Y is for yay!

Unsolicited books get shorter shrift than the ones I ask for. But there can be real gems, that I didn’t even know I wanted. This is one such occasion. There is a pop-up book out to celebrate that Sesame Street is forty years old.

Generally I am more of a C is for cookie kind of person. Offspring and I watched Sesame Street with our lunch for years, and then out of necessity we had to stop. I wouldn’t mind watching it again, but I get the impression it’s no longer on in Britain. Why not?

A Walk Down Sesame Street is some consolation. Elmo walks round, meeting some of the regulars, and doing a little educating as he meets and greets. Good Elmo! There are even pull-thingies to make Grover fly and Cookie stir his cookie mixture. Big Bird is really an awfully big Big Bird.

Ernie has put down his duckie, believe it or not, and Oscar and his trashcan are very much in-your-face, popping out. If only they knew of the agony suffered at witch headquarters over the elephants Oscar keeps. I thought we were heading for a major bin phobia at one point.

As Daughter walked in through the door after college, she jumped on this book. Maybe 17 isn’t too old for pop-ups after all? She made Elmo dance, which was something I had missed.

Oh, now I want to get out all my Sesame Street videos again and watch…

Trixie The Witch’s Cat

I would insist on a black cat with a white paw if I were to have a cat. And by the end of this adorable picture book, Trixie has come to the conclusion that being different is good.

Have you ever stopped to think about a roomful of identical black cats? Hard for a witch to find hers in a hurry. Trixie’s witch looks rather like me; what you can see of her. A witch with a bicycle bell on her broomstick is a sensible witch.

This is a lovely book, with lots of funny little details, which will provide something to look at for hours. Any book with a purple cover is good…

In ‘my’ kitchen

This book spoke to me. Wonder why that could be? Nick Sharratt has a book, all by himself, called What’s in the Witch’s Kitchen?, and it’s got that nice, slightly creepy, Halloweeny feel to it. My kitchen, on the other hand, is nothing like it. I would quite like a purple lino tiled floor, though, and the purple dresser’s nice, too.

It’s a flappy book, this witch kitchen picture book, with a final pop-out. You can look in the witch’s fridge, dresser, oven, and so on, in two different ways. One is nice and normal, and the other is a little less pleasant. Someone should tell the witch about basic kitchen hygiene, and what doesn’t belong in a kitchen.

I tried to work out if there’s a pattern to which flap will yield the less lovely revelation, but lost myself hopelessly after a while. You open up and down, left and right.

And to finish someone pops out. Is it you?

No Matter What

It’s got to the stage where I almost don’t care what Debi Gliori’s picture books are about, as long as I can just sit and feel all warm looking at the pictures. That’s silly, I know, but I do fall for cute and sweet.

No Matter What is cute and sweet, and so is Small, who is the small creature in this story. Small is feeling out of sorts, and tries to be really difficult to Large. But as we know, parents quite like their little ones, no matter what. So, Large is loving and kind and reassuring, while Small is worried that one day he/she will be just that little bit too bad in some way, to make Large love less.

Large loves Small. And so do we.

PS I was going to mention, especially, that there is an audio book that comes with the current No Matter What, with the story read by Niamh Cusack. But I forgot. There is, for when reading Larges are too tired to read, yet again, to their Smalls.

A Cautionary Tale

It’s confession time again. I do know Hilaire Belloc, but only as a name. I had very little idea of what he was famous for, though a quick trawl on Wikipedia has remedied this situation a little. He’s got a new book out. Well, new and new, it’s obviously old, but has nice new clothes.

Mini Grey has done new illustrations to Jim, who ran away from his nurse and was eaten by a lion. Despite this early warning, along with the warning on the cover of the book, I was still unprepared for Jim being eaten by the lion. No happy ending there.

I’m not terribly familiar with Mini Grey, either, but this book is enough to make me a fan. I’d forgotten the fun you have with pop-ups. The lion is a little scary, but more surprising. (Though I could see it having the same effect on young readers as the pop-up crocodile we used to have. Sort of, aarghh..!) Mini has thought up a lovely map of the fateful zoo, but I’m not sure I like the snake house all that much. I may stay away from this zoo. The staff are a little remiss,

even if little boys shouldn’t run away from their nurses, or mums, or anybody, really.

There is a lot here to make reading this book over and over again a lot of fun. The poem is fun to read, and the pictures will last a long time. And if it can prevent any more boys being eaten by lions, then it will have done a good job.

Marmite is truly horrid

We have a cellar full of Marmite. Luckily it’s fully contained in those nice jars that Marmite comes in. It’s only unlucky, because we don’t really need to buy any more Marmite for the foreseeable future.

