The end (for now)

There seems to have been very little interest in these reviews recently, so I have decided to end my blog, at least for the moment. Who knows, something may inspire me to start again at some time, but for now . . . .

My Books of the Year 2023

Sometimes more is more 

This has turned out to be a rather mixed year of reading. There have been several high profile and heavily promoted new MG/YA novels that I found rather disappointing. To cheer me along, though, there have been some fine follow-ups to existing, much admired books.These have included: Utterly Dark and The Tides of Time, a truly wonderful conclusion to the latest trilogy from Phillip Reeve; Rebel Fire, exciting sequel to a most original fantasy by Ann Sei Lin; The Case of the Chaos Monster, Patrice Lawrence’s new extension of her brilliant Elemental Detectives; and Podkin and the Singing Spear, yet another enchanting addition to Kieran Larwood’s extended fantasy series. It is always good to have more of the same, when that more is just as outstanding as its predecessors.

The best of the best

All the books I have reviewed this year have been special in some way; if they weren’t I wouldn’t have chosen to write them up. However, the year has included some remarkable highlights amongst new stand-alone titles. And what books these have been! They are some of the most creative, exciting, moving and truly life-enhancing novels I have had the thrill of reading for quite some time.  So here (in no particular order, as they say) are my best of the best from 2023. Most fall broadly into the older MG/younger YA range, apart from those clearly indicated, which are most definitely for older teens. Like all the best ‘children’s’ books, I know lots of adults will enjoy these titles too. I certainly hope many teachers will add them to their repertoire of books to share and recommend in their vital task of promoting reading for pleasure.

 

Two remarkable books made a big impression on me early in the year and my high opinion of them has not wavered one jot since.

The Song Walker

Zillah Bethell’s stunning novel draws on First Nation Australian culture for its references and its beautifully written, multi-layered story, about two girls’ long treck across the outback, is full of resonant meaning. Often moving, it is never heavy. Its narrative, blending the naturalistic and the metaphorical, is nothing short of compulsive. This is children’s fiction of the highest order.

Wild Song

Candy Gourlay’s story of a First Nation American girl and her turbulent relationship with the dominating White Man culture is hard-hitting, disturbing, and deeply moving, although it is ultimately uplifting too. Its harsh implications are equally applicable to the many other instances of aggressive colonialism, which still too often roll on into disrespect of Black lives today. It is as engaging as it is relevant.

 

Pony

R. J. Palacio is, of course, best known for the publishing phenomenon that is Wonder. Her new novel is a very different book, yet here is the same understanding and the same deep humanity that she has always shown in her writing. But it is now expressed with a refinement, a subtlety that is more reflective, more poetic, yet no less rich and perhaps even more affecting. It is essentially the same wonder, but extended beyond the present. (First UK publication 2023)

Foxlight

To say Katya Balen never produces a bad book is an understatement. She somehow manages to pen one ravishingly beautiful, deeply moving novel after another. This new one is certainly no exception. Two sisters leave their home and follow a fox to begin a long and difficult trek through the unknown countryside beyond. This is inscape as well as landscape, both a real journey and a metaphorical one, conjured with this author’s trademark sensitivity and subtlety.

 

Surprisingly perhaps, in view of the difficult subject matter, there are already a number of outstanding children’s books dealing with death and bereavement. However, there is always room for more when they are as imaginatively conceived and wonderfully written as these two.

The Lovely Dark

Matthew Fox’s second outstanding book explores death and the afterlife with thoughtful sensitivity, subtly drawing in resonances with the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. After protagonist, Ellie, experiences her own death, we are completely hooked into what for her is a continuation of reality, however disorientated. It is a book that asks questions about life and death, but not one that offers any particularly dogmatic answers. Nor is it as morbid as the subject matter suggests, but ultimately comforting and reassuring for its young readers. It is a significant addition to children’s literature.

Finn Jones Was Here

Simon James Green has actually published two amazing books this year, books that really matter. His YA title Boy Like Me is sensitive, entertaining and of huge social importance. However I was bowled over by the skill with which he balances often farcical comedy with truly sensitive insight and positive messaging in his new MG novel. It succeeds in being both joyful and deeply affecting, making his challenging subject matter, a boy’s loss of his dearest friend, brilliantly accessible to young readers. It will help and support many as well as developing empathy in all its readers.

 

There is little that I enjoy more than a good fantasy and this year has brought two exceptional new additions to this genre.

Impossible Creatures

Katherine Rundell adds another joy of a book to her already considerable canon of wonderful (and overall very diverse) fiction for young readers. This one fully deserves the many accolades it has already received and will I am sure go on to win awards aplenty. Here, she uses a range of children’s fantasy tropes to draw us into a story that grows ever richer and more compelling; by turns funny, thrilling, provocative and moving, However, in the end, it is the sheer quality of her writing, both her use of language and her storytelling, that makes this book so exceptional.

Skrimsli

Nicola Davies’ follow-up to her outstanding novel The Song That Sings Us is actually a prequel, so can easily be read first, or even as a stand-alone. It is immersive epic fantasy at its best, the sort that you cannot put down and never want to to end. Her animal protagonists, anthropomorphic in thought, but still convincingly natural, are never sentimentalised and just as involving as the finest human characters. The indictment of circuses, and man’s attempted domination of animals generally, is immensely powerful and the quest for freedom and wildness is intoxicating.

 

Verse novels have become a bit of a thing recently, with very variable degrees of effectiveness. However this year two examples, each for a different age-group, stood out as shining examples of just how potent  a narrative medium this can be.

The Final Year

Although I don’t always follow the crowd, I have to agree with the huge number of opinions that rate Matt Goodfellow’s novel very highly indeed. The elements of his story are often much more poetry than mere ‘verse’ and he captures the challenges, thoughts and feelings of a young boy as he moves through his final year of Primary School with remarkable honesty and understanding, often very movingly. I particularly admire the book’s clever and insightful symbiotic relationship with Davis Almond’s seminal Skellig. (As an important follow-up to this, it is worth noting that the 25th anniversary edition of Skellig, also published this year, is fully illustrated for this first time, with quite superb images by Tom de Freston.)

Crossing the Line

Tia Fisher’s novel has some interesting points of comparison with The Final Year. It is for rather older readers (teens) but the level of poetry is again skilfully wrought and remarkably powerful, whilst still effectively carrying a hugely engaging narrative. The hard-hitting, detailed story, of a boy’s downward slide into disastrous involvement with drugs gangs, is salutary and told with deep understanding, even where there isn’t approval. The whole is a telling masterpiece for our times, resonant with human truth and compassion. 

  

There are three other books for much older readers (teen+) that I Icannot  miss out here. Difficult, challenging reads, often involving bad language, violence and delinquent, even criminal, behaviour, they are great works that have been real highlights of my reading year.

Play

Using the ‘games’ they play as an exploration of the behaviour and relationships of a small group teenage boys from contrasting backgrounds, Luke Palmer’s devastating novel delves deep into the issues of adolescence. He truly understands boys of this age and, like the other writers here, although very much in his own way, he can express their thoughts, feelings and behaviours with powerful authenticity. Told from several perspectives, it is compulsive reading throughout, but it is the novel’s long closing section that lifts it into the realm of truly fine literature.

Treacle Town

Brian Conaghan is a remarkable writer and this is one of his best.The story of a teen boy’s desperate struggle to free himself from the cloying influence of a seriously disadvantaged home neighbourhood is as hard-hitting and grimly realistic as it gets. Using as its locale an area of run-down urban estates near Glasgow, with its added stresses of sectarian Celtic/Rangers ‘tribalism’,  he portrays with real insight a world of youths pulled into drugs, alcohol abuse and gratuitous violence. Yet the story is heart-wrenching as well as gut-wrenching, it is full of warmth and humanity, of the hope of something better, however painfully devastating it is to achieve. 

