I've had a lot of time for Kirsty Applebaum's previous work, so when Nosy Crow sent me a proof of The Life And Time of Lonny Quicke, I was fascinated I've had a lot of time for Kirsty Applebaum's previous work, so when Nosy Crow sent me a proof of The Life And Time of Lonny Quicke, I was fascinated to see what she did with it. The premise is remarkable: what would happen if you could save a life with the touch of your hand -and what if it meant that you got older each time you did it?
I mean, what more of a hook do you need?
Lonny Quicke is a philosophical treatise on what it takes to love and lose and live. The people who can give life at the cost of their own are known as 'lifelings' and they can hear when something is about to die. The people of Farstoke hold a regular festival to celebrate these near-mythical individuals, praying that one will turn up for them when they most need it. And this year, for one family, one does...
Sometimes middle grade literature can pose the biggest questions with such grace, and this is one of those titles. Appelbaum writes with a almost avant-garde stylistic that I really loved. She lets the text do the work, embracing the potential of what the printed word can look like and how that can add to meaning. She lets it work and uses everything at her disposal to make it happen. It's a perfect book to share with young readers and talk about what a book can do. I loved it. I'm here for those books that test the limits of form and shape, always.
Get this one on your pre-orders. There's really nothing else out there like it.
My thanks to the publisher for a review copy....more
Some of the earliest stories I remember reading are myths and legends, and I rather love seeing them reinterpreted and remade for a new generation. AlSome of the earliest stories I remember reading are myths and legends, and I rather love seeing them reinterpreted and remade for a new generation. All stories are remade in the telling of them (and indeed they should) but myths and legends always seem particularly fitting for such a thing. We reinvent them, we remake them (a quick shout out here to the remarkable Wyrd Museum trilogy by Robin Jarvis: The Woven Path) and in reshaping the exterior, we reinforce the heart of them. Does that make sense? It's like the telling of it - the way we dress it up and present it to make it understood by our audience - makes that central point even clearer still. The story may be being told in 1820 or 2020, but Odin still hangs from the tree. Fire is still stolen from Olympus. Loki is still ... Loki. And so these stories endure, survive.
And in How To Be A Hero these stories thrive. I realised it when we got to the door of Asgard which has the message "Frost Giants Keep Out" and, underneath it, "Loki smells of PoOo".
I mean, perfect.
Weldon's well into her stride at this point and things only get better from there. We get a rich and boldly told story which sees a Viking thief team up with a trainee Valkyrie and a very talkative cup. Their adventure takes in the nine worlds and more besides; Vikings who dislike travelling minstrels, a familiar trickster God, and a 'not terribly happy at being disturbed' dragon. It is the first of a trilogy so while there's an ending, it's not as definitive as it might be. Having said that, I found every inch of this a treat and loved it. It is such a distinctive, fun effort.
I always struggle with age recommendations but if you have a confident young reader who still likes the break of illustrations every now and then (Katie Kear's work is lovely here!) then this will be perfect. I'd also recommend pairing it with some non-fiction if you can because Weldon picks up a lot of stories and ideas that a voracious reader would enjoy exploring further. There's a lot here to enjoy.
My thanks to the publisher for a review copy. ...more
There are a lot of new things in Luna Rae's life. New home, new school, new friends. It's a lot to deal with and the one she thinks might help would bThere are a lot of new things in Luna Rae's life. New home, new school, new friends. It's a lot to deal with and the one she thinks might help would be winning the school's baking competition with her mum. The only problem is that Luna's mum has disappeared...
Luna Rae Is Not Alone is something rather special indeed. You should be getting it on your radar now. This is such a gentle, wise and soft book full of advice and guidance for anybody going through complicated family situations. Luna is prone to 'catastrophising' - that is, to see the worst possible outcome in a scenario, and Webster handles her anxieties so beautifully and kindly. I loved it. It's the sort of book where there's a lot swimming underneath the surface and you just sort of feel it coming through, this sort of warm and gentle and soft honesty. It doesn't solve everything, nor 'fix things' nor does it wrap up everything in a neat bow. It just sort of goes 'look, this is life' and presents it to readers with such utter, gentle kindness. Beautiful stuff.
I also enjoyed how Webster handled the adults in her book. I think you can tell a lot about a book in the way it treats the adults and this is perfectly handled stuff. Adults have flaws, same as everybody else, and they're trying to make things work the best they can. Might not be the right way, might not be the best way, but they're trying and they're learning along with all of us. There's depth and texture in this book, everywhere you look.
February 2021, mark the date.
My thanks to the publisher for a review copy. ...more
There's something intensely appealing about what Sally Nicholls does in A Christmas In Time, and that is to tell a really good story. It's something wThere's something intensely appealing about what Sally Nicholls does in A Christmas In Time, and that is to tell a really good story. It's something we ask a lot of people to do but not many people can deliver on. Telling a story is hard. Telling a story that has pace, roundness, accessibility, satisfaction, and some very delicious descriptions of food, is super hard. But Nicholls is good at it and this is such a solid, good treat.
A Christmas In Time sees Alex and Ruby head back into a Victorian Christmas to solve a historic family crisis. It's part of a series of timeslip adventures but able to be read in its own right (always a good sign) and reads in an immensely accessible manner. In terms of timeslip books, it's younger than perhaps something like the blessed Tom's Midnight Garden and Charlotte Sometimes and so presents a really gorgeous opportunity for readers building their confidence and skill in tackling bigger books.
I really loved this. There's very little here you can pick at because it's just all so well done. Nicholls manages to drop some nicely handled commentary on gender attitudes, whilst also making the historic seem intensely present. It's so very easy to see people 'from history' as part of that - cold, static and distant, but here they're lively and lovely and really rather wonderful.
I have no hesitations about this book, none.
My thanks to the publisher for the review copy....more
There's a lot to love in Kidnap on the California Comet. It's a richly adventurous sequel to The Highland Falcon Thief and I enjoyed every inch of it.There's a lot to love in Kidnap on the California Comet. It's a richly adventurous sequel to The Highland Falcon Thief and I enjoyed every inch of it. This series is starting to have such a gorgeous texture; it reads like a little bit like Agatha Christie, a little bit like an older Famous Five (but with a damn sight more nuance and tact), and a little bit 'let's all just go on an adventure' and I love it. It's a really strong series and the quality of it is marked: these are excellent stories, well told, and I rather love that. Good books, done good.
