Deary me, how terryble

If you haven’t got money you won’t want to read books. In fact, you shouldn’t have the right to read them, because (other) taxpayers shouldn’t have to fund your free reading. Rather like education. Why should those with no children pay to put other people’s kids through school?

Those pesky children might of course turn out to be the surgeon who saves your life 25 years later, but never mind that. Let’s live for today.

The Resident IT Consultant felt I was being strangely insincere in wanting to hang on to libraries, seeing as I don’t – currently – use them. That’s mainly because I already have access to all I can read. I used libraries until I moved to Britain, even after I discovered I could afford to buy English paperbacks. I read more than I bought.

Then I must have fallen foul of the ‘I am new here and I don’t quite know what to do in someone else’s library’ law, so didn’t. When Offspring arrived they had the school library, and before that there were all the book parties. Usborne and Red House parties were de rigueur in my neighbourhood.

And after that the mobile library parked in our street and I went every time it came. I stopped because I helped in Offspring’s secondary school library and there were so many books there I was in heaven. Once I stopped at the school, the mobile library had gone to park elsewhere (was it my fault..?) and I spent a year or two buying books again, since we could afford to, until Bookwitch was born and soon after her, the TBR piles arrived on the scene.

So that’s me. I have very little against libraries. I think we should hang on to the ones we have. Occasionally people with no money want to read books. Quite often people with money read nothing at all. The reading/not reading is not connected to the wallet, unless it has to be.

The well-off middle class children Offspring used to play with in the mid 1990s were delighted to discover libraries when they came along one day. They were readers already, but knew nothing about libraries. I blame the parents.

For obvious reasons, the mobile library had limited shelf space. But I found good stuff there. It’s the place I was introduced to Malorie Blackman and Gillian Cross, and which allowed me to work my way through ‘all’ of theirs. I found Tim Bowler, too, and the lovely and murderous Kate Ellis. They all went on to become firm book friends of the whole family.

Would I have discovered them without the library? I might have been waylaid by something garish and pink in some shop. Who knows?

And as for what authors get from libraries. They acquire readers. As someone pointed out in the Guardian; you can get ideas in the library, and then you go out and buy books. Another thing I’ve noticed authors are ridiculously fond of is the PLR money. So many of them aren’t dreadfully wealthy, and they are happy when that PLR cheque arrives every year. I know, because facebook is awash with PLR happiness for a day or two.

Then there is the greater good. J K Rowling is always saying how grateful she was for benefits, back when she wasn’t rich. She doesn’t need PLR, but I doubt she begrudges others that money. J K wasn’t uneducated, just a bit short of funds. Perhaps she even went to libraries.

Sometimes intelligence and the wish to read doesn’t increase with the bank balance. Actually, it could even be the reverse.

If and when my supply of review copies dries up, I’ll be down at the library too. If it’s still there.

The next place

I really wonder what goes on in the head of Keith Gray! First he writes a book about boys travelling round with their friend’s ashes. And then he comes up with this short story about death (again) which is similarly unusual in looking at dead friends.

In Next, Keith has edited an anthology on death. He got together a fabulous group of YA authors and made them write about death, and this they have done in the most varied fashion. They are all good. I thought ‘this is the best one’ for each and every story.

Take purgatory. I never stopped to think about what it actually is. It was just purgatory. Now it is so much more.

Jonathan Stroud has got a downright weird tale and I’m not sure I want to be in his world. Philip Ardagh, on the other hand, offers up death with muppets and humour. Naturally. Julie Bertagna is romantic, killing abruptly, and trying to fool the reader into thinking… something else.

Gillian Philip covers the kind of sensational death to which people seem to be addicted (unless it’s their own, maybe). Malorie Blackman writes about evil twins as though she has personal experience. Death isn’t always the worst thing that can happen to you.

Religion is less obvious than you’d expect in a book about death, but Sally Nicholls knows a thing or two. I was about to say that Sally is no stranger to death, but that actually goes for all of these writers. Frank Cottrell Boyce, finally, kills on something like facebook, and whereas I first thought that would be rather boring, it turned out to be very chilling indeed.

It’s fascinating to consider how many different deaths these eight people could come up with. I wonder if any stories were too similar to any of the others and had to have their view of the next place changed?

The afterlife anyone?

You can read

Two things happened almost at once. I received a bundle of books from Barrington Stoke. And Nicola Morgan pointed out that she was going to have a bit of a dyslexia day today. It seemed as if it was meant.

These books are great! I can’t praise them highly enough! I just hope they will find their way to someone who needs them. That is always the problem, isn’t it? You might not know what your problem is, nor what can be done about it. And then there are people who know and can help. The two just need to meet.

Many parents have had a dyslexia moment. I know I have. You look at your child and think, ‘could he/she be dyslexic?’ And you’re not quite sure how to find out.