Runner Hawk

More overtly literary than these others, Michael Egan’s fine novel is replete with potent images and powerful intensity that could belong as much to poetry as to this fiction. These are imaginatively mixed with speculation about potential disturbing developments of current science/technology to provide a remarkably potent exploration of an aspect of adolescence - this time the isolation and dislocation, the feeling of not belonging to the world, that many young people experience. It is as thrilling in its writing as it is chilling in its content.

  

Publisher Barrington Stoke do an amazing job of providing accessible books for dyslexic and other less confident readers, across a range of ages. A surprisingly large number of their titles also prove to be high quality reads for all. There have been quite a few of these this year, including ones by Katya Balen, Hilary McKay, and Lucy Strange. However three are especially memorable.

Ravencave

The death this year of Marcus Sedgwick was a tragic loss; he was one of our very finest writers for young people (and older). So we must be thankful to have this, his last story, published posthumously. Here, with a narrative strongly rooted in place, his economy of language and its terse directness actually enhance the effectiveness of the story being told. He brings setting and characters to life with vivid starkness. He also succeeds in communicating deep feelings with touching and often beautiful simplicity, creating telling images that will live long in the minds of readers, as will his whole legacy of wonderful work.

The Den

Keith Gray is another of the small number of contemporary writers who understand just perfectly how to represent the behaviour, thinking and speech of young teenage boys. His characters, their issues, their behaviours (right or wrong) and, perhaps most importantly, their dialogue are spot on; full of honest emotion and the naive attitudes of youth. These are youngsters in that awkward time of being neither child nor adult, who think they know exactly what’s what, although, as yet, they can’t and don’t. But that does not mean their integrity is one jot the less. This story has an impact and contemporary relevance way out of proportion to its short length. 

The Piano at the Station

This time the issues of a troubled teen girl provide the moving storyline. Helen Rutter’s skilfully crafted novella is not actually anywhere near as soft-centred as either its title or cover image might seem to suggest. Certainly soft is not a word you could use for protagonist, Lacey, at least on the outside. Again an authentic adolescent voice is brilliantly caught and if there is an up-beat ending to her tale, it is also provides a salutary lesson for those facing challenging behaviour from students. The book carries a strong shout-out for the arts in schools, which is brilliant.

Publisher of the Year

My publisher of the year has to be small independent Everything With Words. Of course, not all their books hit the spot with me; they publish a good range of titles. However, recently an amazing number of their new ones have excited and thrilled me. Considering their size this is truly remarkable. I particularly admire the brave way they seek out quality and originality, rather than simply following the most recent writing fads or trying to ride on the back of existing bestsellers. It shows real integrity and fills me with hope for the future of children’s and YA literature. 

Closing note

If interested, all the books I have highlighted here are reviewed in much greater detail earlier on my blog. Although I read very extensively, there will, of course, be other outstanding new books that have slipped under my radar. I hope to catch up with them eventually, 

My heartfelt thank go, as always to all the teachers, librarians, book bloggers and others who do so much to help young people grow with and through books. And of course, to the authors, illustrators and publishers who give us all such wonderful, life-enhancing gifts.

The Rescue of Ravenwood by Natasha Farrant

Cover illustration: David Dean

Safe adventure 

The genre that might loosely be called ‘children’s adventures’ has been a mainstay of children’s fiction for a very long time. Broadly, ‘ordinary’ children, living in the ‘real’ world, undertake exciting exploits way outside those their readers are ever likely to experience. Typically, these fictional children act independently from grown-ups to solve puzzles, thwart dastardly villains and survive dangers, whilst saving their community, family or friends. However, they  still arrive home in time for a cosy tea, or similar, almost always involving favourite food. Such books play an important part in many children’s reading. They allow them to experience vicariously thrilling adventure, alongside fictional friends who can nevertheless feel very real, without ever leaving the safety and comfort of home. (That’s why the ‘back in time for tea’ ending is such an important trope.)

Much the same, but much better!

Now the mantle of earlier writers like Edith Nesbit, Enid Blyton and Malcolm Saville, has been magnificently taken up by Natasha Farrant. However, there are very significant differences between this contemporary author and some of her predecessors. For a start she is a much finer writer than some of them. Her story content is more imaginative and far more thoughtful too. This makes today’s young readers particularly fortunate; they can share all the excitement of ‘children’s adventure’ whilst experiencing wonderful quality writing at the same time. 

This, her latest tittle is an outstanding example. Of course it meets all contemporary sensibilities and avoids sensitivities too, which many of these older books do not.  With ecological awareness thrown in, what more’s to want?

All her earlier books are also well worth exploring.. The many children seeking this type of reading experience will be richly rewarded. 

Crossing the Line by Tia Fisher

Cover art: Andrew Bannecker 

The verse novel can be an amazingly effective, and affecting, literary form in the right hands. And this powerful and deeply insightful example shows that Tia Fisher is most certainly amongst the authors who demonstrate its potential brilliantly.

Like not like 

For me, Crossing the Line immediately threw up comparisons with two other outstanding books I have read this year. It has many important things in common with Matt Goodfellow’s The Final Year, also a verse novel. What these two works of literature have in common is their writer’s ability to craft poems, which are poems, not simply ‘verse’, or even, as I have seen in some alleged verse novels, merely prose broken into short lines. Both authors use their linked sequence of individual poems to express their characters authentic thoughts and feelings with precision. Both catch and hold a moving intensity in a small number of perfectly chosen words and images, laid out meaningfully on the page. At the same time they succeed in crafting an overall narrative that is complex and compelling, capturing tellingly the truth of their protagonist’s life. They communicates straight to the reader with consummate poignancy.

There is a good example quite early on in the Crossing the Line where a poem about the Alton Towers rollercoaster not only brilliantly captures the experience of the ride itself, but also provides graphic expression of protagonist Erik’s feelings when he hears of his mother’s pregnancy by a man he can’t abide. It is only one of many sections that take your breath away with the perfect aptness of image and form. Tia Fisher knows exactly how to say much through little. 

There is further connection too, at least superficially, in that Crossing the Line takes up its protagonist’s life journey roughly where The Final Year ends, at Year 7, the start of Secondary School. However, this does not mean that the two novels immediately follow in terms of reader suitability. Crossing the Line is a hard-hitting novel about a boy’s descent into involvement with drug dealing, eventually ‘county line’ gangs, involving  associated bad language and no little violence. It is deeply disturbing as well as richly rewarding, and probably not for younger readers. 

And it is in this aspect that it reminded me of my second comparison, Brian Conaghan’s equally potent but devastating Treacle Town. In many ways both these books deal with similar subject matter, and with similar unflinching honesty too. However, Treacle Town is very much about escaping from the cloy of a particular urban environment, drug and alcohol abuse and street gang violence. Crossing the Line is a more individual journey. (although sadly, many follow it), more focused on personal circumstances and relationships, as it follows in intimate detail Erik’s troubled and troubling route into terrifying  criminality. If the one book is about pulling out, this one is about getting pulled in.

Dominoes

The minutiae of daily life, and Erik’s turbulent emotional reactions, become important in Crossing the Line.. His life is lived small, and in the minute. Those without future have only the present. There are no consequences in the present. Consequences belong to the future. And for him, of course,  the future does indeed bring consequences. And every nuance of  feeling, every bad decision, as he struggles and fails to deal with heartbreak and hostility, his life collapsing in a domino row, is caught with turbulent veracity in Erik’s own voice. 

In the end we are left with understanding and empathy even though it is without approval. There is a poem near the middle of the narrative when Erik’s squawking baby sister suddenly smiles at him, and for a fleeting moment he feels what it is like to be special to someone. We understand that Erik is not ‘bad’; he has been dealt a hand in life that he has not the resources to play. And so it plays him. He could have been helped .The question, the challenge, the novel poses for all of us is who could have helped him, when and how? The answer does not lie solely with others.

