Ungerer, Tomi (pseudonym of Jean Thomas, 1931– ), Alsatian French illustrator, author‐illustrator, political cartoonist, and commercial artist. Born in Strasbourg, Ungerer emigrated to the United States in 1957, moved to Canada 20 years later, and eventually settled in Ireland with his wife and three children. His children's books—over 80—have been written and published in several languages. Since the 1970s, they have been labelled ‘controversial’ and ‘subversive’ for the biting satire, earthy sexuality, or streak of sadism that lurks beneath the seemingly innocuous surface of a colourful illustration or a simple story. In his picture book Moon Man (1967), for example, the Moon Man lands on earth, innocently hoping to socialize; instead, he is mobbed by scientists, television crews, thrill‐seekers, and policemen, and dragged off to gaol as a dangerous ‘invader’. Fortunately, as he wanes, he grows thin enough to slip between the bars and escape. While this fable satirizes contemporary society, in other stories Ungerer uses the fairy‐tale form to undermine traditional values. A Storybook from Tomi Ungerer (1974) includes Ungerer's own version of ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, no longer a warning to young girls, but a hint that outworn sexual taboos are meaningless in today's world. An elegantly dressed wolf overcomes Red Riding Hood's suspicions, takes her to his castle, and marries her, and they live happily ever after. The grandmother (an authority figure from an older generation) is a nasty‐tempered old woman, shrivelling away as the story ends. In Zeralda's Ogre (1967), possibly Ungerer's best‐known original fairy tale, a little girl tames an ogre by cooking him such delicious gourmet meals that he loses his appetite for children; in the end, he marries her, and they raise a family together. While the text seems to suggest demurely that a nurturing woman with fine domestic skills can civilize a man into domesticity, the illustrations tell a somewhat different story. The staring eyes of the helpless animals and birds hung up in Zeralda's kitchen remind us that she, too, is a practised butcher, who feels no qualms about slaughtering what she serves for dinner. And in the final illustration, one of Zeralda's children admires the new baby—with a sharp knife and fork concealed behind his back. A story that seems to celebrate the triumph of civilization over barbarism also intimates that the murderous ogre survives in all of us.
— Suzanne Rahn
