How Cars Work

Anyone who gets talking to Eddie is soon going to get talking to Eddie about buses. As regular readers of this blog will know, buses are just a little bit important to Eddie right now.
(entire route of the 210 in both directions is tomorrow's treat for us...)
So inevitably kindly adults caught in a route interrogation conversation will ask the question, "Are you going to be a bus driver when you grow up then Eddie?"
Which sends him into a bit of spiral of panic and denial; "No. That would be too hard. I don't know how to drive. I'm just a child."
The idea that it is a skill he could be taught one day seems to be Dreaming the Impossible Dream.

I knew it was formenting in his brain though when I started finding him craning over the dashboard and crawling in the footwell of the driver's seat of the car on a regular basis, examining pedals and buttons and grilling me on their purposes. I am really not the person to grill on this subject beyond the basics. Eventually he admitted, "I need to learn to drive soon because when me and Ella M fly to Australia together I've said I'll drive the hire car." It was news to me that he was planning an imminent return trip to Oz with his 6 year old fiancee but I understood the pressure of responsibility he was feeling.

Enter 'How Cars Work; the interactive guide to mechanisms that make a car work' by Nick Arnold and Allan Sanders, part book, part cardboard meccano; a properly unpatronising primer in car engineering which is also a little bit tasty-looking.

The book has a removable peg board at the front and a back pocket full of numbered coloured cogs, levers and screws. Each page looks (in detail- this will really properly satisfy any budding engineer who wants to look under a bonnet) at a different aspect of a car's mechanics and then provides a plan to build a working example on the peg board. You get therefore to make and see how a piston moves, or the motion of a windscreen wiper or the principle of an accelerator in action amongst others. It's really very nicely done.

The making is reasonably technical, requiring the following of a plan and grid references and appropriate selection of parts. Eddie is not of the mindset to do it yet, Bill had a good play around. But Eddie does pore over the technical descriptions with a bright and beady eye. Hoovering up the knowledge he needs for a golden future on the buses.

I've started keeping the car keys hidden.

nice bit of suspension

Incidently in a week where there has been much discussion about the pros/cons of the Goldiebox range of toys to encourage girls into engineering, after their rather fun ad went viral, I think this book does a reasonable job of gender neutrality. The illustrations are just about evenly split between male and female drivers and the colour palette is not agressively 'blokey'. All you DO need to enjoy a read/play is an interest in how cars work.
Here's the Goldiebox ad if you've happened to miss it-

'How Cars Work' by Nick Arnold and Allan Sanders, published by Templar, isbn 978-1-84877-737-8

Maps

There are a lot of maps in this house.

For a start there's a magnetic map of the world in our hall with name magnets that we push around as friends and family go on travels like military planners. We really value friends who disappear to interesting destinations for months at a time for their magnet value. The small matter of not having them around to chat to matters not a jot in comparison. P and L who have spent the last five years in first Pakistan, then Zambia and now Burma get the gold star in this respect. We sponsor a child in South America solely for the benefit of that map really.

Then there are Eddie's beloved bus maps which wallpaper his room and are spread over his floor, doubling as Total Wipeout course obstacles when he's not studying their intricate poetry. As I type this I am readying myself for today's treat of travelling the entirety of the 102 whilst his brother is at a party. "I'm so excited!" says Eddie.

There is a substantial collection of books of maps too; both of the entirely practical variety- Pah I say to your Satellite Navigation Devices; I LIKE driving with an open book on my lap giving frantic glances down to where I should be going- and of the ancient and decorative. Basically, whenever I can't think of a present to buy the husband, which happens increasingly frequently as the years pass and I have given him everything, I buy him a mappy-type book. And it never fails to make him happy. He is happy with the mappy.

But best of all is this one which he has painted and is a work in progress on Bill's wall. It was supposed to be covered in 'things' by now. Alas an RSI-type collapse put a dramatic halt to is completion in the last few years but the husband's caterpillar slow recovery is marked by the new addition of St Basil's cathedral last week. The big red balls of the Total Wipeout course are set to adorn Argentina next...

Which brings me to 'Maps', a book of simply astonishing loveliness by Polish author/artists Aleksandra Mizielinska and Daniel Mizielinski and which formed part of Eddie's birthday book haul last month.

