Hedgewitch by Skye McKenna

Cover art: Saara Söderlund

Comfort not challenge

The finest children’s fiction is often highly original, thought-provoking and relatively challenging. However there are also times when children want, and need, comfortable escapism. (Me too sometimes.) It is a good while since I discovered such enchanting ‘comfort’ reading for children around 7-10 yrs as Skye McKenna’s Hedgewitch.

As an added bonus, this is a very handsome volume. The cover art by Saara Söderlund is attractive, and the dark green boards are beautifully embellished in gold. However, it is the brilliant interior line drawings by Tomislav Tomic that are the physical book’s crowning glory. They seem to capture the feel of the story perfectly, ‘old fashioned’, in a very good way; somehow reminiscent of pictures that might be found in an old book of Fairy Tales, yet charmingly warm at the same time. 

In this, her debut novel, Skye McKenna mixes a recipe of the familiar ingredients from children’s fantasy, yet does so with such captivating skill, that she produces a dish of reading delight. Here we have lonely Cassie, a supposed orphan; escape from bullies at a dreary boarding school; an encounter with a talking cat; a determined quest to find a mother only she believes is alive; discovery that her aunt is a famous witch,  training sessions for a group of would-be young witches; a magical test to be passed; mysterious dangers in a deep, dark wood. The list is endless. Yet it is all a glorious indulgence in magical enchantment, 

Delightful world-building

Much of the story’s magic is very gentle. Apart from the proximity of the dark ‘Hedge’, the border between the real world and that of faery, the village of Hedgely, where Cassie comes to live, is something of a cross between Diagon Ally and a hamlet in the Cotswolds. As a little bonus, the delicious description of Widdershin’s bookshop is enough to send the heart of any book-lover soaring. (Independent bookshops for ever!)  Excepting the odd goblin, most of Hedgely’s inhabitants are charmingly quaint,  Despite its uniform of black cloak and pointy hat, the Coven of Young Witches, is far more of a Brownie Guide pack than an indoctrination into occult practices. The competitive exhibition of spells, in which Cassie and her young witch friends are expected to participate, takes place at what is essentially a village fete.

On top of all the incident of life in this magical village, the tale is threaded through with evocative description of nature and the the countryside, which pulls everything even closer an idyl of rural life. This quality of writing also goes into the conjuring of its characters, particularly protagonist Carrie, so that the reader quickly engages with her and invests in her story.

But then, as befits a good tale, which this certainly is, darker forces begin to put in an appearance and events become gradually more sinister, building towards an exciting climax, before the eventual warming resolution (for now!).

One for the shelf of cherished books

You might say that this new novel will fill the sort of reading need that Enid Blyton provided for the children of the 1950s. However, this is a far finer book. (In fairness there was far less choice around in the 50s.) With its ethos of rural magic, rather than high fantasy, it reminded me slightly of Terry Pratchett’s glorious Tiffany Aching books (although those are for slightly older readers), but it is perhaps even more akin to Michelle Harrison’s brilliant Pinch of Magic series, and particularly James Nicol’s delightful Apprentice Witch trilogy. Readers who enjoyed any of these will likely revel in  Hedgewitch, and vice versa. 

This is a book lots of children should have on their own shelves (as I’m sure future generations will too), not just to read once, but to return to when the need arises, as it surely will. Despite, or perhaps because of, its moments of excited trepidation, it is a warm and comforting read. It is ideal for any youngsters just coming to fantasy, as well as the myriad who are already fans. It is also made for those many, of any age, who still look for a book to snuggle down with on a (metaphorically) cold or rainy day.

Clearly there is more of Cassie and her friends to come, a prospect for which we should all be hugely thankful.

A Game of Fox and Squirrels by Jenn Reese

Illustrations: Jessica Roux

‘Sam had not lost everything. Not yet. Not when she still had a chance to save her family and her old life by being a little brave.’ (p 48)

UK paperback release

The paperback of this book from US author Jenn Reece has just been published and will soon be available over here. This will, hopefully, bring a deserved larger UK readership to this poignant novel. However, as someone who enjoys the physicality of books as well as their content, I must say the hardback I already have is itself a most pleasingly attractive volume, with the strength and impact of its story well reflected in Jessica Roux’s powerful illustrations..