As Nicola tells us here, she has a long connection with dyslexia, and has done a lot of good and useful things to help dyslexic children and their parents. But she ran out of time, and had to give most of it up. She wouldn’t have returned to it either, had it not been for Jackie Stewart, whom she sat next to at a dinner recently. (I am very jealous.)

Today she has another blog post about dyslexia, and she will spend the day tweeting about it, and wants the rest of us to help by retweeting. Nicola will point people to an online assessment toolkit, developed by Dyslexia Scotland, but free for all to use. So tell a teacher about it, and hopefully they can help a child.

And then there are those books I mentioned. Barrington Stoke have reissued some older books in a new style, which is even more user friendly (can you say that about fiction?). There are useful, but almost invisible numbers on the back, telling adults what reading age and what interest age they are intended for. All very discreet. And the dyslexia sticker on the cover peels off, leaving no embarrassing clues.

A couple of the books I have here are for younger readers, which you might expect from Michael Morpurgo and Malorie Blackman. Easy to read younger books are less ‘unlikely’ though. What I’m really impressed with are the older books, where the plots are pretty advanced and not in the slightest childish. They are simply easy to read novels for almost anyone.

There are books by Kevin Brooks and Nigel Hinton, and they definitely look the business. They are books set on the rougher side of life, and apart from their length and layout, they look just like ‘normal’ books. Because they are. Another couple of books I already had are by Chris Wooding and Sam Enthoven, and I’m not sure that I’m not too scared for these kinds of topics.

I mean, how do you fancy a mobile phone that is evil and that you can’t escape from? It might almost make you wish you couldn’t read after all… No, I don’t believe it would. Readers will love these books!

Writing for children

I can’t believe it’s almost five years since my Arvon course. It was one of those things I very much wanted to do, but felt I couldn’t use up funds while there was no money coming in. But I felt it so very strongly that in the end I signed up anyway, when there was just the one place left at Lumb Bank.

Of course, I didn’t do writing for children. Mine was a sort of non-fiction, general course, which suited me just fine. I see that in this year’s programme they have something for people wanting to get started on blogs and other online writing.

In 2007 I think they offered one, possibly two, weeks for hopeful children’s writers. This year I was impressed to see they do four, and that’s before I discovered it’s actually six weeks. Three of writing for children, two for young adults and one for young people. That’s a lot. It must be due to popular demand, and why wouldn’t people want to come and spend a week in the company of real children’s authors tutoring a group of likeminded budding writers?

I heard about Arvon when Caroline Lawrence reported on having just taught at one of their centres. And I believe she had previously done one of their courses herself. That seems to be the way it is. Lots of current authors have been, and many are now taking up tutoring as the next step.

Just look at who you could rub shoulders with in a kitchen in some beautiful countryside setting; Julia Golding and Marcus Sedgwick, with Mary Hoffman as the midweek special. Or there’s Malachy Doyle and Polly Dunbar, with guest star Anthony Browne. It’s not everywhere you get to hobnob with Children’s Laureates, ex- or otherwise. The two MBs, Malorie Blackman and Melvin Burgess, with Aussie special Simmone Howell. Now that one would be really interesting!

You could have Joan Lennon and Paul Magrs, with yet another Laureate, Julia Donaldson. Martyn Bedford with Celia Rees, and Bali Rai doing the star turn. And finally Gillian Cross and Steve Voake, with guest dramatist Christopher William Hill.

If laureates are your thing, there is always the hope of a week with Carol Ann Duffy, but then you really have to be good. At poetry, I mean. That one is decided on the quality of your poems. Which is not going to be me.

Plus any other kind of writing. All with people who know their stuff. It isn’t cheap, but there are schemes for financial assistance. No internet, and you have to cook your own dinner in groups, so better hope for budding writers who can peel potatoes.

(We had our own laureate connection – on wall, above – during my week. That’s as well as the house having belonged to a former Poet Laureate.)

Christmas beans

The trainee witch once (almost twice) worked in a bookshop in the weeks leading up to Christmas. This was in the days of Christmas Eve getting the Saturday treatment, shop hour wise. So we closed at twelve, and I recall I had a Saturday bus to catch soon after, where I was the only passenger, on the last bus for a couple of days.

Where was I? Oh yes, in the bookshop, before the last bus. It was quite nice working on Christmas Eve (well, one had a Mother-of-witch doing the kitchen stuff at home…), and something I noticed was that the world is full of people who don’t shop until there are mere hours between the buying of and the opening of presents. It takes a cool and steady mind to be that late.

They come in and spend anything, just to get the deed done. And obviously they require wrapping and all that.

