Meeting Michelle Magorian

The importance of Goodnight Mister Tom is such that I have long had Michelle Magorian on my top level of ‘really good authors’. The kind you need to worship from afar, someone who is unquestionably great. So meeting her in person at last year’s launch for Just Henry wasn’t a case of your everyday garden variety of a book launch. Having found Michelle reassuringly kind and friendly and normal, I came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be out of the question to consider interviewing her. Would it?

When by happy coincidence Michelle turned out to have an event on my home ground, I simply had to ask to meet her again. So you could say that I waited as eagerly to meet her, as I did for Just Henry after I’d read Michelle’s first five novels. I’d been so happy when I discovered her, and my assumption that readers can expect a new book, if not every year, then at least every two or three, meant that my patience wore very thin over the ten-year wait. But as you can read in this interview, it was for a good reason, and it was worth waiting for.

I just ‘happened’ to bring along my copy of the anthology War, edited by Michael Morpurgo, which contains a story by Michelle. It seems we have a lot to be grateful to Michael for, since it was he who got Michelle writing again after her long break.

In her talk at the Imperial War Museum Michelle told us how she first wrote Goodnight Mister Tom, and after that she decided to attend a writing course, which may be an unusual way round to do it. And when she has to write horrible and upsetting scenes, she goes for calming walks in between.

There is another book on the way, but read my interview with Michelle while you wait. And then any book of hers that you have inadvertently overlooked. Perhaps between us we can have a late run on A Little Love Song?

(Photo D Giles)

Michelle Magorian in Manchester

Well, that could make me cry. Almost, anyway. Happy tears, you understand.

As the witch started negotiations with the Manchester Literature Festival people about an interview slot with Michelle Magorian, it felt like a good idea to say that Michelle might remember me from last year’s launch of Just Henry. I was told she did, but people can be polite, you know.

So, when we met in the Imperial War Museum’s café for our chat on Sunday afternoon, the first thing Michelle does is rummage in her bag, saying she’s got something for me. Nice, but what? I’ll tell you what. Only a lovingly signed copy of Just Henry in Swedish, which is just out. We did talk of translations last year. We did. But it was in a room full of people at a busy launch, and I was a complete stranger. What a memory!

Anyway, once we had been supplied with cups of tea, we got going with the interview. Not that Michelle felt there was anything interesting that she could tell me. The Resident IT Consultant attended, armed with a camera, since Daughter had taken herself and her camera off for half term. As a matter of fact, he didn’t do too badly at his first interview.

Michelle’s son George wandered off to look at the museum, while our twenty minutes somehow ended up being 45 (sorry, Alistair!). So we obviously must have found something to talk about.

Afterwards it was time for Michelle’s event, as the crowning glory of this year’s Literature Festival. They closed the museum, and us fans settled down in the main exhibition hall. As an author talk it rates as one of the best. Well delivered, as you’d expect from an actress, and very well chosen selection of readings from several of her books, with anecdotes in-between.

Michelle provided an interesting thread between all her stories, and the readings benefitted from a variety of accents. Good questions from the audience, with interesting answers. And I love a woman who can admit to waiting with her career, because she wants to spend time with her sons, even when they are as old as Michelle’s two. But with some luck, we’ll have a new Magorian novel some time next year. Yay!

(Photos by A Giles and D 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)

Alan Bennett

‘I’m not spending hundreds of pounds just to go and see Alan Bennett’, the witch told Daughter last summer. I had concluded that there was less than usual that I had an active interest in, at the Gothenburg book fair last September, so decided to save money by not going at all. I hasten to add that Alan Bennett was one of the few that did interest me.

What surprised me was to find Daughter wanting to see him so much. We’d seen History Boys at the Lowry, and it had gone down well with all the family. I just didn’t equate one successful theatre trip as the basis for really, really liking the dramatist. But anyway, none of us went to Gothenburg. I said, very rashly it seems, that we can catch him somewhere else. Seems Alan Bennett doesn’t do lots of personal appearances.

Today is his 75th birthday, and according to the Guardian interview with Blake Morrison, something bad often happens on May 9th. I hope this birthday will go well, though. Happy 75th!

Glasgow tales

Killing time sometimes leads to more interesting things than you’d expect. My empty evening in London last November took me to the Cottesloe to hear Bill Paterson read from his book Tales from the Back Green. Not only did the book sound absolutely marvellous, but I quickly concluded I didn’t want to read it. 

I wanted Bill to read it to me. What a voice! And that accent! Those snippets in November lead me to listen to the whole book on audio, read by the man himself, which is actually very logical, as it first appeared on the radio. It’s a fairly short book, fitting onto two CDs, in ten chapters. It’s bliss to listen to.

And that’s before you take the contents into account.  I do have a fondness for a Glaswegian accent. Did I already mention that?

The first half is about the earlier days of Bill’s childhood, about playing in what must have been almost central Glasgow. It’s about the little stream called the Molly, before it was covered up. It’s about an interesting neighbour before the fear of pedofiles. It’s football and trams. The second half is about going to the cinema, wanting to join the Navy (I like the idea of stone frigates), summer holidays, the invention of the teenager, and finally about Bill discovering climbing and the theatre.

I’d say that 1950s Glasgow has a lot more in common with Sweden in the 1960s than you’d think.

And for a ‘mere’ actor who left school with few Highers, Bill writes very well, indeed. I’m feeling slightly green with envy. It sounds so easy, but I don’t think it is.

