Double bluff?

I’m back! Did you miss me?

We went to Gottenburg, Daughter and I. Not really, as we went the other way once we’d landed at Gottenburg airport. But Gottenburg is what it said on our boarding passes.

Yes, really.

When I noticed, I wondered what had happened. Did someone working for the airline – you know, the 50p airline – just type what they think they hear when people say Gothenburg with a harder th than they should and nothing or no one checked or edited what they’d done?

Or was it a trick? Might we find we couldn’t travel on a boarding pass with the destination misspelled like that? Might we be accused of having written our own ticket, getting it wrong? Or they could have spelled it wrong to prove that it really was right (if you’re with me so far?). Perhaps some kind of double bluff? Why spell it correctly? Do you get the correct spelling only from more expensive airlines?

Though, I’ll have you know that due to personal riches (and also the need to take the luggage we needed to take) we bought the ‘best’ on board.

It worked. We got to Gottenburg and back again.

The airport. The rest of the time we spent east of, rather than west of, Landvetter.

It was nice. I revisited childhood streets. Drove – was driven – past my grandfather’s house. Waved to his gravestone across an expanse of clean snow. Ate more lent buns than I am willing to admit to. Saw what my two former schools look like now. (Different.) Visited the town’s second hand shops and allowed Daughter to buy 19 dinner knives. Or was it 18? Forced my hosts to buy pizza twice. With cola. Met a friend I’d not seen for over forty years. Went to a concert featuring one of Daughter’s favourites, encountering him in the supermarket that afternoon. Hung out with a total of three cats. Checked out the library. Looked at art, walking up all five floors of an old textile factory! My knees, my knees… Missed Prince Daniel ‘looking at fabrics.’

Left Gottenburg after a burger (two actually; one each) at Max. Where they have a striking wall of ‘books.’

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Until the End

You should probably pay attention to the title of Derek Landy’s latest, or even last, Skulduggery Pleasant offering. Although, I have reviewed the ‘last’ book more than once. Or so it feels. First it was nine. Then 12. This is the 15th. And of course it’s not the last! There is a prequel coming. Soon.

Things are dire, and Valkyrie Cain has sided with the bad guys. But then the good people do that, from time to time, and then they see sense again. Unless they die. Even when they die. And some people do die. What am I saying? Loads of people die.

I enjoyed this one even more than some in the past. I was clearly ready for some dismemberment of skeletons. And they are so polite! Must be an Irish thing.

Have mentioned this in the past, but I do like Omen Darkly. That boy really rises to the occasion and grows, in more ways than one.

Until the End is last year’s Skulduggery Pleasant. I had not been keeping up. But it seems this prequel that is coming – soon – needs you to have read all of the series. So that could keep you busy.

Spidey

It was World Book Day last week, wasn’t it?

Oh, well. At least the rest of the world still have their day to come.

I saw some mention of Spiderman and dressing up (so I had to Google it). I feel one can always dress up any way one wants to. But I thought I’d [re]offer you a Spiderman from the past. Like ten years ago. Doesn’t time fly?

This one is Steve Cole. Visiting the old Bookwitch Towers. Those were the days.

Some women

OK, I admit to having seen and promptly borrowed this idea from a woman author on Facebook. Or stolen. But thank you, anyway.

The idea is to show photos of women authors, because it’s International Women’s Day today. And there have been ‘a few’ over the years. This is in no way fair or representative, and I could have spent all day looking at photos and it still wouldn’t be.

First, my fairy blogmother, Meg Rosoff, without whom I wouldn’t be able to subject you to this Bookwitchery.

Second, my – in this case rather wet – main photographer. (It’s how they do it at university.)

‘My’ first author in real life, Adèle Geras and Theresa Breslin, who was so interested in meeting me. (I don’t know why.)

Eleanor Updale and Sally Gardner, caught in the Edinburgh greenery in our second year at Charlotte Square.

Sara Paretsky, who has put up with being followed round the country by me.

And Helen Grant who buys me tulips.