I don’t like Marmite. Neither does Horrid Henry, which rather surprised me. Silly of me, as I’ve already mentioned what a sensible boy he is. Why should he fall for that ridiculous notion that Marmite really is much nicer than its smell would lead you to believe? That’s for his silly brother to do. Perfect Peter does like that foul-smelling, dark brown substance.

By now the people at Marmite and at Orion will be up in arms, and probably Philip Ardagh, too, although he has nothing to do with Henry. But I will admit that Marmite and Orion have come up with a good idea. You buy Marmite – if you must – and then you can download a total of five free Horrid Henry audiobooks. If you buy five jars, that is, which sounds a little OTT.

There has been no end to Horrid Henry in these parts. As if the story collection I mentioned the other day wasn’t enough, Marmite-hater Henry has an annual, too. Naturally.

Horrid Henry’s Annual 2010, illustrated by Tony Ross as usual, has a lot in it. I’d say that any Henry fan would enjoy the tricks, jokes, quizzes and whatnot. Even an old witch feels all twitchy when eyeing the wordsearches and the things to make.

Now, let’s all behave

We need more brainwashing in our children’s picture books. And we need it now. Oliver Jeffers and Debi Gliori both offer thoughts on what to do about the world we live in, and what not to do, in The Great Paper Caper and in The Trouble With Dragons.

When I saw Oliver last year he was talking about The Great Paper Caper, and I so wanted to read it. (The title makes me think of Offspring’s old school where they did do a paper caper, except not like the one in the book.) Luckily, when we came across Oliver in Edinburgh last month, the book was available, so the witch’s Jeffers collection is up to date again.

Someone is chopping off tree branches, which is not good. The inhabitants of the wood do some sleuthing, and they find the culprit. He had a good reason. It’s just that chopping off branches is not a good way of dealing with his problem.

Don’t waste paper. Recycle when you can. Don’t chop down trees unnecessarily.

The Trouble With Dragons is their dragon-like behaviour. Lots of hot air and a generally greedy and thoughtless lifestyle. Debi shows the reader what will happen if we don’t change, and it’s pretty scary. Before we know it we’ll all be dragons sitting on mountain tops, fishing for jellyfish to eat. And that is yuck.

It’s when the dragons start to feel a little lonely, being the only ones left, as well as fed up with feeding on jellyfish, that they begin to ask what they can do to make everything better. It’s time we all do. Debi has a very clear message, and all children should be able to understand it from her very lovely, but scary, illustrations.

If we’re lucky, some of the adults will get it, too.

PS Debi will kill me, but here is a rather nice video of her talking about her book.

Tea with Flora MacLachlan

Sunburn.

That is not the first word you’d associate with the Edinburgh Festival season.

Almost too warm. That’s another unlikely description. (Meg Rosoff; it may not be NYC hot, but then we can’t all be over there.)

Nice day. No rain. Warm. Sunny.

No events either, so although we had to crawl out of bed to get to Edinburgh for the morning of Day 6, it was purely pleasure. Not that the other days weren’t pleasure, I hasten to add.

Gillian Philip, of Crossing the Line and Bad Faith fame, had an educational encounter with 96 school visitors and survived. I knew she would, because we had agreed to meet up afterwards, and I didn’t want to just mop up the remains.

First, however, we had an assignation with Nicola Morgan outside the children’s bookshop. Not too busy there on a Monday morning, but I still took Donna’s Tim’s advice and looked for interesting shoes. They were. Lime green suedy things, beautifully set off with purple shirt and green scarf. That’s my kind of dressing. Nicola being a capable sort of woman determinedly smuggled us into the authors’ yurt, so we hastily hid the red neck ribbons and exchanged them for green ones.

Did I mention the sunshine? We sat out on the authors’ deck area and talked and gossiped for an hour. Nicola does a lot of events at the festival, and was halfway through this year’s talks. She also seems to know everyone. Bali Rai turned up briefly before his school event, and Kevin Brooks sat at the next table with Mary Byrne. We talked about Tim Bowler (did your ears burn, Tim?) while we were on the Swedish connection. And as Nicola knows everyone, she came with us to help identify Gillian Philip, as there is always a possibility that someone doesn’t quite look like their Facebook photo.

Gillian was in the bookshop, just finishing chatting to some young admirers, along with Keith Charters, who wore an author badge, but seemed to be more of an enthusiastic publishing person. We trotted back to the deck and the sunshine, for Gillian to relax and for a chat. Daughter admired her ear-rings, which apparently were purchased in a very recent panic buy. Have to say that Gillian looked stunning with matching jewellery and top. (I know it shouldn’t matter, but I enjoy matching-ness and strong colours. But it probably doesn’t make anyone’s books better.) Keith did some good business moves, handing out his card, and handing out a booklet with chapter one of a book called Bree McCready and the Half-Heart Locket by Hazel Allan.

