Bookwitch

Check out Spinebreakers again. With the paperback of Sara’s Face by Melvin Burgess coming out next week, they have recorded some video logs based on the book’s vlogs. Very tense stuff. And they are supposed to change several times over the next week.

There’s also a competition to make your own vlog. So get going.

This isn’t exactly by public demand, but more a request from Meg Rosoff. If I’d written this six months ago it would have been a different story, because that was before Henning made me cry. Meg’s reaction to that tale was that it made her a little in love with him, and maybe I can join her in that sentiment.

I’ll say one thing for Henning - he has provided by far the most unusual reply to a request for a signature that I have ever come across. Son and I waited, and waited, and waited, outside the seminar room in Gothenburg 2005 for the great man to emerge with his entourage. He didn’t look as if he had either the time or the inclination to sign books, so I kicked Son into plan B, which was to address him in English while trying to look very young. Son brandished a copy of A Bridge to the Stars (fitting title where Son is concerned), which is the first in a series for children. “What’s this? I didn’t write this book! I’ve never seen it before!” And so on. At this point I stepped in, we reverted to Swedish, and the entourage assisted. It took several minutes persuading Henning it was his book. A signature followed, and I hastily shoved my copy of Return of the Dancing Master under his nose while he was still in shock. Then Henning and his courtiers marched off, and Son and I mopped our brows.

I first heard of Henning Mankell in the early 1990s from other Swedes in exile, keener on Swedish books than I am. I assumed he was a small star in a small country. Was given Return of the Dancing Master by a friend who had a duplicate. I enjoyed it because it actually had the policeman living across the road from where I used to live. In exile little things like that are special; having fictional detectives moving about on your home turf.

By that fateful book signing day, I’d realised that Henning isn’t a small star. He is huge. Though not too huge to allow himself to be rolled out as the star attraction for every Gothenburg book fair. By 2006 he was there to partner Giuliana Sgrena, the kidnapped Italian reporter in Iraq, whose rescuer was killed. In effect, they’ll put Henning into any, worthy, context.

Meg Rosoff reported rubbing shoulders with Henning in Mantua that summer, but we could better that by Son standing next to Henning in the gents’ toilet at the Gothenburg fair.

Henning writes many different kinds of books. There are the regular crime novels, with or without Wallander, that are now widely translated and filmed. They’re even popular in Britain, which is no small thing. I believe he is involved with drama, at least in Mozambique. Then there’s the children’s books; the series about the boy Joel set in the far north of Sweden, and the series about landmine victim Sofia in Mozambique.

With his scheme in the mid 1990s to give his first Sofia book to a whole year of Swedish school children (age 11), he also got more political. It’s an interesting and very effective way to literally “brainwash” a large group of young people on such a difficult subject.

In August 2007 Henning made the daily news in Sweden, after the death of Ingmar Bergman, as the family’s spokesman. Henning Mankell isn’t just a world famous crime writer, but Bergman’s son-in-law. Hence I suppose the strong feeling of “establishment” about him, which is vaguely un-Swedish.

By September both Henning and I were back in Gothenburg. Before the crying episode, I heard him talk about reading for children, with the ALMA prize winners and others. He is a good speaker, particularly in English, and he was the one who made the most sense there. I’d planned on waylaying him for more signatures, when I saw him dash off with a beautiful woman. However, Henning has learned his lesson, so gracefully paused to sign.

The way he comes across, to me, is like some posh freedom fighter, a bit grand but one of the people, too. He often seems abrupt and too aware of his position in life, but after the crying incident I can accept this. He does some great work, and not only in international crime. If he had written nothing but those books about Sofia, it would be enough.

Or what Doris Lessing saw. There’s a link on Linda Newbery’s website to some youtube short films about last year’s Costa winners. Linda seems to feel it’s strange to have had Doris Lessing watch her in her kitchen, but I don’t see why. I rather imagined Linda would be caught doing the washing up, but she’s not. And maybe even Nobel prize winners wash up.

It’s good to see authors in their normal settings and not just at signings or glitzy award ceremonies.

As usual I find that people get the age wrong for books. Linda hopefully suggests that Set in Stone is for 14 and up. Apart from the fact that it was my then 13-year-old who couldn’t tear herself away from the book, it’s an easy read. It’s not simple or short, but it’s not complicated either.

Bored? Try a board game. There is a new one out to coincide with The Golden Compass film, naturally. We tried it last night and it seems to work. Can’t claim to have understood it all after so little time, but I think even I could get more of a hang of it after a few more test runs.

It’s called The Board Game of The Golden Compass, not surprisingly, and is made by Sophisticated Games. What I liked most was the total absence of dice. I don’t know why all games have to have them. Here we had an arrow to twirl round the alethiometer. There are many things to keep in the air at one time, but once you work out what is most advantageous to do, it should be possible to plot to win. As usual the Resident IT Consultant won, so we’ll ban him from further playing.

I know I’ve written about Laurie Frost’s book on His Dark Materials before. But there’s a new edition out, and anyway, you can’t have too much of a good thing, can you? The new title is Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials, The Definitive Guide. It’s been timed to coincide with The Golden Compass film. The guide is also, temporarily, a Waterstone’s exclusive, but I hope you can get hold of it anyway.