Jenn Reese’s great skill is in capturing authentically and very affectingly the thoughts and feelings of a child going though a time of trauma. Protagonist Sam and her slightly older sister have, with the involvement of a social worker, suddenly been removed from their home and parents and sent to live with an Aunt Vicky who they have never met, in a State they have never even visited before. One of the strengths of the writing is that the circumstances of this disturbing change only gradually become apparent as the story develops, although the fact that Sam’s sister, Caitlin, arrives with a broken arm in a sling is an early clue; there is no crude exposition here, only subtlety and sensitivity. Although not completely mute, Sam is extremely quiet and withdrawn in response to the drastic changes in her circumstances. Her wild mental swings between her passionate wish to return home, her response the nature of the countryside in which she finds herself and her habituated escapes into reading and fantasy, convey her intense insecurity most disturbingly.

A game and not a game 

The principal narrative driver involves Sam being given a box containing an old card game, that of the book’s  title, the characters and actions of which soon begin to permeate her ‘reality’. When squirrels in human clothes start to appear there is a brief fear that this story is becoming twee. But nothing could be further from the case. Prompted by a manifestation of the highly unreliable fox character, Sam is soon pursuing the goal of discovering the  game’s ‘golden acorn’, which she believes will grant her deepest wish of returning home to her family and friends. She is also learning the demanding and disquieting cost of the fox’s ‘help’.

Alongside the game, Sam struggles with the relationships of her new situation, with her newly-discovered aunt, with the boy who knits (you’ll see!) and even with the changes in her own sister. And the brilliance of the writing comes fully clear as the relationship between Sam’s game and her reality emerges. Both the structuring of the narrative and the language of its telling are exceptional in their skilled control, leading the reader into intense emotional involvement with Sam and her story.

Dark to light

As the narrative slides in towards its climax, the game becomes increasingly dark, horrible even. When the storm rages and the fox hunts the tale takes on a terrible intensity. It is disturbing, shocking; but then so is the domestic situation it shadows. It does not matter whether Sam’s playing of the increasingly compulsive and heart-rending game is her own fantasy or ‘magical reality’. It is a deeply potent metaphor. It is her working through of all she and her sister have suffered in the most insidious of circumstances, perpetrated by the very people who should have been her protectors. 

Fortunately Aunt Vicky knows the way to start healing. The only way.

‘I want you to know that I love you, and that you can trust me. You don’t have to do anything to earn these things. If you mess up, I will still love you. If you lie to me, you can still trust me. You are worthy of love, Sam. Just as you are.’  (p 156)

The Bishop’s Candlesticks. Love to the loveless shown. A golden dawn with the real ‘golden acorn’.

As it should be

As a bonus, when Sam and her sister arrive at Aunt Vicky’s house, it is to discover that their aunt has a wife. The  single-sex nature of this marriage is accepted without comment or question and this seems to me exactly how such a partnership should be treated in fiction for young children, as something perfectly normal and unremarkable in itself. Our hope and aim must always be that our children will help create a more inclusive world that our own.

Don’t miss this

This books sits thrillingly in an America heritage of sensitive and revelatory writing about children, for children; a line that runs through such greats as Betsy Byars, Katherine Paterson and Patricia Reilly Giff. It also reminded me of some of the amazing older children’s novels of Australian Ursula Dubosarsky*, a writer who is not nearly as well know here as she deserves, despite being revered in her native part of the world. 

A Game of Fox and Squirrels is a very special book, stunningly conceived and realised. It speaks from the heart and to the heart. It is surely a must for anyone in the U.K. who is widely interested in children’s literature, as well as for young readers seeking something that will engage both mind and emotions deeply.

Oh and one final thing. It is also the ideal book for egg lovers (you’ll see!). Although I’m sure vegans will enjoy it too. 