This is a deeply important book in the relevance of its story and a breathtaking one in the skill of its telling. 

The Udying of Obedience Wellrest by Nicholas Bowling

Cover: Micaela Alciano

Variety performance 

Some authors make a career of repeatedly writing very similar books. Not Nicholas Bowling.. His output so far had been amazingly varied. His debut, Witch Born was a historical fiction set against a dark background of alleged witchcraft and Elizbethan politics.  He followed that with the Carnegie shortlisted In the Shadow of Heroes, an exciting ‘mythical’ adventure in Ancient Rome. His third title, Song of the Far Isles, was, in further contrast, an enchanting Celtic fantasy, filled with the strains of magical music. And now he gives us a full-blown Gothic Romance in The Undying of Obedience Wellrest.

However, what does link all these books is a consistently outstanding use of language and expert storytelling, providing hugely engaging, entertaining reads.

Undying story

His exciting new title has all the classic elements of its genre. In a gloomy Victorian setting there is a secluded village graveyard with bodies being stolen by ‘Resurrection Men’. There is an ancient, reclusive  gravedigger and his grandson, Ned, one of the two protagonists from whose interleaved perspectives the narrative is  cleverly constructed. There is a crumbling manor with an impoverished owner, whose daughter, Obedience (Bede) is the other protagonist. There is a dastardly villain, Phineas Mordant, physically distinguished by a brass prosthetic nose.This creepy gentlemen seeks to marry Bede, with her father’s blessing, but to the total consternation of the girl herself. There are grim ‘scientific’ experiments in a quest to re-enliven a grisly selection of creatures, body parts and indeed entire, if rotting, corpses. There is an evil alchemist ancestor whose dark, hidden secrets Mordant craves to uncover and others try to protect. 

Bede herself is as feisty and wilful a ‘heroine’ as any of her most independent-minded predecessors, and perhaps even a little more so.

‘Well you gave me the name,’ (Obedience admonished her father.) ‘It’s not my fault if I took it as a challenge.’ (p 54)

Hiding malicious intent behind a facade of slimy charm, Mordant is the perfect boo-hiss villain. It inevitably does not take long for simple, honest, kindly Ned to fall headlong for Bede and develop a loathing for her intended husband. And the girl herself is, of course, not blind to his qualities, despite the stark gap between their social standing, 

‘I had certainly never had a friend who seemed as lonely;’ (she says of him) ‘none who might understand all the strange and sad corners of my soul.’ (p 211)

Bowling you over

There are many delightful inventions of this author too, though. If there is a novel where the hero frequently receives advice and assistance from his loyal and much loved pet fly, I have yet to read it.

However, it is not the originality or otherwise of Nicholas Bowling’s story elements but the construction of his narrative that is so masterly. His language is perfectly evocative of these dramatic characters, dark locations and chilling atmosphere. His plot is replete with twists and turns which take you completely by surprise, cause you to rethink, over and again, all your previous understand of who people are as well as your expectations of what will happen. This means ever more compellingly drawn on to find out how things are going to resolve. It is all just deliciously gruesome, full of thrilling jeopardy and totally compelling.

This new book does not have any pretensions to deeply meaning but it is a must for young gothic enthusiasts from about twelve years old. I think many other readers who like to be drawn into an engrossing story will hugely enjoy it too. Some new to the genre may even be tempted on to explore some of the classics, the original Frankenstein, perhaps.

Micaela Alciano is to be complimented on the glorious cover, which succeeds in being both darkly romantic and strikingly compelling, just like the text. Great to see the fly there too!

Runner Hawk by Michael Egan

Cover: Holly Ovenden

Here is novel primarily for older teens. But it is a truly remarkable one.

Author Pull

I love books that don’t patronise their intended young audience, and this one certainly doesn’t. It is probably not a book to entice reluctant readers, but rather one for the confident and committed. For the right readers, though, it offers rich reward, as well as challenge. It will do much to lead in the direction of full adult literature, stretching awareness of just what fiction can be and do. 

Even the title raises eyebrows. Runner Hawk No verb. No definite or indefinite articles. No comma.  Is it one thing or two? It is enigmatic and rather brutal. Here is a writer who is not going to pander to you, his reader. It slaps you in the face without explaining why. And so, slight affront notwithstanding, it immediately pulls you in. Like title, like story.

That said, this is for the most part an easy, quick read in the technical sense. The challenge, the disquiet, is in the content, not in the language. Except, that is, for an occasional trip up over speech. The author never uses speech marks and only an occasional ‘said’. So it can be difficult to distinguish between what is voiced aloud, what simply thought and what just described. It is as if the author is saying, I am the writer. I do things my way. I won’t bow to convention, or to you. You need to stay with me. So you do. And again you are pulled along. And in. 

There are passages here that feel as if they are directly borrowed from the author’s experience, vivid descriptions of places, incidents and reactions, If they are not actual recollections, then they are conjured with a wordsmith’s skill that conveys intense veracity. Either way they come across as a writing equivalent of hyper-realism in painting. They add a credibility that then bleeds into incidents in the narrative that otherwise seem  bizarre, both to his narrator and to the reader. The building of this tension around what is or isn’t, could or couldn’t be ‘normal’ is brilliantly done. It is a big part of what drives the narrative so powerfully through the early part of a book where, superficially, very little is actually happening.

Frozen Copy

The focus of the text is a first person narrative by seventeen year-old Leo, reflecting with stark immediacy his thoughts and experiences through several days of a severe winter. Apparently a rather isolated, sheltered young man, he is clearly on the verge of physical maturity, but also, perhaps, of mental instability. He is experiencing a disconnect with reality. He reflects,  I’d rather imagine a reality than know one.’ (p 57) He is aware that there is something wrong with him, but can’t begin to understand what. He sees strange phenomenon: a runner motionless in mid-stride, as if petrified; a hovering hawk fixed in the sky, but showing no sign of movement. He experiences disturbing physical episodes, where all or part of his body freezes into complete immobility. He cannot remember things he knows he should, like his previous birthdays and what presents he got. Later, he sees ‘ghost’ figures that cannot possibly be there. Is everything in his mind? If so his mind is decidedly weird. 

Runner Hawk is all very bleak. I rather think a tag cloud for this text would bring out particular words huge and bold (at least that’s how it feels): Cold. Stillness. Seizure. Frozen. Standstill. Separate. Uncertain. Unstable. Beyond Time. Leo seems to have lost touch with truth. Everything around him seems pretence, fraud, not the real thing; a Beatles tribute band, pet dog cloned, lies he feels compelled to tell about himself to keep people happy. 

With consummate skill, Michael Egan draws you into Leo’s disturbed and disturbing experience, and makes it riveting. I do not usually set much store by jacket quotes. But here the one from (the wonderful)  Zillah Bethell has it to a tee. ‘Mesmerising Unsettling’. Yes it is both these. And both simultaneously. Two Words. Exactly So.

Girl Truth

Leo befriends Eadie, younger daughter of the local vicar, and is drawn into a pledge to help her discover the supposed murderer of her missing older sister, Becca. But A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, this book is certainly not. As his budding, but desperately inexperienced relationship with Becka develops, the mystery of her sister, if such it is, becomes only another aspect of Leo’s search for truth and freedom.

Ted Hughes wrote a staggering book of poems called What Is The Truth? That could well be the title of Michael Egan’s novel too, at least for its first two thirds. The question is Leo’s obsession.  ‘I think that’s why I like Lucky Jim. (He says.) It’s all about truth and that’s something I think about a lot. My truth, what it is and how to find it.’ (p 73)

And then the story accelerates down a slope into what feels like a different reality, but has actually been there all along. The villages and fields of affluent, rural Cheshire segue into a vast glass pyramid, blank white corridors, numbered doors that hide clandestine research facilities. It is a world that feels like it belongs to science fiction/fantasy, perhaps because it does. But, for Leo, this is the world where his truth, his reality lies. And, when he finds it, it is a deep, dark, shocking, truth, both for him and for the reader.

