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
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'm always fond of finding school story authors who are new to me; it's a journey full of potential and hope and sometimes it works - as it did when II'm always fond of finding school story authors who are new to me; it's a journey full of potential and hope and sometimes it works - as it did when I discovered Bessie Marchant. Now, I appreciate that Marchant isn't technically a school story author, but rather a "LET'S GO EXPLORE THE EMPIRE GELS" kind of author but she does serve to make my point here and that'll do for now. Sometimes picking books up randomly - especially when they look to be 'your thing' - can be incredibly productive. Sometimes, however, it isn't.
And that brings us to Chester House Wins Through, a book strangely concerned with Talking About Things rather than Doing Things. There's "hysterical" twins who make everybody laugh and marvel at their foolish ways (the amount of Suppressed Laughter in this book, my god, get a grip everyone). There's a lot of girls talking meaningfully about things such as uniforms and hat badges and how this will bring honour upon the school, and there's this Head Girl who Sagaciously Knows Things But Nobly Looks Away Whilst You Cry Old Thing, and it's all sort of school story by the numbers without ever quite connecting. Nothing ever hits home (even the physical altercation between two of the juniors is resolved within a page) and so the overall effect is fleeting at best.
And yet there's some interest here because books like this are indicative of the position that school stories had back in the day and how that position struggles to deal with things like "the sixties" and "liberation" even though the girls inside the book are in a post-war environment and refer to the war and to rations. Even that's interesting because it suggests the key period for these books - they worked in the forties and they worked well. They just didn't quite work well here.
Also, they work even less with subplots involving 'somebody accidentally eating a whole dish of white sauce just to be polite'. I mean, you'd notice, right? You wouldn't just eat a whole dish of white sauce to save somebody's feelings? Would you? I mean, I don't even know if you literally even could eat an entire dish of white sauce without having to stop and - you know - visit the bathroom with immediate effect.
Honestly, this book. I'm going to have to go and sit down to get over it all....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
I am increasingly conscious that I am moving closer to the world of the Brontës, falling in love with it, and not being remotely mad about this, not aI am increasingly conscious that I am moving closer to the world of the Brontës, falling in love with it, and not being remotely mad about this, not at all. I would have fought against this a few years ago, I think, reading them as something distant from what they are. Something dull, something 'bonnety', something related to distant schooldays and the memories of tearing a text from limb to limb and leaving little to nothing left there to love, to lose onself in. But I have learnt how to read since then, and by 'read', I mean to read for myself. This isn't about literacy nor the understanding of shapes and comprehension of words, it's about reading. Selfishly, wholly. Completely. Reading not for the reaction of others but for the reaction of myself. And to trust in that. It's something I took a while to figure out: my reading has validity. And also, that it doesn't matter what route I take to get to a text. It just matters that I take it.
My route to the Brontës began with Emily and Wuthering Heights, and the slow realisation that I could not ignore storytelling as fierce as this. And so I worked my way into their world, reading books about them and books by them and books like Glass Town by Isabel Greenberg, books that are something so magical and wild and weird and delicious that they spill out of simple classifications and into something else entirely. Technically this is a graphic novel, a blend of fact and fiction, a story of the Brontë juvenilia and the stories held within, and it is that. But it's something else entirely, and I think that something is magic.
Magic. We read it as one thing, but it's so often another. Opening your eyes. Picking up a pen. Pulling a rabbit out of a hat. All magic, magic things but infinitely different. The act of conjuring. The act of making. The act of faith. A thousand different things in this world are magic and they are intoxicating, teasing, all-enveloping. Writing was the Brontës magic, a way to slide from one world into another, and the moors were their magic, a way to stand on the edge of the sky, and each other were their magic, these small potatoes in their cellar, these sisters.
I think that's what happens here in Isabel Greenberg's book, magic. Worlds slide into worlds, lives fold into each other, stories map landscapes, oceans are formed, stars are made, stories are told. Greenberg's art borders on a spectral edge, capturing the tense edge of life on the edge of the moor, a life fighting against everything that happened, another world haunting the skies above Haworth, a castle in the sky built by words and stories and dreams.
