A Little Love Song

It was the oranges that did it for me. A few years ago Offspring had some friends round for a sleepover, and the witch was feeling depressed. Not because of the sleepover, but I was left with that kind of feeling where you need comfort of some kind. So I got out Michelle Magorian’s A Little Love Song, which was waiting to be read. Once the young people were busy with whatever they were busy with, there was a whole evening in which to read.

So I read. And I read. When I got to the part where Rose goes to the dance, and is offered oranges, and said oranges gather momentum due to the jitterbug, I began to laugh. Soon I was laughing so much I could barely contain myself. So I stopped feeling depressed. Ever since, when I think of this book, I think of sleepover, and then oranges, and then of the explosion of laughter.

This is the story about two sisters in the second world war, who by accident end up living by themselves in a cottage in the country. They don’t know anything about looking after themselves, cooking and the like, but they learn. The opportunity to live alone seems so great to them, that they grasp it when their chaperone suddenly becomes unavailable.

Both girls meet love, although it’s not straightforward for either of them. There is also a mystery to do with the cottage, which is linked to someone Rose meets in the village.

A Little Love Song is the perfect romantic war story, with the same authentic war atmosphere which all Michelle’s novels have. In a country where television companies are crazy about period series and films, this book would be a very suitable one to adapt. Instead of a new version of Austen every five years (or is it every three years now?), it’d be a really good idea to take on all of Michelle Magorian’s books for a change.

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)

Alice in love & war

How I needed this book! Ann Turnbull’s Alice in love & war is a good old-fashioned historical novel. I won’t go so far as to say that it’s not trying to be clever, or that it’s not got a message, but it’s an uncomplicated and enjoyable book.

It’s the time of the Civil War, which I personally seem to know best through The Three Musketeers, so no doubt I’ve got a somewhat strange idea of who were good or bad. On the other hand, it’s war, and you rarely have very good versus very bad. Both sides are both.

Unreliable charmers are always the same, however. Alice is only sixteen and very unhappy living with an abusive uncle, so it’s hardly surprising that she jumps straight into the arms of the charmer, who happens to be one of the King’s soldiers, passing by with the army. She decides to leave her uncle’s farm, and follow the army. This is a hard life, but she makes friends, and she belatedly learns about men.

There are some extremely horrific details of the war, more effective than any school lesson. Alice is lucky in that she can read and write, and she has some knowledge of healing. This means her fate is more fortunate than those of her best friends among the army followers, but she still goes trough some very bad times.

The way Ann has plotted the story means the reader gets to see both sides of this war, and hopefully will learn both that war is worth avoiding, as well as seeing that warring sides are never black and white.

It’s a lovely romantic story, while avoiding the pitfalls of everything going smoothly all the time.

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.

It’s not too early

For today I have turned into an elephant who will step on many toes. The Holocaust is probably one of the worst topics to discuss, because we automatically feel so bad about it. But I’m about to suggest that talking about an atrocity like that, is similar to letting your child know about sex or whether Father Christmas really exists. If you think it’s too early, it’s because you have already left it too late.

The discussion we had here on Wednesday, which inadvertently turned towards the Holocaust, made me think about this a bit more. I’m guessing the book referred to in the Guardian article must have been The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. I have not read it; nor do I want to. So from that point of view I’m in full agreement with the child who was upset, but I would probably also agree with the person who suggested the book, because I wouldn’t expect the subject to be unknown. Maybe by now the Holocaust really is a well kept secret until a much higher age. As I’ve said on occasion; it’s hard to know what you don’t know.

‘No sex please, we’re British’. OK, so it is an embarrassing subject, but it’s not best left till later. Talk about it so early that the child has no notion of you squirming and blushing, and it will seem perfectly normal. Similarly, the number of parents who wanted to sever their relationship with me and Offspring for possibly ruining the Christmas idyll by saying Father Christmas doesn’t exist, is quite high. I didn’t even realise it was a taboo subject. I thought we all knew FC isn’t real. Offspring and I fully enjoy Christmas and presents and FC knowing he is fiction. We always knew, so no need to decide when is the right time to mention that ‘actually he …’

I knew ‘all’ about the gas chambers when I started school at the age of six. It was something one of my nannies talked about. I don’t know why or which one it was. And no, that’s not posh. They were all sixteen, and I assume just wanted to tell me something interesting. I don’t think I was callous. I just received the information as information. That’s what happened, and it can’t be changed.

