books seem very adult, but I think this one is definitely more accessible to a younger audience.

But as an adult, there are a lot of adult concerns that you bring to the story. What’s driving me are the adult concerns. “Eric” has some anxiety about responsibility. That’s an adult thing. There’s a story in there that’s about marriage and expressions of anxiety about marriage, and that’s an adult thing too. Whereas, child characters appear again and again, and the form of my books and the fact that there’s children in them makes them have this dual function. They do work as children’s literature, and maybe that’s what I do, maybe I’m a writer for young people, and I just don’t know it. But I don’t think of it that way myself.

In illustration, do you think it’s necessary to brand yourself with a distinct style, or can an artist be versatile and still be marketable?

Yes, I think it’s possible to be versatile and still be recognizable. You still get known for certain styles. Certainly early on, I was paying my rent largely by painting fantasy novel covers, and it was a particular style.

Is there anyway that I can see those?

[Laughs] Possibly. If you look for some early books by an Australian writer named Sara Douglass. I did some covers for her.

I want to see them.

Ah, it’s just people on horses with broad swords, that sort of stuff.

I love horses. And broad swords.

Well then, let’s take a look.