Bookwitch bites #106

It is – dare I say it? – getting warmer. Let’s throw the covers off. (For me personally that means one layer less. Maybe.)

Neil Gaiman has unveiled his cover for later this year. Fortunately the Milk will look like this:

Chris Riddell made that cover. He also did these illustrations – and presumably many more – for the book.

I was going to say I can’t wait. But I will have to. Fortunately the Milk will appear roundabout the time when I put another layer back on again.

And you know those other kinds of covers? The ones of girls, that scare me a little. Teri Terry’s Slated and Fractured both feature a girl on the cover, and oddly enough earlier this week I had wondered if they were the same girl. They look the same. And they don’t. A couple of days later Teri  blogged about her covers and the model (who is only the one girl). Now that I’ve seen what ‘Kyla’ looks like privately I am less scared. There is something about ‘the cover look,’ though.

I think – because I am quite forgetful – that this last cover comes from my ‘facebook friend’ Arga Bibliotekstanten. That’s Angry Library Lady to you. She used to blog, but got fed up, and now has a large following on fb. Hardly surprising, as she’s forever giving us pictures of handsome men (posing with a book, naturally) to drool over or amusing ones to laugh at, and her acerbic comments about the users of her Swedish library are quite something. I hope I am never one of her customers!

Bookwitch bites #101

Who wants books when they can have videos? You do?

OK, I will let you have book related video clips, then. With real live authors. Who to start with? I know it’s usually ladies first, but let’s get the boys out of the way. Just to get them out of the way.

That Lemony Snicket chap hasn’t given up yet. He has more weird books coming our way, and someone is about to tell you as little as possible about the next one. It’s what’s known as a leak. (No, not that kind of leak!)

http://www.egmont.co.uk/lemonysnicketleak/

Our second boy is less secretive. We can actually see what Neil Gaiman looks like as he talks about his new book (October in this case) Fortunately, The Milk… which is a book about milk, as well as many other silly things. Third boy, Chris Riddell, is doing wonderful illustrations of interstellar dinosaurs to go with the milk.

Moving on to the girls, we have Julia Skott, who will have her first book published later this year (and it has just struck me I don’t know in what language…). It’s non-fiction and it’s about bodies and health. Julia is the daughter of a Swedish journalist and a Russian academic, which is why she sounds like this when she speaks:

http://juliaskott.wordpress.com/2013/03/01/video-bokangest/

Someone who sounds pretty English and also pretty involved with saving libraries, is Fiona Dunbar, being grilled by someone on Sky News (who seems a little anti-library). Very brave of Fiona to venture into a television studio like this. Some of us would have seized up completely…

Finally to our last girls, who are not on video. There is a brand new blog featuring the life and works of Joan Aiken, run by her daughter Lizza. I wasn’t surprised to find a very early story by Joan on there, in facsimile. She clearly had the story-telling gene working right from the start. It’s about a teapot, and Satan. Obvious choice, really.

Joan also has a facebook page now. Please like!

Dogs

Neil Gaiman’s dog has died. I would have treated this as private, had he not blogged about it so beautifully, thereby making it public. But it makes sense. If you talk about your beloved dog when it’s fine, you need to warn us when things are no longer so fine, or we will put our foot in it.

One thing I often use to illustrate the beauty of blogging, is getting to know the dogs of so many authors. Not necessarily in person, although that has happened a lot more than I had bargained for when I set out six years ago.

But even the dogs I’ve never met, I somehow feel I know well. I’m not an animal person, but if I were I’d be a dog person. I suppose it goes with being a writer, that you can express things well, and that goes for making your dog come alive in other people’s minds.

Except, there comes the day when the dog isn’t there anymore. I have made more than one author cry when asking about their dead dog, and I never meant to! Neil Gaiman won’t be avoiding all such questions, but he will miss many of them now. Even I, who is not a regular reader of his journal, feel I’ve heard a lot about his ‘white wolf.’