(As a comparison, I was about eleven when I found out about drug addiction. At school, in an informal discussion in needlework, of all places. I nearly passed out, and couldn’t think about it for years without feeling weak and scared. Too late, I’d say.)

We can have laws about what you can watch and when in cinemas. Parents and schools can have views of when to discuss awful subjects, but you can’t legislate successfully. Your child will learn in the company of others, whenever that subject happens to come up. Sex and Father Christmas will pop up, but maybe not the Holocaust, because its less fashionable and interesting for a playground initiation.

That’s why I don’t think it makes sense to have meetings to decide when a child is old enough. Toddlers and slightly older children are often fairly ‘insensitive’, so it’s better to mention things before they get too empathic. If we’ve always known something, then we’ve always known it.

On the other hand, as with my Pingu connotations the other day, we all have something we have experienced which we find particularly hard to talk about, and for many the Holocaust will be it. But I don’t think it’s kind to keep quiet.

To make a seemingly irrelevant change of direction here; I was greatly amused to find that at Uppsala University the students have fruit breaks. This will be a direct continuation from their daycare and infant school days. No crisps for Swedish children. My first thought was ‘What wimps!’, but at the same time these children are the ones who were presented with books at various stages at school, where whole year groups were introduced to things like land mines in Africa, or the Israeli/Palestinian situation. And they know Father Christmas doesn’t exist.

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.

‘what should have happened’

Day 3 was short, but sweet. Being in the same room as Joan Lingard is quite a bonus. And the press pod was full of people wanting to interview Griff Rhys Jones. Daughter said ‘who?’, and I tried to explain, but could come up with nothing that worked. Even seeing Griff being interviewed did nothing for her. Hopeless.

The witch and her very useful photographer had gone to some trouble to beg tickets for Friday’s event, and we were delighted to meet up with the lovely Georgia from Random, who puts lots of great books our way. We were even introduced to her equally nice Random boss. (That’s Random, not random, btw.) A bit of networking may even make me think I’m doing something grown-up, rather than just play.

Just one event made the day feel almost like a holiday. Theresa Breslin had  worried she’d have no audience, seeing as she was on at the same time as Michael Morpurgo. But she did have an audience, and between you and me, the smaller venue was preferable, and the feeling of not being a sardine was beneficial. Not standing in a Morpurgo-sized queue was another bonus.

Theresa is a former librarian, who even as an adult was so scared of the librarian from her childhood library, that she crossed the road to avoid meeting her. And writing historical fiction, she has been contacted by her former history teacher, too, so her past seems intent on catching up.

She picks up the oddest ideas and sentences wherever she comes across them, and writes a story around them. It can be simple things like selling your alligator at a car boot sale, or the more advanced notion of collecting amputated limbs in a bucket. And stuff in-between.

We should believe in horoscopes and it’s apparently ‘normal’ to be loopy around a full moon. I think that Theresa was trying to tell us that her scientist husband can prove that the planets rule our lives, or some similarly far fetched idea. Mr B wore his Nostradamus tie, and Theresa read from The Nostradamus Prophecy, and as a witch I sort of have to agree with all that stuff. Sort of.

The next book from this Dickens-reading library-ticket-cheat is about the Spanish Inquisition, and we got to hear a little from the first draft. No doubt she will now go and change it all. And her editor will find more things still that hadn’t been invented at the time, thus having no business being in Theresa’s book.

(Photos by H Giles)

’so I write a bit’

Miraculously all the seats in the middle of Charlotte Square were empty when I turned up on day 2. That’s because it was raining. Staff wore their wellies. One very nice spotty pair with dangling dogs belong to a most helpful press lady who sorted out all my ticket problems, once she had concluded she’d not come across such a bad case of ticketitis before. Her equally kind colleague personally went and got me a mug of tea. (They only have coffee for the press. Most likely to keep them awake at night.)

Being photographer-less I wielded my own little pocket camera when Val McDermid popped out for a photo session. Thankfully she didn’t jump or pose as much as Gerald Scarfe and Neil Gaiman. Neither does she talk, apparently. Someone next to me wanted an interview, but Val has been gagged. The things you hear when ‘eavesdropping’.

I got up to wait for the Judith Kerr photo call, but as she never turned up, I feel safe in saying she probably didn’t feel up to it. I wouldn’t either, if I was her. I then decided to tidy away my empty mug, which was a lucky move as Neil Gaiman suddenly appeared and sat down in ‘my’ seat in the press yoghurt. Yurt, I mean.