The other great part of this book is Charlotte's story. There are moments here that are intensely saddening, handled with a great and subtle restraint, and it is remarkable. I loved it. A lesson in dreams, a lesson in heartbreak, a lesson in imagination. A lesson in heartbreak, a lesson in love, a lesson in life. This book really is a stunning achievement. ...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!
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
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
A partial review this, as I didn't finish The Sugar And Spice. I wanted to, as the story of girls who end up running their own teashop during the summA partial review this, as I didn't finish The Sugar And Spice. I wanted to, as the story of girls who end up running their own teashop during the summer holidays, is pretty much everything I dream of. However something didn't click, and whether that's Chappell's style or something else, I'm not sure. Perhaps it's one to come back to at a later date. ...more
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
An interesting one this, and something I didn't quite expect. Dennison was a notable writer of Christian literature for children and this, from the PaAn interesting one this, and something I didn't quite expect. Dennison was a notable writer of Christian literature for children and this, from the Paternoster Press, is a collection of three thinly veiled educational tales. Though much of the Christian content is something I can't come remotely close to parsing or indeed even wholly understanding, I can tell you that these are solid, well-told stories. Dennison has a real gift for readable, approachable heroines, and even though everybody has a tendancy to have deep theological discussions and Religious Revelations every thirty seconds, there's a definite appeal in how this is all put together. It's particularly impressive in the third story - Jennifer Knowall - which wrestles with the impact of the second world war and how God can allow such a hideous and repellent thing to happen. On the strength of this alone, without even considering the two other incredibly appealing stories, it's clear that Dennison's a good writer. ...more
I'd like you to imagine a very suppressed scream. That's the noise I made when spotting this in my library's book-sale. Now, a library must always havI'd like you to imagine a very suppressed scream. That's the noise I made when spotting this in my library's book-sale. Now, a library must always have a book-sale because they are not ginormous buildings with elastic sides, and books must always be weeded and moved onto their next places, but I'd rather love it if I could cosmically order all those that float my boat to magically end up at my door. It was circumstance, you see, that bought us together; itchy feet and a slight dose of cabin fever, and I came home with a copy of The Vicarage Children In Skye and happiness. (I also bought some fudge but that's slightly incidental at this point).
So, to Hill! She is a delightful writer for even when her plot struggles (and her plot struggles quite a bit in this book it is fair to say), she is still able to hit you with pages and pages upon richness. It's not the most exciting title; there is a muppety baby, a muppety sister, a hot local, and Cameos By Dancers. It would not be a Lorna Hill book without the unexpected cameos of somebody, and this is no exception. Where it is an exception, however, is with Mandy King who is a very appealing every-girl sort of character. She does not do ballet (sacrilege!), is saddled with looking after her muppety siblings, but is actually rather fun. She's lively, genuine and proof of Hill's ineffable skill with people.
It's also important to mention that Hill is excellent when it comes to 'place'. She can write a landscape like no other, and it so often seems to stem from personal knowledge and experience. Her descriptions of Skye almost sing off the page. This edition (9781847450890) has a copious foreword about location and setting, though I'd recommend reading it after the novel (why do people put this sort of thing beforehand? It means nothing unless you know what it's on about..). These are, however, minor quibbles. This is a solid edition of a lesser-known story from an excellent author. Lorna Hill, ladies and gentlemen, she's ace. ...more
This isn't a subtle biography by any means. It's written from a very particular standpoint; one that I do accept, occasionally understand, but can't eThis isn't a subtle biography by any means. It's written from a very particular standpoint; one that I do accept, occasionally understand, but can't ever describe as high literature. Godfrey is a fan, this is a fannish text, and Oxenham can do no wrong. And I am the first to point out where Girl's Literature Of This Period was awesome and ground-breaking but I'm also, I hope, able to recognise when it's the very definition of ridiculous....
In a series of chapters themed around topics (so not in the sense of a traditionally sequential biography), Godfrey explores issues such as Cleeve Abbey, Real People, and Publishing History; essentially, it's a series of short essays grouped together in one volume. Which is fine! But! Oxenham! Is! Not! The! Second! Coming!