Runs Flies

In many ways this book is as chilling as it gets. It is a very hard one to read, in the emotional sense. The back cover suggests comparisons with Never Let Me Go and The Catcher in the Rye that are at least partly valid. It certainly shares the affective desolation of the first of these great books. But it  is ultimately perhaps a little more like the second; at least there is a glimmer of the carousel at the end. Finding Becca’s killer is not so much a goal in itself as a very particular and moving way for frozen Leo to find his own release.

To say much more, would be to say too much more. 

Enough that Runner Hawk combines the sensibility of a true poet with the narrative power of a fine novelist. It may be bleak but it is also beautiful and deeply affecting. It is devastatingly brilliant, and provokes a lot of thought about some of the big issues in life. It runs. It flies.

World Weavers by Sam Gayton

Cover illustration: Dana SanMar

Imagerations

I have been an admirer of Sam Gayton since his first book, The Snow Merchant, back in 2011. He is not the most prolific of children’s writers, but has since kept up a steady flow of titles, all of which have been delightfully original and inventive. Most recently, he has moved into books for slightly older children (upper MG /younger YA) showing the same remarkable flair. His previous novel, The Last Zoo, was an absolute riot of whimsical imagerations (his word). It is glorious entertainment and well worth seeking out for any who haven’t read it. 

Differently the same 

World Weavers is a rather more serious, immersive fantasy, but the author’s original invention is again in full evidence, a compelling attribute in a market where too many fantasies offer only minor variations on the same characters and scenarios. Here there are no orphans suddenly invited to magical schools or plunging through an unexpected portal to find a missing sibling in a  faery world. Sam Gaston’s characters do move between worlds, as happens with remarkable frequency. They use their power as ‘weavers’ to find ways through worlds using ‘waythreads’ and to create things they need by re-pattering the nature of what is around them. His three intriguing protagonists, a disorientated boy and two sisters, are not without personality flaws. One sister is garrulous in the extreme, the other nothing short of truculent. Nevertheless they engage the reader fully in surprising events and encounters. It is all very thrilling and entertaining stuff.

Triple perspective 

Clever writing, which switches perspective to follow, in turn, each of the three main characters,  keeps the narrative developing compulsively. It is a great read from a writer who I think does not always fully attract the attention he deserves. I was delighted to see this book amongst the latest Yoto Carnegies writing nominations and would love to see it in the longlist. (See my last post.) Hopefully this nomination will attract many more readers to a hugely enjoyable fantasy. 

My thoughts on the Yoto Carnegie Writing Nominations for 2024

Here, for what its worth, are my personal choices. Call them predictions, if you like.

For the longlist

Amongst the titles nominated for 2024 are some excellent and highly engaging books. However, truly outstanding titles that I think fully deserve to go onto the longlist are:

Unraveller

Frances Hardinge is a well established star in the firmament of fantasy for older children/teens. Her wild, weird imagination combines with rich and intelligent story building and this latest novel is one of her best.

The Lorikeet Tree

Paul Jennings has long been the go-to name for zany and hilarious short stories, but here he again proves brilliantly that he can do moving and meaningful too.

The Boy Lost in the Maze

Joseph Coelho’s novel in poems is a challenging read for older teens, but it is is richly rewarding in so many ways.

World Weaver

It feels to me that Sam Gayton is sometimes rather under-acknowledged as the fine writer for young people that he is. His entertaining books are always original and highly imaginative and both these qualities are found in abundance in his latest, totally engrossing fantasy. 

Swimming on the Moon

I tend to think that Brian Conaghan is at his very best writing for teens, but, even so, this sensitive MG title is full of truthful understanding about life for many children.

The Chestnut Roaster

Eve McDonnell is one of the most accomplished of our newer children’s writers and this, her second MG title, excels in setting, character, plot and themes. It is an absolute delight.

For the shortlist

Nevertheless, the nominations that, to me, have the most enduring literary merit and/or cultural importance and really ought to make it all the way to the shortlist are:

The Song Walker

Zillah Bethell’s stunning novel draws on First Nation Australian culture for its references and its beautifully written, multi-layered story is full of resonant meaning. Often moving, it is never heavy and its narrative is nothing short of compulsive. This is children’s fiction of the highest order.

Tyger

Alredy deservedly a widely-read children’s author, SF Said has excelled even his own high standards with this devastating novel. Replete with illuminating references to William Blake and other classics, as well as demonstrating the author’s own rich creativity, it lifts children’s literature to new heights.

Wild Song

Candy Gourlay’s story of a First Nation American girl is hard-hitting, disturbing, and deeply moving, although it is ultimately uplifting too. Its harsh implications are equally applicable to the many other instances of aggressive colonialism, which still too often rolls on into disrespect of Black lives today. It is as engaging as it is relevant.

Boy Like Me

This hugely important novel from Simon James Green explores the harm and potential harm done to gay boys by ‘Section 28’ legislation in the 1990s. It is often funny, always tender and deeply insightful. However, it does not shy away from hurtful realities, and carries crucial implications for our ongoing commitment to diversity and inclusion. Far more than just a ‘gay book’, it deserves to be read widely. 

The Door of No Return

Here Kwame Alexander remarkably fuses two generally disparate things, poetry and the epic novel. And he does it with engrossing success. The poetry gives depth of perception and feeling, whilst the overall coming-of-age narrative sweeps through experiences fuelled by African myth and a dream of true freedom. The focus on the roots of much Black culture in Africa is wonderful for many to know and others to share.

Crossing the Line

Another superb ‘verse’ novel, many of whose sections come closer to poetry, Tia Fisher’s detailed capture of a troubled teen boy’s descent into drug dealing and eventually horrendous involvement with ‘county lines’ gangs is a deeply insightful, if harrowing, read. Understanding without being sympathetic, it has real power and will be an important read for many.

If I could, I would give the award to every one of these six writers. Whether the judges eventually agree of not, these are very great books that will engage, enrich and enlighten readers for many years to come. (Many of them are reviewed in full elsewhere on this blog.)

The Puppets of Spelhorst by Kate DiCamillo

Simply profound 

Award-winning Kate DiCamillo is huge in The States and, thankfully, most of her books are also published over here, by Walker Books. She is a rare and remarkable author who frequently writes relatively short novels, apparently simple in content, but that that leave you thinking, ‘Yes, that’s what’s important in life.’. She is a master of gentle allegory and, through it, succeeds in plumbing depths of universal feelings whose expression could so easily come across as simplistic or sentimental. She knows how to make story speak straight to the heart.

Her latest book, The Puppets of Spellhorst is no exception. In fact it is a wonderful example of precisely these qualities.

No strings but close ties

A group of five puppets, a girl, a boy, a king, an owl and a wolf are sold, bought, given away and ‘acquired’. They are wanted for the memories they evoke and for those they can create. They are both regret and potential. They are the freedom of wind through wings, even if the feathers are fixed to fabric. They are wooden teeth that could bite, even if they are replaced and crooked. They are the yearning for destiny. They are undiscovered magic. They are the joy of learning to sing.

Kate DCamillo very cleverly creates eponymous characters that succeed in bridging worlds, and thus bringing those worlds close together. They are traditional puppets, perhaps lovable and almost frightening. They are stereotypes and archetypes. They are enigmatic. They are fascinating agents of storytelling. Yet, at the same time, they are avatars, representatives of our own experiences and feelings. Through them, the novella becomes a sensitive reflection on story itself, on the potential and importance of story and on the relationship between story and life, each playing out the other. It quietly questions whether, despite us wanting to force distinction between fantasy and reality, between puppets and humans, they may ultimately be the same thing. Each is freed by imagination, the same imagination.

