In Inkling, we meet Ethan, a middle-school boy who encounters a sentient blob of ink that has escaped from the dad's sketchbook. He learns the ink needs to devour words and images, much as humans also need nourishment, and as it feeds on books, it gains knowledge. Ethan learns the quality of the material he feeds Inkling impacts his personality; comic books lead to frenetic, wild Inkling, Anne of Green Gables and other classics lead to a more thoughtful, measured blob.
Ethan and his sister are being raised by a single dad, since the mother died from cancer; there's a growing understanding that Inkling came to be in order to heal the pain and distance that have resulted between Ethan and his dad, as well as to resolve the creative block that has stymied the dad's artwork.
Inkling can create, and this is where much of the tension resides. Ethan tries to find a balance on making a storyboard draft for his class project before letting Inkling transform it, but when his dad and others get access to Inkling, their motives are less pure and more exploitative.
I imagine this as a wonderful book to offer to children whose previous reading experiences were strictly comic book or graphic novel form. While I appreciate those genres, this could be a well-placed gateway book to interest them in the structure of more traditional chapter books given the periodic illustrations and the content focusing on comic books and storyboards.
(I received a digital ARC from NetGalley and Knopf Books for Young Readers in exchange for my honest review. I've used Amazon Affiliate links here; should you purchase through these links, I receive a small commission, at no extra cost to you.)