Time for Judith Kerr’s event, which was very sold out, and sensibly scheduled to fit in with children not truanting from school to see her. Though there were a lot of previous children in the audience. We all love Judith, and it felt pretty much like an audience with a beloved aunt, who you don’t see so often. It was a shame Judith hadn’t come out for photos, as she looked particularly lovely all in pink.

The weather chose to turn extremely noisy as Judith started talking about her childhood in Berlin, so an angel on the staff knelt by her side for an hour holding a handheld microphone. Judith read from When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, and I gather she has been given a number of pink rabbits over the years.

Lots of good questions from the audience for the second half. Her first cat was called Mog, and her ninth and last cat Katinka. Judith stopped writing about Mog, because she tired of doing all those stripes. She likes having cats in her books, however, as they do much sillier things than you could ever make up.

It seems that when Judith writes her books she wishes she was drawing, and vice versa. But she does see herself as someone who draws, and only says about being an author ’so I write a bit’. If she wasn’t an author, she’d be a painter. And she claims to read Harry Potter. Judith feels that one important thing she has learnt is knowing what it’s like to be a refugee. She says about her adopted home that ‘this is a good country’.

The signing afterwards was popular, and I noticed Julia Donaldson hovering among the many children and mothers.

With my Mog and my Pink Rabbit safely signed, I withdrew to the yurt for a sandwich while waiting for my last event for the day, with Ian Rankin and Neil Gaiman. I try not to stare too much at people, so I was digging my hands deep into the almost empty bag of ‘cool tortilla chips’ when someone came in and started reading the newspapers on the table. When I looked up I discovered it was Ian Rankin. I couldn’t think of anything interesting to say, so had some more tortilla chips instead.

I’m also too cool (= too lazy) to queue a lot, so didn’t join the queue that stretched round the whole of the square and more. There are sold out events, and then there are sold out events. This was one of the latter. I overheard one fan saying she wasn’t staying for the signing, because she had had Neil sign all her books last year. No wonder Ian had to wait so long for dinner.

My ticket came courtesy of a fervent Gaiman fan who couldn’t make it, so I’m really grateful. Denise Mina chaired the event as though she hadn’t already done an interview on the subject of graphic novels for The Culture Show. Neither Ian nor Neil managed to stay serious for long, and we quickly had a discussion about ‘magic hostess trolleys’, which is a subject that apparently works well in comics.

Boys will be boys, so Ian just had to mention the word balls (yes, that kind of balls) to see the sign language interpreter do the sign for balls. Very funny. And I don’t think we should take them too seriously on the rumours of writing for Doctor Who. JKR instead of RTD?

Under rated books, being a cult writer, reading Gilgamesh as a comic, and being reviewed in the New York Times, all came up. Neil, who incidentally talks much more than Ian, would prefer to skulk at the back of the bookshop, and doesn’t like this change where his books aren’t hidden and read by the very few.

Neil feels he needs to be original and come up with new things all the time, whereas Ian has pressure from the publisher not to change too much. It’s not easy being a best-selling author, is it?

The Undrowned Child

Anchovies are caring and useful creatures. Well fish, really. And I often feel I could murder a piri-piri pea pie, so, yes please.

I’ve just read Michelle Lovric’s The Undrowned Child, and for anyone who might feel the need for something Harry Potterish after HP himself; look no further. And if you’re not, I still recommend reading this mermaid war drama set in Venice.

I don’t know Venice, personally, so don’t know if it’s really like this. Or was, as the story is set in 1899. 11-year-old Teodora visits Venice, and soon finds herself at the centre of a complicated revolution of sorts. She has various unusual, but useful, skills, such as reading upside down and seeing people’s speech in writing in the air. Teo meets a charming young Venetian gentleman, about her own age, called Renzo.

Soon all hell breaks lose in Venice, as an old traitor tries to return six hundred years after he died. Both sides in this war have the services of some unusual creatures, and the anchovies play a small part. And I’ll never be able to look at stone lions in the same light after this. Lots of dead ghosts (I suppose ghosts are usually dead-ish?) and gondolier children and mermaids. The mermaids run the show, and they talk much like I imagine fishwives to talk. But boy can they cook!

Great adventure story! And don’t be put off by the mermaids. Anything less mermaidish I’ve not come across. It’s not cute; it’s exciting and different.