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My Brother
With mesmeric drawings, Brother Mine tells of the warmth that flows between grief-stricken father and daughter, as well as the deep ties of family – strong enough to plunge the depths of the sea and back
A sensitive portrayal of loss, Brother Mine is the story of a child whose brother emerges from the depths of the fjord on the end of her father’s fishing line. Though grieving in different ways, the child and her father find comfort in remembering their brother and son together. Øyvind Torseter’s wobbly line drawings and dark cross-hatched blotches sprawl across pages bathed in warm reds and oranges, melancholy blues, and hopeful greens. Accompanied by Torseter’s captivating images, Laura Djupvik’s poetic lines provide an opening for children and adults to talk about grief and the power of memory.
A sensitive portrayal of loss, Brother Mine is the story of a child whose brother emerges from the depths of the fjord on the end of her father’s fishing line. Though grieving in different ways, the child and her father find comfort in remembering their brother and son together. Øyvind Torseter’s wobbly line drawings and dark cross-hatched blotches sprawl across pages bathed in warm reds and oranges, melancholy blues, and hopeful greens. Accompanied by Torseter’s captivating images, Laura Djupvik’s poetic lines provide an opening for children and adults to talk about grief and the power of memory.
- GenresPicture Books
56 pages, Hardcover
First published March 5, 2021
About the author
Laura Djupvik
19 books4 followersLaura Djupvik er forlagsarbeider, skribent og forfatter.
Hun kommer fra Gurskøy på Sunnmøre, men bor nå i Lier ved Drammen. Hun debuterte med romanen "Båten er så liten" i 2004.
I 2008 fikk hun Guro Sandsdalens litteraturpris for barneboka "Hundre appelsinar og ein fiolin". I sin begrunnelse sier juryen blant annet: «Laura Djupvik har skrive ein vakker liten roman med ein viktig tematikk: Det er lov å vere annleis. Romanen er tematisk kompleks og språkleg enkel... Laura Djupvik (viser) ei sjølvstendig og særprega forfattarstemme med evne til å skildre kjenslesterke scener utan å vippe over i det sentimentale.»
Djupvik kom med romanen "Kvitt" i 2013.
Hun kommer fra Gurskøy på Sunnmøre, men bor nå i Lier ved Drammen. Hun debuterte med romanen "Båten er så liten" i 2004.
I 2008 fikk hun Guro Sandsdalens litteraturpris for barneboka "Hundre appelsinar og ein fiolin". I sin begrunnelse sier juryen blant annet: «Laura Djupvik har skrive ein vakker liten roman med ein viktig tematikk: Det er lov å vere annleis. Romanen er tematisk kompleks og språkleg enkel... Laura Djupvik (viser) ei sjølvstendig og særprega forfattarstemme med evne til å skildre kjenslesterke scener utan å vippe over i det sentimentale.»
Djupvik kom med romanen "Kvitt" i 2013.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
March 4, 2026
This poignant, understated children’s book, translated by Martin Aitken, addresses loss and grief, as a young girl and her father navigate the death of her brother and his son. Oyvind Torseter illustrates the poem with quirky, but expressive drawings … compassionate …
May 4, 2026
Facing and accepting grief is hard work. Making some kind of peace with death is hard work. That’s what I think this story is about. I don’t know what children would make of it.
The book is physically lovely, from the drawings, to the end papers. And the quality of the production of this book is evident.
Translated from Norwegian.
The book is physically lovely, from the drawings, to the end papers. And the quality of the production of this book is evident.
Translated from Norwegian.
June 6, 2025
A grey poetic fable about a father and daughter who live in a small fishing village in Norway. One day on the fjord, they fish a young boy out of the ocean who the daughter instantly recognizes as her brother. She recounts her bewilderment, confusion, and love in free verse. She focuses on her father's reactions to the sea-boy, she wrestles with questions about why the boy doesn't feel at home, why he is not interested in eating at meals, and what happens when they go on hikes. Torseter's wispy, smudgy drawings give the story a feel that it is an outline of memory— as if it's being recounted by an older narrator, though the voice Djupvik gives her is very much the present.
