Exposure

This business of admitting to not having read certain works of Shakespeare’s is getting embarrassing. The more I consider the matter, the more it seems as if I have read, or seen, hardly any. Needless to say, Othello is one of them. So I was reading in the dark when I came to Mal Peet’s Exposure.

It’s quite clear that this book is Othello in some way. I just didn’t know quite how far it would go. I had/have this idea that an awful lot of people die in Othello, and wasn’t sure that a YA novel may kill as many as that. I don’t believe Mal did, now that I have Wikied myself on Othello.

The other stumbling block was its football topic. Why would I want to read about football? Probably because it’s only about football in ways that are OK. It’s not tedious, and you barely need to understand offside and other intricate terms. But it’s quite obvious that Mal knows his football, which makes it a good read.

Exposure pulled me in immediately, so after the first chapter there was no danger of giving up. There is a lovely young man portrayed early on, and I hoped with all my heart that he wasn’t going to die. Someone dies, and it’s not nice, but I can see it was necessary.

Otello and Desmerelda are very much Posh and Becks with a Latin American flavour. Paul Faustino as the sympathetic sports journalist does a great job in making the reader feel that there is some decency in this world, when far too many of the other characters are very dubious. The children from the slums are believable; you can both love them and be afraid of them. And the old ‘leftie’ bar owner Fidel proves there are good people everywhere.

In the end it wouldn’t have helped me to know Othello, because I would have worried even more. You can tell that the baddie is bad and that he will do what he needs to do to succeed in ruining Otello. In a way you have to admire him, since he is intelligent and can work out precisely how to achieve things. And when he fails, he thinks up something else.

Read, worry and enjoy!

How to buy books

I really should learn not to say these things! A week after my latest, but by no means last, moan about having too many books to read, I had to kick myself. Hard.

When discussing reading with Meg Rosoff on Wednesday, we both agreed that we prefer not to pay for our books. (That’s not us you see sidling out of the shop with books in our poacher’s pockets.) What was I thinking?

So, having to – no, wanting to – read Mal Peet’s Exposure before the prize event on Thursday evening, I decided that two return trips to London was more than ample time to read it in. It was. I should have heeded the ‘more than ample’ thought, however. Minutes after arriving at Euston on the second day, I finished the book.

Then a thought struck me; what do I read now? As the slice of Jamaica cake would testify, I had eight more books in my bag. But of course, I’d read all of them. They had just come along for the ride, so to speak.

I would simply have to actually buy a book. But which one? Luckily, I had just been thinking that Son in his exile needed more Terry Pratchetts to read. So to kill two books with one purchase, I phoned him to check which books he’d not already got or even read. Thus we decided on Moving Pictures, which had somehow escaped him, and I had something to read on the way home. Home where hundreds of new books waited for me.

Mid week trip 2 – or Mal Peet wins

the Guardian Children’s fiction prize with Exposure.

More witty blogging about this will follow later this morning, so do call back, won’t you…

——

Have you any idea how flat a slice of Jamaica cake can become under the weight of  nine books? Very. Flat. But it’s still edible, so I had a flat Jamaica slice with my tea on the train home last night. Well, home and home. Stoke, of all places, which was very tricky to leave. Whether to blame that on Stoke or the satnav remains to be seen. Had a brief chat with old Josiah Wedgwood outside Stoke station. He’s OK.

So, those books were dragged to the Guardian building in Kings Cross and back, all for some more signatures for your witch. It was a successful hunt, too. The only people who didn’t sign, were those who weren’t there, which I can forgive them for.

Very nice to see the new Guardian offices. Not that I’d seen the old ones, but I’m sure they didn’t have all those Bertoia chairs in the old place. Hot though. I’d suggest some form of refrigeration is put in before next time. Meg Rosoff looked as hot as I felt. We all glugged water by the end. And gobbled strawberries.

Julia Eccleshare did a pretty good summary of all the longlisted books, before handing the speech-baton over to Patrick Ness, who did a good job of telling us who’d won. And as you have seen above, that winner is Mal Peet, whose book Exposure I finished reading two hours before the event. Must have ‘felt’ it… Mal received a mock-up Guardian front page, which was quite apt, seeing as he’s written about a fictional Guardián in his book.

Unaccompanied by a photographer as I was, I did the best I could. If you were me you’d give me the sack, but hopefully dark and less sharp pictures are better than no pictures? And I suspect that Andy Stanton is an alien, because his red eyes refuse to be edited out. Maybe iPhoto knows something I don’t. Fiona Dunbar looked glamorous as usual. Straight from parents eve at school. Yeah, right.