It's like Bill's wall but turned up to 11. Each double spread is devoted to a different country and crammed with illustrations incorporating not only the sights, but also the people, stories, food, animals and history of the place. All hand drawn with dizzying gorgeousness. It's LUSH this book is. Lush. Not a word I've used for a a good few years that but exactly what's required here. It's also big and thick papered and Proper. A coffee table book or rather in Eddie's case; a hot chocolate table book.


Just look at it-

See? SEE? Loveliness. (and excuse the photography which is extra specially poor today)

I like the 'facts' on the UK page which include 'The British are famous for their luxury cars' and 'Afternoon tea is a British tradition'. One rings truer to me than the other.

Have to admit it's the husband that has been appreciating this book even more than Eddie since it arrived; if in a slightly wistful I-would-like-to-be-fit-to-paint that way, poor lamb. But Eddie will get round to it. He's just rather hung up on another birthday book at the moment- his absolute best present that he would recommend to you ALL. It's the 2013 edition of 'The London Bus Guide- the routes, the buses, the garages, the companies' by Ken Carr.

I am fairly confident that it's 'Maps' you should be putting on your Christmas list though. Unless you prefer buses.

'Maps' by Aleksandra Mizielinska and Daniel Mizielinski, published by Big Picture Press, isbn 978-1-84877-301-1

The little boy/girl who lost his/her name

Snappy title for this post eh?

Personalised things were few and far between in the 1970s. One of the main frustrations of my childhood was the sheer absence of 'Polly' mugs/magnets/lollipops/bedroom door signs available in Motorway Service Station's named-thing racks. Ah The Curse of the middle class labelled child. How we suffer.

I don't think personalised books existed at all. I seem to remember coming across the concept in late teenagerdom and feeling a sense of burning injustice at the fortunes now bestowed on an ungrateful younger generation. All I had to make do with was a napkin ring engraved with the number 6; my position as youngest in the family.

Of course now all your possessions can be personalised in any way you want. But it's true that adding a name to something is not an end in itself. In fact if something has your name on it you want it to be even better than the average to mirror your own very particular brilliance. And personalised books may have suffered particularly from being a bit ho and a bit hum in the past.

So along has come www.lostmyname; a group of friends with a self funded, self published project to produce individual books that are a bit more ooh and aah than ho and hum. And I think they've just about pulled it off.

We were sent three samples for Bill, Eddie and (AT LAST!) me. The books follow the story of a child who has lost their name and must be reunited with its letters. He or she goes on a magical adventure meeting characters who have their own dilemmas and part with their own letter in exchange for advice; a lion needs somebody to play with for instance, an Inuit needs warm holiday ideas. Each story is thus genuinely unique and it depends on your own letters as to who you'll meet.

The boys thought this an amazing magic trick. "But HOW did they know? HOW is it done?" Bill really enjoyed unpicking them and comparing the stories. Because his name is short he ends up with an extra linking 'story' page in the middle. Duplicate letters are dealt with my means of a few generic letter generating characters- although Eddie did get both eagle and elephant, suggesting the commonest offenders get extra characters. I did wonder whether you'd lose the will to live reading it out if you'd called your child Guinevere or Jeremiah or something. But then you reap what you sow...

There's a lot of craft and thought gone into these books; particularly the number and quality of the illustrations I think. I'm less of a fan of the rhyming prose. (I think people coming fresh to writing children's books often make the mistake of thinking they'll work best in rhyme. The answer to that, unless you're very skilled, is generally No.) But the stories are warm and funny and Eddie and Bill enjoyed them. The production values are faultless and these books would make interesting and original christening/naming/new baby presents. They're not cheap but you wouldn't expect them to be given the up front investment that's been made. Have a look at the website and see what you think.

Incidently, and for free, Persil has produced some online personalisable adventure stories here. Written by Adam Perrot and illustrated by Clare Elsom I thought they were surprisingly good quality. The stories are funny and unexpected and pleasingly un-gendered in their approach to fun. There may be a debate to have about mixing major corporations marketing budgets with children's books but I'll applaud anyone prepared to generate free access to quality words. Even Mcdonalds have been at it with Michael Morpurgo after all.