Thank you all. And your literary sisters everywhere. I love you.

Launching with song

Despite some minor technical issues over photographs, Candy Gourlay’s second launch of Wild Song, online with Nikki Gamble last night, was probably the best ‘zoomy’ event I’ve attended. So, well done! A good event for a good book.

And those photos. Well, they helped. I’m never a great fan of too many pictures like that, but these really opened my eyes to what went on around the last turn of the century, and how they inspired the birth of Wild Song. I’m glad they did. And it seems many of us in the audience were relieved that Candy’s relatively slow writing process – over 15 years – moved the book from being about the birth of hot dogs, to introducing us to an intelligent young Igorot heroine in the Philippines, and her subsequent trip to St Louis.

Sometimes you just want to take things more seriously.

I learned a lot about growing up in the Philippines, both at the time Luki did, and also how it was for Candy.

The fairly large audience chatted in the chat box, and enjoyed finding out more about this book, which I guess many had not had an opportunity to read yet, as it was only published on Thursday. But the thing is, after this chat Candy had with Nikki, everyone wanted to read it.

Having been somewhat sorry not to be able to go to the physical launch in London earlier in the week, it was good to see a short video from that event. It confirmed my long ago impression that Filipino people sing as much as us Swedes. As Candy said, considering what her book was about, it was only right to fill the London launch with local Igorot people, singing and dancing.

Wild Song

This long awaited sequel to Candy Gourlay’s Bone Talk, has her characters leave the Philippines and travel to the 1904 World’s Fair in St Louis. They are a few years older, but still the same young people they were. Luki is still as feisty and independent minded, and she certainly does not want to be married off, even to her best friend Samkad.

Now that the Americans have penetrated deeper into the Philippines, they come up with more ideas of what they might do to the natives, who have a perfectly good system of their own that they live by. But the thing here is that Truman Hunt, the US doctor, manages to persuade these young people to voluntarily leave their country and come with him to the Fair, where he intends to ‘exhibit’ these human beings, alongside people from other parts of the world. Whereas they believe they are going to meet the President, because he wants to see them, especially.

The cynical and knowing reader understands that all will not be well. What I liked was that Luki, despite being ‘innocent’, is also capable of working out that things are not what they were led to believe. She is strong, and she stands by what she believes in.

In a way you can’t blame the visitors to the Fair for their beliefs about these savages who eat dogs. They have been told lies, because why else would they come and gawk at other human beings like this? And there are always people hoping to take advantage of others. But there are also some very strong characters who stand up for what is right, for others who need their help.

This story feels particularly right today, when so many people think they are better than others, often because of their skin colour or their perceived lack of sophistication.

Wild Song shows there can still be hope. And in the midst of what is done to these Filipino visitors, I loved the humour of Luki’s reaction when she discovers Samkad boarding the ship in Manila. She’s no ordinary teenager.

Or maybe she is.

The Broken Afternoon

Being posh and having good manners is useful. So is being pushy and having few manners, in this second outing for Simon Mason’s two detectives, the two R Wilkinses. Ray has the manners and Ryan is, well, more down to earth. Both are lovely, in their own way. Both are also quite useless in other ways, which is why cooperation is good.

The Broken Afternoon is about that thing I believe I like the least in crime fiction; an abducted small child, possibly murdered. And it features not only the first missing child, but there are several more small children, making you fear the worst at all times. But Simon handles it well, clearly caring a bit about the readers’ peace of mind too.

If you read A Killing in November, the first 2x DI R Wilkins, you will know that it didn’t end so well for one of them. So alongside the fear of dead children you wonder whether the now former DI R Wilkins has a future with the police, or if it is down to the two Rs working less side by side this time. There are obviously advantages to not being so bound by the official rule book.

The boss is new, and not terribly friendly. Ray is stressed not only with work, but his wife is pregnant with twins. The other boss is not so nice, either, and Ryan struggles with the timing of his childcare. But still there is the need to find the bad guy, and we have plenty of suspects, each one as plausible as the next one.