Sally Gardner was disappointed by my lack of witchy clothing. We apologise for our shortcomings. Sally herself could have stepped straight out of the Gudrun Sjödén catalogue. And you can’t believe how scary Celia Rees and Mary Hoffman are. Especially together. The way Mary looked at the proffered sausages… (Celia, I like the hair colour!)

Lee Weatherly looked wonderful, Marcus Sedgwick managed some Swedish, and I was introduced to Eleanor Updale. Also good to meet more of the lovely PR ladies, from Clare whom I’d seen all of 24 hours earlier, to Tania whom I’d not seen for over a year, but who had not changed her hair, so was totally recognisable. Reetu was there, and so was Nina, and I finally got to meet Lauren.

Can anyone give me a good reason why I don’t return to bed now?

(Photos by witch with shaking hands)

Nominations for the 2010 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award

The ALMA people have a long longlist of 168 nominations for next year’s award, and I won’t write them all down here. I had a little look for individual authors that you may know and be interested in:

David Almond, Quentin Blake, Aidan Chambers, Morris Gleitzman, Margaret Mahy, Michael Morpurgo, Walter Dean Myers, Axel Scheffler, Kate Thompson, Tomi Ungerer, Jacqueline Wilson and Diana Wynne Jones.

There are absolutely masses of Scandinavian writers, as well as others from countries we rarely pay attention to in the English speaking world. And then there are the organisations. Boring as it may seem to vote for a group that brings books and reading to many children, I wonder whether that is what they should do after all.

The above writers are all good and worthy, and as Sonya Hartnett found last year, five million kronor will do a lot for a person. But the good the money will do through an organisation is very different.

I also wonder why these particular authors are on the list. Presumably because they have someone who campaigns for them and who are allowed to nominate. I need to find out who does get to nominate. I can see myself nominating, you know.

2009 Guardian shortlist

I thought we’d never get there, but the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize shortlist has finally been announced. And although I wasn’t 100% right, I was pretty right, so I say you can trust the old witch still. Three out of four predicted for the shortlist. And staying with the stats, my 50% reading rate of the longlist has magically turned into 75% for the shortlist.

Siobhan Dowd, Solace of the Road

Morris Gleitzman, Then

Mal Peet, Exposure

Terry Pratchett, Nation

Isn’t it an excellent list? Whichever book wins, it will be a great book. I can’t say I have a favourite to win, and I’m resting the predictions today, so won’t even suggest a likely winner. Let’s just say I have a mental shortlist of two.

A

The Ask and the Answer, by Patrick Ness. It’s an odd – but very good – title, until you read the book and see why and how. It’s a cliffhanger book. After reading The Knife of Never Letting Go last year, I wanted the sequel immediately. Then after a while I wasn’t sure I wanted it at all. I could foresee more agony and waiting. The Ask and the Answer is extra cliffhangery on account of being piggy in the middle. It hangs both before and after.

But, you can bear it, if I can. I read a bad review of the book in the spring, which put me off, until I changed my mind again. Sorry, Patrick. Wishy-washy witches are not a pretty sight.

It’s not what you think it will be, and as far as I’m concerned that’s good. If it had been as expected, I would have liked it less. Some bad people may not be all bad. Some are, though. Not all good people are all good. This is a story that has you thinking new thoughts all the way.

This book is about war. It’s about manipulating people. Torture. Genocide. It’s really very interesting.

In the end, I think it shows that we are all pretty good and pretty bad, and you can’t put all your eggs in one basket, or if you do, it’s not the only solution. But more than anything; people can change. They really can.

And for Meg Rosoff; there is at least a horse which is quite nice. Doesn’t make up for the dog, but it is a nice horse.

‘This boy will never amount to anything’

Well, he did. Last week he received the Medal of Freedom from President Obama, accompanied by his daughter whose ‘charm is no substitute for hard work.’ I’ll get back to this father-daughter team later.

I will never ever get teenagers. Ever. Given the choice between seeing Jacqueline Wilson or Steve Cole on Sunday morning, Daughter went for Steve’s talk about his Astrosaurs. She enjoyed it a lot, although she felt she was the oldest child there. Wrong thinking I said; she was the youngest adult. Steve was so noisy I heard him through the walls. The press people apparently wondered what was going on next door to their yoghurt pod.

Meanwhile, the witch went to see Jacqueline, along with a vast number of girls and mums, and a sprinkling of dads. Jacqueline wore black jeans and a black and turquoise top, and the famous rings shone along with the bangles on her arms. She talked mainly about her teens, because the subject for the day was My Secret Diary which was out in the spring. And she did say that she might write a third autobiographical book about her time in Dundee, writing fake horoscopes and readers’ letters, as long as she can censor her diary notes a little. Sounds good to me.