Some put their dogs in their books, like Poppy the pirate dog, who Liz Kessler belongs to.

How can we not love them?

The Gaiman effect

WordPress sent me their cheery stats for 2012. There really does not seem to be much one can do about Neil Gaiman. His fans create havoc when they land here, and very welcome havoc it is too.

At least the post about Neil – and Chris Riddell, actually – was written during 2012. As WordPress pointed out, some of my most popular ones are oldies, which means my writing has staying power. Apparently. They suggest I should write more about these topics. Which, apart from Mr Gaiman, seem to have been me (cough), Terry Pratchett, the Barrowmans and Cats with Asperger Syndrome.

Sort of a varied selection, then?

You came here from 162 countries, and Twitter sent you. Or Eoin Colfer, or John Barrowman. But funnily enough you were mostly interested in me (again), Oliver Jeffers, Liz Kessler, Jacqueline Wilson and Michael Faraday.

Stats are weird, but then, so am I.

Here’s to 2013 when I will not be taking things quite as easy as I ought to. You can see how the W – for witch – wobbles above the fireworks. Tired already.

Oh Christmas tree

Here we go again. The Bookwitch Christmas tree is up, but not dressed. Has probably not even had breakfast yet. We’ll throw some lights on it, maybe tomorrow, and then goodness knows when there will be time to add baubles and stuff. 2012 is a blue year. That means we leave the red baubles in the box and put the blue ones on the tree. One year I found we had too many decorations, so split them up according to colour.

Less is more.

I have blogged about similar topics on here before. But I must state that I do not have a religious tree. It has the word Christmas in it because that’s what this time of December is called. ‘Back home’ I would have a julgran, and according to Wikipedia Yule tree is half acceptable here. Many languages have secular words for their trees. Tannenbaum only means tree with needles, I think. The Danes and the Norwegians have their version of Yule and so do the Finns. Not sure who Noel is, but the Spanish speak of birth. Esperanto seems to have a Christ related tree-word, however.

But that’s beside the point. I feel anyone can have a tree if they want to, no matter what their religion, or lack of. And Christians don’t have to have one. It’s a seasonal decoration. (Mine consists of 56 branches and one top, all attached to a ‘trunk’ which divides in two. I know, because I was sad enough to count this time.)

Anyway, what got me started was this piece by Neil Gaiman from a few years ago. It was the first time I’d considered that non-Christians might have to go without trees. That they might even choose to. And that children will nearly always want what their friends have. Neil’s parents sound all right.

Mother-of-witch was a busy woman. She must have decided early on what she could cope with to make life Christmassy (juligt), and what we might as well be without. She chose tree and ginger biscuits.

That’s why I can do without most things, but not the tree and not the biscuits. And contrary to my gluttonous remark yesterday, if one thing has to go, it would be the biscuits.

Bookwitch bites #89

Anyone wants to hire an author? There is a new company called Authors Aloud UK who can put you in touch with one. I suspect they will only do author type stuff, no singing or washing up. It makes sense to have lots of authors under one organisational roof, and it will hopefully prove useful for schools, etc, as well as for authors who don’t mind getting out there.

The capable hands behind this venture are those of Jacqueline Wilson’s lovely publicist Naomi Cooper, along with super librarians Anne Marley and Annie Everall.

2013 will be a Neil Gaiman-y sort of year by the sound of it. He has an adult novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, coming our way, and quoting from Headline’s press release: ‘a new picture book Chu’s Day will be published by Bloomsbury Children’s Publishing at the start of 2013, followed by a children’s book for older readers later in the year. There is the eagerly anticipated prequel mini-series to his seminal comic book series The Sandman.  Neil is also scripting a new episode of Doctor Who to be screened in 2013, having written the multi-award winning 2011 episode ‘The Doctor’s Wife’.  Neverwhere is to be dramatised across two platforms on BBC Radio Four and BBC Radio Four Extra in the spring. HBO is developing six seasons of a television version of Neil Gaiman’s 2001 novel American Gods.’