Kate DiCamillo celebrates the links between story and adventure, the importance of living the moment, seizing the day, not simply embracing its opportunities, but actively seeking them out. Symbiotically she embraces the importance of family (whatever form it may take), of friends (wherever we find them), accepted for what they are, annoying traits and all. They too are part of our story. We cannot be sold separately. There is no story without us all.

Finishing off

Julie Morstad’s drawn images have the same profound simplicity. They are childishly revelatory, poignantly expressive. They point up and complement the text perfectly . In fact, like the final glorious double-spread image of camel riders, they complete it wonderfully.

Tiffany Aching’s Guide To Being A Witch by Rhianna Pratchett and Gabrielle Kent, illustrated by Paul Kidby

Tiffany

I value Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany Aching series* as one of the finest ever fantasy sequences for children (upwards). Although linked to his wider Discworld creation, it has its own integrity and can easily be read separately. It also has a somewhat different feel to its adult cousins. Although very funny - riotously so at times - the author’s trademark humour is here rather gentler and warmer. His invention is, however, every bit as rich and imaginative . It is also, a slightly atypical fictional sequence in that, whilst the first book is hugely entertaining, it actually develops and gets even better as it goes along, with its final volume a true masterpiece of children’s literature. A lot of what makes it so special is the character of Tiffany herself, who, touchingly human,  personifies what I can only summarise as honest goodness. She is not a goody-goody, but she is truly good. In fact the whole is really a philosophical treatise, expounding an approach to life that is deeply humane. It may sound simple, but is actually profoundly important, for children, and indeed for all of us.

Having said all that, I am not usually keen on publishing spin-offs from popular series. Designed to catch the attention (and pennies!) of fans who miss the original characters and long for more that is never actually coming, they are often pale imitations or regurgitations, and disappoint even that audience.

Pictures

However, I am a huge admirer of Paul Kidby, particularly his Discworld illustrations, so, in this instance, I considered a new volume featuring his work should be well worth buying, if only for the joy of its visual images. And Tiffany Aching’s Guide to Being a Witch fulfills this aspiration wonderfully. The beautifully drawn images capture Terry Pratchett’s characters to perfection: funny, weird, entertaining, endearing, always deliciously idiosyncratic, yet leaving room for exactly the sensitivity that Tiffany Aching requires. The artist adds much of his own too, and his pictures extend our imagining of this wondrous world enchantingly. Even the vignettes that form the end papers are a fascinating delight, and Paul Kirby’s work makes the whole volume glow with his particular, soft-hued magic.

Text

Now that I have had a chance to read this whole book through, I am going to have to eat my earlier words, because the two authors, award-winning game creator Rhianna Pratchett and talented children’s writer Gabrielle Kent, have made an excellent job of the text too. The pair have very cleverly caught Terry Pratchett’s wit, his sense and style of humour, whilst keeping it in the gentler vein of these particular books. It also reflects wild invention, rich imagination and narrative skill. This new work is consistently engaging and entertaining, in the supposed annotations as well as the main script,  Perhaps even more important, they have reflected beautifully the voice and character of Tiffany, as the supposed author of this fictional guide. Although superficially a series of separate entries and stories, there is actually at least a degree of credible through line development, heading for a satisfying conclusion. What comes across here, just as in the original books, is Tiffany’s fundamental belief that there are more important things in life than magic. Although she loves, indeed revels, in her calling as a witch, it is not because of supernatural powers. Rather it is because of the responsibilities (and indeed the opportunities) it provides in serving her community and fellow human beings. This links to her deep commitment to the natural world and to ‘The Chalk’, in her case the place in which she lives, but actually representing for all of us the link to our landscape and roots, wherever we belong. Her idea of a school for witches  and wizards is typically simple:

‘As you tread the path you’ve chosen you will learn the lessons of those who gift you with their wisdom and knowledge. They will become part of you. . . . As for the school, it’s not a place, it’s all places. Just look around you. You’re already there.’ (p 3)

And then, at the end,  Tiffany’s compassionate but openly honest acceptance of death as a natural part of life comes through clearly. 

In the event, this sumptuous volume is is a fitting tribute to the much-missed Terry Pratchett, and to Tiffany Aching, possibly his loveliest creation.

Memories

This book is certainly not a replacement for, or even the best introduction to, the actual Tiffany Aching novels. If anyone hasn’t read them, my strong recommendation would be to go to the books themselves first. But for those who have read and loved them, this new publication does work rather well, like the memoir of a passed loved one. It serves to rekindle the flame, to reawaken fond and valued memories, and to delight in them anew. Indeed, it could well prove a prompt to go back and read the whole wonderful original sequence again. If so, it will have done a fine job.

* In publication (and reading) order: The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky, Wintersmith, I Shall Wear Midnight, The Shepherd’s Crown

Gods Don’t Cry by Ellen Ryan

Here is the third of my exciting and enriching ‘myths and legends’ discoveries. (See also my previous post.)

Irish treasures

Last year Ellen Ryan produced an outstanding book, Girls Who Slay Monsters, where she brought back to light ‘lost’ Irish myths and legends featuring powerful females. These were not feminist reworking of traditional tales, but original examples of many different kinds of strength that ‘Godesses’ showed in a whole range of rediscovered stories.

Now she has produced an equally engaging and important follow up in Gods Don’t Cry, more unsung stories of Ireland’s forgotten immortals, but this time male examples. However these ‘Gods’ are not altogether the traditional ‘macho’ type of hero; many show what might have thought of as modern sensibilities. They are not only hunters and warriors, but can be vulnerable and empathetic. They are neurodiverse, with different abilities, outlooks and skin shades. They are sometimes magic but can also be deeply human, rejecting violence, needing others, and seeking to be true to themselves. They are healers, musicians, scholars and activists as well as monster slayers.

Old gods, new men

Like the stories in her previous book, these tales do serve to re-attune readers to Ireland’s rich cultural heritage. However, it is perhaps even more important that they project an image of the potential strength and qualities of boys and men that shatter the stereotype of masculinity. Perhaps they will even help to erode cultures of ‘toxic’ masculinity’. This not only reduces the totally unacceptable threat to women and girls, but also gives support for all boys to be themselves, to discover that it is not only possible, but sometimes important not to feel pressured into behaving as a ‘proper lad’. These gods do sometimes cry, as so, when necessary, can boys.

Compelling images

Gods Don’t Cry is also a wonderfully and magnetically accessible book. The text is strong and clear, enhanced by stunningly powerful illustrations by Conor Merriman which, at the same time, allow space for the vulnerabilities and sensitivities so important to these stories. These images are as clever as they are arresting. Additionally , subtitles, following the God’s name title of each story. highlight the qualities displayed. A helpful summary page for each draws out important fact and clarifies meanings and pages of quotation, in large, bold type, entice the reader into particular stories. 

This is a book to dip into, rather than read straight through. However it is a book to which I hope many youngsters will have access,in schools, libraries and perhaps, at home. I  am sure they will then dip into it frequently and with enthusiasm. For teachers, these tales are a gift for short read-aloud sessions, which will then provoke much valuable thought and discussion.

Heroes for all

Together, these two publications not only show children that they too can be heroes, but help them to explore just what sort of hero they can be. Both books seem to be aimed primarily at a young Irish audience, with the laudable intention of opening up to them more of their own culture. I do hope, though, that the author and her publishers will be happy to share them more widely. Both their deeply important human messages and their richly spiritual resonances are universal. These very special works will serve to develop and enrich the sensibilities of young people everywhere, as well as rightly increasing respect and admiration for Ireland’s splendid heritage of storytelling, traditional and literary.

