Twelfth Night miscellany

Gargle.

One has been awarded the Gargie Award. It’s rather ugly, but one takes what one can get. It’s for outstanding services in one’s field, or some such thing. (One doesn’t actually know what a field is.) Thank you, dearest Gargoyle.

I really wouldn’t have minded getting a new dress for the occasion, however.

Bet Sally Gardner had a new outfit for the Costa award do. Bet she looked great. I would also like to bet that Sally will win the whole Costa, but I don’t know how to. Bet the Resident IT Consultant doesn’t want me to find out how to bet.

No betting needed as regards Mrs Pendolino, who achieved grandma status on New Year’s Eve. She feels very awarded, and I would too if I could cuddle a red and wrinkly baby like the one she held in her arms. Congratulations to Miss Pendolino, who did the hard work. (Note to Offspring: No need to copy Miss P just yet. One red, wrinkly, adorable baby is quite enough.)

It’s Twelfth Night. (I know you know that.) If it wasn’t also Borgen night, I’d be tempted to watch Twelfth Night, just to feel all cultured and proper. As it is we will go Danish. I have spent just under a week assisting Daughter in her catching up on season one of Borgen, just so she can watch it with us. You need some Danish in your life.

Maggot wins

Yippee! Sally Gardner has won the children’s Costa award for Maggot Moon. I had a look at the shortlist last night, just to remind myself of what might happen. And I have to admit I felt this was the only sensible outcome (no disrespect to the other books or their authors intended).

Maggot Moon isn’t only on my 2012 list of top books, but is just wonderful. It just is.

And if by some inexplicable fluke you haven’t already read Sally’s book, what a treat you have in store!

2012′s best twelve

For the 12th day of the 12th month of 2012 (I love this kind of thing!) I give you my list of the very best books. All twelve of them. (I know, there are really 13, but two for the price of one, sort of thing. Yes?)

All the books I have reviewed have been good, and it’s hard to pick the best. Except for the bestest of the best, because that one stood out by several miles, even back in January. And once we’ve got the twelves out of our system, next year I will have to go for a more restrained list. Always assuming people continue writing great books. Please do.

As always, I only include books published during the year. And here, the VERY BEST is:

Elizabeth Wein, Code Name Verity

Swiftly followed by some alphabetically listed and very marvellous runners-up:

Philip Caveney, Spy Another Day

Joshua Doder, Grk and the Phoney Macaroni

Daniel Finn, Call Down Thunder

Sally Gardner, Maggot Moon

Nick Green, Cat’s Cradle

Barry Hutchison, The Thirteenth Horseman

Wendy Meddour, A Hen in the Wardrobe, and The Black Cat Detectives

Gillian Philip, Wolfsbane

Terry Pratchett, Dodger

Celia Rees, This Is Not Forgiveness

Teri Terry, Slated

That’s it, dear readers. It was a good year, both generally, but also specifically for producing Code Name Verity, one of the best ever.

Bookwitch bites #93

Luckily I didn’t run into either of these two chaps as I haunted Edinburgh this week. Twice. That’s twice I didn’t see them. In fact, I forgot to even think about Philip Caveney and whoever that is behind him. ‘He’s behind you!’ Lucky, seeing as I was running around all alone in the dark.

Lucky too, that I had not yet come across Chris Priestley’s A Creepy Christmas, the story he has written for 247 tales. That is another thing you don’t want to have on your mind as you’re out alone, in the dark or otherwise. Good to see that the 247 tales are still going strong.

Pleased to hear that Bali Rai won one of the categories at the Sheffield Book Awards this week; his quick read The Gun. Obviously, other books won too, and even more were commended. Read all about it here.

Have been alerted that Sophie Hannah – who seems to be successful at just about everything these days – has been shortlisted for the Nibbies. The event is on Tuesday next week. Lots of other authors are also on the various shortlists, and pirates would appear to be in as far as children’s book titles are concerned. (It was hard to find the lists, however. Something wrong with google? Can’t be me, can it?)

But I did find it a little tricky to discover the Costa shortlist, as well. (So definitely not me, then.) Sally Gardner, Diana Hendry, Hayley Long and Dave Shelton are this year’s hopefuls. I’ve read two.

And speaking of awards, I was very happy to hear that Barry Hutchison got married last week. He had proposed in a fairly public sort of way, by putting it in one of his books. Glad it paid off, and that he has now been made an honest man of. More good Hutchison news is the arrival of the cover for The Book of Doom. Would quite like for the rest of the book to get here, too. Fast.

Fast is what another book would have managed, had I not been so busy running around a darkened Edinburgh. (See top.) A very early incarnation of The Bone Trail, the last in the Wyrmeweald trilogy by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell has been made available to me. I happened to mention I wasn’t feeling especially patient.

Arrived home to find DHL had missed me. (Miss you too.) I arranged for redelivery on Monday. Except they turned up yesterday. As I squeezed the package (to find out what it might be, the way you do) it felt like a rucksack. Couldn’t see why Random House would send me one of those.