As I raced along to the talk by the ‘lazy’ girl from paragraph one, Daughter was anything but lazy. Her task was to shoot Per Wästberg, part of the Meeting Sweden programme (How did they know I was going to be there this year?), when he emerged for his photo call. Except he didn’t, so when she saw a likely Swede she inquired, in Swedish, if he was Per. The poor man said he wasn’t, but took her all the way into the authors’ yurt ( a real no-no) and put her in front of this famous Swedish writer, who was even more confused with the idea of the Bookwitch blog, but posed anyway.

When the witch goes back to school, she wants to have Lucy Hawking for her science teacher. I can’t think of anyone who can talk so well and so sensibly on physics and space and anything else related. Lucy kept the attention of her roomful of children, while explaining dad Stephen’s ideas, which they have turned into two books for children. George’s Cosmic Treasure Hunt is new this year, and there will eventually be a third book about George. Lucy and Stephen are, of course, the people mentioned above. I think they turned out OK in the end.

We got to see how (not) to gargle in space. Asparagus will be a suitable crop on Mars, when the time comes. Comet’s go ‘very fast’. Robots don’t get homesick in space. The questions from the children were really very good, but not many people can say what went before the Big Bang or why it happened. Not even Lucy. And look out for the toothbrush in orbit round earth, if you happen to be up there. I asked Lucy if she wants to travel in space, and she does. Preferably to the moon. I was too shy to ask for the phone number for her co-writer for book one.

Lunch was gulped down fast, in order to catch Henning Mankell’s little publicised signing in the childrens’ bookshop. In fact, there was hardly a soul there, but I don’t think that was why he was pleased to see me. (Anyone would be pleased to see me, wouldn’t they?) He looked so morose that I addressed him in his own language, though his English is very good. The ‘mini interview’ went something like this:

‘Hello, we’ve met a few times in Gothenburg.’ ‘ Yes, I remember you.’ ‘Uh-oh, that sounds ominous’, said Daughter. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Henning. ‘Only that you may remember me for all the wrong reasons. I could be one of those bl***y old women you get everywhere.’ ‘I don’t think so. I’d have remembered. But there are a few of them around.’ ‘Yes, and I’m often one of them.’ He looked remarkably happy after this exchange. But you would, wouldn’t you, when ‘one of those’ leaves him in peace.

Next victim for a photo shoot was Klas Östergren, except he didn’t show, initially. Just as we were leaving for our next rendez vous he turned up in the rain, and as we departed he had someone’s lens half an inch from his nose. The man’s quite good looking, but that’s ridiculous.

The two witches had been invited to afternoon tea at the Roxburghe Hotel by the very, very kind Theresa Breslin, so the road was crossed, and the comfortable lounge was found. Daughter has clearly been deprived, and was very excited by the posh surroundings. Thank you Theresa, it was wonderful. The perfect respite to a busy day. And I’m not averse to similar offers, if anyone is feeling generous. Not all at once, though.

Back across the road to see Adèle Geras, and photograph her. We enticed her round the back, where all the big names get shot. As she left again, Theresa turned up, so we all trotted back to the ’studio’, whereupon the paparazzi fell out of their little pod and descended on Theresa big time.

Resting in the yurt, Klas Östergren appeared, looking for a place to be interviewed, so we offered our seats. He was also quite grateful to be encountering Swedes in a Mongolian tent in the middle of Edinburgh. He’s been brought up properly, so we shook hands.

In case nobody has noticed, my social calendar for Day 5 was quite full, really. We met up with Clare from Random (a really Randomy weekend), and apart from the fact I thought she’d have blond hair, it was as good to meet her as I’d thought. Clare brought out Bali Rai for a short chat. And more photos round the back. Predictably the paparazzi emerged again, just needing reassurance that Bali was indeed a real writer and a little famous. Even my copy of his book, City of Ghosts, was photographed. Don’t think Bali knew what hit him.

We breathed for a few minutes before trotting off to the talk by Adèle Geras and Jonathan Stroud. Really liked the way the two of them had planned it, with short introductions, followed by a reading, and ending with them asking each other questions, before letting the audience loose. Good way of doing it.

Our final port of call for the day was back in the same tent again, for the much awaited discussion with Rachel Ward, Melvin Burgess and Anne Fine. Daughter said she didn’t want to miss the Anne-Melvin encounter for anything. I wanted to see if they’d both survive it, and I think Melvin had wondered the same thing. There were one or two references made to the blasting Anne did of Melvin’s Doing It some years ago.

They were all alive and well when we left for the day. And the discussion was good.