There are further problems, particularly in the chapter where Godfrey defends the books against common criticisms, and steadfastly ignores or denies all of them. She highlights how the books are often said to 'hint at lesbianism' (I'd say 'reference it with the subtlety of a brick' but perhaps that's just my approach), writing that: "Does anyone really think that in the early part of the last century, an unmarried woman living in a very Christian home, surrounded by unmarried sisters, would have known what lesbianism was or meant?". It's a hell of a sentence and one that slides substantially away from any sort of objectivity. It also seems to stand at odds with my experience of EJO; that is to say somebody who embraces the power, strength and love to be found in women by women. Though it may never be labelled explicitly as 'lesbianism', I think it's a reach to say that it's totally absent from the texts. And a reach, I think, is me being super polite.
(Also, so what? Love is love and honestly, who cares? Read what you want into a book, it doesn't impact my relationship with a text nor should it. I am here for you to read, and I want you to read, and the conclusions you come up - the readings that you have - are perfectly valid for you. Live and let live! Enough with being precious over texts! Enough with ringfencing meaning! Enough!)
However, I digress...
This is a knowledgeable text that, despite its flaws, clearly knows its topic. I learnt a lot about EJO here, and a lot that I honestly could do without. But it is a book written by a fan, and for fans, and it's a rather fascinating thing. I don't think it's great but I do think it's interesting. I also think it's beyond time for a comparative biography of Brent-Dyer, Blyton, Oxenham, Brazil and Fairlie-Bruce. *looks directly at camera*...more
Once you do an Abbey reread, you can't stop. Though I was much more intrigued by the middle-aged spy drama happening in the background of this cover, Once you do an Abbey reread, you can't stop. Though I was much more intrigued by the middle-aged spy drama happening in the background of this cover, and disappointed that it did not appear in the actual text itself, this was pleasant. Pleasant! It's such an empty word and yet sometimes it's full of everything that something actually is. I could not tell you what happened here, nor could I really remember who is who and what was what, but I can tell you that Mary-Dorothy is a cabbage, Joy remains a moron, the vaguest hint of something naughty (the smallest of things!) is presented as something akin to murdering a puppy, there's an INTERMINABLE amount of dancing, and then there's a bit more dancing, and a bit more, and then Maidie's all I HAVE TO TALK TO JOY and Ros is all MAIDIE YOU MUSTN'T and Maidie is all BUT I HAVE TO ROS IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO, and then everything is okay! We're all friends! Let's dance about it!
And yet, it's really rather pleasant. There's no other way to describe it. Pleasant!
(I am here to provide summaries of EJO's entire oeuvre, you really only have to ask). ...more
I have such a love-hate relationship with Elsie Oxenham. When I'm thinking about culling some books, hers are always the first that I look at and yet I have such a love-hate relationship with Elsie Oxenham. When I'm thinking about culling some books, hers are always the first that I look at and yet they're still here. They've been in a bag a few times, and I've taken them all the way to the door on at least one occasion, but they've come back every time. And I think much of that staying power comes from how I'm increasingly beginning to realise that I find them a very peculiarly enjoyable form of ridiculous.
I mean, let's take The New Abbey Girls. It's a delight because it introduces Ros and Maidie, two of the more potent and well-rounded characters within the series. We'll leave Ros' adult fecundity out of the question for now. They are good characters. They work well with each other, and any book that talks about them is something that's good in my eyes.
But then, as ever, there's the ridiculousness. The amount of time Maidie pants in this book! "Maidline panted"; "Maidline panted" "Maidline panted." I know she is an emotional and overwrought and Not Abbey Girl Material Just Yet at this point in time, but the panting! The actual panting! And when she's not panting, she's breathless and half-sobbing, or she's gasping, and I know this is meant to convey her High Emotions, but it just makes her sound like a tool.