So! It's a sequel, yes, but Kidnap on the California Comet is infinitely accessible as a standalone novel which is - again - another mark in the authors favour. It's really important to make every entrance point to a series as accessible and as readable as you can, otherwise you lock readers out and I am not here for a series that does that. Leonard and Sedgman use structure as their friend here - we go somewhere, something happens, we return - and I love their confidence with it. It's a pattern that has worked for a long time in children's lit and it works, especially when it's in such good hands. The authors pull absolutely everyone they can along with them on the journey. No passengers left behind. Adventures for everyone!
A quick note of recognition as well for Elisa Paganelli's delightfully vibrant illustrations. She has a quickness of line and a lightness of touch that really captures the moment. Her artwork is lived, immediate, real - it's such an important part of these books. The whole package is just so good.
My thanks to the publishers for a review copy. ...more
Bessie Marchant always surprises me. You can often predict what happens with many of the books of this type from the early twentieth century because tBessie Marchant always surprises me. You can often predict what happens with many of the books of this type from the early twentieth century because there's a pattern, lord love them. Here's the pattern for a typical Angela Brazil, for example: somebody misplaces a will, somebody finds the will, everything's okay, we're all still posh. A generalisation, yes, but nobody loves a probate-themed plot quite like Angie. Bessie Marchant's version of this is a revolution. Big, small, bloody, political, in the middle of it, or on the edges, she properly loves them. Of course this is just a big metaphor for the benefits of the British Empire, and even if you're in Patagonia or Russia or somewhere that there's never been any vestiges of British colonies, there will always be some Hot And Noble (potentially impoverished due to the foul deeds of others) English Chap to help out our heroines.
Delightfully, The Most Popular Girl In The School is right up there with the rest of her work. It's not what I'd call particular readable (were I to be frank I'd call it a 'right state') but that sort of quality judgement is a bit sweeping on my part, because it totally denies the spectacular power of these books. The Most Popular Girl In The School seems to be a boarding school story but in fact, it's a story about revolutionaries in Brazil. Trunks full of cartridges end up at the school! The sentence 'To 50 cases of T.N.T sent as best Heather Honey, and carefully forwarded through usual channels' actually exists!! Mary helps "unmask the secret of her father's birth" which is 1920s children's book speak for 'don't worry, she's been a member of the upper class all along, that's why she's so great"!
Honestly, the hysteria, I die.
So, do I suggest you start your Bessie Marchant adventures with this? I do not. I don't think it's particularly 'good' nor is it 'coherent' nor is it, in fact, what you might call 'linear' or 'particularly comprehensible'. However it does have a particular appeal in that, I think, it's tied quite specifically to real world events. I came across Tenentism and the details of a 1922 revolt - which, bearing in mind that this was published in 1924, feels about right. Tell me again how children's literature isn't political. Go on. I'll wait.
I didn't think I enjoyed the Dimsie books. I have vague memories of reading one, many moons ago, and giving up within the first few chapters. SomethinI didn't think I enjoyed the Dimsie books. I have vague memories of reading one, many moons ago, and giving up within the first few chapters. Something about it simply didn't click and so I placed Dorita Fairlie Bruce as an author who just wasn't for me. I had no inclination to find any of her other books because that reading had left me so indifferent over them. That was then, however, in a pre-2020 environment where things like lockdowns and widespread shop closures didn't leave me grasping at great handfuls of books on the shelves while I can. I bought Dimsie Among The Prefects just before the second lockdown in the United Kingdom, conscious that I'd need something to distract me and consoling myself with the fact that I could sell it on after.
Reader, I won't be selling it.
I realised this somewhere about the rather spectacular first few pages which involve a chap scowling through his monocle (a+++ work DFB, keep it up) and then the even more spectacular chapters which follow. There's (view spoiler)[ a new girl prone to biting who promptly tests out her powers by chowing down on the beloved prefect (do not do this at home) who then resolves the issue by tying up the child. (hide spoiler)] Amazing.
My interest piqued, my hysterical laughter working over-time, I had no choice but to read on. And there's a lot here that's rather worth the effort. I knew of many of the characteristics of DFB's work here (the anti-soppists league and so on) but I'd never quite actually enjoyed it. And I did! This is great! Terribly eccentric and deeply ridiculous and then the ending throws in an absolute classic of the genre! I was so happy, honestly, this ticks all my boxes. It's very rich, rounded, and very classic school story stuff....more
This is late phase Angela Brazil and it shows: The School at the Turrets is episodic, disjointed and yearning back to something that was once very gooThis is late phase Angela Brazil and it shows: The School at the Turrets is episodic, disjointed and yearning back to something that was once very good but kind of isn't now. There's a lot of Angela's usual verve and style (she does like a good will based subplot) but it's all slightly subdued and somewhat problematic. And it's very quick! One thing happens then another one happens and then another; people are married off, parents reappear, family drama is sorted, and then bosh, we're off to the next thing. One for collectors and completionists only, I think. ...more
I know absolutely nothing about Elisabeth Morley, nor did I know anything about Girls In Green. It was one of those books that I picked up out of inteI know absolutely nothing about Elisabeth Morley, nor did I know anything about Girls In Green. It was one of those books that I picked up out of interest, attracted as much by that delightfully Robin Hood-esque front cover as I was by the fact that it was published in 1949 and thus at a key point for children's literature within the United Kingdom. This is the time of the century where the school story was, I think, starting to shift into something else, and so it can all be super interesting to see what happens and how people handle that.
So let me tell you this: Girls In Green is not without its faults, but it's actually pretty fun. The principle is fairly straightforward: a new girl joins, makes a hash of things at first, before realising she is a True Chalet School Girl. Wait, no, she's realising she's a true Southfield High School but it's the same thing. And what's more her name is Stephanie Hunt-Smith so she has the same initials and honestly, wasn't it always meant to be? Of course IMPEDIMENTA stands in the way (and no, I'm not referring to some unfortunately named middle) but Everything! Works! Out! For! The! Best!
