Pure Dead…

If I had had more time I would have read every single Pure Dead book by Debi Gliori. I have lost count of how many she has written, but think it’s about seven. (If I could only find a website, Debi, to check…) The Pure Dead something or other books are exactly the sort of thing I was going on about yesterday. Funny. 

What’s more, Debi has not killed off lots of parents to let the children gallivant through literature on their own. This is proof that you don’t have to have dead adults to make it a child friendly story. Child characters can go off and do stupid things with parents all over the place. It helps if they are as unconventional as the Strega-Borgias. A bit Addams family, but more Strega-Borgia. 

They live in Scotland, which is always nice. Scope for kilts, monsters in the water, chilly castles and things. Lovely nanny for the three little Strega-Borgias, and a charming butler for everyone. To have a cook called Marie Bain is funny, and suggests the books aren’t only aimed at young readers. There’s a cryogenically preserved great-lots-of-times granny. She wakes up from time to time.

I especially like their pet Ffup.

They also have pet rats and pet spiders, and the reader becomes quite fond of them all. And like anyone more conventionally normal they have problems with roofs and other house related issues. Even when the house is a castle. Perhaps particularly when the house is a castle.

Extended family is another safe problem area. Here they can be a bit Italian. The littlest Strega-Borgia is called Damp. Something to do with nappies. The mother is a witch, which I approve of wholeheartedly.

I should really have kept up with buying all the books, in hardback. The first one, which I do own, is purple velvet, and anything more perfect would be hard to find.

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Make me laugh

Searched the house for some humour this morning. As you can tell I’ve lost it, slightly. But why is it that books aren’t as funny as I think they used to be? Not every book I read has to be funny, but it’d be nice if more of them were. Some books these days are really very earnest. It’s important to be earnest, too, but, you know, I want to have fun. Sometimes I want to laugh out loud, but often it’d be enough to smile a little over an amusing plot or clever use of language.

People like to think JKR is boring, but that’s not the case. The bit where the Weasleys break through the Dursleys’ electric fire is very funny. The scene in the PM’s office is pretty good. And take Philip Pullman. He’s funny. When the silly old Scarecrow says he’s so stupid he will have to be an officer when he joins the army. That’s what I call humour.

And I can’t remember where and when I said this, but Michelle Magorian’s dance with the GIs in A Little Love Song, with oranges flying all over the place is hilarious. Better not return to the Vicar Of Nibbleswicke. Dahl wasn’t always as funny as people say, a lot of the time, but the toilet humour in Nibbleswicke is great fun.

So, am I childish in wanting more laughs, while still reading ‘good’ books? Am I wanting to laugh too frequently?