As a final note, both 'Lost my Name' and Persil run into difficulties when it comes to personalising the illustrations of their lead characters. Some generic decisions have obviously been made about the 'Lost my name' children. The boy and girl both have black hair and white-with a very faint hint of coffee skin. They don't look like  my children. They're fairly likely not to look like yours. The Persil characters are customisable but only to a very limited degree which may end up being even more frustrating. "But I have glasses!" "But I have long hair even though I'm a boy" etc. etc. These things bothered me more than my children though so perhaps I'm just Mrs. Finickerty Pants. (you'd definitely get fed up reading your name through THAT one.)

With thanks to the Lost My Name team for providing us with lovely free samples. Our decision to review and our opinions are our own. They also kindly provided me with some 15% off coupons- just chuck me a comment/tweet if you'd like one.
Persil did offer me a FREE no-strings-attached  sample of their washing tablets when they told me about their books. I turned them down folks. My integrity in that respect is clean (even if my clothes are grubby...)

The Emperor's Nightingale

I first came across the work of Jane Ray long before I had children of my own and a re-ignited interest in picture books. Her rich, jewel-like, celebratory pictures of animals and people were produced on a range of wrapping paper in my student days. My friend, studying zoology at the time (but now a rather successful painter herself) who always had an immaculate eye for idiosyncratic interior design, snaffled them up and stuck them as a cheap and classier alternative to posters on her wall. I admired her and their verve and style.

Two or three years later and having taken my own career swerve and become a student midwife I went to weigh a baby in North London only to find another set of walls adorned with familiar pictures. On closer examination they turned out to be originals, and the baby belonged to the artist; Jane Ray herself. I was actually quietly starstruck -"The wrapping paper lady! In real life!" I probably spent far too much time surreptiously looking at pictures and not nearly enough time checking baby fontanelles and jaundice levels.

Fast forward about another 19 years (do us both a favour and don't add up too carefully here) and that baby has apparently grown up despite (or perhaps because of?) early student-midwife neglect to become a doctor himself and I have my own Jane Ray walls; although mine are decorated with shelves and face out spines of her lovely books. She was good enough to agree to come to the Fellow Reviewer's school and judge an art competition for them. I was still starstruck; probably rather more so since my knowledge of her work had expanded out from wrapping paper. I baked her a very sticky cake and then sort of forced her to eat it. Sorry Jane.

A new book by her then, and they come with pleasing regularity, is a cause for celebration. And "The Emperor's Nightingale' is a particularly fine one I think.
A collection of traditional tales and poems loosely linked by a birdy theme: It includes the familiar eg. 'The Owl and the Pussycat' and the less so eg. 'Jorinda and Joringel'. Some stories are left in their original form, some sensitively retold.
In contrast to her normal glowing palette of ?gouache and gold the illustrations in this book are all done on Scraperboard. The frontpage elucidates; 'the line is etched onto a thin layer of white china clay on board coated with black India ink.'
The results are stunning; the pared back pleasure of individual lines and cross-hatching can sing off the page. It seems the perfect medium for expressing feather and flight. The pictures are surprisingly diverse in style too; some like simple block woodcut pictures and others detailed and lifelike. The two colour contrast gives each picture weight and gravity. This feels like a very Proper book. A book that small hands will hold with respect and will still be earning its place on the shelf in years to come.
I love it.
And I want a piece of Scraperboard to make a mess of myself Right Now (stamps tiny foot).

'The Emperor's Nightingale and other feathery tales' by Jane Ray, pub. Boxer books, isbn 978-1-907152-59-7

A good Christmas gift (aagh!) for any bird lover perhaps?

With thanks to the Publisher for providing a review copy. Our opinions are our own.

Silver Buttons

"That's someone else born. That's someone else born. That's someone else born. That's someone else born."
Sometimes my children like to set up this sort of continuous chant over the breakfast table (or of course, its more morbid companion chant "someone just died, someone just died, someone just died"). It's obviously an enchanting refrain in and of itself but the thought processes behind it; the sheer, blooming BIGNESS of the world and the amount of stuff happening in it all the time, all over the place is really hard to think about sensibly. So you might as well do it whilst also shoveling in cocopops I suppose.

("That's another bowl of cocopops eaten. That's another bowl of cocopops eaten. That's another bowl of cocopops eaten.")

Or you could just enjoy the lovely 'Silver Buttons' by Bob Graham which elucidates the universality of a moment in as simple but pretty a way as I've seen.