Phew. I wonder if some of these are things Neil ‘wrote earlier?’ Even he must sleep occasionally.

You might have noticed that J K Rowling has been in the news recently. What you might not have come across is a webcast about Potter-y stuff. It’s rather American, but never mind. They like their romantic Scotland.

One way of – almost – ending up with as lovely a bank balance as Neil’s or J K’s would be to win the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award. The longlist (which as far as I know never turns into an official shortlist) was published this week. It’s longer than ever.

Meg Rosoff is on it, and so are 206 others. Many are ‘always’ on the list, and most would be very worthy winners. What I find odd is that along with the well known British names, there are people I’ve never heard of. British ones, I mean. I suppose it’s the judges’ way of doing a mini-Nobel, picking obscure writers.

And if you fancy a more normal competition, there is one on Sara Paretsky’s blog; Where in Chicago Is V I Warshawski? ’Every Tuesday for the next seven weeks we’ll post a picture on my blog of V I in a different part of Chicago. Guess the right location, and you’ll be entered into a drawing. The winner will get an early copy of the paperback edition of Breakdown, in bookstores on December 4th. The final week, November 20th, will have a grand prize drawing from all of the entries to the quiz (note: there will be no quiz on November 6th, election day. V I expects all Americans to be going to the polls).’

Get guessing, and don’t forget to vote.

The Book Job

Not being a regular Simpsons fan, I needed nudging to watch The Book Job. It was Son – via Dodo – who suggested it, and since he did so in the midst of a week when he had his own masterpiece (I’m so witty) to write, I took that as a sign that it really was a worthwhile episode, even for me.

It was. It didn’t take us long to work out why it was deemed suitable for a Bookwitch. I can’t sit here and quote the whole twenty minutes at you, but it really is full of the most quotable material. The bestseller that is full of ‘chapters.’ Aren’t they all?

And Lisa who was just going to ‘bang out 2000 words.’ It’s so easily done. Sitting ‘in a coffeeshop’ she ‘couldn’t feel more like a real writer.’ We know. It’s what authors do.

Except for the ones who are asked to be on the Simpsons. The poor Resident IT Consultant didn’t understand why Daughter and I burst out laughing, because he doesn’t recognise Neil Gaiman in cartoon form. Possibly not even in real life.

Bart and his crew decide to make big money by writing a bestseller. It’s a well known fact that books are written in book factories, where workers write until they drop. With the ‘vampire genre sucked out,’ they go for trolls. Wise move. (Even I haven’t read all that many troll books yet.)

While Lisa procrastinates over her music and her drink, the others write their book. But they need a ‘fake author’ so Lisa comes in handy after all. She also saves the bacon, with an ‘idea from every movie ever made.’ Good girl.

However, that Gaiman character is a tricky one. He heists his ‘way to the bestseller list once again.’ But at least Bart’s crew have realised they actually care more about what they created, than the money.

We needed a laugh. Thank you, Bart.

(Pictures ©  Matt Groening, Gracie Films and 20th Century Fox)

The other mother strikes back

What I like about Neil Gaiman is his calm. Especially on a night like Monday, when it was touch and go whether we would have an event with him at all. A family emergency meant he had to return home immediately after his talk with Chris Riddell, leaving the latter to do the book signing on his own.

I obviously like a few more things about this unflappable man, and his event with Chris was just what fans want. Both are born entertainers, and worked perfectly together, including their impromptu reading of a chapter in Coraline, accompanied by simultaneous illustrating.

Because that’s what they were talking about; the tenth birthday edition of Coraline with button eye illustrations by Chris. Button eyes were what we got to see as Chris drew for us on the whatchamacallit on stage. I’m sure I wasn’t alone in wondering how he does it, and how he makes it look so easy. I mean, if he made it look hard, we’d all admire him more, wouldn’t we? And the publishers could pay him more.

