Bookwitch

I owe my friend CG this title. We had a Nordic ladies lunch about a week ago, and CG is good for stories anyway, but I felt right at home with her senior moments, because I appear to have a few of them myself. CG talks like Little My of the Moomins, which makes her literary, too. And I found a few years ago that we share Adele Geras, and I do like a shrinking world.

Anyway, it’s all about forgetting the simplest things. Not that the complicated things are easier, you understand, but there’s the professorial touch about it. I can remember (yes, really) that lesson at school when the teacher asked me what the day’s homework had been about. I couldn’t recall, which didn’t look very good. Had she only asked me a specific question regarding the homework, I’d have been fine. I knew it. Just couldn’t remember the bigger picture.

I was reminded last week of an anthology I own, because Michelle Magorian wrote one of the stories. It’s called War, Stories of Conflict, edited by Michael Morpurgo. And I’ve been ashamed for years that I’ve just not got round to reading it. So, out it came, and I started with Michelle’s story. I had read it before. Checked the other stories. I had read them, too. Somewhere, some time in the last few years I read the book, before putting it back on the shelves. I just wonder when?

Not to worry. It’s a wonderful collection, with stories written by some of our best authors. I bought it because George Layton, who’s in it, talked about it while we had lunch. It wasn’t just the two of us, unfortunately, but I did have lunch with him. George is someone I was dead keen on when I was a teenager. Weird, how things happen. He very kindly assumed I’d know all the Swedish entertainers that he knows. I do, but only from magazines and television. Nice to be treated like an equal.

What an interesting name! And it makes for a good book title, too.

Linda Newbery emailed me months ago to say she had read this new book by Jan Page, and she thought I would like it. She pointed out it wasn’t so horribly mermaid-ish as the blurb might suggest, and Linda’s right. It’s about a young girl in Cornwall during the war, who thought she was a mermaid.

The story is told from several points of view, and in the present as well as in the past. Twins Jack and Ellen are evacuated from London to Cornwall, and their lives are changed forever.

It’s an interesting story, but I’m puzzled as to why anyone feels this is a children’s book. It’s not scary or complicated, but I would not expect most children or teenagers to have the patience required to read it. Personally I feel it’s an adult book, which just happens to deal with young people in the past. Think Rosamund Pilcher, or similar. Much of the tale is seen from the point of view of a woman of 77, looking back, and also about her problems with young people today. Adult, I think.

As Daughter and I watched, yet again, one of her favourite episodes of our favourite NCIS, I was reminded of how easy I have it. There, poor Agent McGee who writes crime novels in his spare time, found that the characters from his as yet un-finished next novel were being bumped off. So, who had access to his top-secret manuscript? We were assured that the really keen fan will search through authors’ rubbish bins for clues as to what they are writing.

The witch didn’t have to do anything as crude as that. Declan on Crime Always Pays emailed to ask if he could (!) send me his next novel as a Word document. I allowed him to do this, because I’m a kind witch. Also, because I was fairly desperate to read the new book.

The Blue Orange, as he calls it, is a continuation of The Big O, with all the same characters, except those who may have died in the first book. Plus a couple of new ones. The Big O was very funny, if rather full of four-letter words, and had endearingly inept, mostly minor, crooks.

In The Blue Orange we meet them again, and this time I found myself quite fond of even the less charming ones. It’s a mad-cap race across the Continent, with everyone ending up in Greece, where Declan has totally taken over his favourite holiday island, which I understand was quite nice before this.

As is to be expected, there are so many double-crossings that the witch developed a squint trying to cope. The best thing is simply to sit back and enjoy, while laughing quite a lot. The story is crying out to be made into a film, and I know which part I can play.

And as Mother-of-witch so rightly said, crime is not nice. But this kind of crime is as nice, and as funny, as it gets. The worst baddies are killed or have lots of blood removed in interesting ways, and maybe the rest lived happily ever after. I’m hoping for more. And sooner rather than later, Mr Burke.

Anyone who by now has the slightest inclination to read The Blue Orange, will want to murder me. The book will be out in the US in the autumn of 2009. If he gets round to it, Declan might just publish it in Ireland in the spring. 2009 again, I’m afraid.

And he is checking I’m not selling it on ebay, so I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. But I just felt I had to rave about it now. I can always re-rave when the time comes.

My heart felt as if it was a lot further up than its normal position, as I raced through Blade, two new books by Tim Bowler.

The quality of his writing is as good as ever, but Tim is going in a new direction with these books. They are short, and for a confident reader they’ll be over in no time. It doesn’t say anywhere, but I’m guessing Tim wants to reach less able readers, and slightly older ones, too.

I’ll call him Blade, because we don’t know his name, and he is only fourteen, but very good (or should that be bad?) with a knife. Tim confesses to a terror of knives, which I probably share with him, but to be honest, I had no time to think about knife crimes per se, because of the pace of the story.

Blade, Playing Dead is first, with an almost introduction of the main character and his life on the sidelines of society. He’s already in trouble, and just ends up deeper in trouble still. But there’s something decent and likeable about him, nevertheless. Blade, surprisingly, has a love of reading, which sometimes gets him into trouble. More trouble.