Inside a house Jodie draws a duck, her brother takes his first step, their mother plays the tin whistle before we sail outside the window to watch a feather, a grandparent, a soldier, a boy with untied shoelaces and yes; someone being born, as well as many other moments both trivial and tremendous. All in the sixty seconds between 9.59 and 10 o'clock. Coo. Each page turn zooms us in or out, rather in the manner of an accomplished movie single frame shot.

It's quite rare for me to read a picture book and then immediately read it again and then again and then again but this one demanded it. Apart from anything else there is great pleasure to be found identifying all the small things happening in Bob Graham's beautiful wide vistas.

The fellow reviewers' reaction was more muted initially but this is a book which needs sharing, chewing over and discussing to fully enjoy I think; a deceptively sophisticated read. It's cropped up in conversations a few times now, in connection with (sigh) the war in Syria and what it might mean to be a child there. The bigness of the world is not always benign and that is also something hard to understand. Books like 'Silver Buttons' which reinforce how we are just one piece of a hopeful and beautiful whole are a very useful counterbalance.

Definitely a book for school libraries and to inspire project work; do take a look at it.

'Silver Buttons' by Bob Graham, pub. Walker, isbn 978-1-4063-4224-6

With thanks to the publishers for providing a review copy- our opinions are our own.

The Weasel Puffin Unicorn Baboon Pig Lobster race.

I wonder if this book began with its title? It IS an excellent title. Who hasn't stayed up late into the night arguing about which animal would win in a weasel, puffin, unicorn, baboon, pig, lobster showdown after all?

The contents of 'The Weasel Puffin Unicorn Baboon Pig Lobster race' by James Thorp and Angus Mackinnon will answer that dilemma; 5 out of the 6 animals proving to be dreadful cheats as it turns out. Although given the terrain they have to negotiate includes swamps of goo and rockfaces with bubbles of drool it's a mute question whether it's really about cheating or simple survival. It's a pretty hardcore challenge when you are forced to rely on a chocolate submarine or custard trampoline to get you where you need to go.

This book is hip and bonkers in equal measure. I read it with an eyebrow raised and an occasional wince at some rather dodgy rhyming. Eddie, who of course IS hip and bonkers in equal measure loved it immediately. The illustrations channel 70's psychedelia. David Shrigley-esque line drawings in a palette perfectly picked from the wallpapers of my childhood. In fact the whole (beautifully produced) book is reminiscent of some of the stranger TV animations of that era; 'Ludwig' say or 'Chorlton and the Wheelies'.

A frustration with the book is that all the animals in the race are male. Not an issue I'd thought about much until the excellent Carmen at Rhino Reads pointed out the inbalance that exists generally in picture book animals. An opportunity missed to have a dastardly cheating FEMALE lobster on a raspberry canoe  for once.

That aside the blend of edgy nonsense has charm and will appeal to happening young thing cool cat aesthetes- and just possibly, to their parents too.

'The Weasel Puffin Unicorn Baboon Pig Lobster Race' by James Thorp and Angus Mackinnon, pub. Digital Leaf Publishing, isbn 9781909428027

with thanks to the publishers for providing a review copy. Our opinions are our own.

Royal Fleas and Vincent the Vampire

I am a small potato in the giant Blog allotment. Whilst I am theoretically interested in receiving review copies of books (FREE STUFF!- come on you like it too dontcha....dontcha??) when I have been sent them they sometimes engender a certain panic: I'm not interested in bashing anything- there's enough of that on the internet, and I want to write about what I want to write about. But it's hard not to feel a sense of obligation when someone's sent you something, and obligation and objectivity are not friends. This is all perfectly manageable when you're being sent something by a big publisher or distributor but rather less so when you are holding someone's self-published dreams. And so I have tended to head off the self published who approach me periodically for that reason.

Against form I didn't however pass up the offer to be sent Jules Marriner's books; and, reasonably objectively I hope- I'm glad I didn't. In a world where getting a picture book publishing deal is apparently Quite Hard she seems to be doing a very professional job going it alone. These are funny and enjoyable books definitely worthy of a readership outside her immediate family and friends I think.

'Vincent the Vampire' tells the story of a controversial blackberry-loving bat who finds unlikely sanctuary in a vampire's castle with surprisingly good catering for vegetarians.

'Royal Fleas' deals inventively with the tricky problem of What To Do when you spot the Queen's corgi scratching.