At about the same time as this is one published in paperback, Jenn Reese has a brand new MG novel out,  Every Bird a Prince. From a writer of this distinction, it has to be worth looking out for.

Note:

*If you can, get hold of The Blue Cat, The Red Shoe, or even The Game of the Goose, I strongly recommend.

The Imagination Chamber by Philip Pullman

It is remarkable how an author like Philip Pullman, who often writes at considerable length, can make so much out of so little. But then he is a very great writer.

How wrong can you be?

I have recently seen a leading bookseller describe this title as possibly ‘just for His Dark Materials completists.’  This is, I think, misleading. However, it could perhaps be said that this is a book for His Dark Materials enthusiasts. It is, almost certainly, for those who have already read the full works, those who know them well and reflect on them.

I have also seen the book described, in some reader reviews on the internet, as a ‘rip off’ or ‘scam’, often with the cynical implication that it is a publisher’s catch-penny to lure fans into a in-fill purchase whilst waiting for the next volume in the actual sequence. But this is to miss the point of this little book completely, to fail to see it for what it is. 

Cerainly anyone looking for a new story from Lyra’s world, even a short one, will be disappointed. Of this handsome little volume’s 85 pages (not including the brief author introduction), each left-hand leaf is blank, whilst the right contains just a small amount of print, sometimes as little as a sentence, only occasionally a near pageful. However, the richness and intensity of what is there is remarkable. Were this book a collection of poetry, then I think buyers would not be so inclined to moan about the amount of actual text it contains. And although this is not poetry, it is closely akin.

Less is more

The Imagination Chamber is not giving us more of the same in terms of the Dark Materials/Book of Dust universe. Superficially it is, in fact, giving us less of the same. But here Philip Pullman really does demonstrate that less is more.

Although we may well have already met some of this matter in context, being presented with these ‘lantern slides’, these individual pictures, in isolation from the ongoing story, and juxtaposed to other miniatures, throws them into much higher relief, makes them glow and their resonances refract and reflect brightly. They become the glass shards in a kaleidoscope, patterns that fall together, then slide apart again in the reader’s mind, only to tumble back into new formations. You could think of them as symbols on an alethiometer. They can hint at answers if you ask the right questions; give responses that may seem illusive but hide ever-deepening layers Who exactly is Lyra? What kind of creatures are dæmons? Where is Cittàgazze? What is Dust? The more questions asked, the more clues are revealed. These cuttings from a much larger story do not quite tell you things. They make you think them, imagine them, for yourself. In enigma, revelation; intuitive understanding.

Philip Pullman talks in his brief introduction, itself rather enigmatic, of these sparks of ideas generating stories in the imagination. And yes, they clearly do this. They subtly cut open doorways, showing the way the author himself has built, is building, a world and its story around such glowing particles. Equally remarkable is what these snippets reveal about this great writer’s skill with language, his ability to select the telling word, to construct sentences of breathtakingly simple elegance.

This is not a book for those wanting a new story. But anyone seeking imaginative insight into Lyra’s world and their own, into a great writer’s mind and his skill with language, need not, indeed should not, hesitate.

Here is Kendal Mint Cake for the spirit; to be nibbled, not chomped through.

News: ‘From the Story Chair’

Still some issues

From time to time I am asked by Primary teachers for recommendations of books to read aloud to their classes. I usually respond directly and suggest some of the excellent existing websites, blogs and other resources where recommendations can be found. 

However, several adviser and consultant friends, currently working in schools, continue to express concerns to me that some teachers are overwhelmed by the vast number of books available and still lack confidence in choosing them. Although reading aloud and supporting reading for pleasure are enjoying a wonderful renaissance, there are still some teachers who are hesitant to devote curriculum time to reading aloud and, when they do, only read from a very limited range of books.

New resource offered

I have therefore been persuaded to start a new blog of my own, aimed primarily at these teachers. It offers a small number of recommendations of great books to read aloud, together with my top tips for effective ‘Story Time’. It is based on over forty years of experience, very many as a teacher and adviser, but also as a parent and grandparent, who has consistently read hundreds of children’s books a year, and continues to do so. 