(Ridiculous, yes, but I do love these books.)
It's also rather fascinating how much this feels like a book of two halves; a tautological way to express it yes, yes, but the best way to describe it. Several of the incidents are right of the Chalet School or Malory Towers but some of them - I'm thinking in particular of the plate being smacked on somebody's head with enough force to shatter it (!!!!) and the Headteacher's magnificently careless "Yes you are a bit spoilt" to Stephanie (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) - hint towards the more realistic edge and social immediacy that children's fiction was just about to embrace.
Morley's prose is rather stylish at some points - there's a delightful moment where she writes some siblings bickering that's done so well, I had to do a little double take at it, and later she has some other rather splendid one-liners. I always think with writing you can tell when something steps up to be Noticeably Good, and there's some really strong stuff here. I just don't think it's sustained throughout the book (the plot gets a little messy and things start to not make sense) but honestly, this is a lot of (slightly off its noodle) fun. I'd definitely recommend it as a later representative of the school story genre, and a marker of how much things were about to change for said genre.
What else do I need to tell you about this? Perhaps nothing other than the fact that the new girl is described as 'a cross between Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth' (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! x a million) which is an absolute FIRST for the genre. ...more
I first read the Drina series many moons ago and didn't really think that much of them. Though I devoured titles by people like Noel Streatfeild and LI first read the Drina series many moons ago and didn't really think that much of them. Though I devoured titles by people like Noel Streatfeild and Lorna Hill, the Drina books always felt a little bit more pedestrian to me. They were pleasant pedestrian, if such a thing could be, but they were definitely pedestrian. Enjoyable to read, but when you were done, you were done.
Ballet For Drina, plus a handful of other titles from the series, recently surfaced in a nearby shop to me and I picked them up - partially to see if I still thought they were pedestrian, but also to simply read something pleasant. Something simple. If ever a year demands such books to have their time, it is this. And so Ballet for Drina, Drina Dances in Switzerland (you know you're in a classic kid's series when you get to Switzerland my friends), and Drina Goes on Tour made their way home with me.
And yes, Ballet For Drina still had that slightly pedestrian edge to it, but it also had something rather wonderful and that was the bones of a very classic ballet story. Girl discovers talent, works at it, deals with problems in her way, becomes good. It won't reinvent the wheel by any means, but it does what it does in a real solid and rather satisfying fashion. I also found it pleasing that the difficulty of this path is emphasised: being a ballerina is not easy and requires sacrifice from all concerned. Yes, some of the moments are Slightly Ridiculous, but all good classic children's lit has that mildly ridiculous edge. We allow it because we believe in the world, and the world of Drina - even though it's full of balletomanes on every corner and she goes to dos wearing a little white dress with a scarlet capes (ugh, I love it) - is believable. It really is.
There's a lot here to love; it has that Blytonian quality of being almost grimly readable and accessible, and I think the earlier books where Drina is young, could still provide a lot of appeal for contemporary young readers. And that's because, in many ways, this is still a stone cold classic piece of children's literature. ...more
It recently hit me that there were still a few titles to do in my review of the Chalet School series and, that A Future Chalet School Girl is quite poIt recently hit me that there were still a few titles to do in my review of the Chalet School series and, that A Future Chalet School Girl is quite poor in every definition of the word, so where else to start but there? We all know this part of the series is not great, so any review of these books from this period need a star knocked off on principle. But then, there's an argument for whacking a whole ton of stars onto this book and that argument is this:
MINIBUSES.
There is not enough minibus content in children's literature and I, for one, enjoy detailed descriptions of sitting arrangements. And seatbelts. And hammocks slung between the aisles for the babies to sleep in. And how many miles it does to the litre (hysterically sidestepped by EBD who just writes "the man told him" and moves on). I LOVE IT. I love it because it's all so delightfully ridiculous. And the amount of drama that we get from it? Amazing.
The plot, for what it's worth, is thin. We're on holiday! A new girl randomly joins up with everybody for a couple of weeks and she has the most amazing connection to the Chalet School that you'll never guess (you will guess, you will adore it, you will loathe it)! An old girl cameos (who, what? oh my gosh you'll never guess where she lives!) and I am being mean here because it's all so silly but utterly wonderful at the same time. I love it, immensely, even when a recovering invalid has soup followed a jam omelette and washes it all down with a glass of milk yellow with cream (none of that meal is a good thing, none of it). It's adorable, but so, so dull all at the same time, which is quite the fascinating achievement in my book.
I reread The School by The River for a lecture I attended online this week, one concerned with the role of memory and how the act of reading is in itsI reread The School by The River for a lecture I attended online this week, one concerned with the role of memory and how the act of reading is in itself situated across our lives. What does it mean to remember a book that you read as a child? What does it mean to reread it now? Fascinating stuff and one that drove me to the work of Elinor M. Brent-Dyer, an author whom I have read for a long time, and to The School By The River. Interestingly enough, the last time I read this book was for an essay for the speaker of this week's lecture, and I didn't realise the connection until I sat down to listen.
I remember the first time I found The School By The River. I was a member of a fan journal at the time, and I remember receiving the little order supplement with the journal as it came through the post. A bright colour too, I think, perhaps blue or red. I went through a flurry of ordering 'additional' titles by EBD at that time, though it rapidly wore off. I couldn't keep up with the amount of reprints and fill-ins that were published, and so I think I maybe bought this, Behind the Chalet School: A Biography of Elinor M.Brent-Dyer and Visitors for the Chalet School around the same sort of time and that was about it. Collecting was a long term project, and I was in it for the duration. Besides, my pocket money didn't stretch to it.
The School By The River was a good book to pick. It was lost for many years, the circumstances of a small initial print run plus air-raid damage to the printers during WW2, and it's a standalone. Brent-Dyer was terribly fond of series (even though she approached issues like consistency and detail with an airy - and rather delightful - irreverence) and her standalone titles are, for me, not the best of her work. They sort of act as a sampler to the others - this is what you'll get, and it's quite likely I'll recycle the names as well and half the plots elsewhere.