Both have plenty of humour in both text and illustration. There's some good spotting to be done. I liked the sharp-toothed dentures and the changing face of Munch's Scream in the background of 'Vincent the Vampire'. In 'Royal Fleas', the incongruous pink fluffy slippers of the Queen's snooty secretary, Mr Horatio Flowers-Simkinson made Bill giggle.

They're not perfect. Personally I find the watercolour palatte of the illustrations could take stronger tones and  I'm not sure about the cut out collage lines. Inevitably the 'feel' of them in terms of paper and binding is not quite the same quality you'd get from the budget of a conventional publisher. They have charm though.

Both books bear stickers on the cover saying 'Written and illustrated on the Isle of Wight'. I think this is a pretty canny move on Jules Marriner's part and emblematic of one of the most interesting parts of the brave new world of self- publishing. I love the fact that increasingly a visit to a fair or craft market leads to an encounter with an author next door to the miniature teddy maker and knitted egg cosy lady. And I'd much rather bring back a bookish souvenir to remember a place or holiday than anything else. I like the idea of a community rallying around its authors and supporting their stories.

Visit Jules Marriner's website here to find out more. Her books are available through the dread-but-useful Amazon. I received my copies through kindness of the author, my opinions are my own.

'Vincent and the Vampires' and 'Royal Fleas' both written and illustrated by Jules Marriner, pub. Scarlett Inc isbn 9781470145774 and 9781475212174

Martha and the Bunny Brothers: I heart Bedtime!

How excited are we to be part of the new Martha and the Bunny brothers book blog tour?Answer- REALLY excited!
Of course we are-Eddie became a Superfan of Martha within hours of Clara Vulliamy's first book about her happy bunny family entering the house. You may remember this post where it was only Martha's tight security that presented her being mobbed on stage by her small blonde stalker.
Last month, me and the boy attended Clara's  'make a Martha' workshop at the Imagine Festival; where we also got a sneak listen to this second volume. Advance copies were unexpectedly available to buy there. When Eddie saw the pile, it was a similar reaction to a One Direction fan chance meeting Harry Styles in the supermarket; he RAN to them, hugged a copy to him and carried on hugging it for the next three hours. He has good taste:

'I heart Bedtime' proves as toasty warm and cheering as its predecessor; 'I heart School'. Clara Vulliamy shows her usual skill in making these everyday milestones both safe and celebratory. They're packed full of delicious detail and, perhaps counter-intuitively, it's precisely all that lovely detail that gives them universal appeal. Nobody's bedtime routine and house and babysitter will be exactly like Martha, Monty and Pip's- but everyone's bedtime rituals will find some point of contact with theirs. And there seems to be nothing that children like more than identifying things that are the same as them and things that are different to them in a book. You would not believe the complexity of the conversations Eddie and I have had about toothpaste flavours since this book entered our house. She's a clever bunny that Clara Vulliamy.

So- Same but Different- a Comparison of Bedtimes between the Little Wooden Horse Brothers and The Bunny Brothers:

They both have Special Collections:

 Martha likes owls, cats and shells,

LWH Bro's favour action figures and medals

They both have Cuddlies:

Giant Bob, Tigey, Hulk, Koala, Berry 3 and Berry 2 and The Babies (the latter are regular bathtime chatshow hosts)

They both have fun at bathtime, despite the LWH bro's inadequate ear length for styling:











And most of all- they are CERTAINLY great fans of Best Gym- or Bill Fu as some household members prefer to call it.

But of course the biggest difference between Bill and Eddie, and Monty and Pip is that the former have no Martha to show them the right way to go to sleep. Her patented method is to sing the Bedtime Bunny Song. To help impoverished Martha-less households like ours, I'm glad to say Clara Vulliamy has provided her own version for them to listen to here.  It's a rather lovely thing.
We can't achieve the same perfection but Eddie is learning...

Sweet Dreams.
'Martha and The Bunny Brothers, I heart Bedtime' by Clara Vulliamy, pub. Harper Collins isbn 978-0007419197

How to be a detective

Bill goes through slavish and completist phases in his trash television habits. At the moment it's all about 'Spongebob Squarepants'. A few months before that he was curiously hooked to 'Winx Club' or 'that slutty fairy show' as his parents liked to privately refer to it between themselves ('I don't know WHY I like it- I just do' says boy gazing intently at scantily dressed fairies). Sometime before that he was very into an obscure Australian show called 'Kid Detectives'. I liked this one (although I'm also quite partial to the odd Spongebob). In each 15 minute episode kids solved a series of 'real' crimes using proper basic forensic science eg. 'who broke mum's plantpot? Let's show you how to take earth samples from tyre imprints' etc: A kind of 'CSI-lite' for the under-10s.

