Barbara Helen Berger, author and illustrator,
All the Way to Lhasa: A Tale from Tibet
Philomel, 2003.

In the Tibetan tale recounted here, two travelers head for Lhasa: a young man spurring his horse and a boy on foot, leading a yak. Each in turn asks an old woman seated at the roadside how much farther he has to go. She informs both that Lhasa is “very far.” To the impatient rider she says, “You'll never make it there before night,” while she advises the boy, “You can make it there before night.”

Like many storied treks, journeys toward the holy city are spiritual, and she sees that the boy has adopted the required pace: slow and steady. The greatest risk is that he might become lost in doubt and give up. But he presses on through mountains, snow, and rushing waters — and past the sidelined, sleeping horse and rider — to reach the holy city.

One thinks of Aesop's “The Hare and the Tortoise,” but the emphasis here is on the slow achiever's experience of the jurney. No competition is declared; in fact, the rider and the boy never exchange words. When the boy comes upon the sleeping pair, he is not triumphant. Rather, he's tempted to take a rest himself.

In Barbara Helen Berger's musical but unadorned storytelling, every word leads steadily toward the satisfying conclusion. Meanwhile, the paintings illuminate a world of religious objects, open spaces, and swirling mountaintop mists. The Tibetan script for the mantra “Om mani padme hum” is ubiquitous; it has been carved into stones by earlier pilgrims, but it also appears in the boy's footprints as he trudges through fields of snow. When he urges his yak over a threatening stream, prayer flags flutter overhead. The boy's fears are his own to confront, but with the encouragement of those who have passed before him and the silent witness of local animals, he's not exactly alone.

In Berger's paintings, the world appears both real and insubstantial. The distance the boy travels is vast, and the perils are believable, but at the same time the swirlings of water, cloud, and dust suggest mobility and ephemerality. Cloud spill outside the boundaries of the illustration onto the red background of the text. The boy's hazards are not simply terrestrial: when he fears that nightfall will defeat him, the dark clouds show the countenance of a demon. And even the unclouded stretches of the illustrations are softened with subtle variations of tone and a light line that suggest both luminosity and mist. It's as if the high country is literally and figuratively in the clouds.

Although the landscape is spiritual, it is never entirely unreal. The faces of humans and animals are beautifully detailed, animate, and soulful. And when the boy and his yak reach Lhasa before dark, the old woman — along with a host of other celestial bell ringers — is there to celebrate.

Jessica Roeder

Winter 2002 - 2003