The simple tale explores the way one culture discusses death, and the way the loss of someone so young affects different people in different ways. It put me in mind of selkie stories and other sea tales, though here we have less of a seduction and more enchanting familial love. Maritime cultures abound with folklore of sea ghosts that are harbinger's of death, but My Brother picks up after this idea and reinvents it for a different— and thankfully, English-speaking— audience. My only concern (a mere quibble) was the font choice of the words— books in translation sometimes suffer from this. Torseter's illustrations are a feast and Djupvik's controlled tone takes a heavy idea and makes it charming, so why are we in Times New Roman?
Telephone of the Tree by Alison McGhee was another recent story exploring grief that resonated with me, but there are hundreds of examples of these stories for children. Torseter's own Black is another similar tale. It put me in mind of the work of Kate DiCamillo, too, that kind of storytelling with heavy themes delivered through light touches— books that become friends. Check this one out— it's quick and a good introduction to the wealth of translated fiction that is coming out all the time now.
The simple tale explores the way one culture discusses death, and the way the loss of someone so young affects different people in different ways. It put me in mind of selkie stories and other sea tales, though here we have less of a seduction and more enchanting familial love. Maritime cultures abound with folklore of sea ghosts that are harbinger's of death, but My Brother picks up after this idea and reinvents it for a different— and thankfully, English-speaking— audience. My only concern (a mere quibble) was the font choice of the words— books in translation sometimes suffer from this. Torseter's illustrations are a feast and Djupvik's controlled tone takes a heavy idea and makes it charming, so why are we in Times New Roman?
Telephone of the Tree by Alison McGhee was another recent story exploring grief that resonated with me, but there are hundreds of examples of these stories for children. Torseter's own Black is another similar tale. It put me in mind of the work of Kate DiCamillo, too, that kind of storytelling with heavy themes delivered through light touches— books that become friends. Check this one out— it's quick and a good introduction to the wealth of translated fiction that is coming out all the time now.
May 11, 2026
This is not a happy picture book. It is a thoughtful one. A child's brother is gone. Her father catches something on his fishing line. It is the brother, emerging from the deep. Together, father and daughter remember. They grieve in different ways but they grieve together.
The illustrations by Øyvind Torseter are striking. Wobbly lines, dark cross hatching, splashes of warm red and deep blue. The art feels sad but not hopeless. The text is spare and poetic. Every word carries weight.
This is a book for children who have lost someone. It opens a door to talk about death, memory, and the love that stays. It is not a book for every child. Some may find it too heavy. But for families who need it, it could be a gift.
My only small complaint is that the story is very short and abstract. Younger children may not understand what is happening without an adult explaining.
Laura, if you are reading this, your words are tender and true. For your next book, before you publish, I would love to help. I can beta read. I can proofread. I can give feedback on clarity and emotional impact. And when the book is ready, I can help you get it in front of more families, therapists, and libraries.
Email me anytime: contact@hayleyhipps.com
The illustrations by Øyvind Torseter are striking. Wobbly lines, dark cross hatching, splashes of warm red and deep blue. The art feels sad but not hopeless. The text is spare and poetic. Every word carries weight.
This is a book for children who have lost someone. It opens a door to talk about death, memory, and the love that stays. It is not a book for every child. Some may find it too heavy. But for families who need it, it could be a gift.
My only small complaint is that the story is very short and abstract. Younger children may not understand what is happening without an adult explaining.
Laura, if you are reading this, your words are tender and true. For your next book, before you publish, I would love to help. I can beta read. I can proofread. I can give feedback on clarity and emotional impact. And when the book is ready, I can help you get it in front of more families, therapists, and libraries.
Email me anytime: contact@hayleyhipps.com
May 2, 2026
A picture book by Norwegians Laura Djupvik and one of my favorite illustrators Oyvind Torseter that sort of startled me at first. I think I have to tell the story, so spoiler alert. The book opens with a man and a daughter at a table, at breakfast. The man seems depressed, or at least lethargic, but the girl wants to go fishing with him on the fjord. Reluctantly, he agrees, and also agrees to allow her to fish, but he takes the rod when something very heavy is caught: A boy, whom the girl recognizes is her brother, though the father initially does not recognize him.