The Wolf-Girl, The Greeks and The Gods by Tom Holland, illustrated by Jason Cockroft

The impact of myths

As a children’s book enthusiast, I have always been passionate about myths and legends, local ones and global classics. Not only do they contribute significantly to our general culture, but play a crucial role in some of the very finest works of children’s literature. We are lucky to have many outstanding children’s versions of myths and legends both from our own Celtic and Medieval heritage, and from a wide range of other cultures too, particularly Greek, Norse and Egyptian. Thankfully, these are now being extended, with lovely examples from African, Carribean and Asian cultures, too.  Many have also attracted contributions from brilliant illustrators, turning them into truly lovely volumes. The Mab : Eleven Epic Stories from the Mabinogi edited by Matt Brown and Eloise Williams and illustrated by Max Low is a recent example well worth looking out for. (Reviewed here in March ‘22) * 

However, always on the lookout for something new and different, I have been delighted to find several examples of less well-known myths and legends published this year. The first was Amy Jeffs’ children’s version of her Storyland, which I reviewed here in September. Here is the second and I will write up the third in my next post.

Thermopylae with gods

Having said all that, I suppose The Wolf-Girl, The Greeks and The Gods is not actually genuine ‘myth and legend’. However, it reads and feels like it is and, perhaps most importantly, evokes the archetypal resonances associated with the best retellings of ancient story. What expert classical historian Tom Holland has done is take the actual story of the Greco-Persian War and retell it for young readers, incorporating the fictional involvement of the Ancient Greek Gods. In this way he has created a kind of equivalent to The Iliad, notwithstanding the important difference that the historical basis of the war in Homer’s classic is at best debatable, whereas the Persian Wars really happened. Of course, that means purists may well question Tom Holland’s distortion of history, but then all history is story, and the fictionalisation of actual events is commonplace in literature, so I think this new book is a totally legitimate literary creation. It is certainly a most engaging and exciting one.

As well as involving the gods in the action, Tom Holland focuses his tale on a strong female protagonist, Spartan Princess Gorgo, alongside Athenian Thermistocles. Clever and brave, she ensures this ‘new’ epic is more attuned to modern sensibilities, as opposed to those original Greek tales, which so many contemporary authors have felt the need to give a feminist rewrite. However, in ancient tradition, this new narrative remains a true epic, a tale of conflicts and rulers, treachery and triumph, of prophecies and transformations, and of mystical magical creatures whose lives intertwine with those of heroic (and sometimes tragic) mortals. 

Treasurable

Whilst remaining accessible to confident, experienced young readers, Tom Holland’s language beautifully echos that of older texts. As well as providing much independent reading pleasure, it will read aloud wonderfully and add considerable enrichment to the language of those children encouraged to immerse themselves in it. **

Over and above all this, Jason Cockloft’s many striking illustrations brilliantly capture the spirit of this book. His images succeed magnificently in conveying the grandeur of its epic scale, whilst adding the thrill of an engaging contemporary style. Together with its large physical size, this makes the whole book a volume to wonder at - and to treasure.

It is a book for children who can think and dream on an epic scale. The author and illustrator have given them thrilling food for the imagination, a work that will hopefully grace shelves in many homes, schools and libraries for years to come. 

Notes:

*Over recent years, there have bern many retellings by the wonderful Kevin-Crossley Holland. Two stunningly beautiful examples are Arthur, The Always King, illustrated by Chris Riddell and Norse Myths: Tales of Odin, Thor and Loki illustrated by Jeffrey Alan Love.

Another most attractive volume is African Tales: A Barefoot Collection by Gcina Mhlophe illustrated by Rachel Griffin.

I also remain inordinately fond of Gillian Clarke’s translation of One Moonlight Night by T. Lee Jones, illustrated by Jac Jones and of Rosemary Sutcliff’s retellings of The Iliad and The Odyssey, Black Ships Before Troy and The Wanderings of Odysseus, both stunningly illustrated by Alan Lee. 

** To all the primary teachers out there, for enriching and extending children’s language I strongly recommend both Pie Corbett’s Talk for Writing and Bob Cox’s Opening Doors to Primary English. If you don’t know and use the approaches of both these wonderful educators, then you really should. 

Finn Jones Was Here by Simon James Green

Cover and illustrations: Jennifer Jamieson

It’s your funeral

I wonder how many MG or YA books open with the main character attending their best friend’s funeral? There surely can’t be that many. Yet happenstance has brought me one after the other.

However there are few other direct similarities between this and the last  book I reviewed. (Treacle Town by Brian Conaghan). For starters Finn Jones Was Here is suitable for a much younger readership; it sits comfortably within the MG range  Simon James Green deals with death and bereavement with a much lighter, often very funny, touch. If indeed you can consider death and bereavement light. But then that is exactly the very clever coup that this talented writer pulls off. Although charmingly entertaining, his book is far from superficial. Nor is it sentimental. In fact it treats its situation and characters with enormous sensitivity and understanding, making this an important read as well as a highly entertaining one. Constantly balanced on the knife edge between giggles and grief, it is often deeply affecting and ultimately life-affirming.

Sadly, many children will experience loss, be it of a grandparent, other family member, friend, or even a loved pet. And it is never easy for them to cope. Even for those who are fortunate enough not to encounter personal loss in their early years, it is important to understand the feelings of others who have. There are actually a good many children’s novels around that help deal with bereavement and the best are outstanding works of literature. Now Finn Jones Was Here has joined the ranks of these important books. Indeed, for a highly engaging, accessible read that offers consolation, in a way that this age group will be able to understand and talk about, it is hard to better.

A very special author

Simon James Green himself has already made a significant contribution to fiction for children and teens. His YA titles are hugely important (as well as enjoyable) in that they have brought stories with gay characters and themes into the mainstream and led to their availability in many schools and libraries. These books are helping enormously to bring diversity, inclusion and a more open society, as well as benefiting countless individuals who need to be able to find themselves in books. At the same time he has written several outstanding MG titles, to which he has now added another.

Protagonist Eric’s very close friend Finn has recently been lost through incurable illness, but has left a series of ‘treasure hunt’ clues for Eric to follow.These begin with the invitation to turn up to Finn’s funeral dressed as a unicorn, with inevitable hilarious consequences. The whole scenario initially reinforces Eric in the conviction that his friend is still alive somewhere and pulling a crazy stunt. For the reader, amusement is offset from the outset by the painful suspicion that Eric is simply avoiding a reality he does not wish to face.  However, it takes Eric most of the book to work towards this acceptance. At one stage, I did find myself wondering whether the author was going to be able to sustain this scenario for an entire novel. However, I need not have worried. Simon James Green keeps Eric’s story developing through a whole sequence of significant (and funny) activities. At the same time he reveals increasing detail of Eric’s earlier relationship with Finn in a series of nicely integrated flashbacks. Confirming the quality of this novel, the discoveries Eric makes about himself and about life (as well as death) are profoundly and universally human. And everything is brought about through the selflessly huge spirit of Finn. 

Images matter

Also importantly, the author here provides positive portraits of boys who are sensitive and loving, with imagination and flair, and this carries the vital, subliminal message that boys can be many things and should not let themselves be coerced into conforming to narrow stereotypes and prejudiced expectations. All have the need, and the right, simply to be themselves. 

Jennifer Jamieson’s illustrations enliven the text wonderfully, reflecting its warm humour whilst still allowing space for its poignant sensitivity.

This is a  book for all libraries, many upper primary classrooms, and hopefully lots of homes too. 