Some of The School By The River does suffer from such a tendency towards being already seen elsewhere, but then Brent-Dyer throws in a revolution halfway through and things go full crazytown and I love it. I can't tell you how much I adore her talking about things like Bolshevism and Student Revolution because they're clearly such alien concepts to her. (Redheads at the Chalet School I'm looking at you). And so we get some rather wonderfully ambitious writing here with talk of politics, Bolsheviki agents, revolution and uprising, and it's all utterly off its noodle in a way that only Brent-Dyer can do. Singing in the cellars! Gunshots! Stale bread with honey whilst the proletariat swim through floods! I have never known an author so keenly devoted to hybridising ridiculous and wonderful in her work as this one.
Plot. I suppose we should talk plot briefly, because that's what we do in such things like this. Jennifer's talented with the piano, weirdly pretty if you do her hair right, very British, destined for great things and also an orphan (naturellement). She's got chums, gets a bit wound up when there's a storm on, there's also a bad girl who turns good, some terribly overwrought social drama, and a magnificent ruritanian Kingdom where everybody goes about by horse and carriage and wears national dress 24/7. Honestly, what is life when you have a book as delightful as this?...more
It's a weird one this, and not really a "great" sample of Brazil's work (though, as ever with such sentiments, let's inverted quote the heck out of thIt's a weird one this, and not really a "great" sample of Brazil's work (though, as ever with such sentiments, let's inverted quote the heck out of that). Kitty is a muppet and through her muppetry impacts upon her family, and then basically spends the rest of her life making up for that. This involves being self-sacrificing at every opportunity that the book gives her because it's the "right thing" to do (again, forgive me, but this is the sort of book that needs this sort of thing) and then, at the end of it, everything's alright but not really, nope, because Kitty LITERALLY HAS NO LIFE LEFT OF HER OWN BECAUSE OF HER MUPPETY WAYS WHICH AREN'T REALLY THE SORT OF THING YOU SHOULD HOLD AGAINST HER FOREVER AND A BLEEDING DAY
*expires, explodes, etc, etc*
(It reminded me a lot of The Fortunes of Philippa which is an odd reference to take, considering that Philippa was very much at the start of Brazil's career and by the writing of Kitty, she is not. This is mid-career and it sits really weirdly. Brazil could be an incredibly generous writer with her notions about girls and girlhood, and Schoolgirl Kitty does not show her at her best. Not n the slightest.
Read it for completion sake, but not from choice. There's better ones out there.)...more
Lorna at Wynyards by Elinor M. Brent-Dyer is a lot of fun and, I suspect, worth five stars for the fabulously awful "JO BETTANY IS MY FAVOURITE AUTHORLorna at Wynyards by Elinor M. Brent-Dyer is a lot of fun and, I suspect, worth five stars for the fabulously awful "JO BETTANY IS MY FAVOURITE AUTHOR I HAVE ALL HER TITLES AND OH YES SHE IS ALSO A FAMILY FRIEND WE LOVE HER WE'RE BESTIES" reference. Honestly, what's not to love about Brent-Dyer becoming self aware and feeding the intertextual scholars of the future?
But I digress: a review of Brent-Dyer is not just about 'hey here's the awful bits' (for there are, quite often, rather a lot), it is also about recognising the good and the charm and the wonder of an author who could be very very good on her day. Transcendent at points, and one whose longevity and continued appeal is not a mystery once you find those moments. Lorna is a good book, not because of Lorna herself but because of Kit and Aunt Kath. They are family relations, Lorna is sent there for reasons that don't make much sense, there's a thousand other subplots, everybody has ridiculous names and even more ridiculous meals (sardines and chips, with cake for dessert???), there's far too much information about wool (!), and because it is Brent-Dyer there is a moment of mortality thrown into the mix for good measure.
(It is a moment, by the way, that is quite beautifully handled)
But here's the thing: it works. Brent-Dyer is in a good place here, comfortable and charming and vibrant, and she rolls the whole thing along with a lot of skill. Of course there are moments when she stutters, but they're few and far between. This is a solid, good read. ...more
I mean, what is this thing that EBD has about stepsisters? There is a thesis in it, or perhaps ten, and when you finish writing it I would like to reaI mean, what is this thing that EBD has about stepsisters? There is a thesis in it, or perhaps ten, and when you finish writing it I would like to read it because this! book! is! dippy! An old bloke decides to marry Lorna's mum, Lorna's mum palms off the kids to her sister and Lorna in England, and Lorna faints and weeps and gets hysterical about the whole thing. The girls arrive, everybody hates each other, until resolution! caused! by! life-threatening! injuries!
I recently found a copy of A Vicarage Family in a charity shop and had a 'no book left behind' moment over it. It's a book I first read a long while aI recently found a copy of A Vicarage Family in a charity shop and had a 'no book left behind' moment over it. It's a book I first read a long while ago and one that left me conscious of the necessity of giving your family a suet pudding to eat before the Sunday roast, without ever being quite conscious of what a suet pudding was nor why you had to eat one before the meal. Isn't it strange the shards that books leave within you? The Vicarage Family is suet, for me, always.
But on a more practical, and less food-orientated note, this book is about family. It is a fictionalised autobiography of Streatfeild's childhood and one that wasn't as much fun to read for me this time as it was first time round. It felt a little episodic, a little disjointed, and strangely underwhelming. I'm not sure why it didn't work for me as much as it did though, that point about the suet still made me smile. I know what suet is now! The excitement!
Despite all of this, this is still a book I'd reccommend though, particularly to those interested in childhood life at the turn of the century and the influence that this played upon Streatfeild's books. And there is an influence, you can almost trace the stroppy and madly talented Vicky - a thin veiling of Streatfeild- in the iconic books that Streatfeild would go onto produce. It's charming, interesting but not - for me, this time round - as brilliantly written as her later work. ...more
"And what did you do when you finished reading Polly Piglet by Enid Blyton?"
"Well, my imaginary friend who has been invented to help me make a rhetori"And what did you do when you finished reading Polly Piglet by Enid Blyton?"
