Accessible fiction - plus
Publisher Barrington Stoke continues to do a brilliant job in producing high quality, accessible books to entice and support dyslexic and other less confident readers. Many of them provide enjoyable reads for a wider audience, too.
However, just a few of its authors demonstrate that even such concise novellas, with highly readable text, can be elevated to the level of significant works of literature. Anthony McGowan is certainly one such, as were two sadly missed masters of writing for young people, Mal Peet and Marcus Sedgwick. Now here are two more, Katya Balen and Hilary McKay.
Track record
In the last few years Katya Balen has proved herself one of the very finest of contemporary writers for children and has shot right up my list of all-time great authors for this (or any) readership*. I was honoured to have my review of her previous title, Birdsong quoted in the front of her latest Barrington Stoke book, Nightjar. And this new story is another gem, every bit as sparkling; a Chopin Nocturne of a book, short but gently poetic and replete with human truth.
Writing skill
Katya Balen bring a range of brilliantly honed skills to bear here. Not only does she succeed in keeping her language simple and accessible but she can craft it in a way that is flowing, lyrical and tellingly evocative. Through this she is able to convey both atmosphere and emotions with remarkable depth and deeply affecting humanity. Added to this she has a remarkable ability to capture quite complex aspects of character in richly telling detail: communicating so much through a particularly thought, action or response. She understands that, on this scale, she needs to keep narrative tight and limits her story to a few days only in the experience of protagonist, Noah. Her focus is the interplay between a difficult visit from his estranged father and the adopting of an injured nightjar. In miniature, she finds an essence of the same interaction that made her much longer October, October such a masterpiece, that between a child’s emotional development and their intense connection to nature.
This little book is to fiction, what a finest haiku is to poetry. It is perfect in its smallness. And in its smallness it is great.
Diversity and inclusion
There is yet a further plus to Nightjar in that it foregrounds a Jewish child and his family. This is a representation that seems much more common in children’s fiction from The States than it is here. This is probably not surprising in the light of far wider Jewish heritage in the overall population over there. Nevertheless, it is minorities like these that still need better representation in children’s books here, so that those from the same background can find themselves in books and others come to appreciate the multifaceted richness of our common humanity. This story will be a big help and should encourage many to find out more about why certain family traditions and the ceremonies of Bat and Bar Mitzvah are so important in some children’s lives.
Treasure trove
Hilary McKay is a well established treasure of children’s/YA fiction and some of her best books are the apotheosis of the involving family saga for this age group (and older)*. Amongst her other outstanding titles, her Casson Family sequence (think The Larkins meets Outnumbered) will delight any readers interested in this genre. - and those who don’t think they are risk seriously missing out. Of her more recent titles, her stories covering the period of WWI and WWII, The Skylarks’ War and The Swallows’ Flight, are most strongly recommended for any readers upwards of about eleven.
Now, in the newly published Jodie she shows that she can create truly fine fiction within the Barrington Stoke parameters, too.
Pitch perfect
Like Katya Balen, Hilary McKay establishes her main character (here the eponymous Jodie) in a way that is tightly economical, yet rich, truthful and deeply affecting. In just a few simple sentences she catalogues all that had gone wrong in Jodie’s short life, yet the writing does not feel at all abbreviated or rushed. Rather it creates instant empathy with a fully realised character, deeply troubled, isolated and almost pathologically quiet. Although Hilary McKay’s language is generally not as overtly poetic as Katya Balen’s, she also paints for us a a vividly atmospheric picture of the salt marsh location for the school field trip in which Jodie is reluctantly participating. With consummate storytelling, landscape and inscape complement each other potently.
Self and others
However, it is not only the character of Jodie herself that this author conjures with remarkably effective economy. In the space of a single chapter she introduces the five girls with whom Jodie is required to share a room. The skill with which she brings to vivid life their remarkable individuality, each with their own distinctive personality and implied issues, is quite breathtaking. And she does this with no more that a few pieces of simple dialogue, or a subtly but effectively established quirk. Truly remarkable.
As a novella, Jodie, seems to be being most frequently described as an ‘atmospheric and chilling ghost story’. And, of course, on one level, it is. Yet, for me, this is not the heart of the story. The ‘ghost’ element is only a catalyst for the important development in Jodie’s character and situation. There have been many recent books where protagonists themselves come to realise how specially different they are and this is indeed an important theme. However, I think what Jodie learns is more how special and different others are - and how people can come to help and support each other through that difference. I think it is of no small relevance that the final graphic image in the book does not relate to the ghost story as such, but shows the silhouette of the six girls in a group together, with (what I take to be) Jodie, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch another’s. It is subtly but deeply affecting, as is this whole very special book.
Artistic Intelligence (and talent)
And that leads me on to say something about two absolutely stunning collaborations in these outstanding creations. Although very different in style, the illustrators of these two books (Richard Johnson for Nightjar and Keith Robinson for Jodie) each make an indispensable contribution. They demonstrate beyond the slightest doubt how important the images of highly talented, real-life artists, as opposed to computer-generated pictures, can be in complementing, and indeed extending, a fine piece of writing.
Richard Johnson’s tender drawings have a hazy softness, particularly in the landscape backgrounds, that feel almost pastel in quality (even in black and white!). They echo beautifully the heightened emotion and deep sensitivity of the story. The sharper, figurative elements are wonderfully expressive too, both in the characters’ body language and in their faces. Noah’s reaction to his pizza on page 49 is an excellent example. Overall they are very much an integral element of the narrative, not an adjunct to it.
Keith Robinson’s images feel somewhat more solid and ‘realistic’ (in a very good way). In terms of the Barrington Stoke primary target readership, they do an outstanding job of helping unpack the text, particularly in a rather complex scene like the rescue from the creek. Exactly who is doing what and where is cleverly clarified by the image on pages 76-77. However, the drawings are equally sensitive to the emotional content of the story, as beautifully illustrated by Jodie’s stark isolation in the image on page 39, or her facial expression on page 25. Here too is no mere ‘illustration’, but co-creation.
And what ultimately makes these two artists so very special is that they empathise fully as human beings, with the story and with its characters. This is something AI can never do
Note:
*If you’re interested, you could use the ‘search’ above to quickly find my earlier reviews of her books.