REVIEW: An Invisible Parade by Leigh Bardugo & John Picacio (3-stars)

 I finished An Invisible Parade as part of my Hugo reading, and it’s one of the most striking books in the packet this year. The writing is incredibly strong, and the emotional clarity of the story is what carries it. It treats death, hunger, anger, and fear with a kind of honesty that respects a child’s interior life instead of simplifying it. Nothing is softened or turned into a lesson. These emotions are presented as companions a child learns to walk alongside, not problems to be solved.

The artwork is even more impressive. Every page is dense with sensory detail. You can hear the sounds of the people in the street, smell the food, feel the excitement and tension in the air. The world feels lived‑in and immediate, and the emotional atmosphere is almost tactile. The small touches matter, right down to the cat tucked into one tableau. It’s the kind of book that invites you to slow down and take in each page.

There is one moment that didn’t work for me. The embodiment of “hunger” is shown as a homeless person holding a sign, framed as a reminder to be grateful. That choice felt off‑putting and the wrong kind of message. It reduces a real person’s suffering to a symbolic prompt for someone else’s emotional growth. In a book that is otherwise so careful in how it personifies difficult emotions, this stood out as a misstep.

I also noticed the phrasing in the author’s note: “Día de Muertos is part of my culture.” I rarely see that form; in my experience it’s almost always “Día de los Muertos.” But “Día de Muertos” is a legitimate variant used in Mexico, especially in cultural and institutional contexts. It isn’t a mistake or a dropped article. It’s simply not the form I’m used to seeing, and it caught my attention because the rest of the book is so precise about cultural grounding.

As a piece of illustrated storytelling, this book is exceptional. As a Hugo nominee, it sits in an odd place. It isn’t science fiction, and it’s only lightly fantastical. The figures that appear aren’t speculative beings in the genre sense; they’re allegorical presences meant to make internal experiences visible. That’s powerful, but it doesn’t make the book a genre work. Its strengths come from emotional truth and artistic craft, not from speculative worldbuilding.

It’s a beautiful and moving book, and I’m glad it’s in the packet. But it doesn’t feel like science fiction or fantasy, and that makes its placement on the ballot feel slightly out of alignment with the award’s usual scope.