I will now stick a plain sheet of A4 to the back of The Bone Trail to prevent me accidentally looking at what seems to be the last page of the book. A witch likes some element of surprise.

Maggot Moon

As a story-teller Sally Gardner is unsurpassed. Her new novel Maggot Moon is as they say ‘something else.’ I like books that look extremely promising for the first few pages, only to notch up the level of promise higher still as you read.

Set in 1956 Maggot Moon feels as if it could have been written then as well. It fits right in with the classic books we used to read a few decades ago, except we thought they were all depicting a rather terrible future. In Maggot Moon we look back to what was, and it’s real.

Standish Treadwell ‘can’t read, can’t write and isn’t very bright.’ And still Standish is one of the most fantastic heroes I have ever come across. He is no fool, and once he’s found a friend in Hector he is completely fine. Except Hector disappears. The Motherland keeps tabs on what everyone does, and Hector saw something he shouldn’t have.

The Motherland is sending men to the moon, and somehow this seems so wrong that Standish knows he has to do something to stop them. And you don’t need to be able to read and write to do that. Standish has his grandfather and together they are strong and brave.

Maggot Moon is a relatively short book, consisting of many short and easy to read chapters. I am assuming it is meant to be dyslexia friendly, both in the way it is presented, and the way Standish is the perfect dyslexic hero. (The Motherland doesn’t tolerate those who are different.)

It is not in the slightest way childish or simple. Life in the Motherland is cruel and hard, and few people in opposition remain alive and well for any length of time. Standish understands the dangers, and he acts nobly and with tremendous courage.

There is so much love and friendship in this story, making you feel good despite the bleak outlook. Not for the fainthearted, but it’s also a book not to be missed.

I was both sad and furious when it ended.

Reading for all

We have a new decorator at Bookwitch Towers.  As we began talking books, I discovered that he’s dyslexic. I was wanting to offload some of my surplus onto the Junior Decorators, as it were. So I added a few dyslexia friendly books to the pile, just in case.

After the weekend he returned (we have a lot of windows here) and mentioned he had read one of them, and that it was the first book he’d sat down and read right through. That made me very happy, and I began wondering what dyslexic adults read. (The realistic answer will be ‘nothing,’ but I’d prefer it not to be.)

A quick search took me back to Barrington Stoke, who – naturally – also do books for adults. They were equally touched, and sent me some grown-up books to sample.

We hear a lot about children and dyslexia, but I found I couldn’t name a single adult I knew who’s dyslexic, apart from Sally Gardner. And the King of Sweden. And now Mr Decorator. So, once you’re out of school you are ‘free’ to ignore books and reading, and that is a shame.

Because it is Dyslexia Awareness Week, I bring you some great books for adults who don’t normally read.

Ladies first, which takes me to Anne Perry and her short novel Heroes. Set in WWI in the trenches, it’s something as unusual as a whodunnit, with the army chaplain as the detective. Very touching and surprisingly exciting for such a short book. Totally grown up, and excellent in every way.

The second lady is Helen FitzGerald, and she’s still a bit scary, but not as much as she was a few weeks ago. Hot Flush tells the story of a middle aged woman with a dreadful husband, and a young Glasgow delinquent, with a fondness for stealing cars. It is both frustrating and fun, as the lives of these two converge in a most unexpected way.

So, two great, small novels that are fully adult. My fondness for short books means that I am a convert for my own sake, as well as on behalf of readers who need something this length to read at all.

Very serendipitous, this painting of windows. And right before Dyslexia Awareness Week, too.

Putting EIBF 2012 to bed

At least here. They have a few more days to go in Charlotte Square, but I shall bore you with some photos. Or infuriate you, because it will make your page too slow to load.

We aim to please.

This is what it should be all about. Reading. On the spot.

Jenny Colgan, who so very kindly helped out a Doctor Who fan in distress. Here is a link to what her event was like, courtesy of HG2G. (No, not the hitchhiker…)

Another thing the edbookfest is about. Books.

And the ‘interrogation gazebo’ where interviews can take place.

Stumbling across illustrators illustrating al fresco.

Or being told off for profile photos. Sorry…

The famous water in Charlotte Square, where it hides underneath the walkways and jumps up to get you.

Californian authors can’t be too careful, and might as well adopt the local custom of carrying a brolly.

The competition Hopes of a Nation in the bookshop.

I have absolutely no idea why this photo was taken.

Tree light.

Sitting down on the job.

And the MP for Kirkcaldy dropped in. We nearly dropped. But we are almost rested again, and as good as new.

(That was a lie, intended to make you feel better.)

When characters refuse to die

Chaired by the Crabbitest of them all, Edinburgh’s own Nicola Morgan, there was no way we were going to miss Sally Gardner and Celia Rees, who weren’t bad either.

Only joking. You don’t get much better than these two, who have long been on my top reading list. Both have written a number of historical novels over the last few years, only to go more modern with their latest books. Celia totally up-to-date with her soldier home from Afghanistan, and Sally visiting WWII.