In honour of this interest and in anticipation of my own future as Mother of Detective Superintendent I bought him 'How to be a Detective' for Christmas by Dan Waddell, illustrated by Jim Smith ('It's the same person as the 'I am not a Loser' guy Mum' 'Is it? So it is.' Good eye for illustrative style my boy). This is an irresistable lift the flap book with bells and whistles for the over-7s (there should be more grown up lift-the-flap books I reckon- we all love 'em)(I am using a lot of brackets today).

Each page is crammed with a mixture of basic forensic science, practical activities to try and the basics of deduction in a really attractive format. There's also a pull-out case to solve, a make-your-own periscope and an ink pad for fingerprinting members of your household (Note- do not give when guests in household with white sofas). Lots to enjoy.

We've now moved on to an appreciation of Simon Cheshire's 'Saxby Smart' books. Bill and I read them together and try to solve the clues to beat schoolboy detective Saxby to his conclusions. These are really enjoyable reads- three cases to each book- and so much more soothing than say, a Patricia Cornwall; not a festering corpse in sight.

I think we might form a Mother and Son agency. We're hot.

Okay some crazed photos are going to follow because my proper camera has broken.

you get the idea.

'How to be a Detective' by Dan Waddell, illustrated by Jim Smith pub. Walker books isbn 978-1-4063-3426-5
'Saxby Smart: The Fangs of the Dragon' (and other volumes) by Simon Cheshire pub. Picadilly isbn 978-1-85340-983-7

In Other News: It's Edible Book Festival time again over at Playing by the Book! We've already baked once and now we've eaten it All Up we may bake again as you're allowed two go's each; Bill has an idea...

Full details here: bit.ly/ediblebooks2013

To get you in the mood- here's a little teaser- a High Concept edible book. Name the title.

Lulu and the Treasure Hunt

A book review! I remember those! Ah well...apologies...I'm feeling a bit pulled in different directions at the moment and then end up doing nothing but going to the fridge to see if eating another bit of cheese will help.

So. As I have made reference to on other occasions, Master Eddie loves a lot of books but he does not love ALL books and he is often quite sniffy about NEW books. They must be sneaked under the wire when he is off guard to see if they will take or not.

But occasionally he surprises me by absolutely Hearting something on the very first exposure. 'Lulu and the Treasure Hunt!' by Emma Chichester Clark received that special Eddie accolade this week. Yesterday a wrestle with his brother went a bit wrong (much to the shame and chagrin of the brother I must note) and he ended up with a nasty graze on his chin. It took some time for this injury to be recovered from but it was 'Lulu' (possibly in combination with a few chocolate coins) that produced the first chuckle again. Eddie it seems, is extremely susceptible to the charm of a poodle in a spotty bow saying 'Ooh la la!'. And who can blame him for that?

This is the second book about Lulu from Emma Chichester Clark's Wagtail Town series. Lulu and her doggy friends go on a treasure hunt in the park but Lulu is torn between her desire to get to clues and her promise to look after smallest-dog -of-all; shih tzu Bonnie. The sad story of the guilt of responsibilities betrayed is familiar and gently handled. (It's not all sad in case you were worrying)
It's the format for the telling which is particularly satisfying for Eddie and me though. There's a really good map of the town at the beginning. There's much satisfying busy-ness to spot in the pictures and aside bubbles of text to read. There's a lot of potential for off-text discussions about favourites; a characteristic of many of our best books. "Which dog do YOU like the best Mum?"(Otto-always have a soft spot for a sausage dog) "Where would YOU like to live Mum?"(can't resist Bonnie's flat that looks like a piece of battenburg) "What colour chocolate bone would YOU choose MUM?" (yellow) We love the range of dog expressions in both eye and ear. It's all in lovely neopolitan ice-creamy happy colours too. One of those books that inspires strange urges to give it a hopeful lick in case it also tastes ice-creamy.

We'll have to get the first book now; which I can tell will be just as popular; having both 'Ooh la la's!' AND  a lot of cake in it.