(Photos by H Giles)

The Trap

In all honesty I can see why the Resident IT Consultant wasn’t totally bowled over by The Trap by Sarah Wray. It’s not so much an adult crossover flavoured novel, but a book that will appeal to young readers. He’s just too old… (On the other hand, he did read it very quickly in a single sitting.)

I just didn’t think I’d be disappointed in The Trap, and I wasn’t. A book that makes it to the shortlist of something like the Lancashire Award, which is decided by young readers, will be good, or it wouldn’t get very far.

This is a story about characters in their mid-teens, and they feel pretty real. Put a group of these somewhat nerdy over-performers all together in an American summer camp to teach them more ‘normal’ activities, and then see what happens.

I’d suggest not going into any caverns.

Luke and his new friends at the camp find clues lying about, waiting to be picked up and solved. Combined with the rumours of children who disappeared from the camp a few years earlier, this is a mystery they can’t leave alone.

Life at the camp is a bit over-enthusiastic, and I’d happily pay not to go there, but Luke seems to like it. He finds himself surprisingly popular with the girls, and he finds himself with a new bully, too, who won’t leave him alone.

So, don’t go into the caverns.

I did work out the twist fairly early on, so maybe the reader is meant to. I don’t know. But it made it possible to study how the deception moves along until it’s too late.

(Photo by H Giles)

Dogfight

‘Are you Dogfight?’, is an unusual way of addressing someone, but it’s how the authors at the Lancashire Book Awards identified each other. By their books. And Dogfight is Craig Simpson’s book. It’s pure Heroes from Telemark crossed with Alistair MacLean. In other words, perfect for old and weird witches, not to mention young readers.

When the Resident IT Consultant joined us on holiday this week, I put him to wash the house. The outside walls, you understand. I suffered a small pang of guilt, wondering if I was being unreasonable. But when I found that he still had time to steal my Dogfight, I came to the conclusion he needs more to do, not less.

Luckily he is sufficiently scared of me to let me have my book back when I demand it, so I finished it first. We both agreed it’s a very good book. We have also worked out what the publishers need to do to encourage female readers. They should do a Harry Potter cover thing, but with one cover for boys and one more appealing to girls. In Preston the girls were expressing gratitude for having ‘had’ to read some books, because otherwise prejudice would have prevented them from boyish covers like Dogfight.

The book is set in northern Norway during World War II, shortly after the German occupation. The hero Finn and his friend Loki almost accidentally turn resistance fighters, and very capable they are, too.

There are double agents, naturally, and lots of excitement and plenty of courage. And there are planes and daring flying stunts. Skiing, as befits a Telemark scenario, and underground newsletters and people-smuggling. Even the Shetland Bus gets a mention. Good work.

I won’t to give too much of the plot away, because you will want to read this. There are more books, and I know I will want to read them. I could really have done with these books when I was fourteen.

We’re not so sure about the intercom for Mrs Andersson’s flat, and not sure about so many Swedish surnames, but we are nitpicking nerds. But don’t worry, Craig Simpssen, you’re a nice man, and I can get lost in Preston with you anytime. Sorry, Simpson.

The 2009 Branford Boase photos

Many thanks to Paul Carter, who took these photos at the Branford Boase evening at Walker Books on Thursday, and to Mary Byrne for her dedication in sending them on to the witch so very early on a Friday morning. No thanks at all to the witch, who being seriously handicapped on dial-up has had to restrain herself to only a few photos, because it would have taken most of the holiday to access many more.

There is also the embarrassing fact that while looking over all the photos, there were an awful lot of well known faces – to me – but what are their names? I went completely blank, and can’t blame it on dial-up, so it will be age related… (But I did recognise you. Honestly. We have met. And you don’t remember me either, which is only fair.)

So, here are the two winners; B R Collins who wrote The Traitor Game, and Emma Matthewson, who edited it. I wonder what it’s like to do a job where the less you are noticed, the better? I rarely think of editors. (Sorry!) Because if they’ve done a good job, you can’t tell they were ever there. When they haven’t, or when it looks like they might have been on holiday that week, that’s when I moan about editors.

This lovely man is the lovely man who sent me The Traitor Game in the first place, and who then sent lots more to people on this blog who entered a competition to win a copy. Thank you Ian Lamb!

Here is Jacqueline Wilson, back in her own shoes. I hope Philip Pullman didn’t stretch them too much last year when he wore them. Jacqueline certainly looks very radiant in all the photos from Thursday, and this isn’t the first time now that I’ve seen her not wearing black. Nice! (Not that black isn’t nice.)

Speaking of big shoes I’ll move seamlessly on to Philip Ardagh, who not only has the same taste in ties as Philip P, but who wears big shoes. For a reason.

(Photos © Paul Carter)