According to Son it seems the wellknown online bookshop can offer the same these days, as long as you live somewhere civilised. Order on Christmas Eve morning and have it delivered that afternoon. It will cost you, but as I said, the Christmas Eve shopper can afford it.

What I’m trying to say here, in a roundabout and waffley way is that you could still manage to buy Magic Beans. I’m truly sorry for being so late mentioning this perfect Christmas book, but I’ve been feeding the cake brandy. And various other minor things.

In Magic Beans you have absolutely the cream of children’s authors doing their thing with classic fairy tales. Adèle Geras retells the The Six Swan Brothers. It’s wonderful with such sibling love. But I wonder what happened to the old King and his witchy wife? It’s funny how Princes and Kings wander around finding themselves wives all over the place.

I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by Henrietta Branford before. Here she retells Hansel and Gretel, without too much gruesomeness. And why do witches and stepmothers get bad press all the time? Berlie Doherty’s The Snow Queen is icy and season appropriate. And below you can listen to Jacqueline Wilson talking about Rapunzel.

Other particpating authors are Anne Fine, Philip Pullman, Michael Morpurgo, Kit Wright, Alan Garner, Gillian Cross, Susan Gates, Malorie Blackman, Linda Newbery and Tony Mitton. And since it’s not only writers you get, every single fairy tale has been illustrated by some pretty creamy artists like Debi Gliori, Ian Beck, Lesley Harker, Nick Sharratt, Patrice Aggs, Peter Bailey, Nick Maland, James Mayhew, Siận Bailey, Ted Dewan, Michael Foreman, Sue Heap and Bee Willey.

By good fortune I have also just found out that some of these stories can be bought as ebooks, so if you’re really desperate…

Don’t say I haven’t provided a useful suggestion. And if you were to go for the old-fashioned dead tree version you get a nice, fat volume with pictures. I’ll even wrap it for you. If you come here, that is.

Lounges and yurts

Daughter laughed so much her cheeks hurt. (Weird. Is that even possible?) We had tea with Steve Cole at his hotel, in order to do an inexcusably late interview with someone we’ve known and laughed at for so long. Should I tell you about the time he took his trousers off in New York? In the street, I mean.

Better not. Sorry. Standards have been lowered, and all that.

We’d barely got going with the cheek-hurting when we were hailed by cheerful hellos on my right. It was Liz Kessler and friend who walked past, as seems to happen in the best lounges. Liz and Steve didn’t know each other before, but now they do.

Once Steve had gone off to do whatever he had to do after being a perfect gentleman all morning, Daughter informed me that Malorie Blackman had been hiding in a corner all that time.

Honestly. Author overload. Again.

A bit later in the day we ran into Debi Gliori with daughter KR after a reading, and were lured into the yurt for some brief socialising before they had to go home to be fed specially made gnocchi. I say brief, because Debi sauntered off for some water and ended up chatting to Ian Rankin. Can’t say I blame her.

But seeing as we had a ‘date’ with Neil Gaiman, I suppose we are quits.

Before anyone thinks this trip has been a bed of roses, let me tell you that the trains have been full to over-flowing, and that after Neil we didn’t even get on the one we’d gone to catch.

We have reluctantly decided to give Eoin Colfer a miss tomorrow and simply head home. Not that we believe the train home will be a picnic, either.

But I suppose that’s what M&S is for.

And I’ll see what I can do about bringing you up to speed on all those events we haven’t skipped.

Some Randomness and other news

Did I mention being tired? I’m so intolerant of this life in high lit society.

Anyway. We are sitting in a hotel lounge drinking caffeine. It almost helps. And then Jacqueline Wilson arrived. She came and sat in the lounge for a bit, and at that point Caroline Lawrence walked through the place, buckskin outfit and all. Caroline stopped to greet her and I couldn’t help hearing the word six-shooter mentioned.

Daughter had fit of giggles, but don’t let that turn you off.

We arrived bright and early this morning, called in for Theresa Breslin’s tickets and went and waited for Shaun Tan, who had a small free window for us to chat. We chatted, and that was just as nice as you’d think it would be. PR Jayne also turned out to be both nice and efficient.

While waiting we saw Orion’s Nina, who was in need of caffeine. So was Gillian Philip, who was up and out of bed far earlier than she should have been. Bloomsbury’s Emma and Ian were also early risers, but that’s nothing compared to the High School pupils from Oban who got up at the crack of dawn to come here to hear Theresa talk books. (In other words, a bit like me.) And aren’t Theresa’s boots absolutely divine?

More Random names with Malorie Blackman, who was signing after her early school event. She looked like she was in for a long stint judging by the length of her queue.

Time now to go hear Caroline explain away her six-shooter* comment.

(* There is inflation in shooters. It was a seven-shooter by the time we got there.)

Normal?