'Lulu and the Treasure Hunt!' by Emma Chichester Clark, pub. Harper Collins isbn 978-0-00-742517-4

disclosure: We received our copy by kindness of the publisher. Our opinions are our own.

Fans of Emma Chichester Clark or of dogs or of blogs but especially of all three should be aware of the massive treat that is Plumdog Blog. I am very much hoping that this will become the next 'Secret Diary of an Edwardian Lady' craze and that one day I will be able to buy  not only a Plum Dog desk diary but a duvet cover and co-ordinating waste paper basket...Come ON publishers!

Nativity

This is not a religious household.
Aged around 5 Bill asked to go to church because he wanted to 'see what it was like'. I took him with me to the one across the road to their Festival of Nine lessons and Carols. About 10 minutes in he lean't across to me and whispered to me in a serious tone 'I wondered what it was like and now I know'. I asked him if he wanted to leave quietly but he said no. He was very pleased to get given a candle in an orange for his perseverance. We both enjoyed the experience but he has never asked to repeat it.

I was brought up more churchy with weekly trips to Sunday School to colour in pictures of Jesus and baskets of fish. Although I never chose to be confirmed it remains a part of my cultural heritage and in that spirit it is important to me that my children grow up with some sort of understanding of the stories of the Bible and the spiritual calendar of the year. They'll make their own choices in due course.

Apart from anything else they ARE pretty good stories, with a satisfying and unusual amount of violence and absolutism for small boy tastes. I remember Bill coming across the story of Adam and Eve for the first time and just boggling and boggling- "They were really never allowed back Mum?  what NEVER??"

In the same spirit the story of the Nativity is mainly fascinating to them because of King Herod; a bad guy to trump any of their Marvel or DC villains. We've got a few different nativity books around.
The first; 'The Very First Christmas' by Louie Stowell, illustrated by Elena Temporin is a tender and sweet (and Herod-free) retelling of Baby Jesus' arrival and his parade of visitors with unusual gifts. I like the simplicity of the text and the warmth and love that radiates from the illustrations.

Jan Pienkowski's 'The First Christmas' is a complete contrast. It's a small and tactile hardback of delicious beauty, exoticism and darkness. He illustrates the text from the St James bible with woodcuts of muscular angels, cavalcades of elephants, twining grapevines, climbing monkeys and creepy bats. There is detail, movement, joy and danger in every spread. There is also a lot of Herod. A book to savour and shiver with in equal measure.

But the boys most popular way to get their daily Nativity update would be our partworks-style Advent calendar with 24 installments in teeny tiny books. It's an irresistable treat each morning to read the latest news from Bethlehem: Eddie likes to intone it with Proper Gravity in between mouthfuls of minibix. This is its second year outing for us and it has already acquired Tradition Status. If it appeals to you, I highly recommend forking out for it, it is a nice thing.

'The Very First Christmas' by Louie Stowell, illustrated by Elena Temporin, pub. Usborne
 isbn 978074607705-4
'The First Christmas' illustrated by Jan Pienkowski, pub Puffin
isbn 978-0-141-50097-3
'The Story of Christmas: Story Book set and advent calendar' story retold by Mary Packard, illus. Carolyn Croll pub Workman isbn 978-0-7611-5250-7

darkness

Eddie seems to be re-entering one of his periodic phases where he tries to defeat sleep. After bidding him a tender goodnight at about 7.45 yesterday, we became aware of a dramatic reading taking place of his Superhero Squad books filtering down the stairs as we watched 'Downton Abbey' at 9. By the time the ITN news was over at 10.30 and I was ready for bed myself , the dramatic reading had turned into thunderous footsteps running back and forth along the bedroom floor. Intervention was necessary.

"It's really late Eddie, lights need to be off now."

"No! I just love my Lego so much and I need to carry on playing with it."

"Eddie. It's time to go to sleep"

"I am not sleeping. Don't switch out my light and go away"

The only solution at that point was to scoop him up and lie with him until he went to sleep. He lay beside me whispering breathily;

"It's all dark!" (holding out his arms and splayed fingers) "I am full of darkness!" then (somewhat Star Wars influenced) "I have a bad feeling about this!"