The Rough Guide and the George Beahm book are both good companions to HDM. Laurie’s book has got that little bit extra, though, and I don’t just mean the additional 200 pages. I was going to say that for the big Pullman fan, this is the book for them. But I think I’ll amend that to saying that you need both Laurie’s book and maybe one or both of the other books to really indulge.

This new edition has been updated, has more photos and improved maps of Oxford. The page references have given way to chapter references. And what it has in abundance is Laurie’s love of HDM shining through. That’s worth a lot.

And I never expected this to happen to me, but not only does Laurie mention Son (of footnote fame) in her acknowledgments, but Son’s mother gets in there too. Thank you!

to Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials. I’m very slow on the uptake, so hadn’t realised you can have Rough Guides to almost anything these days. I used to think it was for the Himalayas or Patagonia and places.

Anyway, the Rough Guide to HDM is excellent. It’s very well written, and covers the trilogy and the film and Pullman to just the right level.

I’m assuming it’s a work put together by several writers, as Paul Simpson is listed as editor. It’s a good idea to gather material from more than one source, as that way you’re more likely to have expert insight on lots of subjects.

There are good photos, and the lists of characters, etc, is extensive without going into too much detail. There’s a lot of background stuff on many of the aspects of the trilogy.

This is a book to enjoy if you like Pullman, and/or need to know about the Northern Lights trilogy. The Resident IT Consultant was so taken with it, that he almost read it from cover to cover, muttering things like “this is surprisingly good”.

Just as I was saying earlier about liking cosy Christmas books, I like my crime cosy. This is possibly a contradiction in terms, as crime isn’t supposed to be terribly nice. But I suspect the British can’t imagine quite how fond us foreigners are of sweet little murders in romantic English settings.

It’s almost become something to look down on, but there really isn’t anything wrong with cosy crime. It doesn’t all have to be Miss Marple. I spent years enjoying Margery Allingham’s lovable Campion. And when Alleyn isn’t gallivanting around New Zealand, he’s very cosy too.

I could go on and on.

Then there’s the opposite of cosy, and these days that’s often Nordic crime. I know that crime readers in the Nordic countries obviously like their own, but what’s amusing to observe is the English speaking world’s fascination for stark Scandinavian brutality and unhappiness. It makes me shudder and want to run to Miss Marple for a nice cup of tea.

I do quite like the Scandinavian stuff in the shape of films or television series. I often recommend Sjöwall and Wahlöö’s Beck, and as a family we really enjoy the Danish series Mordkommissionen.

I can no longer stand Midsomer Murders, but foreign audiences love it. They don’t realise that the poor village cleaner can’t afford that charming country cottage, and think that’s how we all live. I know this, because even I used to be deluded like that. It didn’t help that my first few encounters with English families could have come straight out of the BBC. You live and learn…

Even the new ghastly Marple is charming and cosy. Foyle’s War is cosy.

Weird how we’re so taken with each other’s kind of crime. I have, belatedly, ordered a copy of Stieg Larsson’s first book, soon out in English. Everyone has read it. Adele Geras loved it. So I’ll see if I can squeeze in the 500 pages somewhere.

That’s Son. In March I bored you all with how last year we found that he’d made it to footnote status in Laurie Frost’s Elements of His Dark Materials. A while ago Laurie emailed to say she’d stumbled across Son’s name while browsing through another book on HDM, where Son actually got a mention, name and all.

Hurried investigations brought several copies of George Beahm’s Discovering the Golden Compass, A Guide to Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials, across the Atlantic to both the witch and to Son at university.

This guide is mainly intended as a companion to the film The Golden Compass, and George has written other such guides as well. It’s a very nice book, and a perfect introduction for the beginner. It doesn’t delve too deeply into anything, but covers most of the aspects you’d be interested in. Lots of photos and quotes, nice drawings and even an essay by Philip Pullman.

George is very enthusiastic about the subject, and although there are some errors in the book, he’s asked me to point out they will all be put right. The paintings by Tim Kirk are attractive, and there are posters of these. We have one, but I’m not sure how you get them.

Thank you George for mentioning my Pullman nerd.

From now on, I’d like you to think of me as Serafina Pekkala. She’s my kind of witch, and I’ll pretend to be Eva Green’s twin sister. Hah.

I expected to like the film, even with the end cut out, and I did. Daughter got a bit disoriented to find the last bit of the book missing, but it was a logical move. All we need now is for the second film to come along very soon.

Everything went at a very fast pace, but it could hardly do otherwise, with such a long and full story into a film in under two hours. The casting is first class, and I’m rarely satisfied with choice of actors in films. The settings are good looking, and I’d say that non-readers of the book will almost be able to follow the plot.

The dæmons are beautifully done, and the bears are good, although I’m not sure about Iorek’s voice.

And I’ll fly into the sunset with Lee Scoresby any time.

I have a blog in the Guardian today on books about Philip Pullman’s books. I’m going to write more here, and longer, but to start with there’s today’s book blog. It’s rather like buses; either I have nothing to write about, or too much. Patience at the bus stop, please.