Coraline is anything but ‘the new Harry Potter,’ which is why Bloomsbury got to publish it. They were the ones who had the old Potter, and could allow Coraline to be Coraline.

The big tent was packed to the rafters, but I was alone. My companion has a problem with the buttons. At first I thought she was missing out on a great night for no reason, but that was until the eyes joined the discussion. Narrow escape.

As Neil said of himself, he is the kind of man who will lead you into the woods, and then let go of your hand and run away and leave you. He is also the kind of man who can go into a bookshop and ask what really weird horror books for four-year-olds they stock. It appears they had none.

Coraline was his answer to the lack of such books, but he was so busy he had to write it in bed, 50 words every night, in place of his bedtime read. And once it was due to be published, Bloomsbury – who had not heard of this Neil Gaiman before – decided on a paperback. Booksellers – who had – demanded a hardback, because they knew they could sell a more expensive book. They could and they did, but the UK edition had no pictures, on the grounds that Dave McKean’s illustrations were too weird. Not so weird that they didn’t make it into the subsequent paperback, however. And now it’s Chris Riddell’s turn to draw those eyes.

Chris had already done the children’s version of The Graveyard Book, so he and Neil knew where they were. He’s almost as weird, actually. He marinates his stories in the 18th drawer, getting them out to look at, before putting them back again. He likes standalone books, as part of trilogies. Well, who doesn’t?

Coraline is a popular book in libraries. It is often stolen.

In a funny way the two men were so alike, I can no longer remember which of them had bought crates of wine called Writer’s Block. But as Neil said, if you have it, you deal with it by drinking your Writer’s Block.

After an hour of crazy talk, we had to get up and leave. There was the time’s up warning in the shape of a low flying plane. Very noisy. As someone said, if that was Neil’s plane, he might as well stay.

He didn’t. He told the story of when his daughter asked him why he signs his books Nell Gurgle, and could she do it too? No she couldn’t, but he left saying Chris was allowed to.

So Chris Nell Gurgled for both of them.

Close encounters of several kinds

Her condition for crawling out of bed early on Monday morning, was that Barry Hutchison should buy Daughter a Coke. Just to keep going. As it happened, Barry needed to keep going as well, so that was two Cokes plus a water for the witch, for our interview at the hotel across the road, first thing. Barry and I have been trying to synchronise our diaries for months, and success finally arrived in the shape of the book festival.

We interviewed and laughed and had fun, even on fairly little sleep. I’m so excited I will have to go and read some of Barry’s Fiendish books now.

With another eleven hours of our festival day to go, we ventured over to Charlotte Square for the morning’s event with Sally Gardner and Celia Rees, chaired by Nicola Morgan.

Towards the end of their fascinating talk, Daughter crept out for one of her most important photocalls. The one with Frank Close, who had been joined by none other than Peter Higgs of Boson fame. The two physicists cavorted and posed as though they were really actors. Well done!

Meanwhile your witch was on camera duty in the bookshop, doing her utmost best to do justice to Sally and Celia. Luckily the real photographer popped up to repair most of my mistakes. The ladies had so many fans queueing that I didn’t even get the chance to chat. I left an incoherent message with Nicola and ran for the sold out talk on Particle Physics (which in turn meant I had to leave Barry Hutchison and his 13 horsemen to their fate…)

It was great. And in case you feel that isn’t enough information about this year’s big happening, rest assured I will follow up with detailed events reports.

We did double camera duty for the queue at the signing afterwards. The queue was as busy as you’d expect for Particle Physics signings. Daughter put her fan hat on and got close to Peter Higgs, who kindly signed his colleague’s book.

Meanwhile I turned 180 degrees and caught Andy Stanton who was signing on the opposite side. Still. He had been there two hours earlier, signing, with enormous queue across the square. Andy was singing and joking and chatting as though he wasn’t even tired. (And the ladies in the Ladies were gushing about how wonderful he had been… Just so you know.)

