Mr Chicken doesn’t resemble an ordinary chicken. Mr Chicken is very large; at least as big as an elephant. His body is a lurid yellow and largely comprised of his face, which is fixed in a perpetual scowl. He has two tusks jutting upwards from his mouth and he has small flipper-like limbs on either side of his forehead. In true chicken fashion his legs resemble drumsticks shorn at the knee, and his huge nose strangely evokes the parson’s of his namesake. He is grotesque: a Frankenstein-esque mockery of a chicken, resembling the plucked, stuffed and frozen carcass of a bird with all the parts rearranged. His constantly bitter expression seems to betray the internal struggle of what at first glance must be a tortured existence.

But one must not judge a person on how they look. In spite of his huge frame and monstrous appearance Mr Chicken himself does not seem the least bit self-conscious as he tours the sights of Paris accompanied by his French friend Yvette, who likewise does not seem at all unhinged by his startling appearance. The Parisians he encounters on the other hand are not quite so unfazed; everywhere he goes his presence creates even more of a spectacle than the famous surrounds. Monsieur Poulet is the perfect tourist; brimming with excitement he clambers over all the attractions, buys the tea towels, statuettes and accoutrements required of him, he swings on the swings, eats all the food and bathes in the fountains. He is humbled by the majesty of Notre Dame and he is bashful when he gets his portrait painted by the Seine.  When the time finally comes for him to leave Yvette and depart the City of Love he does so tearfully, leaving with memories of the perfect day. Paris, it seems, shall not forget him in a hurry.

This is the storyline of Leigh Hobbs’ latest picture book but, much like the title character himself, no description of it shall ever compare with seeing it for yourself. Every page hosts a distinctly stylised, unfussy illustration slyly contrary to its accompanying text. Mr Chicken is a marvel to behold, and there is much joy to be found in seeing (and imagining), just how he is beheld by the throngs of Paris. Mr Chicken Goes to Paris is a unique and delightfully strange book, the sort of book that insists on being shown to friends so that its genius may be shared and admired.

Mr Chicken Goes to Paris by Leigh Hobbs, AUD$24.99. Dymocks