Oxenham's exuberantly asthmatic speech-tags aside, this is a fairly standard Abbey book. We dance; Joy's a muppet; we dance a bit more; Jen turns out to be the best; we have another dance; maybe a bun; everything's cool. And it is ridiculous, but I do like it. Though it is ridiculous, there's an odd comfort in it. The world can be solved by a bun, problems can be sorted by a dance, and the panting girl in the corner can Learn To Get A Grip. Like I said, ridiculous, but sometimes it's nice to believe in that. Just a little. Just enough. ...more
I do love Angela Brazil, and will defend her to the end of time, but this is awful. Originally published n 1932 as Nesta's New School, and changed in I do love Angela Brazil, and will defend her to the end of time, but this is awful. Originally published n 1932 as Nesta's New School, and changed in 1970 to the much more kicky name of Amanda, it's basically Angela Brazil does The Parent Trap (badly) and it's not great.
(And also, the central premise of it is RIDICULOUS, and I can take a lot of ridiculous - looking straight at you, Victorian children's literature - but really this one is super ridiculous). ...more
Delightfully nutty in the way that only turn of the century children's literature can be, this starts as something quite typical and then escalates toDelightfully nutty in the way that only turn of the century children's literature can be, this starts as something quite typical and then escalates to quite the heights. Were I the sort of scholar to throw around labels in a willy-nilly sort of fashion, I'd label this as Mills and Boon meets Young Adult literature, but I'm not so I'll settle for calling this dippy and loving it for that. Any book called A Girl's Stronghold, (with six illustrations by Victor Proud no less), featuring nuns and devoted servants and brave and noble young women would never be the sort of story to mess about.
And it doesn't. It races from Belgium to England to France; skirting around several wars, one inevitable parental death (as ever, these books do not refrain from knocking everybody off left right and centre) and at the heart of it rests our girl. She's called Faith (who would have thought it!!!!!!!). She's devoted to her father, but has A PAST. Honestly, I love how melodramatic these books can be. They have absolutely no shame about them, and about halfway through A Girl's Stronghold, the plot goes absolutely off the rails. One sandwich short of a picnic. Two stops short of Dagenham. And it doesn't care one bit. We get death, war (like - about seven? just sort of there?), a couple of beseiged cities, a case of GOSH DOESN'T THIS GIRL REMIND ME OF SOMEBODY ELSE IF ONLY I COULD REMEMBER WHO, and it's great. I thoroughly recommend it. ...more
First published in 1885, 'Us' is a fairly typical piece of children's literature for this age. The good are good, the bad are bad, and the upper classFirst published in 1885, 'Us' is a fairly typical piece of children's literature for this age. The good are good, the bad are bad, and the upper classes are full of moral upstanding-ness and the lower classes (particularly gypsies) are the worst. They are prejudices of the time, and though I don't excuse them in the slightest, it's important to recognise that they exists and that they colour this book quite substantially. Having said that however, it's also important to recognise that this is a ferociously well-written book. Honestly, I was surprised by how post-modern it felt at points; Mrs Molesworth engages in asides to the reader, ruminations upon the motives of the characters, and genuinely tells this story in such a fresh and dynamic manner, that it doesn't feel like an 1885 kind of story at all.
The children, however, are tools. Forgive me, but I can't describe them in any other manner. Everybody is besotted with their angelic ways and their fair appearance, but then the kids accidentally break a bowl, don't confess, decide to buy a new one from the gypsies, and then get stolen by said gypsies, and really there's nobody to blame but their own idiocy at this point. Of course there's some social commentary at play here and some pointed moralising about how it's best to confess to your sins otherwise you might be stolen by gypsies and sold to a circus man, but that's all par for the course for the books of this era. They work to maintain the status quo, whether it's right or wrong. (I was particularly amused, for example, that the Noble Gypsy Boy Who Helps Out The Tool Children gets the happy reward of being their servant).
