After solving the case of the missing school tie, The Wells and Wong Detective Society could only hope that their next case would prove a little more mysterious. But when Hazel Wong (the society’s own secretary) stumbles across the lifeless body of one of their teachers in the school gym things take a turn for the deadly! Could their be foul play at Deepdean school? With their keen set of detective skills they’re already making progress in uncovering the mystery before anyone else learns about the crime. But a private school is a close-knit community and with a murderer in their midst, no one can be trusted.
Robin Stevens debut is a glorious romp through the dormitories and daily quirks of life in a 1930s girls’ school. Bun-breaks, socs and prep are all run of the mill for Daisy and Hazel; corpses, less so. And while Daisy delights in their perilous mission, our narrator Hazel struggles with her own worry-load; the weight of her Hong-Kong heritage continues to confuse her, the terrifying possibility that the killer saw her at the crime scene threatens her peace of mind and, frankly, being friends with someone like Daisy is a daily exhaustion in itself.
Hazel’s endearing voice is the key to this wonderful story’s success, a genuine and genuinely individual voice, her unique perspective on the strange hive of activity that is the boarding school life makes for a wonderful companion and the fact that a murderer looms in the shadows adds a darkly delicious twist. I can’t wait to hear more of Hazel and the strangely alluring Daisy. Although Hazel often admits she’s a shade away of having a pash on Daisy herself, in Murder Most Unladylike Hazel is undoubtedly our heroine. Delighting in its traditional setting this neat little story will charm fans of all generations with its sharp and surprising crime, loveable lingo and memorable characters. The first Wells & Wong Mystery is a real gem that deserves spending several bun-breaks over.
I should admit, She Is Not Invisible is only the second Marcus Sedgwick novel that I’ve read. I know, what have I been doing? I knew the moment I finished Midwinterblood that I should have got myself another one to see if there was a pattern of ‘bloody-hell-that-was-good, or if I had just been lucky with Carnegie shortlisted one. I picked up the proof of She’s Not Invisible at an Orion bookseller evening earlier this year. This week I read it, and now I am absolutely sure that I need another of his books because this is seriously special stuff.
She’s Not Invisible is the story of sixteen year old Laureth Peak, and her seven year old brother Benjamin, and how they flew to New York to track down their father who may or may not want to be found. Jack Peak, brilliant writer –especially his early, funny ones – isn’t meant to be in America at all, so when Laureth receives an email saying his private notebook has been found there she cannot wait for the truth to simply reveal itself. A daring and dangerous journey sees the two siblings work together to find out why their father is chasing chaotic theories across the Atlantic that have led others to dark and disturbing ends. While Laureth’s determination is unrelenting, she worries that her father’s own unforgiving fixation on coincidences has turned into an irreversible obsession.
For a short novel there is a lot to love here. Firstly, that Sedgwick has continued the respectfully challenging content that made Midwinterblood feel so brave and original. Should children’s’/YA literature feature philosophical musings on the nature of coincidence and free will – hell yes it should. These ideas are fresh and exciting amidst the entertaining environment of a family drama and real world teen problems - here is a book that genuinely provokes thought and individual response about life’s real mysteries. Laureth is an excellent companion; she not only translates complex ideas in a clear and an interesting voice but provides a compelling and endearing narration.
I always seem to fall for stories about writers, and I have a particular inclination towards novels that introduce philosophical ideas, or mathematical and scientific problems in a literary space – probably because I’ve never studied these things myself, I love learning through stories, and discovering the real world between the covers of a book. So perhaps She’s Not Invisible is simply exactly the type of book I already like – but this is just what I’ve come away from it with. There’s so much in it that maybe you will find something else to love – the touching relationship between a sister who needs her little brother, the empowering character who lives with disability and doesn’t let it be the thing that people talk about, the mysterious cat and mouse chase with villains and heroes in an unknown city, the message of hope and love and faith that rings through every chapter.
If someone said to me that She’s Not Invisible is like a Meg Rosoff story in a Scarlett Thomas style – I’d say that sounds too good to be true, but I think it’s a fair comparison. Maybe it’s more useful to simply call it a Marcus Sedgwick novel, from what I’ve read that name is capable of representing completely surprising material in a totally engaging and accessible style. The pressure mounts – the question is - which one should I read next?
Anyone who has read Creech’s masterful poetry-narrative ‘Love That Dog’ knows how well she can fold reams of thought and meaning into white space and brief lines. Like the eponymous ‘Boy On The Porch’ the story is fleeting but will resonate long after it leaves. Marta and John are the couple who find the boy; he doesn’t speak and only carries a badly written note that simply says to look after him until ‘they’ come back for him. The kind couple see no reason why they can’t spend a little time with the boy, but one day turns into two and then days become weeks with no sign of anyone coming to claim him.
The boy remains mute but has a natural ability for everything artistic, he speaks in rhythmic tapping that he drums out on any surface. He communicates with animals in a way that he cannot reach other humans. When John brings a guitar and a harmonica home the boy pours out self-composed music only hours after learning the first notes and on discovering watercolours he produces painting after painting. While John worries that the boy doesn’t do chores or manly jobs around the farm, Marta wonders if he might be a true genius.
The inevitable happens, unlike the cows and the beagle that arrived and then stayed, the boy must be returned. Marta and John are heartbroken but use the new void for a destiny that is more wonderful and magical than I could have imagined. A short and special story about the power of love, family and the wonder that a child can inspire, the boy touches John and Marta’s life in a way they never expected and their story will do the same for unsuspecting readers. Creech’s writing remains taught and precise, and all the more glorious for it. Do yourself a favour and bring The Boy home with you for a while.
I wrote this review for the Booktrust website - reposted here to include photo of my beloved whale, which I won from Simon & Schuster!
The Storm Whale
Simon and Schuster
Noi lives with his Dad by the sea. Left alone every day whilst his dad goes to work, Noi only has his cats for company, but one morning after a particularly stormy night there is a new friend washed up on the shore. Noi takes the little whale home to look after, feeding him fish and telling him stories in the bath. When his dad discovers their new guest Noi knows its time to say goodbye. Together with his dad they return the whale back to the sea, in the hope that one day he will see his friend again.
This very simple text tells a gentle story that will delight small children. The idea of bringing a whale home on a wagon and keeping him in the bath is a lovely image and little Noi is immediately endearing. The sea-side scenery is fresh and picturesque and the cool palette is very appealing - it’s just beautiful to look at. Toddlers looking to dip their toes into the chaotic seas of full length story picture books will enjoy paddling in this calming coastal treasure first.
My own little whale, riding the storm of some of my unshelved books, which are soon to be relocated when I move house. I might take them in a little wagon, with my whale sitting proudly on top a sea of stories. It might take a few trips.
Brubaker, Ford & Friends (imprint of Templar)
Olive was in a bad mood. Hilarious (sorry, Olive!) pre-title illustrations show you how she got there – it’s a… shall we say, short series of unfortunate events – but there is she, stuck in a grump. She doesn’t want to play Dinosaurs with Molly, they’re ‘for babies’. She doesn’t like Matt’s new hat, silly old Joe is ‘rubbish with that ball’ and Ziggy is just getting in her way. It seems like nothing can cheer her up, until – Ooo! Sweets! - her storm takes her past the sweet shop. A big bag of Giant Jelly Worms gives Olive a whole new perspective on the day, which is actually sunshiney and beautiful. If only she had some friends to share it with…
Admittedly this is the first book by Tor Freeman I’ve had, so I will be seeking out a copy of Olive and the Big Secret as soon as possible. This simple story is told with real warmth and genuine humour, and whilst the familiar feeling of being in an unjustified funk might be recognisable to adults, the children might be too busy wetting themselves laughing to make any connection to their own cloudy days. Olive’s expressions are quite frankly priceless but it’s the beautiful use of white page that she thunders through under her dark cloud that makes this book special. It really feels like Olive is stomping through the spreads until she is brought to a halt by the sudden sweet shop and the bookended illustrations that take us before and beyond the story are wonderful additions sure to inspire conversations and loads more laughs. This is superior storybook styling. Cor, Tor - I want more!
Andersen Press are a bit of a dark horse. Not content with releases that look set to rival the picture book powerhouse that is Walker Books, they are now making a serious play in becoming a go-to name for daring, innovative and striking fiction. I’m getting rather attached to their middle grade fiction list so when URGLE showed up, practically stabbing its way out of the envelope I had no choice but to surrender.
Urgle is a big brother. He lives in the pit with all the other big brothers and their respective little brothers; Av has Goobs, Fiver has Wasted and Urgle has Cubby. They might have their differences, Urgle and Fiver especially, but Ikkuma brothers stick together, protecting each other until their Leaving Day. After that they’re on their own, there are rumours that some go in search of their long-lost mothers but mother seekers, like scroungees, are frowned upon. True Ikkuma are self-sufficient warriors, they do not need the parents who rejected them, but they live a sheltered life in the protection of the pit with no real knowledge of what waits for them on the other side of the forest. Going back to the pit after Leaving Day is unheard of, but when Blaze returns full of rage and mystery, he brings the outside world and all of its dangers back with him.
Comparisons to the Chaos Walking trilogy have already been made but I’d say Urgle was perfect priming material for Patrick Ness’ masterpiece. Urgle is not really ready to be out there on his own, which is why the story works and why it will resonate with middle grade readers (10-12ish) who are not yet ready to take on the dark complexities of The Knife of Never Letting Go. It is the friendships and relationships around him that complete Urgle’s journey and there are plenty of transferable figures to identify: the friend you envy, the bully you need, the child that makes you feel like a grown up.
What makes Urgle so gripping is the layering of mystery, each act brings about new questions – some left unanswered – with ‘answers’ only encouraging more questions. I loved the fire stories that Fiver was so proud to pass on. The legends that made up their history were exotic and absorbing and for me, this is where the book really shined.
The pit, so foreign to us as readers, is our hero’s norm, and to call the outside world (closer to a real life as we might recognise it) the unknown will provoke interesting discussions about knowledge, power, nature and nuture. I hope to use Urgle with my junior book club and I can’t wait to hear what they make of the plotting of opposing histories (or religions). It is a story packed with ideas and intrigue, begging to be unpicked by brave young readers. Fierce questions are woven in to a fast paced adventure that will delight thrill seekers and deep thinkers alike.
Faber & Faber
Evie’s just had an operation to remove fragments of the shattered ribs she’s been keeping inside of her, along with a heart weighed down with secrets, for far too long. She’s got a new life now, with adoptive parents who will move the skies to protect her, an understanding teacher and an uncle who is teaching her how to have fun. She also has friends she no longer knows how to communicate with, a bully who is making her life hell and a past, filled with fury and fear that crowds her every day.
I won’t explain how a rib becomes a dragon, or how it opens up the nightscape to Evie, who is so often crippled by pain in the daytime but comforted by the sharp feelings of being alive and awake in a world that should be confined to dreams. The dragon is more important to Evie than it is to her story. And that’s sort of what makes The Bone Dragon that much more interesting that other books that deal with this subject – ‘this subject‘ being domestic abuse – because really we learn very little about what Evie has been through. Casale doesn’t even think about dwelling on the details in that uncomfortable way that those ‘tragic life stories’ so proudly advertise (surely more sick lit than any John Green!). Yes Evie has had a traumatic time but she doesn’t want to talk about it, to her friends or to us, the reader. It’s a brave move that might leave some readers feeling a little (wrongly) mystified; but for me it’s the stand-out feature. Evie is a sweet narrator, honest and endearing and she doesn’t ever really sound like a victim because she’s constantly reminding herself how loved she is now, firmly putting the past behind her and trying not to let it ruin the life in front of her. She’s also wonderfully youthful, which sounds a strange thing to say about a 14 year old and of course may well be a side effect of the abuse she has suffered but she’s in no hurry to grow up and that is so refreshing. She can’t understand her friend’s obsession with counting calories, pointless TV shows or debating which sixth formers they want to snog. Perhaps in real life this actually might make Evie a target, the playground is a cruel place, but in this instance is just makes you want to protect her. Phee and Lynne have their own serious problems too so it’s unfair to write them off as sideline airheads and Evie wants (needs) their friendship more than she initially realises. Again this is a smart underplaying of a serious topic; Casale’s simple subtlety speaks volumes.
Overall, it’s an impress debut and I’m already looking forward to seeing what comes next. For a book so full of ‘issues’ it comes less like a punch in the face and more like a slow creeping presence. The Bone Dragon enters quietly in a dignified puff of dream-like smoke and the gentle pull of his unusual tale might curl around your consciousness for days after you’ve finished reading.
There’s something about a private school setting that is instantly appealing. In fact I’ve come to realise that many books that I have particularly enjoyed (read: became glued to my hands)have shared this type of location: The Secret History (Tartt), Prep (Sittenfeld), Skippy Dies (Murray), Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Pessl). I think there’s something exciting about all those people living in close confined spaces with all those books and ideas and energy for things that may or may not be academic. There is often a special teacher, like one you had at school or university, who is ready to share a genuine love for a subject – these characters often lack in younger fiction where the idea of school is just an obstacle to get through or the house of a bully to be avoided at lunchtimes - and there are the strange goings-on; the rituals and the rites that are so alien to an outsider but uphold real history and tradition in these strange spaces. A private school is the perfect place for an intellectual mystery, or in this case, a tragedy.
The fact that our man Duncan has come in to his senior year already bearing the weight of the impending Tragedy Paper, an end of year essay that must analyse the genre in its complex entirety makes it the buzzword for the whole story. Everything feels like part of a tragedy for poor old Duncan who seems to be suffering rather a lot (his wallowing feels rather more melodramatic than tragic if I’m honest). The school setting is perhaps my hamartia because I entered The Irving School ready to love it, and so I did. Like Duncan I couldn’t tear myself away from the story of Tim and Vanessa, and while it threatened to cost Duncan his friends, school work and relationship perhaps it threatened my judgement of the book. I liked the format – the previous year’s story is recounted through a series of audio diaries left by a previous senior, Tim Macbeth to the new senior living in the same dorm room, Duncan. I loved the strange events and quirks of this school – the ‘decorate a donut’ day, the breakfast for dinner event, the games that take place instead of inductions. It all sounds too good to be true – does anyone ever go to class or do any work? There is a very tolerant head teacher, an excitable English teacher and a nurse who will give out aspirin to anyone who overslept and needs a sick note to explain a missed class. Everyone wanders around the class in their sweat pants and logo t-shirts and goes jogging in the middle of the day in the schools lush grounds. Each year there is a secret game or event that has to be especially daring or unusual to which the staff are all ready to turn a blind eye to. In fact it seems the only thing that anyone really cares about is getting this mystery tragedy assignment done, but as that can be submitted in nearly any form and has to include a hit list of words that can add grade-changing points if stuck in somewhere it doesn’t sound that stressful either. Everything is a little bit convenient to be honest, but maybe that’s another facet of the privileged life of American wealth and it sounds really good fun.
Tim’s story falls into place as Duncan listens to it play out up to the part he knows through his own involvement the previous year. The ‘tragedy’ which I won’t go into – is a little underwhelming after the slow-burning build up which promised delicious intrigue. Tim is much more likeable than Duncan – an albino caught in a love triangle – but again his downfall isn’t quite as tragic as I was lead to expect, or rather the reasoning behind it was frustrating rather than heart-breaking. I’m listing all the problems here but I should state quite clearly and firmly that I did not want to stop reading at any point. I was captivated and I could see everything clearly with interest and intrigue and it’s only in writing this that I’ve been able to put these niggles into order. At the time of reading none of this mattered, and the nice clean writing makes this a great story for that mid-teenage read. There is no swearing, sex or drugs (aside from a little Bourbon) that make this unsuitable for teenagers not quite ready for the YA category so I’ll be heartily recommending it to plenty. It really has got that private school magic and when stories exist in this magical place then all the rules can be broken. This is the first book I’ve read in 2013 and I will be interested to see how this holds up against the rest of the TBR pile – the flaws aren’t fatal by any means and I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the story that lurks in my memory for months to come. The Tragedy Paper is released on the 10th January and I have no doubt it will go forth and spread light and plenty of enjoyment.
plenty of reviews suggesting ‘Thirteen Reasons Why’ as further reading…might investigate
Everything about this book made me want to read it: the title, what a great title; the cover, stylish and strange illustration featuring some very cool spectacles and lovely rosy cheeks; the pull quote from my hero Melvin Burgess – he says its good, I bet it’s good; and the author’s name – Jack Gantos, of Dead End in Norvelt, an almost inexplicably good book with writing you just want to spend time in.
Ivy loves her mother. She wants to dress like her. She is proud of her. She carries her love around like a fat clock that is fit to burst with the love that she cannot separate from the horrific ticking of her mother’s immortality. But does death have to mean loss? Local pharmacists Ab and Dolph seem to be the only ones who understand Ivy’s curse, but of course they would – they are Rumbaughs.
Twins, taxidermy and totally weird goings-on are afoot in this twisted tale that puts the creepy into…er…creepy-love-for-your-mother. Shades of Psycho loom like a corpse in a corner but it’s the bright sunshine of the high street setting that made this story so likeable. The cool period setting gives everything a beautiful frame – I loved the pharmacy with its marble counters and the Kelly hotel Ivy calls home. Small-town America is well acquainted with the gothic tradition and this strange story naturally inhabits its literary heritage. Death, family and ownership are all examined in an up close and personal way and the contemplative nature of Ivy’s struggle mixed with the twins’ stories of research and reasoning all added up to something so bizarre, so enticing and unusual and so genuinely intriguing I feel compelled to pass the curse on. Be sure not to skip over the introduction – Gantos takes YA gothic into superbly sophisticated territory. I am bewitched.
Abrahams & Chronicle recently posted photographs of their November releases on their facebook page. They looked gorgeous. I sent a cheeky request and within days I had an exciting envelope full of books to review…here’s the first.
A Strange Place To Call Home
Marilyn Singer (Poet) and Ed Young (Illustrator)
The introduction to this book is called Risky Places, which would have been an equally good title for this book of poetry that looks at some of the animals that live in odd, often dangerous and frankly bizarre conditions. ‘These fourteen animals defy the odds. They make their homes under the weight of seas, on the slick skin of tar pits, in the sandstorm’s mouth.’ Singer’s short poems give an encouraging nod to these inventive animals and the form is perfect – if there was ever a writing that made a home in hostile conditions it is poetry in today’s literary landscape, but a heroic animal itself, poetry persists. I always think the sign of a good poetry book – especially one aimed at children – is that it inspires work in response so I was delighted to see that Singer had added a short note at the back to explain which forms had been used and directions to the poetry foundation. Just the simple act of creating an inspiring subject to write about can be enough, and this topic is an excellent project to research together. When goats live up high in craggy mountains it is easy to forget their struggle but the addition of books like this in primary classrooms could remind everyone, even for a few minutes, that these animals – and poetry – persevere.