Now that I’m no longer normal (no need to laugh, you know), I don’t know what people know. There was a time when I felt I had some idea of what other people knew and thought about books and authors. That was from the outside, so to speak. I might have been more aware of trends in books for children than your average Joe Bloggs. But pro rata I knew about much the same books as anyone else.

OK, I seem to have been the one to tell everyone else around me to read Harry Potter, just before Potter-mania broke out in 1999. But I just picked up that knowledge from the papers and then went out and bought my copies. From shops that were really very unaware, I must say. They can’t have been reading the papers. I know, it’s the staff I mean. Can’t accuse shops of lack of awareness and not reading, even when they are bookshops.

I found Tim Bowler and Malorie Blackman and Gillian Cross in the mobile library. At the time I had no idea if they were big names or just incidental finds on the shelves. I bought Northern Lights to take on holiday, also in 1999, and also on the say-so of newspaper reviews.

Now though, I know so much from the inside that I haven’t the faintest idea what Joe Bloggs has heard of. Yes, the above authors are big. No question about that. But all the others, whether they have written ‘just’ one really excellent novel or they have had four or five wonderful books published. Are they known outside the children’s books world?

If I could ask them how well their books have sold, it’d be easier to gauge their possible success. But that’s almost as bad as wanting to know what someone earns.

There are authors I’m very surprised to find are really well known with young readers, when I’ve barely heard of them. But the reverse is commoner; I think someone is really well known and then find that people look totally blank when I mention their names.

So, being on the inside can be confusing, as well as enlightening. I find out a lot, but don’t know how relevant or true anything is.

One of the last books I found out about while I was still ‘normal’ was Divided City by Theresa Breslin, which I mentioned on Saturday. I got far enough to think that I must read that, when things escalated and I just never caught up with it. Some kind soul read my blog post last week and I now have a copy of Divided City lying in wait for me.

That’s what’s nice about being on the inside. I don’t know what I know, but I know something.

Bookwitch bites #32

The revamp of Nick Green’s website has vamped even further with this very fetching photo of the leather-clad author of the cat-power adventure books. Can you resist?

Mary Hoffman couldn’t resist Firebrand by Gillian Philip. Review hot off the presses here.

Random House have come up with an application for changing nappies and burping babies, based on Malorie Blackman’s Boys Don’t Cry. As I’m really quite ancient I’ve not totally got my head round this yet. But I think it’s a ‘game’ for iPods and things where you can learn to look after a baby.

It’s possible to learn almost anything. Michael Rosen reviewed School Blues by Daniel Pennac in the Guardian. It’s about French schools and how to educate ‘dunces’. You’re never hopeless. Anyone can become a someone, and good teachers are important.

Also in the (Education) Guardian, an article by Jonny Zucker about how worthwhile author visits to schools can be. For the children. I know we discussed the comfort of the visiting author a few weeks ago, but it’s always worth keeping in mind who schools are actually for. The teachers. No, that’s not right. The children. They matter.

In actual fact, Jonny lists things to do to make the author comfortable, but he does so with a view that the author will then be good for the children. And I love his idea that schools should splash out and book an author in for a full week. It’d be great. Probably very improbable for 99% of schools, but a wonderful idea nevertheless.

Boys Don’t Cry

This is an interesting concept, discovering you’re a teenage Dad when you’re planning your future at university, and finding your whole world has turned upside down. Malorie Blackman’s new novel Boys Don’t Cry had me racing through it to get to the end. And for those of you who know me, it will come as a surprise when I say I felt it could have been 100 pages longer. I somehow think there could have been more meat on some of those bones.

There are questions posed by Malorie at the back of the book, with a number of ‘what if’ type of scenarios, which is one way of making readers look at a problem from different angles, but I’d have liked more in the actual story. Thoughts I had at the beginning, which I felt certain would be addressed by the last page.

Malorie never says, but I take for granted that Dante is black, and the scene where he is accused by (I think) a white woman of being a benefits scrounger brings home the idea that it’s seen as worse or more typical for a young black male to have become a father, than it would a white teenager. At least I think that’s how it’s intended.

Having a hitherto unknown baby dumped on your doorstep would be disturbing to anyone, but for Dante who not only has plans for his life, but who knows nothing about babies, it’s catastrophic. His widowed father is furious and his gay younger brother is delighted.

I’m not convinced by baby Emma, who at times is made to look very tiny and at times is far too old for her age, but it’s hard to get what you want to happen without her. And the gay sub-plot is a little stereotypical, but Dante’s brother Adam is a lovely boy, if a little naïve.

The social worker made my blood freeze; much more so than the actual violence in other parts of the story. It says on the cover that the book isn’t suitable for younger readers. While people feel that way, this kind of early, accidental parenthood will keep happening. It’d be good if many more teenagers read Boys Don’t Cry. It’s what this country needs.