The blog can be found at FromTheStoryChair.blogspot.com

I have organised my recommendations into themes and age groups, but deliberately limited suggestions in each to just a small handful of titles, hoping not to overwhelm with choice. My aspiration  is to add further themes over time, but not to increase the number of suggestions within each theme, This means that the blog is intended as no more than a ‘starter’ resource. I am fully aware that there are so many other great books I have not included and many other fine recommendation sites available.  I simply hope that I might help to set a few more teachers off on the wonderful adventure  of discovery and enjoyment to be found in exploring the world of children’s books, as well as giving them confidence that sharing books with children needs to be a core experience of almost every school day.

The Sky Over Rebecca by Matthew Fox

Cover: Ben Mantle

‘She knew what was going to happen because it already had happened.’ (p 176)

Refreshingly original

Sometimes children’s books, even good ones, can be rather unoriginal. Perhaps this is not surprising as publishers tend to follow trends. Nor is it altogether a bad thing. What children often want to read is ‘more of the same.’ Nevertheless it is good to come across something that feels refreshingly different. Its setting, in and around Stockholm, where its author now lives, certainly gives The Sky Over Rececca a distinct perspective and atmosphere. We may share the same sky, but here it is seen from unfamiliar ground, through colder air. Its light is light  on snow; sometimes daylight, sometimes electric light, even lamplight, candlelight, or starlight And the change is very welcome. Its buildings too, its environs, have a intriguingly different feel, and this seems to permeate the story itself. However,  location is far from the only thing that makes this a work of rare distinction.

I have seen this novel compared, on social media, to Tom’s Midnight Garden. This earlier title is also referred to in the text as a book much-loved by its protagonist, Kara, so I suppose that reinforces the connection. But, to me, the comparisons are relatively superficial. Yes, both involve time-slips, engender  a relationships with someone from an earlier generation, as well as a good deal of skating. However, rightly treasured though the Philippa Pearce classic is, this feels like a far more complex, multi-themed book. If anything it reminded me as much of Christopher Edge’s wonderful The Longest Night of Charlie Noon. Although, even saying this, I do not wish to detract from the deeply affecting originality of Matthew Fox’s debut.

Affectingly taught writing

The first thing to strike me about this book was the economy of its prose, its almost overly-abrupt style of writing, Much of it is composed in short, clear sentences with frequent line breaks. I am certainly someone who admires economy and precision of language, but initially what felt like the brittleness of this writing rather disturbed  me. It seemed almost as if it had been deliberately written for less confident readers. Yet, as the story unfolds, this rather  fractured prose starts to feel completely right. It begins to reflect the location and mood of the piece very potently. It catches the thoughts and feelings  of its young protagonist, both her uncertainties and her commitments, most affectingly. It evokes some startling events with a powerful immediacy. Ultimately, it develops human relationships with remarkable depth and sensitivity, despite, or more accurately because of, its directness of language and style.

The present past

The characters Klara meets when she slips into the past, Rebecca and her brother, are Jewish children in hiding from the Nazis during WWII. This theme is handled with compassion and strongly promotes the importance of remembrance. However, this is not essentially a war story, or even a story about war. It is a story about time, its mystery, its fragility, and the way the past is intimately interwoven into all aspects of life. The time jumps experienced by the characters in the story are not altogether logical, but then that is the point. This is not an intellectual exploration of the concept of time, it is rather a subjective, emotional experience of the power and presence of the past. It is almost metaphysical. As T. S. Eliot wrote, ‘All time is eternally present.’

Death and life

This is also a book about death. It explores both darkness and death. It contains several deaths of characters hugely significant in Klara’s life. But it is not a morbid book, nor a depressing one, and it is  certainly not a sentimental one. For, just as the past finds a way into the present, so do lives lost in the past, distant or recent. Those who have died are part of our now, whilst we remember them.