"Well, my imaginary friend who has been invented to help me make a rhetorical point on the internet, I screamed. And then I screamed some more and a little more and a little more because what the actual hell is this book"
"I mean, that's a reaction."
"I KNOW RIGHT"
"I'm not sure what else I'm meant to say here"
"Perhaps you could give me a prompt in order to explore this book further?"
"Ah okay. SO COULD YOU EXPLORE THIS BOOK FURTHER?"
"Indeed I could, my rhetorical friend! I bought it because I had never heard of Polly Piglet by Enid Blyton. I knew she had a propensity for this sort of jazz, but I never knew that it could be so blunt and so - awfully - amazing."
"I feel you're skirting around the point a little."
"POLLY PIGLET HAS NO CLOTHES AND NO FRIENDS, EVERYONE HATES HER UNTIL SHE STEALS SOME CLOTHES OFF THE WASHING LINE, AND THEN SHE GETS PICKED UP BY MISTER PERCY PIG, AND THEN SHE MAGICALLY HAS NINE PIGLETS, GROWS OUT OF HER CLOTHES AND IS LEFT JUST WITH A RIBBON, BUT SHE'S NOT LONELY NOW HURRAH"
"..."
"..."
"I think that's an ambitious hurrah."
"THE MOST AMBITIOUS HURRAH OF ALL OF THE HURRAHS THAT HAVE EVER BEEN HURRAHED"
"Can you stop shouting?"
"I'M NOT SHOUTING, THIS IS JUST FOR RHETORICAL EFFECT."
"..."
"I AM EMPHASIZING THE UTTER LUNACY OF THIS BOOK."
"..."
" 'YOU STILL LOOK LOVELY TO ME, THOUGH NOW YOU ONLY WEAR YOUR SKIN' SAID PERCY PIG"
I've been picking my way through the Farthing Wood series, driven by an urge to revisit these emotionally scarring books of my childhood. Though somebI've been picking my way through the Farthing Wood series, driven by an urge to revisit these emotionally scarring books of my childhood. Though somebody like Richard Adams will always have the crown of accidentally emotionally traumatising children (Plague Dogs! General Woundwort! the! horror!), books like The Fox Cub Bold are right up there with them. This isn't a situation where everything always ends up well. Dann was a naturalist and wrote from experience and although the Farthing Wood animals remain bound by a vow of mutual friendship, others do not. There's a blunt honesty to these books that even now I am rather fond of.
In The Grip Of Winter is the second book of the series. The animals of Farthing Wood have relocated to White Deer Nature Reserve, a space of safety and sanctuary. Everything is going well until winter arrives. It is one of the coldest and hardest winters on record and the animals suffer. Not only do they have to deal with the fierce temperatures and the lack of food that brings, but they also have to face poachers breaking into the park. The poachers are armed with guns, and killing - inevitably - occurs. It's down to the wiles of Fox, supported ably by Vixen, to sort things out...
Upon rereading this, I had quite the memory realisation. When I was a child, I had an intermittent cast of imaginary friends that would join us on car journeys, running along the side of the road at the same pace of the car. I don't think I ever imagined them to anybody but there was White Rabbit, White Horse, White Tiger and - you get the picture. But I realised that this naming comes from the Farthing Wood books - a series where animals are mainly named things like Hare, and Ginger Cat, and Tawny Owl until mates, children and friends of the same species turn up and start to complicate things. My adult feminist side kicks slightly at Whistler's mate - a heron, so named because of a hole in his wing - being called Whistler's mate throughout this book but that's a small point to pick.
In The Grip of Winter is an impressive piece of work and functions as an honest and good introduction to stories about animals for young readers. It feels different to much of today's children's literature and I suspect much of this comes from Dann's naming style - Fox, Vixen, Kestrel etc - but also from his matter of fact knowledge about the natural world. The domestic animals remain domestic, the wild - wild. The biggeranimals eat the smaller (though, as I say, the Farthing Wood creatures abstain from eating each other) and Simba, we eat the antelopes and then we turn into grass and the antelopes eat the grass and it's the circle of life.
I don't think we write children's books like this any more, and I suspect there's a space in the world for a reprint of at least the first in the series. But, for now, I'll continue picking them up when I find them in the charity bookshops and continue to savour this intriguing, occasionally brutal, and somewhat rather fascinating series. ...more
Mischief at St Rollo's is never going to change the world. It's a typically Blytonian school story; new kids go to a school, thing happen, shenanigansMischief at St Rollo's is never going to change the world. It's a typically Blytonian school story; new kids go to a school, thing happen, shenanigans, shenanigans, end of term, I can't wait to go back! It's not high literature nor is it quite the same as some of her better work in the Malory Towers books, for example. But what Mischief At St Rollo's is so fiercely utterly readable that sometimes I can't quite believe how Enid Blyton manages it.
Let me explain a little what I mean by that. Readability is, I think, something Blyton excels at. She is confident, brisk and blunt in her writing. She never uses two words when one will do. She hits her beats, she gives the briefest of characterisation to her characters, and she gets out of Dodge before they even know she's there. The first page, for example, is brilliant. We are introduced to Micheal and Janet. They don't want to go to boarding school (does anybody ever in Blyton land?), but their parents are being nice and sending them to a mixed school so they can stay together. Micheal and Janet decide to make the new school sit up a bit. And that's all done in half a page. Literally half a page. And that's Blyton, she goes straight for the narrative jugular and doesn't care less. We know nothing about the room they're in, what they look like or where they live; we know the important things: school, school, school. And when we're there, it's equally brisk. Everything is fine, everything is great, everything is not great! everything is sorted. Hurrah! See you next term!