At the next table we had Melvin Burgess and Paul Dowswell of Ausländer fame, and I kicked myself for not having checked out the schools programme, in order to pack a more suitable selection of books to be signed… I could get used to this part of Charlotte Square. How do I become an author for next time? Preferably one who is allowed in without having to ‘pay’ by doing a public talk.

We skulked back to the wifi in the press yurt to sort out the case of Monday’s missing photos, and let me tell you that I may have a laptop, but my lap does not have a top suited to balancing anything like that for any length of time. Did get the photos on, with minutes to spare before we had to rush down to Waverley. We had an invitation to have afternoon tea with Flora MacLachlan, aka Debi Gliori.

Debi is so wonderfully kind that she had volunteered to have the witch and her witch baby round for tea. She collected us from the train and drove us home to her beautiful garden, and then she plonked us down in the shade in a corner and brought out a groaning tea tray. I apologise to the world for the day of book-writing that has been lost through so much baking and general kindness. But fluffy scones and the most lemony cake and shortbread in a sunny garden is beyond good.

Before we left, we got to have a very early look at the artwork for a new book. I love it already. Picture books often look very attractive, but that’s nothing compared with what they’re made from.

Just a thought; am I turning into a cross between Cheshire Life and Hello magazine?

(All photos H Giles)

‘Do you know Donna?’

I do. Sort of. I was going to meet Donna Moore, author of Go To Helena Handbasket, and the best blogger in Glasgow, on Day 4, but she was attacked by migraine, so didn’t make it. I don’t mean she’s dead; just that Edinburgh was too much for her. But I didn’t quite expect to have one of Donna’s fans come up to me, knowing who I am, too. Bloggers are the next super stars, I suppose. Tim – the fan – found me in the children’s bookshop in Charlotte Square, and we had a long chat. I sort of knew who he is, seeing as he’s featured in yet another blog. Small world.

It was hard work getting out of bed on Saturday. Early start. I woke at 4.20, and just couldn’t work out if I had 30 minutes or 90 until the alarm was meant to go off at 5.50. (I don’t need answers on a post card; I know now.) First out was Debi Gliori, with her un-green dragons, whose life style threatens the survival of the planet. Recycling for the youngest readers. (Fittingly my copy of  The Trouble With Dragons had arrived in my recycling bin, when the postman failed to find me in.)

Debi had some very good photos and ideas to bring environmental awareness to the young. It’s not much fun if Father Christmas has to wade in water up to his knees because the snow melted, is it? Debi drew and read and generally educated and entertained her audience.

I’m amazed that so many people turn up so early. Andy Stanton and his Mr Gum had a tremendously long queue first thing, even though adults like Tim had no idea whatsoever of who that funny looking man might be. Adults! They don’t know much.

That was proved when we discovered Malorie Blackman being photographed outside the yurt, just as we gobbled down our lunch sandwiches inside. No official photo session for her (after all, she is ‘just’ a children’s author), but we dashed out and begged to take a few more photos. Very pleased to find that Malorie’s minder was Random’s wonderful Kelly, who was more than helpful when she realised she was up against the witch. I was eager to undo the damage to Malorie’s image I caused with my poor photo skills back in November. The other photographers fell out of their own little yurt in order to find out what they were missing. Hah. It’s high time the paparazzi learn to recognise authors, too. Read books, boys!

Anyway, we left Debi’s talk a little early (sorry) to catch Henning Mankell who had agreed to face the cameras. I was surprised to find he didn’t bolt, but he’s a big fish these days, so maybe has to give in occasionally. We ran back to see Debi sign books, only for me to remember that her signings are the slowest in town, and she hadn’t got very far, what with all the friendly ‘doodling’ she does. (Debi –  just joking, you know. You draw, you don’t doodle.)

This being before the previously mentioned sandwiches we were feeling a little peckish. But that’s nothing compared with the family who decided to have a picnic right on the floor in front of the unoccupied signing table in the bookshop. They all settled down and opened their bags and tucked in.

Another eye opener was the fantastic tantrum over the book Olivia by Ian Falconer. He must have just left, but his fans were still milling about in the shop. One pretty little girl was very set to have the book. Mum said no. There followed the kind of tantrum you see over the sweets in Tesco. Mum grabbed her child and threw the book on the table above the picnic and left. We stared at each other. Within minutes I caught sight of the girl again, back in the shop with another copy of Olivia in her arms. Mum explodes back as well and throws this book on top of the first, and drags her very unhappy child out. I hope there was a good reason, as you’d kind of expect people going to book festival events and visiting bookshops to be pro-book.