It is also a book about light and life, love and friendship; the love of mother and daughter, of a grandfather and granddaughter, the real friendship of two girls who meet across time, and of a girl and a former bully, who once fought each other, but do so no longer. 

Stardust

It is a very fine book. It has much to say to us that is beautiful, happy-sad, brilliant-dark. It tells us the time that separates us from the stars is vast. However, it also tells us that the time that separates us from the past is but a sheet of ice. Sometimes we can see through it vaguely, sometimes it cracks. The time of the stars and the time through the ice are the same time. They are our time, for we are all stardust. Parts of the past are here in the present. We must light a candle for them. The candlelight and the starlight are the same thing. The sky over Rebecca is the sky over us all.

‘Astronomical twilight.

The stars were out.

Lars held the candle. . . .

The flame shivered for a moment and guttered, and we thought we’d lost it, but it held.

It stayed alight, sheltered by our hands.’   (p 269-270)

Wished by Lissa Evans

Cover art: Sarah McIntyre

Classic in more ways than one 

Having already penned a couple of entertaining children’s books (as well as some very successful novels for adults), Lissa Evans hit the children’s fiction jackpot in 2017 with Wed Wabbit, a very funny, whimsical adventure with a good deal of heart that will be a much loved element of many a childhood for years to come.

Now this very talented and skilful writer has produced another strong contender for children’s modern classic status. There are many ways in which this book is reminiscent of the older classics of Edith Nesbit. Not that her works are at all similar in setting. Wished is markedly contemporary in its characters and their thinking, whilst the E. Nesbit titles are very much of their time, rooted in the style and social milieu  of over a hundred years ago. Of course, there is much that remains common to childhood, across time.But it is not really that.

It is more that a storyline where children discover a magic item (or meet a magical creature) that grants wished, leading to a series of fantastic and sometimes unintended mini-adventures, is very much the sort of plot basis for Edith Nesbit too. In fact, the wishes theme is actually one that can be found in far more ancient and traditional stories from around the world too. This is, however, very much not a criticism of Lissa Evans’s new book. Quite the contrary. It is wonderful for today’s children to have some of the traditions of children’s literature reinterpreted and explored for their own time, in fully contemporary idiom. In this, it creates a reading experience that is rooted and resonant at the same time as it is immediate, accessible and hugely enjoyable.

Enchanting read

This is exactly what this author very much provides - and she does it quite wonderfully. Her characters and their attitudes are ones with which a wide range of children will readily identify. In this tale, where the children use the wishes from a set of forgotten birthday candles, both action and dialogue are often very funny indeed, not least the contributions from Attlee, a cantankerous (and exceedingly smelly) old cat, who gains the power of speech after one of the wishes. Lissa Evans keeps the whole narrative moving and very much alive by establishing a pattern of action following each wish and then subsequently subverting it in surprising ways. The whole is excitingly unpredictable and a feast of quite delightful imagination.

Inclusion too

This story has another very significant plus, though, in that one of its main characters is a boy who uses a wheelchair. These days, the range of diverse representation in children’s books is, thankfully, improving all the time. However, whilst there are now some outstanding representations of neurodiversity especially autism, as well as greater ethnic diversity, physical ‘disability’ is perhaps still under-represented. I see illustrations of children with wheelchairs in a good few picture books (especially from publishers like Barefoot Books), but far less of them as protagonists in mainstream fiction.And here the behaviour of Ed, the boy in question, is not in any way presented as a ‘handicap’. Apart from a very few practical limitations, he is an active participant in all aspects of the story’s action, as well as a fully and naturally accepted member of the protagonist group of three friends (plus cat!). As with all such welcome examples of inclusivity it is important for similar children to be able to find themselves in books and their sensitive representation helps other children develop awareness and empathy. 

Hearts and minds 

Overall, this is not a story for readers seeking to explore the harsher realities of real-life experience. Rather it is delightful escapism, that nevertheless has much to teach, not didactically, but through truthful modelling of believable children and a denouement that is both warm and wise. If the book has a moral, then it isn’t simply, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ It is, rather, a far more positive urging to life, courage, and determination: ‘Don’t end up regretting things you wished you’d done, and could have done, but never did.’