I mean, it's awful on one level but it's brilliant on another. These are books that will make readers out of even the most reluctant individual - even if they don't want it. There's no choice and honestly? I rather love how brazen it all is. Enid gets the job done. And woe betide anybody who stands against her. ...more
Oh man, I loved this! Judy, Patrol Leader by Dorothea Moore is a new venture to me; new author, much more 'Guide' orientated then many of my normal reOh man, I loved this! Judy, Patrol Leader by Dorothea Moore is a new venture to me; new author, much more 'Guide' orientated then many of my normal reads, and yet it's a delight. A rampant, utter, delight. It's vivid, heartfelt, ferociously readable and fabulously ridiculous (the AMOUNT of incidents Judy gets involved in!); essentially, it's brilliant. It's perhaps not the highest of literature nor is it perhaps the most challenging - much of it reminded me of Enid Blyton at her determined best - but it is delightful.
When it comes to books like this, I'm always conscious that I'm reading them from a very modern perspective. I was a brownie and a guide, but that was three million years ago, and the thought of going back to that fills me with an abject horror. But back in the day, this movement was an option for young women and girls to get together and do something that much of society did not wish them to do: make a difference. Patriarchy, convention, sexism. All the usual sorts of oppressive jazz. And you can feel these themes in Judy, Patrol Leader because they're not really subtly handled - essentially it's GUIDES IS GOOD FOR YOU. All the way through. And usually I'd be bucking against that not terribly indirect sort of preaching but honestly, Judy, Patrol Leader makes me not care about it because it works. It makes guides seem like the best thing ever. You get involved in the most ridiculous shenanigans but then it's okay because you're a Guide. Guides! Guides! Guides is good!
Moore is a prolific author, and I'd like to hope her other books are as delightful at this. I will be searching them out on the strength of it. ...more
I have such time for what Hilary McKay does, and The Time of Green Magic is a joy. Wild, rich, fantastical, and full of intense, palpable danger, it'sI have such time for what Hilary McKay does, and The Time of Green Magic is a joy. Wild, rich, fantastical, and full of intense, palpable danger, it's a dream. McKay is good, so good, and the day she is given the freedom of British children's literature, the better. I am not sure if one can be given the freedom of British children's literature, but I'd like it to be a thing. There are some authors that simply deserve such a thing.
A contemporary story, set right here, right now, and yet reaching back to the dawn of the world, The Time of Green Magic is quietly immense. It tells the story of a family learning to live with each other after their parents marry; Abi gains brothers, and Max and Louis gain a sister. It is not straightforward, as such things never are, and McKay renders it with her delicious truth. Nobody, I think, does families better. The messy, rich truth of them. The love of them. (One character experiences a 'first crush' in this book, and my goodness, it is beautifully, brilliantly done).
But underneath all of this is danger. Darkness. Something that's almost incomprehensible and yet real. Things have started to happen; books have become real, darkness has gained flesh, and there's something strange and scary happening that the children are going to figure out how to stop it before it all gets very much out of hand.
I loved this, and though I know I'm a fan of what McKay does, I loved it more because she embraces threat. Darkness. And this isn't to say that she doesn't do it elsewhere in her work - most notably in her beautiful, brilliant The Skylarks' War, but it's a different kind of darkness I think. Human. Real world. The shadows of The Time Of Green Magic are something different. Incomprehensible. Wild. Dangerous. Scary. (Brilliantly, brilliantly done).
McKay is great, this book is great, and you should read everything she does because it will teach you how just how great and good children's books can be.
My thanks to the publisher for a review copy....more
I've never wholly clicked with Joan Aiken. I think, sometimes, some of it stems from my preferences; I like stories with a particular taste and style I've never wholly clicked with Joan Aiken. I think, sometimes, some of it stems from my preferences; I like stories with a particular taste and style and frame. I like being able to handle them and know what I'm going to get and then being delighted in how my expectations are subverted. Outfox me, please, I long for it. But I think with Joan Aiken, I'm always struggling to understand, trying to figure out what's going on and where it is, and how I should feel about that. This is no criticism; it's a testament to her wild imagination and fiercely convincing world-building. Everything feels right and then, suddenly, off. A mirror, cracked. A world remade and reshaped by somebody who is undoubtedly brilliant. I am a little cowed by that, I think, and it's hard for me to find my place in the text.
And yet Midnight Is A Place is outstanding; fierce, rich, full of detail, but it's a detail that I chase after and never quite get hold of. There's so much packed in this novel - family history, dramatic personal change, hogs! in! sewers! - that I ache for time to explore it, to discover more about this and that before being pulled away to study the other. And again this is a testament to how good she is: there's so much here, whether it's the nuanced, subtle details of character, or the barely managed wilderness of the landscape, or it's simply those hogs that roam the sewers that thread like an artery underneath the world.
But here's the thing: sometimes it doesn't matter how I feel about a book. I can not be wholly comfortable with something, but I can recognise how great it is. I can recognise the mark of an author who is fine, fine, fine with her craft and I can understand how important this might be to somebody just discovering what language is and what it can be shaped to be. I would recommend this without batting an eyelid because it is good, powerful, bold fiction.
I have been longing to reread some Joyce Stranger for a long time. I wasn't sure which title I wanted to start with, or indeed what many were about, bI have been longing to reread some Joyce Stranger for a long time. I wasn't sure which title I wanted to start with, or indeed what many were about, but I wanted her back in my life. And when it came down to it, I couldn't quite remember why. I could remember the sensation of them; the way I devoured them, in that slightly giddy drunken haze you do when you're a kid and you find somebody new to read and realise how prolific they have been, years before you were born, how much you have left to read of their work. How it might never end.
I remember one of her books, vaguely, about being something to do with shire horses and another about foot and mouth disease (a mystery to childhood me), and then there was this. Flash. A book about a dog, a book that is bluntly adult in fashion and yet somehow rendered for children. I was intrigued by it and so I got it, and I read it, and I remembered just how grimly honest Joyce Stranger can be. This is not the happiest of stories; things do not go well.
And yet Flash is beautifully, brilliantly written. It wears its age heavily at points, and its agenda also, but Stranger is such a good, vivid, wild writer. She's not what I would call a modern writer, perhaps even back in the 70s, there's something else here and I wonder if it's almost naive. I mean naive very particularly here; innocent, natural, unaffected, because I think that's what this story is. Stranger commits a thousand literary sins; she's fond of an omniscience which allows her to see inside the head of every character, sometimes to weary effect, and she's fond of a diverting segue that sort of (sorry Joyce) isn't.