I’m wanting book three now, but seeing as this one is just out, there might be a slight delay to services.

A new Kirk

There is a new J D Kirk coming your way. It’s about his 58th by my reckoning. (I obviously haven’t counted. It just feels like it.)

Publishes in May, so you have to exercise a little patience (but that’s all right because in the mean time there are all those other Kirk crime novels).

New detective, D I Heather Filson. I like women detectives. And she gets to be published as a conventional book, printed on actual paper. Thank you, Zertex. You’re a good publisher.

I haven’t read this one. But I’ll take a giant leap of faith and say I expect it to be great. And successful. After all, appearing on the cover of The Bookseller must bring it to the attention of quite a few booksellers.

Archipelago blues

‘I like his bookshelves’ said Daughter about Arne Dahl, as she saw him in his writing ‘cupboard’ online. ‘They are quite black’ she added. And I suppose that fits in with Nordic Noir. His books are better for being a bit black.

We watched Arne’s interview with Dr Noir, aka Jacky Collins, who fan-girled to a hitherto never seen extent. She almost bounced off the ceiling, were such a thing possible for someone seated on a chair in front of her computer. Never mind; I like an interviewer who really, really likes her ‘victim’.

So it was unfortunate that Barnet Libraries who hosted this Teams chat managed to silence Arne. Not forever, and not in that way, but we all agonised a bit while someone found his voice again.

It’s a rather Swedish voice. And he admitted to having had that typical Swedish childhood, with summers spent in the Stockholm archipelago, where I understand he’s not averse to killing people now. It is darker in winter.

We now also know where to hunt Arne down, as he was forced to tell us about his favourite café. It’s Vurma. Except, maybe he led us astray by making this up? There was also something important about Andalucía, but by that point I’d lost the plot.

Jacky very generously mentioned Arne’s [latest] translator, our in-house favourite, who was also listening in. Arne did a sort of ‘nice to see you, Ian’ wave. In as much as you can wave, or clap, on Teams.

There were questions from the worldwide audience, with a prize for the best one. They were all good. I was going to say except for the last one, because you can’t expect an author to know where one can find his books in the original, in another country. Arne assumed anywhere. Because you would, wouldn’t you? But thanks to Ian and Jacky it was made clear that due to Brexit you just can’t. And that is so wrong, and perhaps it was time to make that point publicly.

It was good to have ‘gone out’ for an evening, and I do like authorial cupboards.

And don’t you just love the ‘bullet’ holes in the wall?

Or the noir-ness of the competitor’s room?

(Both borrowed off Twitter.)

Sweet sixteen

A year ago Bookwitch ruminated on what sells and what she reads and why.

Today I’m – because we are the same, Bookwitch and I – thinking about the effect Bookwitching has had not just on me but on the young and innocent, like Daughter. We have both put sixteen behind us – but only just. Obviously. Today it’s Bookwitch’s turn to hum ‘She was only sixteen…’

As you may have gathered, Daughter has recently moved and has some vintage shelves to arrange with books. And, it seems, a polar bear. Also two bookmarks, one of which I was intrigued to find personally dedicated and signed by Michelle Magorian.

This is the effect I mean. Somehow a lot of young literature has happened to Offspring. The vintage shelves I mentioned seem to contain mostly books by people I ‘know’ and who Daughter has met through being dragged on bring-your-child-to-work days.

There are an inordinate number of Cathy Hopkins books, and that’s as it should be. Likewise Caroline Lawrence and Liz Kessler and Jacqueline Wilson. Although the latter has had to be pruned down to more manageable numbers of books.

I won’t list them all, but basically, the story of Bookwitch can be seen on these shelves. There won’t be so many new ones, as the e-reader has taken over. This is just as well, because however lovely the vintageness from the local auction-hunter, a flat has only so much space.

Apologies for the tile samples. There is a kitchen splashback to deal with. And I would like it to be known that that book by Vaseem Khan has been ‘borrowed’ from a kind parent.