Treacle Town by Brian Conaghan

Definitely YA

Brian Conaghan has recently written two outstanding MG novels: Cardboard Cowboys and Swimming on the Moon. However, it is perhaps in YA fiction that his greatest work of all is to be found (and he is certainly a great writer) because it is here that he can give full reign to his most hard-hitting, gritty storytelling. His latest book Treacle Town carries a warning, ‘Not suitable for younger readers’, which is certainly apt. It is a down and dirty, punch in the gut of a book, bravely, brutally honest, emotionally harrowing. Yet its ‘Not suitable for younger readers’ statement seriously needs balancing with, ‘Unmissable for others.’

Messages

At its heart, this book carries many of the liberal messages of diversity, inclusion and anti-violence that are to be found in many quality works of YA fiction. It even includes a strong plug for books and libraries. Of course, these are right and important messages for books to promote. They are the messages our society and our world needs. They are, therefore, the messages young readers should indeed be faced with. And it does not matter if they have been said many times before. They need to be heard over and over again so that they become accepted by all and not just by some. But what makes Treacle Town so very special is the context from which these messages emerge and the voice through which they are expressed.

The place

Eighteen year-old protagonist Con O’Neill has grown up in Coatbridge, just outside Glasgow, an area of social and economic deprivation. His response to a group organiser ‘particularly interested in attracting people from disadvantaged areas’ is:

‘. . . does having a town chocka with charity and We Buy Gold shops constitute disadvantaged to you? . . . does having a town piled to the gunnels with deserted junky pads and crumbling high-rises represent disadvantaged to you? . . . does a town who plies its weans with pish food cos that’s all they can afford signal disadvantaged to you? See, if all these boxes can be ticked then I’m exactly the guy you’re after.’ (p 64)

And in many ways Con is the product of that environment. He largely failed at school. Still unemployed, his principal recreation has been to hang about the streets with his ‘team’ of mates,  He has been involved in extensive and excessive drinking and drug-taking, as well as shop lifting. He and his contemporaries are obsessed with wearing the ‘right’ designer gear.  In addition to this, he faces other emotional deprivations. His mother committed suicide relatively recently and he is now largely neglected by his body-building obsessed father. 

So near to Glasgow, his neighbourhood is viciously rifted along an entrenched religio-cultural, Celtic/Rangers divide. As nominal Roman Catholics, Con and his team have often been involved in violent street conflict with gangs of youths from the opposing faction. In fact, the shocking and immediately devastating opening of the novel finds Con at the funeral of his best mate ‘Biscuit’, the victim of knife crime by their deadly rivals.

Soaked in the language of these dismal streets and the youths who inhabit them, Brian Conaghan’s writing conjures this world with gripping vibrancy. In the canon of YA literature, there are, and have been, only a  few other writers with the knowledge, understanding  and skill to represent this significant element of our society with such convincing and devastating honesty. His narrative portrays and penetrates these lives with shattering intensity.

Wanting out 

Yet, Con’s thinking is very different from many around him. His ‘team’ includes a lesbian girl and an Asian-heritage  boy. In both cases he asserts that their value as mates, and indeed as human beings, completely supersedes any ethnicity or sexual orientation. Moreover, he is prepared to defend this position against the prejudice he regularly meets. Even more pertinently perhaps, he is becoming increasingly troubled  with the whole lifestyle of confrontation and street violence, an attitude brought to a head by the murder of Biscuit. More than anything he wants out. Coatbridge is the ‘Treacle Town’ in which Con and his mates are mired and from which he now desperately wishes to free himself. But it also stands for any and all such deprivation-moulded communities. Con is the hope of something different, the belief in something better. Escape may be possible, but it is extraordinarily hard.

Shock horror

This will undoubtedly prove a controversial book in some quarters. Very sadly, there will be some parents, and indeed teachers, who will object to its language, who will deplore its depiction of binge drinking, drug-taking, shoplifting and street violence. Yet those who try to sweep such issues under the carpet, or who claim that young readers will be led astray, corrupted by reading about them, will most miss, and even limit, this novel’s enormous potential. Young people living in the same or comparable environments to Con need to be able to find themselves in books, to read about a world they know. Pertinently, it shows them, through a voice they might just listen to, why they need to think and live beyond these circumstances. It even offers valuable hints as to ways they might do this. Its message, especially that against the stupidity of revenge, of meeting violence with violence, is enormously potent and relevant. Those young readers who are lucky enough not to live in such places, will also learn much and perhaps understand more. The final shock of the narrative hammers home Brian Conaghan’s central theme with devastatingly powerful impact.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not an overtly didactic book. It is essentially story and works wonderfully at that level. I think it would be wrong to say it is entertaining, but it is certainly compelling, deeply engrossing. 

Tenderness

For such a hard-hitting book, it is also amazingly touching. Con’s grief for his dead friend, Biscuit, and his desperation to escape ‘Treacle Town’ are deeply affecting. There is much beauty to be found here, in both words and content. The chapter where Con revisits the dismantled ‘shrine’ to Biscuit (‘Landfill’) is one of the most wonderfully written passages of fictional prose I have read in a very long time.  Also tenderly captured are his continuing love for his deceased mother and his, at least partial. rediscovery of his childhood relationship with his father. Perhaps most touching of all, by the end of the book, Con seems to be on the way towards an escape from his ‘Treacle Town’ shackles that does not betray his connection to his roots or to those people he fundamentally loves, despite recognising their shortcomings. 

Greatness 

I do not have a personal experience of living in a ‘Treacle Town’ environment. or anything like it. Moreover, I had little prior knowledge and no experience of Slam poetry, which is integral to this narrative. Yet, this novel spoke to me more strongly, than almost anything I have read in recent years. I was emotionally invested in Con and compulsively involved in his story. I think this is because it is such a profoundly and universally human book. 

Together with one other totally remarkable YA novel I read earlier this year*, this is not just a fine book, it is a truly great one.

*Play by Luke Palmer, which I reviewed here is September.

The Witch-Stone Ghosts by Emily Randall-Jones

Here is a second recommendation for the Halloween/Half Term season, although it could equally be enjoyed at any time. It is an easy, but most entertaining read for children of about 9 upwards, short chapters making it particularly accessible. It would be a great book for adults to share with or read aloud to children too; the stuff of spooky mystery rather than real nightmare.

Cover: Micaela Alcaino

I see deal people

Protagonist, Autumn, has the ability to see and hear ghosts, although she often finds their intrusion into her daily life more annoying than anything, There seem to be rather a lot of them around her London home and their quirky characters are often persistently demanding of her attention.This is not a totally original scenario in children’s fiction, but here it is amusingly and entertainingly handled. Autumn does have one particular ‘friend’ amongst the ghosts, Jack, an erstwhile chimney sweep, who she summons with a particular playing card. This gives her a confidant whilst early stages of what is to be an intriguing mystery start to evolve, helping to open up the thoughts and feelings of a vividly drawn and engaging main character.

Stones and ghosts

However, it is when, at the behest of her deceased father, Autumn has to move to, Imber, a very strange little island off the coast of Cornwall, that the originality and richness of this story really starts to emerge. Local legend has it that the island is ‘Wrong to its bones.’  However, for Amber, its mysteries seem to be as much associated with stones as bones. Her father left her what turns out to be a witch stone (a sea pebble with a hole right through), and it seems to have rather mystical associations, a kind of small cousin to henges, monoliths and stone circles. It is a thing of the past as well as of the present, a ghost of a stone. There is much strange singing of folk-type songs in Imber too and other weird and rather intriguing shenanigans. As it develops, this becomes one of those stories that effectively draw in resonances with our deep past, as well as the personal past of Amber and her father. It is all most intriguing. Emily Randall-Jones’ conjuring of the island and its people is rooted and vivid, there is magic here.There is the ever presence of the sea too and, as the narrative proceeds, the emphasis subtly switches to deeper and darker mysteries. Everything climaxes in a terrific storm of wickedness and enchantments, of songs and stones and ghosts. Neither people nor events are altogether what they seemed and the author spins her sea spells wonderfully.