Baby speech aside (forgive me, but if you write about "mouses" and "teef", that will always make you lose brownie points with me), not everybody does this as well as Mrs Molesworth. Us was a real surprise and a solid, solid read. ...more
I almost put this aside. I'd been attracted by the details and the premise, but the first half of it just broke me. The pacing was strange and I was dI almost put this aside. I'd been attracted by the details and the premise, but the first half of it just broke me. The pacing was strange and I was desperate for something more to happen, then what was happening. The second half, however, started to work through into some massively interesting spaces. As a whole, however, things never quite worked for me nor reached the heights that I wanted them to reach. It's a complex book this, bubbling full of potential that never quite manages to coalesce....more
This has all the elements in I love - schools, mystery, and an interesting premise - but it simply didn't work for me. I don't know if it was the paceThis has all the elements in I love - schools, mystery, and an interesting premise - but it simply didn't work for me. I don't know if it was the pace, or the rather disjointed nature of some of the earlier chapters, but I never quite felt like I had a handle on who was who and what was what. ...more
I loved this, even though I knew nothing about Catherine Christian before I saw it. Turns out she was a prolific author with credits spanning over fifI loved this, even though I knew nothing about Catherine Christian before I saw it. Turns out she was a prolific author with credits spanning over fifty years and topics as diverse as Arthuriana, Guides, and Egyptian history, and that's an achievement in itself. I'm ashamed I'd never heard of her before, but better late than never.
The Harriet of Harriet Takes The Field is Lady North and for some reason or another, she's been lumbered with some ungrateful Guides. Inevitably she manages to turn things around, and they soon worship her in a rather Angela Brazil-esque fashion. Yet Christian manages to shy away from simplistic narratives of hero worship, and instead delivers something complex, deeply political and rather radical. It's not often you have people discussing how women give birth in a 1940s children's book for example. Of course the detail is skirted around, but the discussion is present. It's such a radical, bold move.
These moments of radicalism persist throughout the book. As the war progresses about them, Harriet and her girls become increasingly present participants in a narrative of war and strife. Though much of it remains distant, Harriet herself suffers from the stress and is called up. Again, a lot of this happens off screen, but the effect of it is very much within the text. She's moved to tears by a child confessing that he wasn't alive during the last war; she talks to the girls about how to find security within themselves when all is lost, and the suffering of those in mainland Europe is foregrounded to a heartbreaking extent. England must survive, and everyone must do their part.
Much of this is directed towards the reader, and some of it has dated. That's a caveat you must always apply to books of this nature, but equally you have to recognise those moments when it does something rather brilliant and rather utterly wonderful. There's a lot of Harriet Takes The Field that slightly misses the moment, but every now and then it gets it. It really, really does. Take the below quote where Harriet muses on the teenagers that she knows:
"They've been fine," she thought, "Fine, all of them. It isn't for my generation to be proud of them. We've thrown our dice and lost. We had twenty years to build a wall against the floods, and we failed. Now these youngsters are fighting knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder with us to save what can be saved. It isn't for us to condescend to our peers."
I couldn't begin to sum up this book if I tried. I know that it features characters called Mary Damayris, who's also known as Damaris or Marry, and chI couldn't begin to sum up this book if I tried. I know that it features characters called Mary Damayris, who's also known as Damaris or Marry, and characters called Littlejan who's also known as Joan or Joan Two; and characters called Joy, Joan and Jen who *might* be the Joy, Joan and Jen that I think they are but equally might also be Steve, Doris and Mabel, characters we've never met but are suddenly making their debut. Oxenham is at peak Oxenham here; everyone's got twins, everyone's dancing over everything; there's this thing about a barn? Maidlin's skipping round the moors? but other than that I have no clue what's going on. And yet, it's pleasant! Charming even! Like I said, it's peak Oxenham. ...more
Definitely not one of Marchant's best, Jane Fills The Breach get a little too lost within itself and never quite recovers. A lot of stuff happens and Definitely not one of Marchant's best, Jane Fills The Breach get a little too lost within itself and never quite recovers. A lot of stuff happens and yet nowhere near enough; Jane is thrust into circumstances where she must Do The Right Thing, and inevitably she does.. And the Incidental Good Chap Who Proves To Help The Heroine Sort It All Out And Eventually Marry Her (a beloved Marchant trope if there were ever such a thing) isn't even that great. One to read for completion's sake, and not much more....more
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