We never learn that the boy had drowned until the end, which I initially to be bizarre, even morbid, before I found it to be lyrical, moving, empathetic, a poignant study in grief. They take the boy to shore to warm him up, prepare food for him, do things throughout the day with him, but in the end he walks back in the water. But he has no boat, the girl protests! That's okay, father says, he doesn't need one. But it's good now that they seem to have come to place of acceptance for his death in a quirky way. Very unique ghost story, especially for a children's book.
We never learn that the boy had drowned until the end, which I initially to be bizarre, even morbid, before I found it to be lyrical, moving, empathetic, a poignant study in grief. They take the boy to shore to warm him up, prepare food for him, do things throughout the day with him, but in the end he walks back in the water. But he has no boat, the girl protests! That's okay, father says, he doesn't need one. But it's good now that they seem to have come to place of acceptance for his death in a quirky way. Very unique ghost story, especially for a children's book.
March 9, 2025
A beautiful and gentle story for children ages 5-9 about the brief return home of a young girl’s older brother. In the children’s books I’ve read by European authors dealing with emotionally charged issues, I’ve noticed a stoic matter-of-factness so often missing works by Americans, which tend to be infantilizing and full of false cheer. Norwegian author Laura Djupvik’s narrative here trusts her audience’s ability to figure out what has kept the girl’s brother away from home and why his visit must necessarily be brief. Øyvind Torseter’s scratchy, childlike illustrations capture the essence of the story and help establish it’s mood of uncertainty with lines that feel tentative.
The story begins with the girl and her father sitting at breakfast (there is no mother). The girl tells us but not her father that she had a dream last night that makes her eager to go fishing in the fjord. Her father reluctantly agrees. We know only that he hasn’t gone fishing in the boat for some time, and that when his daughter scuttles about in the rowboat he becomes anxious and tells her to sit. At last the girl’s fishing rod catches something and, after great difficulty, her father reels in . . . her brother.
We come to realize that the death of her brother is the source of her father’s dispirited behavior, his distrust of the water, and the girl’s dream the night before. Together, the girl and her father take in the boy—who remains silent—wash him and give him a change of clothes and watch him play on land again . . . then return to the fjord. The girl and father sense contentment in the boy, and allow him to return unhampered, knowing that his soul is well, granting consolation to themselves as well.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
The story begins with the girl and her father sitting at breakfast (there is no mother). The girl tells us but not her father that she had a dream last night that makes her eager to go fishing in the fjord. Her father reluctantly agrees. We know only that he hasn’t gone fishing in the boat for some time, and that when his daughter scuttles about in the rowboat he becomes anxious and tells her to sit. At last the girl’s fishing rod catches something and, after great difficulty, her father reels in . . . her brother.
We come to realize that the death of her brother is the source of her father’s dispirited behavior, his distrust of the water, and the girl’s dream the night before. Together, the girl and her father take in the boy—who remains silent—wash him and give him a change of clothes and watch him play on land again . . . then return to the fjord. The girl and father sense contentment in the boy, and allow him to return unhampered, knowing that his soul is well, granting consolation to themselves as well.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
April 17, 2025
Very sweet and interesting way of looking at death and grief. Sensitively handled and powerful.
This is a picture book translated from the Norwegian.
Rating system:
1 star: the absolute worst and potentially DNF
2 stars: did not like and forgettable
3 stars: casually liked, not unique, and probably forgettable
4 stars: really liked, might reread
5 stars: phenomenal, will reread, will continue to think about
This is a picture book translated from the Norwegian.
Rating system:
1 star: the absolute worst and potentially DNF
2 stars: did not like and forgettable
3 stars: casually liked, not unique, and probably forgettable
4 stars: really liked, might reread
5 stars: phenomenal, will reread, will continue to think about
March 30, 2026
I've been teaching _My Father's Arms are a Boat_ for years, and I'm excited to teach My Brother alongside it. The way in which the authors explore grief in the face of a close family member's (in this case a sibling) death is really moving and unique - especially compared to picture books about death written by US creators.
November 11, 2025
weird at first but then i got it. i wonder how a kid would make sense of it
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews