tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12580185022658452512024-03-05T10:07:26.751+00:00HurlyburlybussChildren's books from 1800 to the present: a personal viewGeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-38461480785574692212013-12-17T11:21:00.002+00:002013-12-17T11:22:19.463+00:00Let's Kill Uncle by Rohan O'Grady<div class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Reposted from <a href="http://geraniumcatsbookshelf.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">GeraniumCat's Bookshelf</a></span></i></div>
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The Bloomsbury Group's reissues are almost always must-reads and this --
one I'd never heard of -- turned out to be pure delight.<br />
<br />
The S.S. <i>Haida Prince</i> is arriving at a island on the west of Canada with two children on board: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The deck steward, an ex-fighter with sloping, powerful shoulders, approached them.<br />
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "Do you know anything that will dissolve chewing gum? Something that won't dissolve a dog?"<br />
The first mate and the purser exchanged glances.<br />
"<i>Them</i>?" asked the first mate.<br />
"Yes, sir. One of the border collies in the hold. Its muzzle is glued
together. They just thought he'd like a wad of gum, the little
bastards."</blockquote>
Although the island looks idyllic, one of the sailors describes how it is cursed: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"In two world wars thirty-three men have left to fight for their
country. Only one has come back alive. See that Mountie on the dock?
He's the fellow. All the rest killed, down to the last man. If there
such a thing as a dead island, this is it."</blockquote>
The island has no idea what's going to hit it. The children, who are
nothing to do with each other, are exceedingly unprepossessing. The
girl, Christie, has come to board on the island for the summer to give
her a holiday from her single mother, while Barnaby is supposed to be
holidaying with his uncle, but the uncle hasn't turned up. Fortunately,
Mr and Mrs Brooks at the store volunteer to look after the boy while his
uncle is contacted. But things start badly because on the boat trip the
children have decided they are sworn enemies. Of course the adults
don't realise this and next morning Barnaby sent to play with Christie
in the expectation that it will be nice for them both. Mayhem ensues,
and the Mountie has to intervene.<br />
<br />
It is Christie, however, who finally learns why Barnaby is so troubled -
heir to a large fortune, he is certain that the uncle who appears so
kindly to everyone else is actually out to kill him. Whenever he tries
to explain this, Uncle says sadly what a wicked and deluded little boy
he is. Once Christie is persuaded that the danger is real, she comes up
with a solution: they must kill Uncle first. In this, they are
unwillingly assisted by a battered, one-eyed cougar who is, to his
annoyance and humiliation, befriended by the children. Hence the
adorable Edward Gorey cover which graced the original edition:<br />
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The children and their troubles are real and immediate, their bickering
and ingratitude a very plausible reaction to their bewildering new
circumstances. Christie finds herself unwittingly echoing that earlier
exile, Heidi, with her bed in the attic of the goat-lady's house.
Barnaby, meanwhile, becomes an instant substitute for the Brooks boy who
went off to war -- expected to eat Dickie's favourite supper of
bread-and-milk he throws the bowl in fury at the wall. Fortunately, the
goat-lady, Mrs Neilson, and Sergeant Coulter know how to set some
boundaries. Not necessarily any consolation to the long-suffering border
collies though.<br />
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This gothic little gem is just itching to be turned into a film by Wes Anderson and if, like me, you adored <i>Moonrise Kingdom</i>,
you will love it. In fact, it's rather similar in tone and setting and
even, to some extent, plot (I wonder if Anderson has read it? I hasten
to add, it's only <i>reminiscent </i>of Anderson's film, there's no
actual connection that would in any way spoil it for the reader). It
was, apparently, made into a horror film in 1966, and I found a copy of
the poster:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7MhlDtkkurHuCX-hf46Gukb9ZVd_I_KUjPgVS8q1QXYtoLfUcJmLV-2McNCDcK1FoluHEExrunGvfpxr1Q0XG3oHazXW6muQdycVrHMNI-uLy3VpuJUg0qyoMQtr7JdAwaZRM6pszA/s1600/letskilluncleposter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7MhlDtkkurHuCX-hf46Gukb9ZVd_I_KUjPgVS8q1QXYtoLfUcJmLV-2McNCDcK1FoluHEExrunGvfpxr1Q0XG3oHazXW6muQdycVrHMNI-uLy3VpuJUg0qyoMQtr7JdAwaZRM6pszA/s320/letskilluncleposter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I suspect that the rather joky appearance is an indication that the film
will clumsily eradicate the subtlety of the writing -- although the
humour is black, it is gently so, and if Uncle may be something of a
comic-book villain, his intended victims belie it. The other adults, in
contrast to Uncle, are thoughtfully portrayed, especially the Mountie
who, as the only one to make it back from the war, has his own poignant
story -- not at all the stuff of horror films.<br />
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It's not intended to be a children's book, but young adults would find
much to enjoy and, as you must have gathered reading this blog, I'll
have no truck with adults who think books with child protagonists
beneath them. But anyway, the wit and originality of <i>Let's Kill Uncle</i> should be enough to charm the hardest of hearts.
GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-27384640321476506862013-01-26T15:18:00.003+00:002013-01-26T15:57:35.961+00:00The Salt-Stained Book by Julia Jones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Published 2011</span></div>
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Reading this book was a little like finding that I'd somehow missed one of the <i>Swallows and Amazons</i> series, because <i>The Salt-Stained Book</i> takes you straight back to Ransome's world. Its child hero is a second John Walker, known as Donny, and Amazons Nancy and Peggy are much in evidence in the guise of Xanthe and Maggi Ribiero, two experienced young sailors who befriend Donny when he is sent to live at a foster home in Suffolk. At first, Donny doesn't really want to know them as he's too battered by recent events: his granny has just died, his deaf and dyslexic mother has been hospitalised and, although he knows his Great Aunt Ellen is on her way to Felixstowe from Shanghai, no-one will believe him. He's never met Great Aunt Ellen, she's never been back to England during his lifetime and the only information he has about her is in a cryptic telegram. Donny and his mother Skye decided to set off from Leeds to meet her but it all went horribly wrong once they got to Suffolk and now Skye's locked in a secure ward and Donny is being cared for by vicar Wendy and her husband Gerald, well-meaning people with lots of house rules and four other foster children. Everything looks bleak, but then Donny, who's never been near a lake in his life, discovers sailing and takes to it like the proverbial duck.<br />
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The duck cliché is apt, because the author Julia Jones and her family own Arthur Ransome's yacht Peter Duck and clearly the whole lot of them have webbed feet. Her parents knew Ransome and she obviously grew up steeped in <i>Swallows and Amazons</i> and all things nautical. This familiarity makes this first part of the Strong Winds trilogy a terrific little book, and it ends with the implied promise that the sequels are going to be every bit as good, full of wicked villains and pirates and boats in a contemporary setting that could prove the ideal way to tempt a modern young reader into exploring the original books (come to that, they might tempt a few adults as well!). Parents beware! as they may also tempt young readers into trying sailing (as <i>Swallows and Amazons</i> did me), in which case you might end up spending a good deal of time hanging around in chilly conditions watching your more robust offspring repeatedly capsizing and righting a dinghy.<br />
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I don't want to talk too much about the book because I don't want to give the story away. There's a wonderfully nail-biting finish that'll keep you up way past bedtime and the villains are suitably nasty (though some villains follow a very Arthur Ransome route, too – a nice touch). And if Donny's situation seems very dire at the start, there are good things to come as he discovers his affinity with boats, makes new friends among both children and adults and begins to learn things about his own past and family. I loved all the child characters, but especially Anna, the oldest of the children at the vicarage - I do so hope she'll appear again.<br />
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Finally, I'm torn over buying the second and third part of the trilogy – my shortage of bookshelf has become a serious problem and I'm trying to buy new books only on Kindle but these are <i>so</i> nicely produced! They are <a href="http://golden-duck.co.uk/" target="_blank">self-published</a> and look and feel lovely, with little line drawings at the ends of the chapters and beautiful covers. I desperately want the full set to sit snugly somewhere to hand, ready to be leafed through or re-read, because these are books to treasure. I really can't recommend them too highly – they'd be great for reading with younger children, or as a gift for good readers from 10 or 11 upwards. The complete series is, in order: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Salt-Stained-Book-Strong-Winds-Trilogy/dp/1899262040/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1359215762&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><i>The Salt-Stained Book</i></a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ravelled-Flag-Strong-Winds-Trilogy/dp/1899262059/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_2" target="_blank"><i>A Ravelled Flag</i></a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghosting-Home-Strong-Winds-Trilogy/dp/1899262067/ref=pd_bxgy_b_text_y" target="_blank"><i>Ghosting Home</i></a>.GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-36671395137452018862012-10-24T17:31:00.005+01:002012-10-24T23:11:19.116+01:00The Way to Sattin Shore by Philippa Pearce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">First published 1983 </span></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Here it was, between a white stone cross on one side, and a plinth with a kind of toddler-angel on top, on the other. A plain tombstone, with a plain inscription. First of all: IN MEMORY OF JAMES TRANTER, and a date half a century earlier. That would be her grandfather, her father's father. Then, below: AND OF HIS SON ALFRED ROBERT TRANTER, and then the date of her own birth: the very day and month and year. On an impulse, Kate leant forward and traced with her finger the lettering of the name and the date -- her date.</i></blockquote>
Kate Tranter is the youngest member of her family. Her two brothers are rather older, and Kate is a lonely child, a little isolated within the family and reserved at school. She's curious about her dead father - he must <i>be</i> dead, the gravestone proves it - but her mother and grandmother are reluctant to talk about him. She found the grave on her own, and doesn't tell anyone that she visits it. Only Syrup knows, but being a cat, he doesn't give her away. As well as the mystery of the gravestone, there's the strange circumstances surrounding a letter which arrives for her grandmother, which disappears almost immediately and no-one will talk about it. Then one day the tombstone disappears, and with it all Kate's certainty about her father. A conversation with her brother adds a new piece to the jigsaw, though, a place called Sattin Shore where someone drowned. So Kate decides to visit this place for herself. <br />
<br />
Despite her isolation, there's a lot of family life in this book. Both brothers introduce Kate to new experiences and, although Kate's mother can be loving and warm. But there's a darkness at the heart of the family: old Mrs Randall, Kate's grandmother, is cold and withdrawn, and exercises too much influence over her daughter. It is she who decides that Kate's father will not be mentioned, and that his children must forget all about him. She lives on the ground floor, next to the front door, and Kate is reluctant to even pass her partly-open doorway -- she's a brooding presence throughout the book, oppressive even at times of happiness, and a cause of family tensions. But if I make in sound like unalleviated misery, it's not. There's fun, too, in a sledging in the snow, a growing friendship at school, and the gradual sense of discovery about the past. And through it all, a purring golden thread, the presence of Syrup, rendered so beautifully that you can almost feel his thick fur, and his toes curling and uncurling in pleasure.<br />
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I can't recommend <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0192792407/ref=nosim?tag=geracatsbook-21" target="_blank"><i>The Way to Sattin Shore</i></a> too highly, it's told sensitively and with humour and Kate is one of those characters who stays in your mind, prickly and inquisitive and cautious all at the same time. Her inability to ask the questions that she needs answers to is compelling and completely convincing. She's a real person.GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-46269469657973454852012-05-06T15:20:00.001+01:002012-05-06T15:20:15.473+01:00An Enemy at Green Knowe by L.M. Boston<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOv1l7JAjbP-f3MTr4La7ghs8Yw7mHn04kVawGmM8DuqSKuM0UzAMz7rBK2IFxVpCDiAfWUy-0iZXjKMhL08zgJc9KYOnWaZbiKmzSli0_ywCfz1YrtveZOB_Q2QzQP4eb2ui-lEdgbw/s1600/enemy+at+green+knowe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKOv1l7JAjbP-f3MTr4La7ghs8Yw7mHn04kVawGmM8DuqSKuM0UzAMz7rBK2IFxVpCDiAfWUy-0iZXjKMhL08zgJc9KYOnWaZbiKmzSli0_ywCfz1YrtveZOB_Q2QzQP4eb2ui-lEdgbw/s320/enemy+at+green+knowe.jpg" width="193" /></i></span></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Published 1964</span></i><br />
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As a child, the only one of Lucy Boston's books I read was the first, <i>The Children of Green Knowe</i>. At the time I think I found it a little wordy, but it stuck in my head ever afterwards, so that it was with enormous pleasure that I've rediscovered the series as an adult - if I still have one left to read, it's because I'm rationing myself, because to begin one is to be lost in a world of enchantment. Old houses and gardens are equally beguiling, and a story which combines both is perfection. You can see a little of that enchantment, I think, in the cover illustration, which is by L.M. Boston's son, Peter, and shows the "real" Green Knowe, the manor at Hemingford Grey near Cambridge, which she bought in 1939. This is one of those instances where house and garden are characters as important as the people, and the stories all reflect the author's love for her surroundings and her home's imagined history. You can read some of that history <a href="http://www.polymathperspective.com/?p=1745" target="_blank">here</a>, in an interview with her daughter-in-law, Diana, who now runs the house.<br />
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<br />
In <i>An Enemy at Green Knowe</i>, Tolly, whom we met in the first book, and Ping, who was introduced in <i>The River at Green Knowe</i>, are spending a holiday with Tolly's grandmother, Mrs Oldknow. Soon after their arrival, Mrs Oldknow receives a letter from a Dr Melanie Powers, asking to visit the house to search for rare manuscripts associated with one of Green Knowe's earlier residents, the black magician Dr Vogel. Hard on the heels of her letter, Dr Powers turns up, and proves to be unpleasantly pushy and insinuating, not in the least prepared to accept that all Dr Vogel's books have been destroyed. She quickly proves to be a very real threat and it takes all their combined resourcefulness to hold her at bay.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZRqJ08uJAFhGprASHalvB_oflMJ33emfjt1RT9ATEQcTefNiXvlWTYuZvfR6XGg4DdyXnqaPynH_k1lhEiSp4adwngZUrvQ7esrFcknUlUpP-xertfFOK-Nar88E82DeRAAU2jUjLOI/s1600/ping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZRqJ08uJAFhGprASHalvB_oflMJ33emfjt1RT9ATEQcTefNiXvlWTYuZvfR6XGg4DdyXnqaPynH_k1lhEiSp4adwngZUrvQ7esrFcknUlUpP-xertfFOK-Nar88E82DeRAAU2jUjLOI/s320/ping.jpg" width="225" /></a><br />
I've seen other reviewers commenting on how dark this book is compared to the others in the series. For me, that's not a negative, nor is the introduction of witchcraft. There are certainly places where you hold your breath with anticipation - Dr Powers is genuinely scary - but the frightening episodes are over quite quickly, and not protracted in the way they might be some more recent novels, or in a book aimed at slightly older children. There are minor victories along the way, allowing for bedtime readings which see Tolly and Ping secure within the walls of Green Knowe for another night, at least.<br />
<br />
Peter Boston's illustrations are an essential part of the Green Knowe books - done on scraperboard, they are rather hard to reproduce here as the paper quality of my Puffin edition means that it doesn't scan well, but I think you can see the intricacy that makes you want to study the detail. They provide the perfect reflection of the delicacy with which the stories are told, and their deep sense of magic and history. The best of them all is <i>The River at Green Knowe</i>, and I'll talk about that another day, but they are all magical, and can all be read on their own, each creating a perfect world which welcomes and surrounds the reader. <br />
<br />
<br />GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-29723896799890724322012-02-21T19:55:00.001+00:002012-05-06T15:29:17.344+01:00Fell Farm Campers by Marjorie Lloyd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQN6_eTx6QmmNGmYvtm13r8LOlyUt_POEaOxgbu1GejRhbWDWe2n7-v99hi_hA98ixlQl3AERIBozapvRR-LSCPXjdR-8Mg5fh50xUZvddP9STtldD6mWeIq8McQYNz8qSwlbnXE7lQM/s1600/fell+farm+campers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQN6_eTx6QmmNGmYvtm13r8LOlyUt_POEaOxgbu1GejRhbWDWe2n7-v99hi_hA98ixlQl3AERIBozapvRR-LSCPXjdR-8Mg5fh50xUZvddP9STtldD6mWeIq8McQYNz8qSwlbnXE7lQM/s320/fell+farm+campers.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Published 1960</span></div>
<br />
This is the final one of the Fell Farm books, set the Easter before the children's parents return from abroad, when they expect everything may be about to change. The holiday nearly doesn't come off - Fell Farm, which is a National Trust property, has the builders in, and there's no room. Happily, they think of camping, and the Jenks can squeeze young Sally in despite the work, so they can go ahead, which is just as well really, as there's not much room for them all in Aunt G.'s London flat either, and she's very anxious about whether the neighbours will complain when they are all there at once.<br />
<br />
Once they get there the children set up camp by the tarn quite near the farm - far enough away to be independent, but close enough to be able to collect milk and other supplies easily, and for Sally to run messages between the two, which pleases her. They also all return to the farm once a day for a proper meal, cooked by the bountiful Mrs Jenks on oil stoves in the big barn. The rest of the day they are free to roam, whether it's just to collect wood (pig-sticking) to keep the camp fire going, or to set off on one of their mammoth hikes across the fells - they are indefatigable walkers!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Just after nine they started along the edge of the little Heron Tarn, scrambled over the wall into the narrow mountain road and turned sharply right downhill. The whole length of that rough, twisty little lane dropping steeply down to Oxenfell, gave the most tremendous views across all the ridges and deep cut valleys towards Wetherlam, Bowfell, the Langdale Pikes, and the rest, and they discussed the route as they tramped down with the whole region spread in front like a map, fullscale and gloriously coloured.</blockquote>
Various adventures occur - brushes with fellow campers, a hunt for a sheep-killing dog...Jan and Hyacinth set off on a birdwatching expedition which nearly ends in disaster again. The story romps along, told in the third person this time: Hyacinth is on strike and says she won't keep a journal as there will be lots of other work to do while they are camping (indeed, Kay seems to spend all her spare time darning socks!) These are certainly books to charm the adult reader, but I think that a child who enjoyed the outdoor life might find much to entertain, as well, and I well remember day-dreaming about being able to go off on camping holidays when I was a child (conveniently ignoring my dislike of midges, aversion to spiders and preference for a comfortable bed, even then). There are pleasing cat and dog characters too.GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-11011251062467315872012-01-22T17:17:00.000+00:002012-01-22T17:19:34.624+00:00The Midnight Kittens by Dodie Smith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9vr8zMKXsfuPFknmSyxWIz9cXS7CDDqFM-qFgIv1f-G8qkMUtpfNEWV11a5gbQ-yu1yK6q-ALfjSum0TnhCChd600XXIJZ_2L_a5yVdxaGDqUj9QocifsFqOpxq3XQPUa5yCU4zHEXw/s1600/midnight+kittens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9vr8zMKXsfuPFknmSyxWIz9cXS7CDDqFM-qFgIv1f-G8qkMUtpfNEWV11a5gbQ-yu1yK6q-ALfjSum0TnhCChd600XXIJZ_2L_a5yVdxaGDqUj9QocifsFqOpxq3XQPUa5yCU4zHEXw/s320/midnight+kittens.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
Something of an oddity, <i>The Midnight Kittens</i> was first published when Dodie Smith was 82, when it came out as the same time as the second volume of her autobiography, <i>Look Back with Mixed Feelings</i>. I suspect it works best for the generation for whom <i>101 Dalmatians</i> was a newly published book - they'll be able to read and revisit their childhoods. For children now, the headmaster whose methods are "modern" and based on counselling theory, and the twins' school, will seem odd, and the hippy squatters will be an anachronism in a time when travellers are mostly feared and despised.<br />
<br />
It's the story of Tom and Pam's half-term visit to the grandmother who has cared for them since the death of their parents, and the four kittens who come to eat the food put out for the hedgehogs. It's a very slight story and its brevity makes it seem unnecessarily hysterical, I'm afraid. A more leisured pace would have allowed some time to put the children's fears for the kittens into perspective, while also foregrounding the adventure which follows their meeting with the past owner of Freke Hall.<br />
<br />
The book's real magic now is in the enchanting illustrations by Janet and Anne Grahame Johnstone. However, it might be rather nice for reading aloud, and perhaps there are still old-fashioned little girls who would enjoy reading it for themselves.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-49377135489398963112012-01-13T18:20:00.002+00:002012-01-13T18:21:22.682+00:00Fell Farm for Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's a little late to be writing about this, but the temperature has just dropped sharply as the sun set, so not too inappropriate!<br />
<br />
Children just don't have holidays like this any more: the five Brownes - two pairs of twins and their younger sister - return to the Westmorland farm they had visited during the summer, ready for a winter holiday of brisk walks and birdwatching. The story starts with their train journey, via Crewe, Oxenholme and Windermere, and I was instantly nostalgic for all the times in childhood I travelled on that line (for some reason I was particularly fond of Crewe station, perhaps because it used to be such an enormous interchange that there was always plenty to look at):<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We were somewhere between Hest Bank and Carnforth - the bit where the railway runs along the edge of the sea, and you usually get the first view of the fells, looking simply wonderful across the great curve of the bay.<br />
But this time it was half past four on an afternoon in late December, and the light had gone from the sky, except for some long, dim bars of gold just above the horizon. I swore that I could just glimpse the faintest gleam of snow-caps, pale as silver. The others said that it was imagination, and maybe it was; but it really didn't matter, because we all knew that they were there.</blockquote>
Hyacinth, our narrator, combines a romantic imagination (she has her notebooks with her, so that she can continue writing <i>The Mystery of the Blood-Stained Hippopotamus</i> during the holiday) and down-to-earth practicality about things like supplies for walks, and we're plunged straight into farm life and long tramps round the fells. In one of my favourite chapters Hyacinth's twin Jan rescues a heron which has got trapped in a pond, frozen in while fishing. A few years ago I rescued a heron myself, and could share their wonder at being so close to such a remarkable bird, and their pleasure in its return to health. The sheep rustling scene, on the other hand, would make any modern parent's blood run cold, I fear! And I can't think that many children wash their own socks these days, more's the pity.<br />
<br />
Fell Farm for Christmas is an attractively brisk romp, the sort of holiday children of my generation dreamed of, with lots of fresh air, hearty food and adventure. It was published the year I was born and the past is a golden place in these pages. My own holidays weren't so eventful (I never knowingly met a sheep rustler!), but otherwise not so very different from what is described here. I shall pass it on next to my mother, who spent the war not far from Carnforth, and still gets wistful about it.<br />
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Oh, and there are maps. I <i>do </i>like a map and they are suitably Wainwright-ish.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-26588679229716869842011-09-23T13:51:00.000+01:002012-01-14T13:53:24.443+00:00Murkmere by Patricia Elliott<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
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It's really great when something a little different comes along, and
this was one of those occasions. I think I had read a review of Murkmere
somewhere, though I'm really not certain. Anyway, I was looking for a
book swap, and decided to take a chance on it, and I'm really glad I
did.<br />
<br />
<i>Murkmere </i>is the story of 15-year-old Aggie, who is summoned to
Murkmere Hall from her village to be companion to the Master's ward,
Leah. Aggie's mother was once a maid at the Hall, but she doesn't know
what to expect when she arrives, and she finds a strange, dilapidated
house dominated by the compelling Silas Seed, the crippled Master's
steward and right-hand man in everything. Not only is he in charge of
all the Master's affairs, he oversees the moral welfare of the servants,
ensuring that the dictates of the Ministration are adhered to. At first
Aggie is overwhelmed by the charismatic Silas, but gradually, as she
tries to meet the challenges posed by her position as companion to the
troubled, wayward Leah, she begins to question his actions and, almost
despairingly, her own beliefs.<br />
<br />
What lends this book a haunting quality is its setting in the English
fenland, and its bird-inspired religion. Although there's not the
technology to make it fit into the category, there's a darkly steampunk
feel to it nonetheless, perhaps because we don't really know how the
world came into being - there's a hint that it might be our world,
changed after humans had somehow transformed themselves into the
mysterious and reviled avia; the hypocritical Ministration, constantly
on the watch for rebellion, certainly have resonances of the post-civil
war period in England and the puritan protectorate. And the author makes
clear in a brief note at the start: "The superstitions in this novel
are found in British folklore", which makes it, for me at any rate, all
the more powerful, harking back to first hearing of the story of the
Children on Lir, and the hair rising on the back of my neck, because it
seemed more like a memory than a new story. Elliott <a href="http://www.patriciaelliott.co.uk/murkmerenotes.php">says</a> of writing the book:<br />
<blockquote>
all I had at first was the image of a girl, painstakingly sewing a swanskin back together.
I had to find out why. Who was the girl, and why was the swanskin in pieces? </blockquote>
The winter fenland, the swans that Leah must be kept away from, the
Master's painful yearning after forbidden knowledge, the Ministration's
duplicity and decadence - all combine to create a lyrical, wistful
novel.<br />
<br />
There is a sequel, <i>Ambergate</i>, which I shall have to read. I'm
sort of afraid that I shan't love it as much, because I find the sere
countryside of the setting so compelling in the first, and I know that
the second moves to the city. But the Ministration is tantalisingly
portrayed in Murkmere, something nasty but intriguing, so I have to know
more...<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-31682331840297184602011-08-10T13:54:00.000+01:002012-07-16T10:12:56.393+01:00Verdigris Deep by Frances Hardinge<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
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I was reading Ana's excellent (as ever) <a href="http://www.thingsmeanalot.com/2011/08/fly-by-night-by-frances-hardinge.html">review </a>of <i>Fly by Night</i>
the other day and was very pleased that she'd enjoyed it so much,
because I think it is one of those really original books that can make
you feel happy that someone out there is writing such good fiction;
however, I noticed that one of the commenters spoke less than
enthusiastically about Frances Hardinge's second book, <i>Verdigris Deep, </i>describing
it as Alan Garner/Diana Wynne Jones but not as good. I've had it on the
TBR shelf for ages, and frankly, was doing my usual thing of saving it
up for some unspecified special occasion - which, since such times occur
relatively infrequently <i>chez nous</i>, is just plain daft).<br />
<br />
It only took me a few hours to read and, at first, I thought it was okay
but nothing special. I agreed about it being Garner/Wynne Jones
territory - lots of echoes of <i>Elidor </i>and <i>Fire and Hemlock</i>
in the mean streets of Magwhite and the scary way that things start to
glow around Josh, the eldest of the three protagonists. Then, about
halfway through, I realised that I wasn't being disappointed any more,
but had been drawn into the story completely, convinced by the way that
Hardinge tackles the children's response to the disintegration of their
already shaky world. Because, of course, they are all outsiders: Josh
could be popular at school but doesn't choose to be, Ryan is small and
speccy and worried, Chelle can't stop talking although no-one listens to
her; she's pale and asthmatic and sort of just tags along with the
others. They are all drawn to Magwhite precisely because they shouldn't
be there and when they don't have any money to pay for the bus home,
they know that there will be serious trouble. Which they need to avoid:
Chelle doesn't know how to deal with being in trouble, Ryan doesn't want
to provoke any more family rows, and Josh will be exiled to his aunts'
house where he won't be allowed out. So they steal the money from a
long-neglected well. And suddenly it's not just everyday trouble they
have to contend with, because they are all changed, in frightening ways.<br />
<br />
This book is aimed, I think, at a slightly younger audience than <i>Fly By Night</i>,
but it doesn't pull its punches. Hardinge knows that there's a lot
going on in children's heads that adults don't realise, and some of it's
because they don't have the experience to make sense of the adult world,
even when to the grown-ups they look bright and manipulative and
sometimes just plain bad. By the end of the story, it's all pain and
rain and urgency - in 2007, when it was published, there were massive
floods in England that summer and it must have seemed prophetic, with
its images of rising waters.<br />
<br />
The UK edition (it was published in the US as <i>Well Witched</i>) is a
thing of great beauty. The picture here really doesn't do it justice, I
think it's one of the loveliest book jackets I've ever seen. The back is
as lovely as the front. I'd have included it here, but it's too dark to
scan easily - what you can't see is that it really looks like tarnished
copper. I'm tempted to take it off the book and put it on my wall.<br />
<br />
To sum up, <i>Verdigris Deep</i> lacks the wondrous inventiveness of
Hardinge's first book, but it's still a well-told story, atmospheric and
exciting, firmly-rooted in a nice urban grittiness, and a classy
example of the genre. I recommend it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-53410794108171227542011-06-20T13:56:00.000+01:002012-01-14T13:58:05.012+00:00Troll Fell and Troll Mill by Katherine Langrish<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
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<i>Troll Fell</i> is the first of a trilogy by Katherine Langrish who blogs at the fabulous <a href="http://steelthistles.blogspot.com/">Seven Miles of Steel Thistles</a>.
So it's no surprise to find it full of familiar tropes and characters,
but I love the new directions in which these are taken. On one level
this is conventional fairy story, on another it's immediate and relevant
to a modern-day audience. <br />
<br />
When his father dies, Peer Ulfsson is sad and lonely, but preparing to
make the best of things by moving in with family friends and continuing
his training as a woodcarver. So he's appalled when a hideously brutish
uncle turns up at the funeral and claims him as kin. Peer is taken back
to his uncle's mill on the edge of Troll Fell, where he's neglected and
mistreated. But at least he has his dog Loki with him, and he does
manage to make new friends - with young Hilde, a neighbour, and with the
Nis, the household bogart, who is equally neglected (and we all know
from fairytales that that's not a good idea!). The Nis is sly and
mistrusting, and often sulky, but at least he's a source of information
about what's going on outside the mill. It's important information, as
it turns out, because the trolls who live under the Fell are expecting
to celebrate a wedding between their prince and the daughter of the king
of Dovre Fell, an event of great significance and one which will have
enormous repercussions for Peer and Hilde.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYtwVWnaxDVX5Pnyexb2ai26v7PUjVxqDJ1nEmSB-m5O-2UIw9Gdzq7MFCY8MyCVzRtRCxl2eI2qSRSIwHBgyn4bFKoCPyHMUFEmW3D4zuZ_U_BIqnkuRW9MFFFkqP-pW3LCTXboxwV0/s1600/troll+mill.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYtwVWnaxDVX5Pnyexb2ai26v7PUjVxqDJ1nEmSB-m5O-2UIw9Gdzq7MFCY8MyCVzRtRCxl2eI2qSRSIwHBgyn4bFKoCPyHMUFEmW3D4zuZ_U_BIqnkuRW9MFFFkqP-pW3LCTXboxwV0/s320/troll+mill.jpg" width="211" /></a><i>Troll Mill</i>
picks up the story some time later, and I don't want to say too much
about the plot, except that new characters are introduced while old ones
return in a deliciously scary and atmospheric story. Along with Hilde I
agonised for Kersten and Bjørn, and I thought the troll baby was
tremendous! Peer and Hilde are both struggling with the pangs of growing
up and undergoing all sorts of feelings which will be familiar to a
young audience. The action is fast-moving though, and these are books
which would be wonderful to read to a younger child -- scary, but not
oppressively so, exciting and funny, and with the true fairytale
emphasis on the resourcefulness of its young heroes. An adult reader,
meanwhile, can appreciate the deft interweaving of the elements of the
folk tales on which Langrish draws, and the light touch she brings to
the exploration of the feelings of her main characters. There are some
superb writers working with this traditional material these days - what
makes Langrish stand out, I think, is that her love for it shines out of
her writing and lends a wonderful freshness and authority.<br />
<br />
The trilogy continues with <i>Troll Blood</i>, which I haven't had a
chance to read yet. I read both on my Kindle. And, I should
add, I enjoyed <i>Troll Fell</i> so much that I downloaded <i>Troll Mill</i> straight
away!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-52778127841680853292011-05-05T13:58:00.000+01:002012-01-14T13:59:59.940+00:00The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag by Alan Bradley<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
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<blockquote>
<i>Although
there was a sliver of gold in the eastern sky, the sun was not yet up
as I barrelled along the road to Bishop's Lacey. Gladys's tyres were
humming that busy, waspish sound they make when she's especially
contented. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Low fog floated in the fields
on either side of the ditches, and I pretended that I was the ghost of
Cathy Earnshaw flying to Heathcliff (except for the bicycle) across the
Yorkshire moors. Now and then, a skeletal hand would reach out of the
bramble hedges to snatch at my red woollen sweater, but Gladys and I
were too fast for them.</i></blockquote>
In <i>The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag</i>,
the second Flavia de Luce mystery, Alan Bradley has come up with
another book that I desperately didn't want to finish - young Flavia is
so refreshingly acerbic about everyone around her, yet at the same time
beset with private fears. Was she, as her sisters claim, responsible for
her mother's death? She's had to develop a tough exterior to protect
her against such accusations, and some readers have complained that the
apparent malice between the sisters is unconvincing or unpleasant, but
Flavia comes from a more buttoned-up era when it was quite usual for all
sorts of resentments to fester beneath the surface (actually, a good
deal of festering still goes on, viz. any agony aunt's advice about the
dangers of family get-togethers like Christmas, but these days we are
encouraged to express our feelings more openly, which may or may not be a
good thing). Domestic tensions aren't helped by a father who is largely
disengaged, a family retainer with a tenuous hold on mental health and a
Wodehousian aunt. Add a rather nasty suspicious death, a policeman
who's keen to discourage amateur interference and some dodgy substances,
and you have a recipe for a classic crime story.<br />
<br />
The precocious Flavia's voice carries the action deliciously - Bradley
so evidently adores his young heroine, and his writing resonates with
the atmosphere of a bygone England. I suspect Bradley might have spent
the odd happy hour, himself, absorbing the acid delights of Nancy
Mitford, because I detect in Flavia and her sisters a blood-tie with the
young Radletts, while their ex-army Father is clearly an admirer of
Lord Alconleigh. Inspector Hewitt, on the other hand, might have emerged
from the pages of Georgette Heyer or Marjory Allingham, and is a worthy
adversary for Flavia - he'd be an evener worthier ally, if only he
could see it, because he infuriates Flavia by thwarting her attempts to
help, thereby forcing her to embark on her own investigations, which she
pursues with dogged determination and considerable deviousness. She is
pure joy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-10450155608329956282010-08-09T17:40:00.000+01:002012-05-18T17:42:12.306+01:00Moominpappa at Sea by Tove Jansson<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Published 1965</span></span><br />
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Yesterday I had two separate discussions with family members about Moomintroll (partly because the <i>New Scientist</i> had published <a href="http://www.newscientist.com/gallery/dn15018-pick-of-the-pictures">this </a>picture
of a marmoset, which reminded me of the Dweller Under the Sink), and by
bedtime I felt a need to immerse myself in the quiet of Moominvalley
for a while. I promptly picked out <i>Moominpappa at Sea</i>, which is
only about Moominvalley at a remove - it's a book which leaves one
filled with strange yearnings, and by the time I finished it this
morning I was feeling distinctly wistful.<br />
<br />
At the start of the book it is Moominpappa who is feeling strange
yearnings. He's also feeling disgruntled, because the family aren't
according him the respect he feels is his due - they even put out a
forest fire without consulting him! His real strength, he decides, lies
in his deep understanding of the sea, so they will set sail for the
island where he knows his lighthouse stands, and everything will fall
into its allotted place again. Moominmamma is, as ever, indulgent and
understanding, and for Pappa's sake she is prepared to forsake the
valley she loves. Moomintroll and Little My are quite prepared to set
off just for the sake of adventure, so Pappa's boat, the Adventure, is
loaded up and they set sail at dusk (because that's when events of such
significance ought to happen). What they don't know is that someone has
followed them...<br />
<br />
Anyone who hadn't met the Moomins might think that these stories about
small, stout Finnish trolls were for small children. In fact they are
amongst the most poignant and expressive in European literature, on the
face of it simple little stories about the not-very-exciting daily round
of these small creatures and their friends, but which reach deep into
the uncertainties and insecurities we all carry around with us. In <i>Moominpappa at Sea</i>,
Moomintroll and his parents must face the anguish of displacement,
Moomintroll and his mother dealing with the physical loss of the valley,
Moominpappa with the loss of his role as head of the family, as the
others make their own accommodations. "Don't you do anything," he keeps
telling Mamma, as he constrains her ever more tightly in a coccoon of
protectiveness, which only serves to further aggravate her sense of
loss. <br />
<br />
The restricted set of characters - unlike in most of the books where
there is both extended family and a wide assortment of Rabbit-type
friends-and-relations - serves to underline the claustrophobia of the
tiny island, battered on all sides by a not-entirely-amenable Sea.
Moomintroll's own sadness is made worse by an unattainable love, which
can't be articulated to anyone else. Only Little My is untroubled,
rising above her circumstances with all the aplomb (if not actual
callousness) that readers will remember from earlier books:<br />
<blockquote>
"I'm not saying anything about some mothers and fathers," drawled Little
My. "If I do, the first thing you'll say is that they're never silly.
They're up to something, those two. I'd eat a bushel of sand if I knew
what it was." "You're not supposed to know," said Moomintroll sharply.
"They know perfectly well why they're behaving a little oddly. <i>Some</i> people think they're so superior and have to know everything just because they've been adopted!"</blockquote>
All my adult life I've had Moominmamma in the back of my mind as a role
model - always unruffled, understanding, warm and kind, bottle of
raspberry syrup at the ready. I was glad to find that, determined to
create a garden in the scattered rocks of the island, she's as sensibly
practical as ever: "Moominmamma pushed the dirty dishes under the bed to
make the room look tidier, and then she went out to look for soil." On
this reading, though, it's her unhappiness which most deeply affects me,
her uprootedness that is continually exacerbated by the failure of her
rose plants to grow in inhospitable soil. Her homesickness must be dealt
with quietly and discreetly, without impinging on the rest of the
family - Moominpappa, of course, is much too wrapped up in his own
concerns, as the sea resists his efforts to comprehend its moods.<br />
<br />
The end of the book, typically of Tove Jansson, is low-key -
fortunately, her adult readers, at least, probably know better than to
expect a "story-book" happy ending. There's a resolution of sorts, and
for one character, at least, things turn out better than we might have
expected. But, as I said at the outset, the end leaves one more wistful
than anything else - really, you have to wait for the end of the next
(and final) book, <i>Moominvalley in November</i>, for the end of this
one. All the Moomin books are ideal for reading aloud to children, but I
remember finding that more and more discussion was needed with the
later books. For adult readers, however, they are perfect for autumnal
days of indulgent melancholia, to be savoured alone and at leisure.GeraniumCathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03010199887691558717noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-18306606727336491102010-04-12T18:16:00.000+01:002011-11-03T18:20:02.555+00:00The Secret Ministry of Frost<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Published 2009</span></span><br />
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<br />
Gordon
Fitzwilliam has mysteriously disappeared in the Arctic, and his
daughter Light, along with their servant Butler, is attending his
funeral - with empty coffin - on ths shores of Lough Neagh in Northern
Ireland. Thus begins <i>The Secret Ministry of Frost</i>, the intriguing
story of Light's quest to find her missing father, following in the
steps of the lost Franklin expedition of 1845. Fitzwilliam, curious to
know why so many men on that expedition seems to have disappeared
without trace, has fallen foul of the aeons-old creature known as Frost,
a monster so fearful that even the Inuit won't talk about it.<br />
<br />
Light has had an unconventional upbringing: shunned at the local school
because she is the albino daughter of an Inuit mother who died on an
earlier trip to the Arctic, home-educated by her explorer father and
Butler, she is brave and resourceful, and when her home is invaded by
murderous slit-eyed killers - <i>isserkiat </i>- she and Butler purchase
an ice-breaker and set sail for Nunavut, where she will encounter gods
and monsters, and discover the truth of her birth. Despite her Inuit
heritage, she is utterly unfamiliar with the physical demands of the
Arctic, which tax her strength and courage, and she must also face even
the even greater challenge of a shamanistic journey in order to save the
world from the ravages of Frost.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Light's enemies are truly terrifying, and Nick Lake makes few
concessions to his YA target audience - this is a violent, gory,
can't-put-it-down sort of read. I have a few minor niggles - "Inuits" as
a plural irritated me (although a quick Google seems to suggest some
legitimacy), and it may be that Canadian readers may find some that I
have missed. Also, my occasional contact over the years with Canada's
First Peoples gives me some slight qualms about cultural appropriation -
not a discussion I plan to embark on here, beyond noting that it can be
a contentious issue - but taken on its own terms, this is an pacy
adventure story with a nod to colonial history, in the form of the
Franklin expedition, with the extra attraction of its venture into the
harsh yet beguiling world of Inuit mythology. There is beauty here as
well as terror.<br />
<br />
On a personal note, I am counting this as a contribution towards both the Canadian Book Challenge - well, it is <i>about </i>Canada
- and Once Upon a Time IV: I'd rather expected my reading for the
latter to have its usual European slant, and I'm delighted to have found
something so different to recommend (I shall be buying copies for my
favourite people, you can be sure). The cover, by the way, is lovely -
you can't tell from the picture here, but it sparkles all over with
snowflakes. The splendidly atmospheric title, by the way, comes from
Coleridge's poem <i>Frost at Midnight</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-16218034882120248732010-03-04T18:12:00.000+00:002011-11-03T18:24:40.299+00:00Tulku by Peter Dickinson<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Published 1979</span></span><br />
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<br />
Sometime in the early 1980s, not long after it was first published, I found <i>Tulku </i>in
the library. Both OH and I read it, and thought it a tremendous piece
of storytelling. Although it disappeared from the local library I hadn’t
forgotten it, and was delighted to find a copy in our local bookshop
recently.<br />
<br />
Except for the bare outlines of the story – a young boy, escaping from the Boxers during the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taiyuan_Massacre">Taiyuan massacre</a>
in 1900, reaches the Tibetan border where he meets a monk who is
seeking a reincarnated lama – I had forgotten most of the narrative, and
the story seemed entirely fresh to me. Thirteen-year-old Theo is the
son of an American missionary killed in the massacre, and when he meets
Mrs Jones, an indomitable Victorian plant hunter, he is prepared to
dislike her for her vulgarity and even more for her ready cursing, but
he allows himself to be persuaded into travelling with her to the safety
of the nearest mission. Her eventual plan is to cross the border into
the forbidden land of Tibet, where new plants may be found. On their way
to seek the sanctuary of the mission for Theo, however, they again
encounter the rebels, and they find themselves driven towards the
border. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Mrs Jones is delighted by this development, and Theo finds himself
grudgingly beginning to like her, attracted by her fierce courage and
directness. There is a brief idyll in the mountains - Mrs Jones
botanises, finding a hitherto unknown lily, her Chinese guide Lung
composes poetry, and Theo draws and explores. But they have been
followed by bandits and are forced to flee, fortuitously meeting the
Lama Amchi who takes them to the monastery of Dong Pe. Here, the arrival
of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tulku">Tulku</a> – the
reincarnation of a “great soul”, in this case the Siddha Asara – is
eagerly anticipated. Some thirteen years have passed since the death of
the Siddha’s last incarnation, and his imminent return has been
predicted by the monastery’s oracle monk. Perhaps the arrival of Theo
and his travelling companions is pre-determined?<br />
<br />
<i>Tulku</i>'s period atmosphere is superbly executed and there is a
real sense in the monastery of both fascination and claustrophobia, of
events unfolding which are beyond the control of the players. The
necessary details of tensions between China and Tibet are economically
conveyed so that an extensive knowledge of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boxer_Rebellion">Boxer Rebellion</a>
is not required. In 1979, when it was published, it won both the
Whitbread Children's Book Award and the Carnegie Medal, and in its
sensitive explorations of complex relationships, other cultures and the
nature of belief, is an excellent choice for older teenagers.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-55233838608875016922010-01-04T18:05:00.000+00:002011-11-03T18:24:28.683+00:00The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Published 2009</span></h3>
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<br />
Eleven
year-old Flavia de Luce has a single overriding passion: chemistry.
Happily her ancestral home happens to have a well-stocked laboratory to
hand (thanks to eccentric Uncle Tarquin), so that when she discovers a
body in the cucumber patch, she is immediately able to embark on an
investigation.<br />
What starts as an effort to put the senior police
officer in his place (he has asked her to rustle up some tea for his
team, a demand which quite naturally puts her back up) becomes more
urgent when her father is arrested for murder.<br />
<br />
Alan
Bradley's debut crime novel is a lovely piece of work. From the first
page, Flavia's voice is sharp and precocious, and flashes of pure 11
year-old malice vie with the wisdom acquired through an extensive
self-education. With her older sisters she's a near monster, but her
position as youngest sibling in a motherless family has taught her
survival, and her sangfroid born out of their shared reluctance to
acknowledge familial affection stands her in good stead when she falls
into the hands of a ruthless murderer. Her prickly relationship with
Inspector Hewitt is straight from the Golden Age of crime fiction, while
her deduction of the murder method - necessary because the Inspector
sees no need to share the post mortem findings with a small girl, adds a
nice touch. So too the choice of murder weapon, very much of its
period. As for the chapter at the end, the one-where-all is-explained,
both atmosphere and exposition were worthy of Agatha Christie.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>A couple of minor quibbles, I suppose: there are a few Canadian idioms
sprinkled through the text, which as a copy editor I would have wanted
to winkle out before publication, but there aren't enough such pinpricks
to irritate. I had doubts about a simile involving hamsters: not common
as pets in 1950, and the hamster wheel had only just been invented
(first recorded 1949; this is the sort of thing watchers of period drama
love to write to the BBC about!) Oh, and I rather doubt that poison ivy
would be found in a garden in northern England, but there are
ornamental plants that would achieve a similar effect, so Flavia
wouldn’t have had to look far to accomplish her purpose.<br />
<br />
Overall, though, this is sheer delight - as a first read for 2010 it
sets such an unbelievably high standard that I fear things can only go
downhill from here. A final thought: don't be fooled by the age of the
protagonist into thinking this is a children's book. Yes, lots of young
adults will love it, and it fits excellently into the now fashionable
crossover category, but this is essentially an adult novel which happens
to have a young narrator. I just can’t wait for the next one; due out
later this year (15 April in the UK) it is to be called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Weed that Strings the Hangman’s Bag</span>, and I have to admit that, against all resolve not to buy too many books, I have pre-ordered it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-9005030899919641422009-10-08T15:26:00.000+01:002012-01-14T15:28:43.792+00:00Pigeon Post by Arthur Ransome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Pigeons at dawn.... <span style="font-size: x-small;">(first published 1936)</span></span>
</h3>
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I thought that, as I have been so neglecting the Bookshelf, that I would
post a quick catch-up. As some of you will know, I have been in Devon
looking after Aged Parents, and far too busy fetching and carrying to
attend to my blog. By bedtime I was too tired for much reading, so I
found an old copy of Arthur Ransome's <span style="font-style: italic;">Pigeon Post</span>,
which kept me going longer than you could imagine. It was very
comforting, a story of prospecting for gold on the Cumbrian fells. The
characters are familiar from <span style="font-style: italic;">Swallows and Amazons</span>,
with the addition of Dick and Dorothea Callum. Nancy is determined to
find gold before Captain Flint gets home from foreign climes, although
plans are initially frustrated by Mrs Blackett's refusal to let them
camp on the fells because a drought means that there is no water
anywhere. How the problem is overcome is too good to spoil, so I'm not
going to tell it here.<br /><br />Much ingenuity is exercised in devising a
communication system with homing pigeons - Mrs Blackett is remarkably
tolerant about the final arrangement which involves a loudly clanging
bell whenever a pigeon deigns to return to its home (the dilatory and
unreliable Sappho comes home at 5am). And the long-awaited arrival of
the armadillo, Timothy, is delightful.<br /><br />I wasn't a huge fan of
Ransome's books when I was a child, but I am making up for it now,
partly, I suppose, because it makes me rather nostalgic for the days
when children had freedom to go off with a tent and quantities of
revolting things in tins, without the feeling that adults were peering
over their shoulders all day. I felt especially wistful at the idea that
a group of children would amuse themselves far into the night by
singing campfire songs. The sun used to shine in those days, too.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikW6iBPwqaIbBERpM2YUnGmgyRSFGcUSuR4iMn0LR2h0T6uBY39xUQNOmsh2pqEFTV3hSawITXeU_ak7yheNEnc3JzLxG2UqAC_i4wjbxWnYtxVhga4g8N9O-Fvex7ou6Mt04IgFag0kA/s1600-h/armadillo9.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390280574563924210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikW6iBPwqaIbBERpM2YUnGmgyRSFGcUSuR4iMn0LR2h0T6uBY39xUQNOmsh2pqEFTV3hSawITXeU_ak7yheNEnc3JzLxG2UqAC_i4wjbxWnYtxVhga4g8N9O-Fvex7ou6Mt04IgFag0kA/s320/armadillo9.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 85px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 137px;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-21319516637725811652009-06-30T17:22:00.000+01:002011-11-03T17:47:13.428+00:00The “Anne” books by L.M. Montgomery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="post-header">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Published 1908</span><br />
<br />
Like many women of my generation, I read <span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Green Gables</span>
when I was young, and I saw a couple of adaptations on television, but
it wasn’t until last year that I discovered how many books there were in
the series, and decided to embark on them all in order. It was a year
in which I considered myself fortunate, because I spent many happy hours
immersed in the events of Avonlea and Ingleside.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Green Gables</span>,
the first in the series, tells the story of the orphan Anne Shirley’s
arrival at the farm of Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert. They were expecting
a boy, and there are tense pages for Anne and the reader while the
elderly brother and sister make up their mind as to whether she can
stay. Once it’s decided, Anne’s natural ebullience is unquenchable, and
she gets into a succession of scrapes to try the patience of her new
guardians, while making friends and rivals in the community. Anne is
instantly lovable, and the reader shares her despair about her red hair,
and her yearning to be called Cordelia, so that when, at the end of the
book, she has to curtail her dreams, we both suffer with her and admire
her determination. I read this book in the edition edited by Cecily
Devereux, which has an introduction and some interesting back matter,
including contemporary reviews, which I found quite informative. I would
have welcomed similar treatment for the whole series.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The second
book, <i>Anne of Avonlea</i>, follows her early days as a teacher in the local school, and
introduces her adopted siblings, the twins Davy and Dora. The tone is
similar to the first book, since Anne is as prone as ever to disaster,
especially as organiser of the Avonlea Village Improvement Society, but
the in the third book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of the Island</span>,
we see her start to mature, and a quieter note begins to emerge. Anne
is now at Redmond College, and sharing a house with friends. Here she
begins to truly appreciate domesticity, and becomes more reflective,
while still maintaining her love of storytelling. She doesn’t lose the
charm that she has for the reader – instead we feel as though there is a
deepening relationship as she matures.<br />
<br />
<i>Anne of Windy Willows </i>sees Anne
as principal of Summerside school, learning to cope with difficult
pupils and parents. This is one of my favourites, I think – I like the
venture into the Gothic with Anne’s visit to Tomgallon House, and her
landladies at Windy Willows (I wonder, incidentally, whether Montgomery
liked cats, because they seem to be singled out for misery in her
books!). Interestingly, it was written much later than the others, and
is epistolatory, which I enjoyed because the letters make it a very
“chatty” book.<br />
<br />
From book five, and <i>Anne's House of Dreams</i> onwards, we join the married Anne,
and the mood is often more sombre, though her joy in her new home and
new friends always resurfaces. Montgomery never, in the earlier books,
shies away from the fact of death, but in the loss of her first child
Anne encounters the grief which means that her happiness can never again
be perfect. The story of her friend Leslie Moore, too, deals with
unhappy marriage, loss and a kind of duty which is contrary to all of
Anne’s experience, not joyful duty but a burden. I felt, increasingly
impressed that Montgomery didn’t try to shelter her young readers from
the woes of life, but was trying to prepare them for what they might
meet later, and there is a presentiments of war in the next book. <i>Anne
of Ingleside</i> is much occupied with the visit of Gilbert’s dreadful aunt,
who tries the patience of the entire family, but also focuses, one by
one, on Anne’s children. It’s a lovely portrait of a happy and contented
family, and is followed by, and contrasts with, <span style="font-style: italic;">Rainbow Valley</span>,
which is more concerned with a neighbouring family, the Merediths, who
have lost their mother and are neglected by their father.<br />
<br />
The last book, <span style="font-style: italic;">Rilla of Ingleside</span>,
was hard to read. The youngest of Anne’s children, Rilla (named after
Marilla Cuthbert) is the last child still at home, and she’s a
frivolous, carefree child until war breaks out and all the young men
join up. Endeavouring to be more responsible, Rilla starts organising
the local junior branch of the Red Cross and, on a fundraising visit,
suddenly finds herself with a baby whose mother has just died. Caring
for a helpless infant is daunting, but she is determined to do her best.
It’s the agony of waiting that makes the novel so hard, though, the
depiction of a community in limbo waiting to hear if its children will
survive, at a time when news could take weeks to arrive, and the reading
of news and waiting for corroboration of secondhand reports is a
constant theme. The pain and grief of the small community is exemplified
by the Blythe’s elderly dog, who accompanies Jem to the station and
then waits out the duration of the war – I could hardly bear it. At the
same time I found this woman’s perspective on the war illuminating and
rewarding.<br />
<br />
There is a “prequel” to the Anne books written by Budge Wilson, <span style="font-style: italic;">Before Green Gables</span>,
intended to explain how Anne became the kind of child she was,
imaginative and resourceful. I started to read this, and gave up, but it
demonstrated to me how successful Montgomery’s books are, because they
never for a moment lag, or lose your interest – there is always a sense
of freshness about them. I compared them to Susan Coolidge’s Katy books,
which I also returned to recently, and found much less satisfactory
than I recalled; the attempt to grow up with Katy (in <span style="font-style: italic;">What Katy Did Next</span>)
was, I thought, pretty dull, whereas Anne at every stage of her life
feels like an old friend, one of those people you can meet after a long
period with a feeling that you’ve never been apart.<br />
<br />
I’ve listed the books in reading order below:<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Green Gables </span>(1908)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Avonlea</span> (1909)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of the Island</span> (1915)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Windy Willows</span> (1936; <i>Windy Poplars</i> in the US and Canada)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne’s House of Dreams</span> (1917)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Anne of Ingleside</span> (1939)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Rainbow Valley</span> (1919)<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Rilla of Ingleside </span>(1921)<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-7746372903549748472009-06-13T17:45:00.000+01:002011-11-03T17:46:53.826+00:00Thy Servant a Dog by Rudyard Kipling<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Published 1930</span></span><br />
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjlev6npDfYPCXshsnwTp38XRZCBLSXHSexZgHbYFeNyg6CK3u-MJjuF5vacukf_2fbbzmmRiaMm-YU93vjnY1Cjh1g-cIbiLzNjsLBbEd88DZgnXB6owFtISsaholBicKDzJTy9n5xs/s1600-h/boots_1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346102229402576754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjlev6npDfYPCXshsnwTp38XRZCBLSXHSexZgHbYFeNyg6CK3u-MJjuF5vacukf_2fbbzmmRiaMm-YU93vjnY1Cjh1g-cIbiLzNjsLBbEd88DZgnXB6owFtISsaholBicKDzJTy9n5xs/s320/boots_1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 273px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<blockquote>
I will tell you by Times and Long Times—each time at a time. I tell good things and dretful things.</blockquote>
Those
in the know will recognise the style of Rudyard Kipling from the
<i>Just-So Stories</i>; some, I expect, will find it vomit-inducing. <i>Thy
Servant a Dog</i> is a very unfashionable sort of book which, somewhat to my
surprise, I greatly enjoyed. The story is told by Boots, a young
Scottish (or Aberdeen) terrier whose master meets a young lady walking
her own terrier, Slippers, in a London park: “There is 'nother dog like
me, off-lead. . . . There is walk-round-on-toes. There is Scrap. There
is Proper Whacking.” The two households are quickly joined:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We
are all here. Please look! I count paws. There is me, and Own
God—Master. There is Slippers, and Slippers’ own God—Missus. That is all
my paws. There is Adar. There is Cookey. There is
James-with-Kennel-that-Moves. There is Harry-with-Spade. That is all
Slippers’ paws.</blockquote>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gD8HUupFhpoCmD5iqVLyF0n8jiaUnVGeDqBNzQTBkwQICBkZ72ebeINbY6r8oIeLlK9ZzPj-CtbNe7TwNMTF4BinOoERV5hOPkcTVUi80Wv49zRl1CUxPhoJSmxr6ky_jPcxhgyeytA/s1600-h/thyservant.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346102429875199250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gD8HUupFhpoCmD5iqVLyF0n8jiaUnVGeDqBNzQTBkwQICBkZ72ebeINbY6r8oIeLlK9ZzPj-CtbNe7TwNMTF4BinOoERV5hOPkcTVUi80Wv49zRl1CUxPhoJSmxr6ky_jPcxhgyeytA/s320/thyservant.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 192px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>There
is also their arch-enemy, the Kitchen Cat, with whom insults are
frequently exchanged, and the Tall Dog discovered singing sorrowfully in
the woods who becomes a regular partner in crime. When Boots and
Slippers restore the lost dog to his family he tells them he is called
Dam Puppy, but they discover later that he is really called Ravager, son
of Regan, and comes of a line of notable fox hounds. Later, too, there
is Smallest, who becomes Slippers’ special charge.<br />
<a name='more'></a>Ravager, after a shaky start,
when the Master of Foxhounds thinks that he might be “snipey-nosed”, so
lacking the strong bite necessary for the leader of the pack, becomes
just that, with the place of honour on the sleeping bench in the Hunt
Kennels, though never too proud to talk to his friends Boots and
Slippers, even if the Hunt terriers look down on them as lapdogs. So it
is Boots who finds Ravager when he hit by a car, and rescues him. When
Ravager recovers he is half-blind and can no longer hunt, so he is give
to Smallest (Digby) for his own. This provides the book with its real
tour-de-force, the chapter entitled The Great Play Hunt. When Digby’s
parents say he is too young yet to ride to hounds, the dogs hatch a plan
with Tags, the wily old fox who has long been the scourge of local
hens, and provide him (and the hunt servant, Moore) with a hunting
lesson he’ll never forget, while the two exhausted little dogs glow with
pride as they refuse a car ride home at the end of the day:<br />
<blockquote>
We wented all across Park with Ravager and Smallest and Taffy . . . to Own Kennels—like proper Pack.</blockquote>
The illustration is of the three weary dogs with their tongues hanging out, walking home.<br />
<br />
For
those of us who are entirely soppy about dogs, Kipling’s writing
manages to be thoroughly in-the-moment, exactly in the way we still
anthropomorphise dogs to indicate their enthusiasm, their willingness to
throw themselves into any activity that amuses them (“we played
Rat-sticks on the lawn”), their loyalty and even their greediness. Boots
has a convincing combination of self-importance and humility, and no
greater understanding of the world than you would expect of a small dog.
The illustrations in this edition from 1936, are by G.L. Stampa, a
Punch cartoonist, and are charming line drawings.<br />
<br />
Yes, it’s
sentimental, and set in a world where dogs and servants knew their
places, but I think that Kipling’s conviction is evident and there is no
falsity in the writing. I suspect it’s long out of print, but
secondhand copies are still available on the Internet, either on its own
or as part of a Collected Dog Stories. I found the end genuinely sad—be
warned, if you embark on reading it aloud to your own Smallest, there
will be tears-before-bedtime, as Boots might say.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-66856862697605404722009-05-10T16:57:00.000+01:002011-11-03T17:01:46.084+00:00Many Moons by James Thurber<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Short Story, published 1943</span></span></h3>
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<br />
<br />
<div class="post-header">
</div>
I promised myself that the next time I wrote about a short story for <a href="http://onceuponatimeiii.blogspot.com/">Once Upon a Time III</a>'s
short story weekend, it would be one that was easy to find. It wasn't a
difficult choice, because it is from a writer I love, and is one of my
favourite stories ever. What's more, not only does the story itself
demonstrate just how much fun the author had writing it, it predates by a
couple of years the first of his longer ventures into the writing of
fairytales, <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Deer</span>, and some of the characters in this story, <span style="font-style: italic;">Many Moons</span>, reappear in similar form and voice in the later work.<br />
<br />
Ten-year-old
Princess Lenore, the apple of her father's eye, has fallen sick of a
surfeit of raspberry tarts, and the King, anxious for her recovery,
promises whatever her heart desires. If she can have the moon, she
replies, she will get better. The King is used to relying on his
advisors, so he sends, in succession, for the Lord High Chamberlain, the
Royal Wizard and the Royal Mathematician, to no avail. By this time
sounding distinctly miffed, he sends again, this time for the Court
Jester who, wiser than the others, finds a solution. All seems well
until the King realises that the moon will rise again the next night, so
he sends for...well, you can guess.<br />
<a name='more'></a>Thurber was never at a loss
for ways to play with words and the opportunities offered by the oral
storytelling tradition are taken up with glee. He quickly establishes
the ritual of response that each of the advisors will follow, so that
the reader is waiting with delighted expectation for their flights of
hyperbole. Only two people in the story have the common-sense they were
born with, the Jester and the Princess - in <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Deer</span>
the verbal games will tie characters in alliterative knots, and the
daring quests the princes undertake will be exacerbated by the need to
extricate themselves from the thickets of words (though Thurber's way
with a daring quest is something I urge you to discover). In this
shorter piece, however, he is a little more restrained. The Lord High
Chamberlain lists the items he has acquired on behalf of His Majesty:<br />
<blockquote>
'Let
me see now...I have got ivory, apes, and peacocks, rubies, opals, and
emeralds, black orchids, pink elephants, and blue poodles, gold bugs,
scarabs, and flies in amber, hummingbirds' tongues, angels' feathers,
and unicorns' horns, giants, midgets, and mermaids, frankincense,
ambergris and myrrh, troubadors, minstrels, and dancing women, a pound
of butter, two dozen eggs, and a sack of sugar - sorry, my wife wrote
that in there.'<br />
'I don't remember any blue poodles,' said the King.</blockquote>
Thurber's
fairytales are regular re-reads for me, and I can recite chunks of them
(which is not surprising given that repetition of both words and form
are common to all, and rhyme plays a huge part). As well as <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Deer</span> he wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">The Thirteen Clocks</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wonderful O</span>.
I couldn't tell you which is the best - for me, it's the one I am
reading at the time. I do, though, remember the pleasure that I found in
<span style="font-style: italic;">The Wonderful O</span> as a child, a
story about a village where a wicked man named Black bans the letter O,
so that there are no more opals and moonstones, owls and oaks (or owls <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span> oaks).<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Many Moons</span>
is the perfect fairytale for reading to children, satisfying to both
reader and listener. I only know it as a story from a collection, but I
see that it was originally published as a children's story book,
illustrated by Louis Slobodkin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-31317336026108985152009-04-05T11:24:00.000+01:002011-11-04T11:25:43.505+00:00Bright Silver Nothing by Nicholas Stuart Gray<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Published<span style="font-weight: normal;"> 1978</span></span><br />
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<span style="font-style: italic;">A Wind from Nowhere</span> is a book of quirky and magical short stories by Nicholas Stuart Gray. I can’t tell you much about him (his short <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicholas_Stuart_Gray">Wikipedia entry</a>
has little information, except to list several significant authors,
including Neil Gaiman and Garth Nix, who cite him as an influence); he didn’t write very
many books, and mostly what remains available is his plays rather than
his novels. <i>The Stone Cage</i>, which I’ll review here later, is a re-telling of Rapunzel from the cat’s point of
view, and I can tell you, Gray does good cats.<br /><br />My current
favourite story from the collection (which I am reading in a leisurely
fashion), "Bright Silver Nothing", takes the form of a lecture to a
group of students by a senior demon. His subject is sorcerors – their
general untrustworthiness, their annoying human foibles, their
occasional slipperiness when it comes to striking deals:<br /><blockquote>
Get
this into your silly heads: sorcerors are not always easy game. You
must handle them with care, and not fool about. It takes practice to
deal with the creatures_and you’re an ignorant bunch. Even clever demons
can come unstuck, if they rush in without thinking seriously.</blockquote>
The
demon, whose preferred name is Trilloby (though he has answered to
Astaroth, Belial, and so on) relates the story of how he was summoned by
the sorceror Sillifant to help a prince to marry the lady of his
dreams. Not surprisingly, since dark magic is involved, things don’t go
entirely to plan and some of Trilloby’s actions are a surprise ti him.<br /><br />The
demon Trilloby reminds me a lot of Jonathan Stroud’s Bartimaeus – this
collection was published in 1978, so it’s possible that the young Stroud
might have come across it and been inspired. Certainly the ways in
which Gray, in all his stories, uses humour and different viewpoints to
subvert the traditional format of the fairy story, are very much of a
recent generation of writers; there are definite echoes in Garth Nix’s
Mogget and the Disreputable Dog, as well as those I think I see in
Stroud.<br /><br />If you are fortunate enough to happen across Gray in the
sort of library that hasn’t thrown out any book printed before 2007, or
have the luck to find a copy in a secondhand bookshop, snap it up, it’s a
small treasure. Rather nice cover, too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-687220681745586732009-01-27T17:53:00.000+00:002011-11-03T18:23:34.131+00:00The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be by Farley Mowat<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Published 1957</span><br />
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojYQC3nI9VK76aXAv2pAsEvsWkvx_-hU7Bmoeiv8ZMaZiXG0sJfcOfxcbsaJsy-DE6YFeBns7MvF19mTiG1ayltqlFT89dOFi3t0LAg37Kgc_Av-nmyVj003vYN25_LyN3Z1lQ_lECuw/s1600-h/mutt+copy.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386130232354939506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojYQC3nI9VK76aXAv2pAsEvsWkvx_-hU7Bmoeiv8ZMaZiXG0sJfcOfxcbsaJsy-DE6YFeBns7MvF19mTiG1ayltqlFT89dOFi3t0LAg37Kgc_Av-nmyVj003vYN25_LyN3Z1lQ_lECuw/s320/mutt+copy.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Mutt, by Paul Galdone</span></div>
<br />
I
was thinking that my reading for the Canadian Book Challenge wasn’t
going to progress much during my lengthy absence from home – for
instance, I feel it would be cheating to count any John Buchan writing
not set in Canada – but I was only able to carry a limited number of
books on the train, and choices had to be made. So I was pleased to
rediscover a stalwart of the Canadian canon, <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;">The Dog Who Wouldn't Be</span>,
on the dining table from at least two visits ago (in my parents’ house
books and newspapers adorn every possible surface, in piles); I think my
mother found it in the charity shop, and she can’t resist anything with
a dog in the title.<br />
<br />
The Dog in question is Mutt, accidentally
acquired by the Mowat family during a search for a hunting dog. Passed
off to hunting friends as a “Prince Albert Retriever”, Mutt is initially
a disaster in the field, but gradually begins to acquire his own
methods, eventually becoming legendary as a dog who can retrieve even
out of season. The learning process is full of incident – Mutt is
enthusiastic about chasing cows – and difficulty, as Saskatoon is on the
dry side for duck hunting, and Mutt’s methods eccentric: he doesn’t
always wait for ducks to be shot, but retrieves a swimming bird from
underneath. He’s an avid cat chaser, too, and from an early start with
ladders, becomes a sure-footed mountaineer, although none of the family
share his interest, and are usually to be found waiting impatiently at
the foot of the precipice, anxious to continue their holiday:<br />
<blockquote>
This
mountain climbing passion was an infernal nuisance to the rest of us,
for he would sneak away whenever we stopped, and would appear high on
the face of some sheer cliff, working his way steadily upward, and deaf
to our commands that he return to us.</blockquote>
Mutt is not the only
animal to share the Mowat home; the young Farley’s early interest in
nature leads to an extensive collection of creatures which share his
bedroom (owing to some misplaced advice by his amateur naturalist uncle
that the way to learn about animals is to live with them). Two horned
owls prove even more of a terror to the local cat population than Mutt.<br />
<br />
As a British child I grew up on the writing of Gerald Durrell (there’s a feel of <span style="font-style: italic;">My Family and Other Animals</span> to <span style="font-style: italic;">The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be</span>
– the same harassed mother and neighbours, for a start); I would have
loved this book then, and would have gone on to read others by the
author (and still will, I hope). I gather there is some question of the
authenticity of his writing on both animal and human inhabitants of the
Arctic – reading this memoir, I must admit to having doubted the total
veracity of some events, but this book at least is none the worse for
that. And all narrators are to some extent unreliable.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-5940050849954439772008-10-30T15:54:00.000+00:002011-11-03T16:52:01.476+00:00Tamsin by Peter S. Beagle<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Published 1999</span></span><br />
</h3>
<div class="post-header">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SbWNsnFNdmTMIRYVKwgqGqLMfq8ubAHY0QEEJoAdeARuw9igEsDXSiwtiAbKalsJpAKu18GPvU3DGT2QhFtHtJFQ-I-d3v1VKL0a_x-FvoPALoKWn77lE6l_yvCfL3lOibb8nbwPAgM/s1600-h/tamsin.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262934427457971266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8SbWNsnFNdmTMIRYVKwgqGqLMfq8ubAHY0QEEJoAdeARuw9igEsDXSiwtiAbKalsJpAKu18GPvU3DGT2QhFtHtJFQ-I-d3v1VKL0a_x-FvoPALoKWn77lE6l_yvCfL3lOibb8nbwPAgM/s200/tamsin.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 131px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Isn't it lovely when you find a book that you like so much that you know you'll return to it over and over? I've loved Peter S. Beagle's writing since I read<span style="font-style: italic;"> The Last Unicorn</span> in the far-distant past when it was new and I was still a schoolgirl – I devoured it alongside George MacDonald's <span style="font-style: italic;">Phantastes </span>and William Morris's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Wood Beyond the World</span>, and it was Beagle who became my enduring favourite. A few years later I happened across <span style="font-style: italic;">A Fine and Private Place</span> in the library, and was enchanted, but then there was a long silence. There was a showing on television of the animated version of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Unicorn</span>, which I found quite charming because I knew the original, but which failed to "take" with the sons in the way that <span style="font-style: italic;">Watership Down</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Charlotte's Web</span> had done.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
More recently, however, something made me search for information about Beagle – it may have been because I found my copy of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Unicorn</span> on a bottom shelf and enjoyed its Thurber-esque handling of fairy tales all over again. And, joy of joys, it looked as though there might be – in a very limited output in the intervening years, what has the man been doing? – two more novels to track down via Abebooks, now that having books sent from the other side of the world has become wickedly cheap and easy. I started with <span style="font-style: italic;">The Innkeeper's Song</span>, which looked to be the more solid read, and mentioned it briefly it <a href="http://geraniumcatsbookshelf.blogspot.com/2007/10/recent-reading-crime-and-fantasy.html">here </a>– not as good as the <span style="font-style: italic;">Unicorn</span>, but certainly worth the trouble I'd gone to in getting it (I'm beginning to look forward to re-acquainting myself with it already). I wasn't in a hurry to read <span style="font-style: italic;">Tamsin </span>– I thought it looked, from the descriptions, amiable but possibly slight.</span><br />
</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the last year, though, I've read several reviews of <span style="font-style: italic;">Tamsin </span>by other bloggers, people such as </span><a href="http://stuffasdreamsaremadeon.com/2008/03/24/tamsin-by-peter-s-beagle/" style="font-family: arial;">Chris</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> and </span><a href="http://thingsmeanalot.blogspot.com/2008/06/tamsin-by-peter-s-beagle.html" style="font-family: arial;">Nymeth</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> whose posts I read because I respect their opinions (to the detriment of my book-buying budget), and for a while now I've had it on my TBR pile. The <a href="http://ripingyarns.blogspot.com/">R.I.P. III Challenge</a> seemed to offer the perfect opportunity, particularly when I saw that </span><a href="http://susanflynn.blogspot.com/" style="font-family: arial;">Susan</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> also planned to read it. So, last weekend, I began reading.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
Oh dreadful, blissful dilemma, a book I couldn't put down while at the same time I couldn't bear to finish it. Now, <span style="font-style: italic;">Tamsin </span>is a ghost story - it isn't a weighty book, nor even an especially scary one but I was quickly immersed, even during the opening, set in New York, when our heroine Jenny Gluckstein is a being a whiny, self-absorbed teenager. Jenny is bright, sassy and pretty streetwise, and she is happy and at home in her urban jungle, and is frankly appalled when her mother Sally decides to remarry and drag her off to England, to a new family, Evan and his two sons, Tony and Julian. To make matters worse, they are destined not for London, as originally promised, but to a ancient and crumbling farm in Dorset, and her beloved Mister Cat will have to endure six months' quarantine.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
The family – if they can be described as such, with Jenny prickling at every little irritation – struggle at first to settle in the near-derelict manor, hampered by the house's apparent rejection of them and their improvements. It's infested by small snickering creatures, the top floor remains shut off and unexplored, and the farmland is sour and unproductive. When Mister Cat finally arrives he has midnight battles with things with too many legs, but it is his forays into the upper floor which lead to Jenny's discovery of their ghostly neighbours, Tamsin Willoughby and Miss Sophia Brown.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
Beagle has a genuine feel for British folklore, I think. There are other North American writers who incorporate themes, motifs and characters into their work (Charles de Lint comes to mind) but it always seems to me that the expansiveness of the New World isn't quite right for the essentially domestic nature of our fairies and monsters. (Neil Gaiman handles this well in <span style="font-style: italic;">American Gods</span>, I think, not only drawing on a tradition from the European continent – expansive in itself - rather than Britain, but in depicting his old gods as suffering from displacement and loss of belief; but then, Gaiman has the advantage of a foot in both worlds, Old and New.) Even that most terrifying of British phenomena, the Wild Hunt, in Beagle's hands becomes – for a moment – a football crowd bent on rather dangerous fun, while by far the most frightening moments come from "real" British history.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Tamsin </span>isn't a book entirely without fault – I did feel that it could have moved at a slightly more leisurely pace (or was that just my greed, and not wanting it to end?) and one or two of the characters could have borne just a shade more development. Jenny herself can be a bit too whiny but then, she is writing with hindsight, and acknowledges that her younger self was a brat. Oh, and the "University of Dorchester" made me splutter with amusement, even allowing for some very strange institutions to have sprung up in the last few years. These are the merest quibbles, however, and my pleasure was enhanced by having spent some time in that part of Dorset – in fact, I read with a particular manor house in mind, and thought readers might enjoy this link to some pictures of </span><a href="http://www.dorsetshire.com/old/greathouses.html" style="font-family: arial;">Great Houses in Dorset</a><span style="font-family: arial;">. There isn't a picture of the one I was imagining, but if you scroll down the page to Sandford Orcas Manor you'll see the sort of house I had in mind - although this Tudor building is too early for Beagle's Stourhead Manor, I feel it is a better match for his description than the grander Jacobean houses.</span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-70395110967437805882008-08-05T17:07:00.008+01:002011-11-03T16:12:29.667+00:00The Chronices of Pantouflia by Andrew Lang<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpTzTIwL4s8EgjhMeQqf07IR9PZndIpccH5mxYJUDPyljDMsKjt4m1bEKj1lITTKUH7ba3Cl8AZaBiIfu-mFmoCgL0BCLFPxl5-NSge47Qdhdwpxue8VJGj4DvFCTaUlt_hyhT0NF4pk/s1600-h/Prigio.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196927592687967858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVpTzTIwL4s8EgjhMeQqf07IR9PZndIpccH5mxYJUDPyljDMsKjt4m1bEKj1lITTKUH7ba3Cl8AZaBiIfu-mFmoCgL0BCLFPxl5-NSge47Qdhdwpxue8VJGj4DvFCTaUlt_hyhT0NF4pk/s320/Prigio.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 10pt;">I grew up with these two stories,<i> Prince Prigio</i> and <i>Prince Ricardo</i>, but I mislaid my copy and this was the first time I have read them for well over 20 years. My edition is an old one, dating back to 1943, and with the original illustrations, which I like very much. The picture here is of King Prigio flying to the moon.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Although they were written in the 30s, the style is Victorian, and very much "after" Thackeray's <i>The Rose and the Ring </i>- we are actually told that Prigio's family is descended from the characters in that book, and this is one of the ways in which Lang creates the atmosphere of history for children, rather than fiction. He also footnotes particular terms, and comments on the motives and behaviour of his characters. There is a supposed dryness to the style, in keeping with the writing of history, but since the events are frequently farcical, the characters endowed with suitably human flaws and the story romps along at a brisk pace, the overall tone is more one of subdued hilarity.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> In <i>Prince Prigio</i>, the usual fairytale catastrophe is compounded by the Queen's refusal to believe in fairies, with the result that <i>none</i> of the fairies are invited to the christening. Most of the fairies – who all turn up, though the Queen denies that she can see them – are forgiving, and make the traditional kind of gift, but one wishes him "<i>too</i> clever", so that he grows into the kind of boy who infuriates everyone. His father, desperate to get rid of him, decrees that the heir to the throne will be the one of his sons who can perform the task of killing the legendary Firedrake, but the prince, as much of a rationalist as his mother, refuses to go on the grounds that the beast doesn't exist. So his younger brothers Enrico and Alphonso each set off in turn to be incinerated.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">How Prigio is eventually persuaded to tackle the Firedrake is the meat of the first story, while in the second, his son, the heroic and dashing Prince Ricardo, must learn to settle down and recognise the value of both people and talents that he takes for granted. I was pleased to find that my childhood pleasure in the stories remains undiminished: I enjoy the humour, I still admire Princess Jacqueline, who plays a major part in the saving of Prince Ricardo, and I still feel rather sorry for the Firedrake. I'm not sure that I would rush to recommend them for children, unless they had already enjoyed Lang's various <i>Fairy Books</i> (Blue, Violet etc), but they might still give a good deal of pleasure if read out loud. I'll end with an extract, so that people can judge for themselves:</span></span></div><blockquote><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">"It is an awkward brute to tackle, " the king said, "but you are the oldest, my lad; go where glory awaits you! Put on your armour, and be off with you!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> This the king said, hoping that either the Firedrake would roast Prince Prigio alive (which he could easily do, as I have said; for he is all over as hot as a red-hot poker), or that, if the prince succeeded, at least his country would be freed from the monster.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> But the prince, who was lying on the sofa doing sums in compound division, for fun, said in the politest way:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> "Thanks to the education your majesty has given me, I have learned that the Firedrake, like the siren, the fairy, and so forth, is a fabulous animal which does not exist. But even granting, for the sake of argument, that there is a Firedrake, your majesty is well aware that there is no kind of use in sending <i>me</i>. It is always the eldest son who goes out first, and comes to grief on these occasions, and it is always the third son who succeeds. Send Alphonso" (this was the youngest brother) "and <i>he</i> will do the trick at once. At least, if he fails, it will be most unusual, and Enrico can try his luck."</span></span></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-82849010946621914932008-07-28T16:32:00.005+01:002011-11-03T16:18:18.287+00:00A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine l'Engle<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirySo-4p_1YYlsSM-Hm3Wrjr9q9HJAD6oZSrHgApWMgoNzLwGvkQ-S0Jcye_dJi5ceIQKdKlMQPYuhvZPdomHvJ8-v1hJKb4mxsNbvlv8d0q3tK2EhLE9v-dMZQSmK4H3MGqXJ_Bqb078/s1600-h/IMG_2035.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228112455200108994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirySo-4p_1YYlsSM-Hm3Wrjr9q9HJAD6oZSrHgApWMgoNzLwGvkQ-S0Jcye_dJi5ceIQKdKlMQPYuhvZPdomHvJ8-v1hJKb4mxsNbvlv8d0q3tK2EhLE9v-dMZQSmK4H3MGqXJ_Bqb078/s320/IMG_2035.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A Wrinkle in Time</i>, 1962; <i>A Wind in the Door</i>, 1973; <i>A Swiftly Tilting Planet</i>, 1978); <i>Many Waters</i>, 1986; <i>An Acceptable Time</i>, 1989</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I first read <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Time</span> when I was very young and it made a huge impression on me. I think it may have been the first book I read which had Science in it and one of its effects was to persuade me – hopeless as I was at science and maths at school – that these were subjects which might be interesting if only someone explained them properly. The book turned me into a lifelong reader of science fiction and a regular reader of <span style="font-style: italic;">New Scientist</span>, although nothing has ever improved my maths. It was a book that made me confident about understanding ideas and, in that sense, I think it is probably one of the most influential I have ever read.</span><br />
</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br />
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Time</span> is the first of l'Engle's Kairos series, where the action is primarily outside the present-day world and time; they run parallel to the Chronos series, where the action is largely within our familiar world. Religion and science are the prominent themes in most of her writing, and some characters appear in both series (notably Canon Tallis, who is rather a favourite of mine). In <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Time</span>, Meg Murry's parents are both scientists; Meg, despite intelligence which is clear to the reader from the outset, feels awkward, clumsy and unintelligent at school, and it is perhaps her unhappiness that at first creates her link to her small brother Charles Wallace, who understands that she feels out of place; the link between them is to prove vital in both this, where she and her friend Calvin O'Keefe must go to rescue Charles Wallace from the planet Camazotz, and two further books in the series, <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wind in the Door</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">A Swiftly Tilting Planet</span>.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
In <span style="font-style: italic;">A Wind in the Door</span>, the second of the quintet (which wasn't actually written as such, since there are three other books which focus on the two families, the Murrys and the O'Keefes), Charles Wallace is again in danger and desperately ill, and Meg and Calvin must attempt to save him with the help of the cherubim, Proginoskes, by journeying into a microcosm. <span style="font-style: italic;">A Swiftly Tilting Planet </span>delves into Celtic mythology to link old and new worlds and families across time, with the intertwined stories of Calvin's family and Welsh voyages to North America and Patagonia.*</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Many Waters</span> surprised me. It starts much like all the other books in the series, in the Murry family home, when suddenly Meg's brothers, the twins Dennys and Sandy, find themselves transported through time to the land of Noah and the Flood. As well as Biblical characters, monsters inhabit the land, and people are on familiar terms with cherubim and, in some cases, nefilim. Noah and his father, Lamech, are on first name terms with God, and there is an ark to build. The preoccupation with Christian theology is evident throughout all of l'Engle's books, of course, but the setting for this one was nonetheless unexpected.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: arial;">In <span style="font-style: italic;">An Acceptable Time</span>, published here as the final book in the quintet, the action takes place many years later, and focuses on Calvin and Meg's daughter, Polly, who is staying with Meg's parents in Connecticut while she prepares for university. The resourceful Polly finds herself caught in a tesseract, journeying through time to 3,000 years ago, where she meets two druids of the People of the Wind, the tribe previously encountered by Charles Wallace in the second book. <span style="font-style: italic;">An Acceptable Time</span> completes the cycle of stories about the two families.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
Earlier I mentioned the Chronos series, which shares some overlapping characters, most notably Zachary Gray, who appears in <span style="font-style: italic;">A Ring of Endless Light </span>as well as in <span style="font-style: italic;">An Acceptable Time</span>. The Chronos books, about the Austin family, are more firmly fixed within our reality, although <span style="font-style: italic;">The Young Unicorns</span> perhaps stands slightly apart with its background of a cathedral and episcopal hubris, but death is a theme that runs through many of l'Engle's books; <span style="font-style: italic;">Meet the Austins</span> actually opens with a death and particularly focuses on the effect it has on children. Handled with a Christian perspective I think it is always dealt with sympathetically and, not only shouldn't alienate readers from other beliefs, but should succeed in offering a sympathetic account of the ways in which adults and children seek to come to terms with it; in <span style="font-style: italic;">An Acceptable Time</span> the author is resolute in describing both Zachary's fear of death, allowing him to become a relatively unattractive person because of it. Indeed, in a work which addresses a familiar and frequent theme in children's and young adult fiction, that of time travel, Zachary's own fear stands to articulate the peril which faces all time travellers: the doubt about their successful return. In this passage, Polly, trapped in the past watches her family in her mind's eye:</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In this manner she moved through three thousand years. In eternity, her own time and this time in which she was now held, waiting, were simultaneous. If she died in this strange time, would she be born in her own time? Did the fact that she had been born mean that she might escape death here? No, that didn't work out. Everybody in this time died sooner or later. But if she was to be born in her own time, wouldn't she have to live long enough to have children, so that she would at least be a descendant of herself?</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 100%;"> <span style="font-family: arial;">One of my pleasures of the last few months has been returning for a regular dip into this series and I think the attractively produced boxed set of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Time Quintet</span> would make an excellent gift to young reader and adult alike. Since I have considered quite so many books at once, I thought it might be helpful to list them below. I have bolded those mentioned above.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Time Quintet:</span></span> <span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">A Wrinkle in Time</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A Wind in the Door<br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A Swiftly Tilting Planet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Many Waters</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">An Acceptable Time</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
Other books which feature the O'Keefes:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">The Arm of the Starfish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Dragons in the Waters</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">A House Like a Lotus</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
<br />
Chronos series:<br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Meet the Austins</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">The Moon by Night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Young Unicorns</span><br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A Ring of Endless Light</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Troubling a Star<br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">*Edited later to add that in the book the voyage is to the imaginary S. American country of Vespugia, but l'Engle used real records of Welsh immigration to Patagonia for inspiration.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258018502265845251.post-27164920543098255942008-06-19T16:40:00.000+01:002011-11-03T16:52:30.649+00:00Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: normal;">Published 1985</span><br />
</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YLfHjXDuQnSDUXvI60oOgvpwYj9C1rQIB2aGC-c-jqE2NlxnvFq8IgR9KdFOLMLhwdixn-4rF9fet-jg3yMUbMJZvcGFGsOYzHUfgQ8rBPg4bu7LlpcpLxDmlEUhbM7PeXu6UzH_Iu0/s1600/fire+and+hemlock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YLfHjXDuQnSDUXvI60oOgvpwYj9C1rQIB2aGC-c-jqE2NlxnvFq8IgR9KdFOLMLhwdixn-4rF9fet-jg3yMUbMJZvcGFGsOYzHUfgQ8rBPg4bu7LlpcpLxDmlEUhbM7PeXu6UzH_Iu0/s1600/fire+and+hemlock.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 85%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">I bought this book thinking I knew what to expect. A year or two ago I read an article which discussed it, along with <i>Elidor</i>
by Alan Garner (one of my favourite books growing up), as examples of
British myths retold with a contemporary setting. I can't find the
article now, but I remember it left me with an impression of a
re-telling, based on the Scottish ballads of Tam Lin and Thomas the
Rhymer), that was as gritty as Garner's treatment of the Mabinogion. I
was interested, but there was no sense of urgency about reading it,
particularly since I couldn't find a copy for sale in the UK. The <a href="http://onceuponatimeii.blogspot.com/">Once Upon a Time II Challenge</a>,
though, spurred me to search again and, this time, patience was
rewarded and I found an affordable copy which was soon winging its way
across the Atlantic (I can't imagine why it's so hard to get here).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">And
boy, was patience ever rewarded! Now, I readily admit to being an easy
target (my second son was named for Tam Lin – a dangerous move, I
realise in retrospect, you shouldn't dangle a tempting treat under Queen
Mab's nose like that, and I once considered buying a dreadful house in
Earlston simply because the town was the birthplace of Thomas the
Rhymer) but I have found a book to enjoy re-reading for years to come.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: 100%;">Nineteen-year-old
Polly is reading a book of modern fairy stories when she begins to
recall echoes of a set of memories about the childhood friend who gave
her books of folktales and myths. How have the memories of this person,
and the events of her childhood, been suppressed? She sets out to
retrace these events, gradually recalling her meeting with Tom Lynn at a
funeral, the beginnings of their friendship, and their joint creation
of the heroes Tan Coul and his assistant, Hero, whose adventures come
true, after a fashion, for Polly and Tom.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-family: trebuchet ms;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">Early
in the book I found myself intrigued by the way in which the lives of
Polly and Tom were being gradually interwoven by the author, in parallel
to the way in which they weave their tales, often at a distance. The
reader is caught up almost as the third strand of the plait, much in the
way that the interaction between storyteller and listener was an
intrinsic part of the telling of ballads. Like Polly, we can see that
some of the characters are not necessarily what they seem, but can only
guess at their reality based on their words and actions and, as her
memories begin to unfold, it is as if we share the experience through
the process of reading them. We have embarked, with Polly, on a journey
of rediscovery, which will lead to a riddle to solve; and like Janet, in
the ballad, all her resolve and tenacity will be tested.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;">For
the young adult reader there are hints of the relevance of fairytales
and myths to the present day, albeit a more mundane world than the one
in which Polly finds herself. And the truth which Polly must uncover is
universal. This is a wonderful story, age-old but superbly
reinterpreted, which should be available to a new generation of readers.</span><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 85%;">Hemlock</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;"></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 100%;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0