Cover: Sarah McIntyre

The Light in Everything by Katya Balen NOW OUT IN PAPERBACK

Cover: Sydney Smith

Quite some writer

You can very often tell from the first few pages of a book that you are in the presence of a truly wonderful writer. And so it is with this one.

Katya Balen’s first book, The Space We’re In, is a heart-rending little masterpiece of sensitivity towards neurodiversity and family love; a celebration of specialness. Her second, October, October, is, in my view, one of the finest works of (children’s) fiction written in the past twenty years or so, a peon to nature and a profound exploration of what it means to live in balance with it, and ourselves.

I therefore opened this, her new third book, with almost breathless trepidation. I so desperately hoped it would be as good as the others, but was genuinely afraid that it was really too much to expect. Was I heading for disappointment? No such thing. Katya Balen has a rare ability to create economical prose that communicates with incredible power and effectiveness, crafting words that are simple enough in themselves in ways that spark novel, evocative and often very potent images. Combined with this, she has quite remarkable insight into the minds of children, particularly those undergoing trauma, and can lay their thoughts and emotions bare with devastating poignancy.

‘That new strange feeling is growing shoots and leaves and I try to scream it away.’ (p 39)

‘He shrinks back into his chair like he is made of liquid and will soon be smoke.’ (p 44)

Darkness 

The book’s two, initially unrelated, protagonists, Zofia and Tom, have each learned to cope with their very different issues in a single-parent context.When they are thrust unwillingly together through the partnering of their respective father and mother, it hugely exacerbates their  problems. Within this heightened context, Katya Balen explores, with great understanding and sympathy, some of the damaging consequences of violent domestic abuse that injures far more deeply than bruised skin or broken bones, as well, as issues around anger management, the trauma of change, and deep insecurity.

For those readers who identify strongly with the two protagonists (and given the quality of this author’s writing it is hard to imagine many who won’t) this is a hyper-intense and deeply affecting emotional journey. The alternating internal monologues of the two children allow us to appreciate both perspectives, even whilst understanding how and why they are in conflict. This, combined with the short sections, hurtles us through their story, with a desperation to seek resolution even as it combines with growing trepidation at the way each child’s issues only serve to aggravate the other’s. It is all quite brilliantly, if devastatingly, paced and developed by this breathtakingly skilful writer.

Light

Although it is in large part a disturbing and rather dark book, its conclusion is wonderfully uplifting, positive and reassuring, as is fitting for this age of readership. Although darkness permeates the story just as much as it seeps from the cracks between the floorboard of Tom’s bedroom, it does ultimately not only reveal, but also celebrate ‘the light in everything’.

There are now a good number of fine children’s book that focus on bullying, a real concern for many children.  Indeed, a hurtful lack of understanding from other children features movingly here in respect of Tom’s experience at his previous school. However, it is good to see that Katya Balen balances this with a warmly supportive peer group, school and community in his current situation, which, thankfully, can also sometimes be found in life.

Beautiful jacket too

Just as I thought the book itself would be a hard act to follow, I felt the same about Angela Harding’s cover art for October, October, which was both sumptuous and apt. Again my fears have been completely allayed. Sydney Smith’s very different, but equally stunning, jacket for The Light in Everything captures beautifully the subtle, emotive power of the story. Katya Balen is fortunate to have been paired with two such talented artist/ illustrators (three when you include Laura Carlin for the first book) and it is good that they are prominently given due acknowledgment on the respective jackets, which is not always the case.

The light in everyone

Producing three completely outstanding titles in a row is a remarkable achievement from Katya Balen, who certainly now deserves to be considered one of our finest writers for children. This latest book should be high on any list of titles promoting empathy. It is not a book for young readers who seek only the entertainment of high-octane, escapist adventure or raucous comedy. However those who approach it open-mindedly will be compellingly absorbed and leave it deeply affected, with a richer understanding of others, and perhaps themselves. Katya Balen is a writer who illuminates the light in everyone.