I know this was Monday, but we have had a backlog at the temporary Bookwitch Towers offices. This is very much last, but not least. For a Monday morning, there were lots of people there. I like it when people come to book events all week long.

Nicola divided the event up into halves, with Sally – who claims not to be good at plotting – going first. She told us about people who refuse to die, and new people who turn up uninvited. She writes a chapter at a time, finishing one, before going on, joining them up like a necklace.

Sally’s first attempts at fiction featured ‘bunny rabbits doing amazing things’ a very long time ago. Working in the theatre helped her to see, and she now thinks it’s wonderful to actually be paid to make up stories.

She read one of my own personal favourite chapters in The Double Shadow, where Amaryllis gets dead drunk. Apologising to Celia for keeping her waiting, Sally added the first, very short, chapter from her new book, Maggot Moon, which will be out at the end of August. It really was short, too.

Chair Nicola remarked about Celia that they have a lot in common, but said they’d compare notes later, in private.

Celia said she used to write contemporary novels in the 1990s, when she had a teenage daughter at home to check facts with. She wrote This Is Not Forgiveness to see if she still could, despite her daughter’s ‘betrayal’ of growing up and moving away. (I’d say she still can.)

Unusually, Celia begins at the end. It’s also what she read to us, and despite knowing the book, it still sent shivers down my back. We need to realise we are living (tomorrow’s) history today. We don’t see it, but we are. Celia didn’t start last year’s riots, but writing while they took place, she needed to edit and change what went into her novel. It was great, and she enjoyed it.

The film Jules et Jim was the inspiration for the book, and Caro, the main female character decided herself what she was going to be like. Unconventional, interested in radical politics. It was impossible not to have each of the three main characters tell the story from their own point of view.

Celia doesn’t write every day. Sometimes she stops for a while, to think. And when stuck, she likes to go for walks, and she has memories from several books along her usual route; sort of a who did what where.

Sally takes her dog for walks in the churchyard. The dog is her excuse to stop every now and then to peer at gravestones for characters’ names, and to talk to herself. The phone can be a help, too. But if the dog’s not keen she takes a bath instead. Nicola says she irons, while Celia pointed out she does not iron.

Modern plots are easier, according to Celia. And Sally reckons she takes two years to do historical research for a book. So clearly, writing about now saves time. On the other hand, if you want dysfunctional, what can be better than the French Revolution?

And I am not leaving you with the story about Rupert Bear. (I think people got rather drunk…)

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.

Another festival programme

I just don’t know.

That’s whether to go at all, and if I do, for how long, and for what part of the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Was so sure last year I would take a break this year. But reading the programme is like shopping for cake, or cheese, when hungry. It looks good.

So far I have merely had the quickest of read-throughs and made a makeshift list of the most interesting events. Three colours of ink to differentiate between children’s, adult programme and schools. I know I am no school, but they do have some really good authors for the schools. (And sometimes I wonder why they only offer these great people to schools?)

I’ll have another read and cross-out and decide who I might see somewhere else, or who I have already seen a lot of, so could give up their spot for someone I don’t know so well.

I need to point out here, that with the odd exception, I would enjoy every single event. If they were offered on their own, and I was free and rested, and didn’t have to concern myself with clashes or if I can make the last train home afterwards or any other silly practical worries.

But if I have to pick ‘only some’ then children’s authors rate the highest, and the more unusual offerings or those travelling from far away will – probably – trump the common garden variety. Although at times dandelions are lovely, and orchids just too fancy.

I have not counted men versus women, but am confident the numbers are evenly matched. (Although, a rapid glance at my own little list does suggest a slight bias towards the men. Oh dear. I’ll obviously count really carefully and make sure I choose as many of them as I do the ladies. If I choose at all.)

Having said that, I must mention that Keren David is doing her first Edinburgh event, and Elizabeth Wein – who wrote that book I really, really liked – will also be debuting. Andy Mulligan is coming from the Philippines, and Elen Caldecott from somewhere a little closer. Brighton boy Chris Riddell will be painting and drawing for the duration, so he will be tired.

In my comment to Penny Dolan on yesterday’s festival interview, I hinted at something I might mention here. And it’s that while there are lots of good names, hopefully evenly distributed between the sexes, and there are both the very well known authors everyone has heard of, as well as the new ones with perhaps just one novel published, it will be the Jacqueline Wilsons and Michael Morpurgos of this world who are going to be mentioned (most) in the official festival publicity. It is from that category of authors that the photo shoots for the press will be chosen.

That’s what I am unhappy about. I do understand that newspapers won’t flock to purchase pictures of the least know authors. They will want Jacqueline again, or Patrick Ness (should he be offered a slot with the paparazzi this year) because he is hot news.

Last year we found a nice tree trunk to use as an alternate studio. That’s for when we couldn’t walk people to the willows. Trees are good. And I am determined that non-millionaires will also get their faces on here.