In Blade, Closing In the story continues and worsens. Whatever he does and no matter how much he tries, Blade just gets deeper and deeper in his black hole. I’m a bit concerned that I felt so strongly for him, that I almost egged him on to kill a man.

I’m wondering a bit, how Tim, who is a very nice man, can even write like this. And I’ll confess here and now, to not understanding all of the slang.

The story is told in the first person, present tense, with no chapters. This adds to the reader’s agitation, and makes you go on an on. Like Blade himself, who can’t stop.

There’s to be more of these, but a cliffhanger ending, and a year to wait, Tim?

And don’t even get me started on Christmas Day. That deep seated sense of insecurity, has me look closely at my statistics. Often. Saturdays make for the Alp look. During the week, when you all should be working, you read this blog. On Sundays, apart from yesterday, you also often read the witch’s scribbles. But what do you do on a Saturday? Shop? Clean? Talk to people?

I’m thinking of letting myself have a day off every week. Looks like it should be Saturdays. And maybe Christmas Day. Nearly all of you appeared to be doing other things that day. On the other hand; were it not for the Saturday dips, the stats wouldn’t display that encouraging rise during the week.

This would be a good time to ask if in the rest of the world you also have a “different” kind of weekend this weekend? In England we have Bank Holiday Monday today, which may well account for the sluggishness yesterday. And last Thursday and Friday I had to allow for the fact that many sensible countries had not just the First of May to consider, but it was Ascension Day as well. Followed by a Friday when no sensible person would work. If you knew how many times over the years in exile, that I have tried phoning businesses in the old country on a public holiday, forgetting, because the English don’t have it. Good thing blushes can’t yet be seen over the phone.

Time to walk Daughter to the “new pencil case” shop. Progress is when you can shop till you drop on Bank Holidays.

Sometimes I suspect I fall so in love with an illustrator’s style, that I’ll like anything they do. But with Jeanne Willis you get a number of different illustrators, so I don’t know why I keep falling in love.

What I was saying about having picture books read to you, applies to this one as well, because Jeanne read this herself. What could be better?

The Bog Baby is her most recent book, and with adorable pictures by Gwen Millward. Bog Babies are round and blue and jelly-like, and they are SO lovable. This story is about loving and learning to let go.

I want a Bog Baby!

No, that’s not an author, it’s a book title. Meg Rosoff has a new picture book out, and this is not it. Trouble is, not even Meg has a copy of the new one yet, so I’ll go for the old one.

When I bought Meet Wild Boars a couple of years ago, I wasn’t sure what to make of it, until Daughter read it to me. Then it made sense. Well, you know, not sense, but it was as it should be. It’s easy to forget when the children get so old that they don’t have books read to them, that sometimes that is exactly the point of some books. And picture books more than others.

So thanks to Daughter I learnt that Wild Boars has to be read out. But not necessarily to a young child. Boris, Morris, Horace and Doris are pretty awful. They’re boars, and I’m guessing invented by or for Meg’s daughter. They have their uses, those girls.

The illustrations by Sophie Blackall are not pretty, but intentionally so. The information on the book jacket about Meg and Sophie, is at least as good as the book. And I found one review saying the book was so awful they threw it away. Don’t believe it.

Last night Daughter, feeling a bit depressed, started reading Wild Boars to me again. She had forgotten that Meg had signed the book to her, so coming across that very friendly greeting, cheered her up considerably. So to jump to the purpose of having books signed; that could be one. Making the signee happy.

This sounds so awfully worthy that I’m almost ashamed. The Resident IT Consultant forced a copy of the New Scientist on me the other evening, saying I might want to read the bit on books.

They had talked to a number of scientists (what else?) about books that inspired them when they were young. Quite interesting, in a quirky way. Only the women dared mention anything vaguely childish in the way of books. Whether that’s because the men never were childish, weren’t inspired by children’s books or didn’t think it right to mention, will remain a mystery.

Alice in Wonderland, Doctor Doolittle, and Tarzan will have to count as children’s choices. Not sure about A Mathematician’s Apology, The Art of the Soluble, One Two Three Infinity, or The Mind of a Mnemonist. Wow. Heartily approve of The Foundation Trilogy.

Having got this far, I’m beginning to suspect that you won’t let me finish without giving you mine. It will have to be Five On A Treasure Island. And I refuse to blush. After that it could be many others, but perhaps I wouldn’t have those if I hadn’t had the Blyton to begin with? You wouldn’t be sitting reading this drivel if it weren’t for the Five. Makes you think, doesn’t it?

This isn’t MY cover picture, which I couldn’t find. Couldn’t even find my book to take a photo… But this is nice enough.

Another newsflash, so to speak. You were so good with the pink comments last week, that we have moved across to the Guardian today.

I found this on Sara O’Leary’s blog, and immediately needed to copy her. I also tried to print it out for myself, and failed utterly, because it’s rather big. So I might not be able to have it as a poster, after all.

But it reminds me of why reading is so wonderful. Don’t know why I need reminding, but it’s always good to see this kind of thing, and Quentin Blake’s illustrations are always lovely.

I think this link might take you somewhere where you can print your own, or not. Does anyone have a mega printer?  Even my Apple teacher says he hates printers, and you’d think he would know how to get round any problems.