Of course having previously blogged about the arbitrary nature of fears, a fear of the dark at some point in your life may be almost universal. Personally, I find even the tiniest chink of light abhorrent when I am trying to go to sleep but I know it wasn't ever so. Plus I do have company in my bed to help fight off any attackers that come under cover of night and Eddie no longer does. I feel for him; Bill loved to share his room with Eddie whilst he was plagued by such fears and then promptly abandoned him when he'd outgrown them. He was finding the late night dramatic renditions of favourite books a little distracting in his own quest for sleep.

I may need to bring out Jill Tomlinson's classic 'The owl who was afraid of the dark': A soothing hymn to the different  pleasures that can only be found at night. Out of the library at the moment though we have Joyce Dunbar's 'The Monster who ate Darkness' illustrated by Jimmy Liao and it's also a goody.

Jo-Jo can't sleep because of the darkness under his bed and the thought there might be a monster there. As it turns out there IS a monster; a very small and hungry one, who starts eating all the darkness away. He sucks up all the darkness in the house, getting bigger and bigger as he does so, then from around the world and finally all the darkness in the sky.

"Now there was no more darkness.

There was no dawn and no dusk.

There were no shadows and

hardly any dreams.

There was only light.

The stark and staring light."

The problems this causes to both the natural world and to Jo Jo himself are beautifully elucidated. The now enormous and lonely monster returns to comfort Jo Jo and the darkness slowly seeps back to its proper homes.

I love Liao's monster, who manages to convey much of the scary/cozy dilemmas of the dark itself. Generally the book's balance between mystery and humour is nicely weighted in both text and illustration. It is a comforting book. 

The only trouble is I think Eddie identifies more with the monster than with Jo-Jo...

'The Monster who ate Darkness' by Joyce Dunbar, illustrated by Jimmy Liao, pub. Walker

 isbn 978-1-4063-0867-9

Into the Forest

Thanks first of all to Anne-Marie and Helen for confirming to me on the previous post the sheer scope and lack of rules that apply to fear. I must also share this text I received on the subject from my bf because I love it so much...
"I foolishly mentioned to M that Van Gogh, who they are doing in art at school, had cut off his ear (I know, what was I thinking?) and now she is frightened of raisin toast because that is what we were eating while we were having said discussion about the post-impressionists...Similar to Bill's Dr. Who behaviour- she sidles away, makes to exit room or in extremis will say:'please could you hide that toast, it's making me think about the ear.'"

So. Who will provide me with a book where a one eared Lady Artist pops out of a trapdoor with a piece of raisin toast in hand, chucks it blase into a swampy pond full of gaping mouthed carp before being TOLD OFF by a dalek waggling its antenna disapprovingly, which then has a happy ending?

Cos that's what we need apparently.

I'd hazard a guess Anthony Browne could give it a go. Obviously if he did the Lady Artist would actually be a gorilla.

He must be amongst the best author/illustrators for giving form to fear in all its messed up glory; although I think it's hard to say whether his books can provide comfort exactly. I admire his work intensely and my children are often drawn to it but it's not exactly a cosy experience for any of us. These are picture books that provide lightening flashes to illuminate the darkest recesses of one's head and you are entitled to ask the question whether that illumination will always be helpful. If there were monsters you were hoping to keep locked up in your own personal cupboard, a session with an Anthony Browne book may throw open the doors.

I barely know where to begin in reviewing a book like 'Into the Forest'. Layers of fairy tale lore and meaning are layered on top of each other within a contemporary framework which might or might not be about a family break up. If that sounds like a sentence which could be a candidate for Pseud's Corner I apologise but every spread in the book could generate its own mini thesis, and nothing is presented as certain. Anxieties about loss, about isolation, about parental absence are all there as well as what true bravery might mean but they are not neatly packaged into a footnoteable formula. The book resists being filed away as a 'topic friendly' resource for a particular set of circumstances.

For me, this makes the book all the more rich  for opening up discussions with a child (a biggish one). On a happy day you might just enjoy spotting all the different fairy tale references hidden in Browne's shifting and ever-revealing landscapes. On an unhappy day this is exactly the book where you'll stop reading it halfway through and hear the story about how somebody called your child a 'tit' at lunchtime today and he couldn't find anyone else to play with...

 Anthony Browne's books are weird; really weird at times and that's why they work. His imaginings are so particular, so precise they can offer something universal. Because we're all weirder than a simple monster under the bed.

 More's the pity.

'Into The Forest' by Anthony Browne, pub. Walker isbn 1-84428-559-6