Apologies to the bookshop, because it must have seemed as if the witches had put down camp in the shop for the day. Emily from Bloomsbury was kept busy, too, with Sarah Dyer signing next to Debi, once the ruckus and the picnicking was over. When Tim found us, we were overseeing Malorie’s signing, and had managed to snatch a quick word with Oliver Jeffers, as well.

One signing we failed spectacularly with, was Michael Morpurgo’s. He had an interminable queue, but in the end we left it too long. We did, however, get a good photo session with him and his new friend Sarah. She’s the eight-year-old who won a competition to spend a day with Michael Morpurgo. Sarah got to introduce Michael at the start of his event, which she did very professionally. On the whole, I have to say that Morpurgo fans are very clever and capable.

Sarah likes Michael’s adjectives, and it seems he quite likes hers, too. He spoke about the three new books that are published this autumn, but I have to protest a little here, because one of them sounded very familiar to me. It must be based on the short story he wrote for the Amnesty International anthology Free. He is also improving on the traditional Nativity for Christmas, because it seems a shepherd will never leave his sheep. As a farmer, he knows this. And there is a tsunami inspired novel out soon. Michael made the children in the audience hold their breaths, and he also has opinions about the number of books J K Rowling has written. So, a pretty mixed sort of talk.

Daughter, meanwhile, listened to Malorie over in another tent, and by all accounts it was full and it was good. Malorie read to her audience, and she showed them how happy she was when her first book was accepted. And she is writing something now, but won’t say what.

By now you are all begging me to stop, and that’s what we did, too. With a heavy-ish heart I decided we didn’t have the strength to stay on to see Alexander McCall Smith in the evening. Maybe another time!

(All photos H Giles)

‘What kind of dog do you want?’

He flicked his hair this way and that. He waved his arms when asked to. In short, he behaved like a professional model, but Neil Gaiman claims that David Tennant is the better looking if there is a contest between them. I’ve got that ‘in writing’. We didn’t get to see more of Neil on Wednesday, although we were able to admire his ten mile signing queue.

Day 1 was a mixed sort of day. It rained at the ‘home’ end, but Edinburgh was dry and warm and far too full of people. So first we got wet in one way and then in another, but let’s not dwell on unpleasant facts. We got our red bands to hang round our necks, which means other visitors think we actually know something and stop to ask for help.

With beginners’ luck we then ran into Ian Rankin, so I reminded the poor man that we’d met before, which was unfair of me because he can’t possibly remember that, and asked if he could spare the time for a photograph or two. He could, but then he needed to go get his son from school, as term has just started.

Some of the time we spent just getting to know the mud and the general layout of the book festival tents. Before the photo session with Neil my photographer had a dress rehearsal with Gerald Scarfe, who seemed more than happy to jump about. I worried a little about the advisability of such gymnastics.

I hadn’t really read the programme very well, because we found that Julia Jarman and Lynne Chapman were doing their bit in one of the tents, so we popped along to their book signing after, to say hello. Plenty of people to say hello to there, as Theresa Breslin just happened to be needing a signed book for someone. Mr B introduced us to Linda Strachan who was also hovering.

(I don’t think the photo below of Julia is quite as alarming as it may seem. I’m sure that Lynne isn’t really making gestures above Julia’s head. As for what the anaconda is doing; that’s anybody’s guess.)

We’re not coffee drinkers, so we abandoned the press yurt for tea elsewhere. (Doesn’t press yurt sound rather like a soured dairy product to you?) They are big on recycling in Charlotte Square, but between you and me there were a lot of paper cups in the plastic cup bin.

Louise Rennison had precisely as long a signing queue as you’d expect the Queen of Teen to be entitled to. Nice to see so many teenage girls turning up.

And then it was time for the Ian Rankin event. The dog quote is his. Something to do with historical radio drama, and I think I may have heard it last year in Bristol, too. Ian talked about Rebus as well as his new policeman, who is Rebus’ complete opposite. He mentioned his new venture in comics, feeling there is a gap to be filled for male teenage readers.

It was surprisingly windy in the main theatre tent, which I suppose is preferable to having half the audience passing out due to lack of oxygen. Ian came up with writing ideas for the Brownie leader who practises writing with her Brownies, and he reminisced about some writing venture at Charlotte Square one year, featuring a dead author buried underneath a mountain of books.

Ian’s memory is pretty good, too. He knew precisely how long Neil Gaiman had kept him waiting when they had dinner together last year. He only meant to illustrate the difference in how long they take over signing books. And I happen to know that Neil really was signing for over three hours, because I was there.

I’m glad Ian chucked accountancy. This kind of crime suits him so much better.

(All photos H Giles)