But Flash works. I can see why it got published, why it sold, why Stranger became who she was. There's something of Enid Blyton's determined power about it that carries it through the dull parts, and Stranger works, so hard, to get her point across. Occasionally it falters, occasionally it get super dull, but it works. Grimly, bluntly, naively, this works. It's not pretty nor is it perfect nor is it kittens and roses and rainbows, but it works....more
The more I read of the authors I read, the more I become convinced that there is a fine line between ridiculous and genius. So close and yet sometimesThe more I read of the authors I read, the more I become convinced that there is a fine line between ridiculous and genius. So close and yet sometimes, so very much one or the other. It is the problem, I think, of being so squarely located within a series and world that you, as the author, have created, and being unable to find your way out of it. The Drina books suffered from this towards the end, I think, because it was too far in. So did Harry Potter if I'm being frank; I ached for it to be edited so much more towards the end of the series, and yet there they were. Behemoths, character-locked, mythology wrapped islands. Maybe it's a problem of series fiction, and not one of genre at all. Maybe that's what series do: leave you wrapped up in a problem of your own making and you're just left trying to find the way out.
And so to Lorna Hill, and this delightful yet inherently ridiculous affair. Annette Dancy ("dancey by name and dancey by nature" reader, I die) needs to get to Scotland. She has no money but a great idea. Inevitably, none of that matters because everything works out! As you always knew it would! This isn't a spoiler! You knew it from the moment you read it!
There's something comforting about Lorna Hill and I do love her, but this is essentially 'dancer on a boat and then dancer in Scotland' and she's done it better elsewhere. Much better. Dancer In The Wings just feels comfortable; a book span out of air, easy as the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. And even in that comfortable ridiculousness, there are moments when it's still perfect, albeit briefly, so very briefly, because Hill does write a bloody good dance scene. You root for Annette, even though she's an idiot, and you root for dancing on a ship, even though it's ridiculous, because Hill makes it work. It's comfortable, comforting stuff, and sometimes that's what's needed. It's not the highest of literature, nor will it last with you very long after it happens, but for a moment? It's ideal. ...more
It's interesting how you can sometimes come to the right book at the wrong time. The first time I read this book, I was in the basement of a dusty uniIt's interesting how you can sometimes come to the right book at the wrong time. The first time I read this book, I was in the basement of a dusty university library and I was late for my shift. I skim-read and I did not really get it. I suppose you wouldn't get anything under such circumstances, not when your mind is elsewhere and the sort of book you're reading isn't the sort to want to bring you back. I know that A Traveller In Time doesn't work like that. It doesn't seek to be heard; rather it wants you to listen, and sometimes it takes a long while to find the moment where that can occur.
But it does occur, that is the thing with these books; moments happen when you least expect them, and I found a copy of this in a seaside town this week and I thought: it is time that I read this again. Properly. Completely. Not with the sort of half mind that looks elsewhere, but rather my whole attention. And so I did, and I realised that this is a fearlessly well-told story in the manner of something very eternal in British children's literature; complex, challenging, wildly magical, ferociously melancholic, and rather, utterly good. It is also that rare thing: a classic that feels classic, timeless, a pebble thrown into the pond and felt in books like Charlotte Sometimes; Tom's Midnight Garden; and the Green Knowe books. The reverberations, endless.
Penelope is visiting family at Thackers; the year is 1934, and somehow - even the text lets it happen in a blink, a sentence - she becomes a traveller in time and part of the 16th century. She can move from one time to the next and back again; a ghost, a dreamer, and whilst in the past, she becomes part of something beyond her control. A plot to rescue Mary, Queen of Scots. It is the sort of deliciously big story that only children's literature of a certain time and place can do, and Uttley revels in it. Her language is complex, challenging, and big. So big. Everything about this story and its fantastical, grey, magic is so very big.
And it is melancholic, as somebody on Twitter described it to me. It is full of a desperate ache for the inevitability of things; the world turns, people live, people die, and to be a brief part of that world is a painful, brutal gift. It is a gift that nobody would ever return; the preciousness of it. The perfection of it. But it is not easy and it is all the better for it. I have increasingly come to think that those authors who can do this understand the brutality of childhood. The raw truth of it. The way perfection and heartbreak can dance together, so close, so tightly wound. The way a day can be beautiful and then desperate, all at once.
It is a book that will wait for you to be ready to find it. And once you are? It will give you everything....more
There's a lot to love about this vivid, bold and deeply emphatic takeover of a picture book by a dog. It is nominally 'My First Animal Book'; a LadybiThere's a lot to love about this vivid, bold and deeply emphatic takeover of a picture book by a dog. It is nominally 'My First Animal Book'; a Ladybird-esque introduction to a series of animals, but that's not good enough for the dog who makes it all about himself. This, as you may imagine, does not go down terribly well with the other animals...
Collins is a distinctive presence in the world of picture books, and this is ferociously joyful. The dog himself is one of those scrabbly everything breeds and almost bursts out of the page. He's beautifully rendered presence, chaotic and unpredictable, and some of the spreads where he winds up the other animals are delightful.
What's interesting about this book is that Collins plays a lot with subtext. The book begins with a fairly standard and familiar device of "This is a [insert animal name here]", before the dog scrawls over the text - rewords it - steals it. It's lovely, sophisticated stuff that plays nicely to the growing confidence of a child reader. It would also reward somebody able to confidently read the book 'as it should be read', so to speak, whilst ignoring this subtext and letting the kid figure things out for themselves. I like books that do this sort of thing - that believe in their readers - and so This Is A Dog scores highly here.
I felt, however, there were some points where it stuck the landing. I am always disappointed when a picture book does not fully embrace the transformative powers of the endpaper (particularly in a book like this which is so concerned with questioning, testing and playing with the idea of a book itself), and there were two spreads that felt a little filler. The conceit here is so good and I think it's almost there in realising it, and in a book as good as this - as close to brilliance as it could be, these things stand out. However, I am no tiny child and I am not its intended audience. I would happily give this to a thousand readers straight away and would be intensely happy in doing so. It's fun, bold and lovely storytelling that does something kind of wonderful. I pick up on these points that bothered me and I mention them for one reason: I can feel how close this book is to being something remarkable.