After the Cottesloe I contacted Bill to rave in a similarly uncontrolled manner to what I’m doing now. He replied (he replied!) that as it began on the radio, his main wish for Tales from the Back Green had always been to produce an audio book rather than a printed one. Great minds think alike…

If you don’t buy this audio book now, to listen to when you go to bed at night, I’d suggest you get it to play in the car as you set off somewhere for the weekend or on holiday. You might want to consider Scotland, unless you already live there, in which case I’ll permit you to go somewhere else.

Nation at the National Theatre

I was very pleased to hear that the next “family play” at the National Theatre will be based on Terry Pratchett’s Nation. Not only is it a great book, but I reckon the story will translate well to the stage, and I look forward to seeing how it’s done.

The National Theatre have no more details yet, but I believe Nation will open at the Olivier in November some time.

If we get there

we have several interesting things to do in London today. But it’s probably the witch who put a spell on train services again. We’ll simply have to see how it goes…

The whole witch family is intending to travel to London, for a change. Daughter and I are meeting Caroline Lawrence to talk about Roman crime and other things. Hopefully also a little Roman romance, as Caroline’s new book, out in two weeks’ time, is very romantic. Just the thing for a pining witch.

While we chat, Son has to look after the Resident IT Consultant and keep them both out of mischief, and then rendezvous with us ladies for a matinee of Philip Pullman’s The Scarecrow. It’s also time for me to honour a long standing promise of dinner in a particular restaurant, as Daughter is beginning to think I never meant it.

And if we get there, it could be that we will also be able to travel home at the end of the day. But you never know.

Money for Pegasus

It was about this time last year that the witch and Son went to Oxford to part with some money in aid of the Pegasus Theatre project. The big temptation, as usual, was Philip Pullman, who we noticed drives a car proclaiming him to be, well, our equivalent of The Authority. Only in Swedish though.

The goal for Pegasus is now a lot closer than it was. Philip and Mrs P have just given the theatre £100,000 they themselves had no need for, which is very generous. Pegasus need only another £800,000. It sounds a lot, but really isn’t. So if anyone feels like handing over a little more, here is the link.

Bookwitch in Cheltenham

You have an exhausted bookwitch at your service this morning. Let me tell you, going to Cheltenham is a lovely thing to do, but it is not restful. In order to be nice to Daughter, we went to see Russell T Davies and John Barrowman last thing last night, which meant the last train (lots of lasts, there) home. Daughter has staggered off to school now, and the witch has so far only managed to put her foot in wet paint once, this morning. (The decorator is here…)

Anyway, as I was saying, Cheltenham is nice. Daughter gasped when she saw the architecture and I had fears her camera would run out of batteries. (These days you can’t run out of film, at least.) So, lovely town. Lovely weather, warm and sunny and the summer we never had. Literature festival. Also very nice. So much to do, and not enough time.

The first afternoon we ran like scalded rats between venues, taking in Darren Shan and Celia Rees as mentioned previously. Why can’t they all be in one place? The advantage of these festival thingies is meeting all sorts of people, and it’s particularly good for me to meet the people who work in the background and send me books and are generally helpful. Celia had Emma from Bloomsbury with her, providing me with more proof that the publishing industry is very pretty. Observed Ann Widdecombe being interviewed in the park, and wanted to dash over and discuss Jacqueline Wilson and unmarried mothers with her, but didn’t. Mal Peet strolled past, unfortunately without Meg Rosoff, who I assume had gone home after their event the day before. Dinner was the slowest pizza ever encountered, before the dash to the race course for Roger Moore. The moon was particularly nice looking on Saturday night, in case you were wondering.

My last blog post was written in the middle of the night, while I perched on a pillow to reach the computer, swearing over slow hotel broadband. After a few hours of sleep, it was up at dawn for a rendez vous with Eoin Colfer and his biggest fan, Charlie. Ever the interfering busybody, I had leaned on Puffin’s Adele Minchin until she tilted dangerously and said that “yes, of course, Charlie can interview Eoin”.

 

So that was Charlie and family brimming over with excitement, and we all trooped into the Everyman theatre to wait. The interview will appear here, soon. Suffice it to say that it went very well and the whole Charlie family now love Eoin. The event was better than ever, which makes me wonder if Eoin was fibbing when he said minutes before it, that he didn’t know yet what he’d be talking about. (His horrible brothers, since you ask.)

After refreshments in the Everyman Theatre’s writers’ room, we looked round Cheltenham, again. I think I saw Kate Adie near the Promenade. We went to the Times tent for our free Times reusable bags. In the sweltering October heat it felt incongruous to see our lunch restaurant urging their customers to book for Christmas, but there you are. We had wanted to eat outside, but so did everyone else.

Back out to the race course, for John Barrowman and his sister Carole. Daughter is a VERY big fan, so getting close to John was imperative. We scouted out the best route to the book signing and prepared with almost military precision. As we did this we saw Richard Attenborough, or Santa Claus, as Daughter calls him. He was there with Bob, Jacqueline Wilson’s driver. John and Carole were great, and there’ll be more on that over on CultureWitch soon. And the planning paid off, with Daughter getting to somewhere near the front of the queue.

While waiting for that last Doctor Who event, we took our M&S sandwiches outside and sat by the fence near the entrance, looking at people passing by. Daughter fantasised about seeing someone she knew, but it was the witch who found her colleague Karen, from Eurocrime. Who says it’s lonely blogging?

 

(All photos by H Giles)

The next witch

Meet Bookwitch’s baby sister, CultureWitch, who was born yesterday. It’s utter madness, I know. I can barely keep the books going, but we’ll have to wait and see what happens. It’s a sign of opinionated bossyness that I have to go on and on about anything that takes my fancy.

Back tomorrow with a proper book blog entry. Whose new book will it be?