Imagine this

This is a book with no pretensions to change our planet or even individual lives, but it is wonderful, escapist entertainment, rich food for the imagination, and sometimes that is exactly what children want and need. The Witch-Stone Ghosts is an assured debut. There were times when it reminded me a little of early Catherine Doyle (in a very good way). It is hard to tell whether this title will be a stand-alone or the first of a sequence. But either way I am sure there will soon be many children looking forward eagerly to Emily Randall-Jones’ next book.

Dragon Daughter by Liz Flanagan

Cover art: Joe Todd-Stanton

'Milla saw a smooth, glistening expanse nestling in a deep velvet surround. There was a rounded dome inside, a light turquoise blue, dotted with dark gold speckles like the first drops of rain on stone. Gently, she wiggled her fingers down the sides and lifted it out.' (p 52)

Back through the years

Even though it was a long time ago, I have clear memories of trailing home from school through grey streets, in a depressing downpour, my belted gabardine raincoat and schoolboy cap soaking in more water than they repelled. I huddled swiftly along, not so much because of the weather but because of what was waiting for me,  a world of comfort to which I ached to return, the world of a book. In those day it was probably an Arthur Ransome or a Malcolm Saville, although a  very first reading of The Lord of the Rings was not far ahead. These were books I lived in, books that I simultaneously longed to finish and wanted never to end. I was desperate to get to the final pages, not simply to find out what happened, but to reach that place when everything turned out all right. At the same time I wanted the book to go on and on; I didn't want to leave its world and, perhaps most of all, I didn't want to leave the company of its characters, who felt like my very special friends. I wanted to be with them, to be like them, to be them. And, whilst I was reading, I was. 

Only very rarely since then have I found books that immersed me in quite that way. Dragon Daughter is one of them 

The dragon's egg

At the heart of this new book protagonist, Milla, is present at the hatching of a dragon and the two pair for life. 

Of course, stories about dragons abound in fantasy literature. A good number of these are dragons that, on hatching, form a unique bond with a particular human, who subsequently becomes their rider. Perhaps the most deservedly famous of authors to exploit this idea is adult sci-fi/fantasy writer Anne McCaffery. Her Harper Hall Trilogy (Dragonsong; Dragonsinger; Dragondrums), is the element within her vast Dragonriders of Pern sequence most clearly aimed towards a Young Adult audience. It particularly stands out as amongst my all time most enjoyable reads. There are many children's books too that feature dragons, hatching eggs and riders. Amongst others writers, Cornelia Funke, Angie Sage and Cressida Cowell have all, in different ways, woven wonderful magic from these particular story elements  

So, if is is not originality of concept, then what is it that makes Dragon Daughter such an outstanding  book?

New world, new friends

For starters,  Liz Flanagan builds a convincing 'high' fantasy world of compelling intrigue that almost immediately draws us in. In has a rich balance of familiarity and freshness that we enter willingly together with that mixture  of comfort and excited stimulation that constitutes a really good read. Added to this Milla and her small group of friends are not just interesting but completely credible as characters - and hugely likeable too. It is easy to identify with them.  What happens to them as the story develops swiftly engenders that very state of mind where we desperately want things to work out well, but fear that they won't - for a good while at least.

When we are reading this book, it does not matter one jot that stories about dragon riders have been written before because we are living through every engrossing moment of this one. Only this particular story is important. This place matters because it is the one we are in.  This situation matters because it is the one we are experiencing. These characters are the ones we care about, not in some abstract way, but right here, right now. This author's imagining of the events comes alive. Everything that happens matters to Milla, so it matters to us. 

I don't know exactly what it is in the writing that creates this effect, but it is the mark of a very talented children's author.

Compelling

'In the days that followed, Milla would be glad of those wakeful hours she'd spent with her dragon. She held the memory of their closeness like a blanket around her against what happened next.' (p 294) By the later stages of the story we readers know exactly how she felt. We need all the warmth and feel good of the earlier chapters to survive the shocking trauma and heartache of the climactic later ones.

Dragon Daughter is an outstanding example of the power of story. Although the development of the narrative involves descent into revolution and bloody warfare, it remains very much the tale of Milla and her friends - and, of course, their dragons. Perhaps, indeed, this is where its true power lies. It has a human scale, whilst still dealing with huge events and themes. 

Deep wrongs

And there lies the essence of of it. The greatest thing of all about Liz Flanagan's writing, is that this book is not just a story. Into its plot she subtly but surely weaves some of today's most real and concerning themes. Embedded within her narrative is an exploration of racism, with examples of its most fundamental and heinous expression. Although seen through the veils of fantasy, its presence immediately resonates with our own world. A ' superior' society  that  treats with blatant unfairness and careless cruelty those it considers inferior feels all too familiar. Impoverished and neglected 'camps' of unwelcome immigrants only add to the picture. And, when individuals are forced, by draconian law, to wear symbols sewn on their clothing to externally badge their racial status, the horrendous parallels are obvious. 

Strident beneath all this is the despotism of  the ruling Duke. It is abundantly clear that his tyranny, and its pervasive abhorrent attitudes, stem directly from a male dominance and and unconcerned determination to maintain perceived masculine power and superiority at any cost.  Fortunately Milla, and a good few other strong female characters, are there to oppose him. It is highly pertinent, too, that they seek to replace those attitudes, not with an alternative tyranny, but with a new, inclusive and tolerant way of living in their world. It is quietly, but powerfully, a very feminist book. And three cheers for that. 

However, unlike some of the most strident feminist writers, Liz Flanagan does not demonise all males. Once imprinted by his dragon, the Duke's son, Vigo, becomes very much a 'new man', fighting alongside Milla for freedoms that should belong to all people equally. There also are other boys and men in the story, willing to stand up for what is right, and pay the cost, alongside the girls and women. And three cheers for that too.

Politics and fantasy

After writing Tehanu, the much later sequel to her renowned Earthsea trilogy, Ursula Le Guin was accused of  'politicising her delightful fantasy world'. In response she reminded us that, 'The world apart of a fantasy inevitably refers back to this world. All the moral weight of it is real weight. The politics of fairyland are ours.' * I can think of few better examples of this than Dragon Daughter. The fact that Liz Flanagan achieves it whilst still keeping everything fully accessible to a young audience, and entertainin them hugely to boot, is much to her credit. She does not lecture, but embodies her messages in her characters and their actions - and that is what great fiction does. 

'Milla's new knowledge of her own heritage still felt dangerous, incendiary as firepowder. She circled it warily. But one distant day, if they won this fight, she resolved to sit in the palace library and read every book, every sentence, every word that had ever been written (about that heritage).' (p 322). 

Thankfully there are now many books that can help girls, and indeed boys too, to envision the world as it can and should be. And this is one of them. 

Flying with a dragon

There is something very special in the idea of a dragon hatchling imprinting on a human child, of the two developing a lifelong, emotional, almost physical, bond. I think it is, perhaps, a perfect metaphor for the desire, the need, in all of us to bond with the world of fantasy, of imagination, of magic; to discover its power and its freedom; to fly our own dragon through life. Liz Flanagan capitalises upon our need for such a dragon  as convincingly and captivatingly as any children's writer I have encountered. 

But there is more to Dragon Daughter even than this. Its messages, both overt and subliminal, are profoundly important. 

'The dragon's must belong to everyone. The new eggs must hatch before everyone. We have to do things differently.' (p 322)

It is about revisioning the world. 

'Milla and the dragon stared at each other and the world was remade.' (p 122) So it is for readers of this wondrous book, for its duration at least - and, perhaps, through their power to imagine things being different, for ever. Now that's magic. 

Note:

* In a lecture of 1992, later published under the title Earthsea Revisioned.