My thanks to the publisher for a review copy....more
I have a lot of time for the work of Linda Newbery, and KM Peyton is something of a legend for me, and so the thought of them coming together on this I have a lot of time for the work of Linda Newbery, and KM Peyton is something of a legend for me, and so the thought of them coming together on this project was something special. The Key To Flambards is 'Flambards in the present day'; a novel written by Linda Newbery which ties intimately into the remarkable original books by KM Peyton. I have always enjoyed both writers intensely. Newbery has this gift of strangeness to her work, the everyday made unusual, and nobody can write love quite like KM Peyton. Messy, truthful, painful, perfect love. Newbery working with Peyton's themes and world should have been perfect.
I wonder if that 'should have' has given away where I am going with this review. I suspect it has, but let's carry on for a moment here. Return To Flambards is a sequel, of sorts, to an iconic series. And sequels are hard. They are also incredibly prevelent in contemporary children's literature; I could name a dozen or more titles in the recent years that have attempted to respin a classic into the contemporary world and remake it for today's readers. It's a hard thing to do and sometimes, I think, more indicative of an adults need to shape and make children's stories than ever thinking about what children may like, want or need. One of the few titles that worked, I think, was the powerful Five Children On The Western Front by Kate Saunders, and it worked because Saunders was not afraid of her text. I think sometimes that loving a story can make you afraid of it. It might not be a conscious fear, or even one that keeps you awake at night, but it is still a fear and it is still there. You do not want to touch that which you love. You do not wish to break the spell. You do not wish to challenge the beauty of something held so intimately inside yourself.
And so, sequels - reimaginings - continuations - whatever to call them, do they work? Sometimes, yes, but I think you must be fearless with them. You must try to respond, to echo, but not to continue. You must try to write something that feels - so perfectly - of that which you love, but that could stand without it. An in-joke, perhaps, that still works for people who don't pick up on the nuance. And as much I wanted it to, I do do not think that The Key To Flambards quite does it. There is the kernel of something potent here but there is also a lot of heavy lifting - and the first few chapters are hard, hard work. There is the threads of something magical but also a lot of laboured exposition. It is well done stuff, well told and well structured, but it's just a little - flat. A little too neat. A little too straightforward. And if the world of Flambards was anything, it was not that.
It's important to recognise that even though it takes a while to get there, The Key To Flambards is written well; beautifully at points, and there is a definite power at the heart of this book. Newbery shines when writing of the natural world, and she finds magic so easily in this space. The problem comes in the turn away from this, and the look towards one of the central themes in the book: family history. It's at this point that the story becomes less about metaphorically finding yourself in the world and adopts a baldly literal tone. Grace - our protagonist - is suffering a crisis of identity. Learning about her family connections will help resolve that. And it does, but it does so at the expense of all of Newbery's immense skill and all that Flambards kind of is - was - forever will be. Family history is important. I'm not sure it makes for a good book. It is an odd, bald step.
Every now and then Lorna Hill can be the very definition of heart-warming and The Vicarage Children is precisely that. I'm never quite sure how Lorna Every now and then Lorna Hill can be the very definition of heart-warming and The Vicarage Children is precisely that. I'm never quite sure how Lorna Hill captures so much warmth and heart in her work, and I'm not particularly sure that I want to spend days trying to figure out why. With some books I do - some books make me want to dig down deep into them and figure out how and why they tick. I want to find out how they work, why one word sits next to another, what they say about the world - but with Lorna Hill, I just want to wallow.
I want to wallow in the sunlight and the warmth and the simplicity of it. I want to let the magic work - I want to be transported. This is another world and it's timeless to me (and not in the sense of that amazing song from Hairspray). There are references to a specific period, to technology and things like that, but they're few and far between. And, if I'm honest, I skip past them in the manner that I skip past those interminable folklore chapters in Angela Brazil. I won't let them register. I want the sunlight, the liberty, and the simple beauty that Hill can give me. I'll let her get away with being episodic and occasionally a tiny bit dull because she can, when she's got all of her ineffable talent in play, be perfect.
And occasionally, this is precisely that. The Vicarage Children is the first of a series, narrated by the youngest sister Mandy and it's sometimes a little stiff, sometimes a little pedestrian, but every now and then it is beautiful. Utterly. Endlessly. Who wouldn't want to live in a Vicarage in the Northumbrian countryside with balconies on several of the bedrooms and a burn rushing through the garden with its rockery of Roman stones and only a doorway separating them from adventure? Who wouldn't - just - want that?...more
I, Cosmo by Carlie Sorosiak is, I suspect, rather brilliant. I didn't quite understand it for a while until all of a sudden I did; I got it, I understI, Cosmo by Carlie Sorosiak is, I suspect, rather brilliant. I didn't quite understand it for a while until all of a sudden I did; I got it, I understood, and then I was Emotionally Moved and here we are.
This is the story of a golden retriever and his family. His boy. His bacon. It's odd; undoubtedly, and for some reason the narration reminded me a lot of The Book Thief which is quite the unusual reference for a golden retriever to evoke, but here we are.
I keep returning to that notion of presence. Here we are. Living in the moment, loving in the moment, whispering a secret to a dog that we don't tell anybody else. I, Cosmo's premise is a little unusual and a little bit messy sometimes, and I don't quite know if the ending worked for me, but this isn't really a book about that sort of thing. It's about love and love is something that exists in the now for Cosmo and Max. Sure they have a life of stories between them, but they also have the now. That moment when they'll do anything for each other. And Sorosiak gets that, she writes their love beautifully. It's incredibly rich and deeply eccentric and rather, utterly, lovely at points.
Here we are. A dog, a boy, and a love that carries them both through some dark times. This is a book that covers family problems, the problems of being an elderly dog, and a sheepdog nemesis. It's odd. It's weird. But it's also so delightfully distinct and packed full of fierce, endless, eternal love that I think I am fascinated by it.
I, Cosmo is out in August from Nosy Crow. My thanks to them for a review copy. ...more
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