I must have had a look on my face because she hurriedly added, "I know you haven't been able to settle anywhere yet, Mary — but that's different. People find the quietness unsettling, that's all. One day there'll be someone special who doesn't expect you to be jabbering on all the time and you'll have a proper home, better than this creaking old place." I know it is more difficult for you, Mary, with your speaking issues and all, but ... if you could? A book between two worlds, Thornhill by Pam Smy is a stunningly balanced mixture between an epistolary novel and a graphic novel. Being, first and foremost, an illustrator for the most of her career, Pam Smy is well-versed in the transmission of feelings through images. But with Thornhill, where she found her written voice for the first time, she also proved that both image and words are powerful tools alike when she gets her hands on them. But that night, a light goes on in one of the windows. And the next day she sees a girl in the grounds. Ella is hooked. The house has a story to tell. She is sure of it.

Asimismo este libro me ha parecido muy diferente a lo que suelo leer, no es una novela de terror ni mucho menos pero si que logra calarte en la piel la angustia vívida por su protagonista. Son tantas las situaciones en las que lo he pasado mal imaginándome en primera persona, que en ocasiones me ha costado avanzar en la lectura. Esta novela combina de manera armoniosa las ilustraciones (presente) y el diario de Mary (pasado), y realmente es un recurso que me ha gustado mucho y me ha resultado muy original. Cada vez veo de forma más natural el hecho de mezclar ilustraciones en la lectura y eso poco a poco me va entusiasmando.I started to make another figure today. I have molded the body, arms, and legs. I am making it small, like a child. Not sure who it will be yet.

I often wonder what my life would be like without my puppets. I think about the other girls who don't have a passion for making or imagining and wonder what they do with their time. I wonder if they are bored. I am never bored. I am learning all the time, not just about different types of puppets from around the world or in history, but about the making of small bodies and figures and clothes and hair and eyes and shoes. And I love that I am surrounded by the things I have made. They sit on shelves above my bed, on my bookcase, suspended from the ceiling, balanced on my windowsill — my puppets are like friends that sit and keep me company. They watch me as I make their companions or add new ideas and designs to my sketchbook. I think that some people would find it creepy having all these little eyes watching them — but I don't. When I go into the dining hall and see all those old photos of the unnamed girls who have lived here over the last hundred years, all lined up in ghostly groups — that's scary. But my dolls are my comfort. In some way, even though I am often on my own, with my puppets about me, I don't feel so alone. A chilling tale that highlights the importance of kindness and child advocacy while emphasizing the lasting damage wrought by abuse and neglect."— Publishers Weekly, starred review I noticed that she had left Mistress Mary sprawled out on the bed, her arms and legs twisted under themselves. Mary's head was facedown on the pillow. Jane began to talk to some of the other girls at another table, so I slid into a chair at an empty table and tried to look as though I was concentrating really hard on spreading the butter on my toast.Thornhill es el nombre del orfanato donde vive Mary en 1982, una niña que vive en la absoluta soledad y crueldad pues sufre bullying constante. Esta es una niña callada, tranquila, que no molesta a nadie y que crea arte a través de sus manos (hace muñecos de barro y los caracteriza). Thank you, girls. It is great to think that we can all get along so well here," Jane said, and hurried out of the room. Through these topics, and the Gothic atmosphere the British author imbues her illustrations with, Thornhill is a deeply sad novel that transmits a crippling feeling of hopelessness, sadness, despair, and, above all, of loneliness. In a crescendo of emotions, Thornhill reaches its peak in an outburst of desperation, very reminiscent of Stephen King’s Carrie —even if Mary’s outburst is rather futile. In any case, in the end, when both timelines collide, Mary finds what she had missed throughout her entire life: a friend who loves her for who she is. The end transmits a crystal-clear metaphor: neglect has its consequences and even if the victim of it will not end up alone, it will scar their existence for life —and death.

British illustrator and author Pam Smy studied illustration at Cambridge School of Art where she still lectures part-time. Her work as an illustrator includes artwork for Julia Donaldson and an edition of The Hound of the Baskervilles as well as, more recently, Linda Newberry's The Brokenspectre. Thornhillis her first book as author and illustrator. Table by table groups of girls went out too. I watched them go until I was the only one left in the dining hall. Just me and Kathleen, who had watched the whole performance through the hatch.

Open Library

Jane and I sat and watched them all. She muttered something about this song being ages old and that her parents used to listen to it. Then she said the best night to join them was Saturday. They all loved watching Dallas. She wanted me to join them, and, as I watched the other girls yelping and leaping around the room and giggling with each other, I decided I would. I'm also all for how the book ends — it's the only way to wind it up without soft-pedaling and ruining all that had been established thus far — which was all that mattered to me for quite some time thereupon. I even contemplated rating this with five solid stars, but all things considered, this actually is a 4-star read personally. I’ve been pondering about what to say about this book for days. It took me awhile to see how I felt about the book and I ended up reading it twice. I could feel myself frowning the entire way all the way to the end. All the years I have been here I could never have imagined that I would have a week like this one. I feel part of things. Part of a normal life — well, as normal as life in a place like Thornhill can be.