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.