Not being able to catch Celia still, we departed for lunch. She phoned while we were reviving ourselves, and we agreed that her Edinburgh visit was just too short for that elusive interview. We will manage it one day. Third time lucky, perhaps.

Back to Charlotte Square to catch Sally before her event with Barry (which I also had to miss), to take some much needed proper photos. Her outfit for the day, of which you can’t see much here, unfortunately, was as great as ever.

Daughter wandered off and encountered Chris Riddell drawing in the middle of the square, having drawn a large circle of people around him. And then we went to join the unusually large crowd of photographers in ‘the studio,’ where we stood around for a long while, waiting, and me staring at the FBI type by the gate. But eventually the festival’s director popped along to greet Gordon Brown as he was ushered in. He disappeared after stopping for a split second for photos, after which we hung around for another half hour until the former PM returned and gave us a couple of minutes for proper photos. He was there to give the NLS Donald Dewar Lecture, and his queue was a long one.

Trying to grab some internet, we headed back to the hotel, which we left rather quickly when the fire alarm went. So that was more or less goodbye to the internet again. Michael Palin cavorted outside the yurt, and then for the paparazzi. Daughter went to hear Michael talk, along with a few hundred others. Apparently he was GOOD!

In amongst eating more cold pizza (yes, we do have a large supply of this ancient cheese topped bread) I managed to take some photos of Sjón and Jess Richards. Everybody is talking about this Icelandic author, but I know almost nothing about Sjón.

I was afraid I’d have to do the honours (photographic variety) for Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell, but was saved by prompt arrival of the real photographer. Neil had previously been posing for Chris Close. Lying down. That won’t have done much – good – to his clothes. Black as usual. Black with grime afterwards, I imagine. Edinburgh started Monday with rain, leaving the ground in a eugh state.

I popped along to Neil’s and Chris’s event, which was even better than you’d expect from such a pairing. We were lucky to have Neil at all, since he had to depart for home straight afterwards, due to a family crisis. Chris signed for the two of them. Sort of.

If I paid myself overtime I’d have been rich after a Monday like this Monday. But I don’t, so I’m not. But it was good. Apart from the internet.

A Little, Aloud

This is one anthology that I won’t be able to carry around with me in order to catch all its participating authors for autographs. Many are dead, and anyway, there are so many of them. Many means good, because there is a tremendous variety and choice, and once you’ve read what you fancy, you might pick something you don’t. That way you discover that is actually also perfectly fine.

You don’t always get anthologies intended to be read aloud, which of course doesn’t stop you from doing so. Short stories and excerpts and poems are just right for that bedtime read, when you are praying you won’t be sitting on the edge of the bed half the night. This book obligingly tells you how long you can expect to spend reading each contribution, so no nasty surprises.

The royalties for this collection of good reads go to The Reader Organisation, which has as its aim ‘reading and health.’ Very nice to see those two words used together. I frequently sit down with a book even when far too many little jobs and crises scream at me that my attention is of the utmost importance. I know that I will feel so much better after a read.

Foreworded by Michael Morpurgo (naturally) and with blurbs by Philip Pullman and Stephen Fry (two men whose voices I just love listening to), the book begins with Instructions by Neil Gaiman. I mistakenly thought he was needed to tell us what to do, but it was actually a proper poem.

Many of the stories in here are ones I have already read, as part of the novel they hail from or as works in their own right. They have, for instance, had the good taste to pick my favourite Shaun Tan story, Broken Toys. There are excerpts from Siobhan Dowd’s The London Eye Mystery, Joan Aiken’s The Wolves of Willoughby Chase as well as Cosmic by Frank Cottrell Boyce.

You have Shakespeare and Kipling, Stevenson and Larkin, and even good old Anon. I haven’t read them all. Yet. This is another of those volumes I want to keep somewhere near, just to dip into. The pile for dipping is getting taller, but that just can’t be helped.

I will want to dip.

(Apologies to all those, dead or alive, whose names I haven’t listed. They are many. And how marvellous to be able to share classic writers in an easy bite size form with a child.)