Mustering fairies- part 1 The Classics

I'm roaming round the house mustering all the fairies I can. It's a task set me by the lovely Zoe at Playing By the Book who is hosting a link up of fairy and elf book posts on Monday as the first in her new monthly round up of titles on specific subjects: A great idea in principle; it will be a one stop shop resource to turn to when you're looking for inspiration in a particular area. The only problem is how few fairy offerings I can find.

Now as I am a Mother of Boys you may not find this as surprising as I do. Whilst it's true we dodge  the Rainbow Magic Fairies bullet and our picture book shelves are reasonably free of pink sparkles, both boys but Eddie in particular are big 'fairy story' fans. We have purchased several classic anthologies of traditional stories retold and I would recommend them all. We have 'The Hutchinson Treasury of Fairy Tales' and 'Quentin Blake's Magical Tales'. We have both of Joan Aiken's wonderful collaborations with Jan Pienkowski 'A Necklace of Raindrops and 'The Kingdom under the Sea'. We have Helen Cresswell's 'At the Stroke of Midnight' (now out of print sadly). We even have a rather wonderful ancient, inherited copy of The Brown Fairy Book by Andrew Lang: There are ten 'colour' books of these fabulous dense and comprehensive anthologies of fairy and folk stories, first published at the turn of the 20th century. Beautiful facsimile editions are available and I think they remain wonderful items for any (non- fairy) godparent to purchase as Proper Gift. But here's the thing about these and all of the preceding mentioned lovely books.

There aren't that many fairies in them.

 Magical beings and entities abound, sorcerors, monsters, witches and goblins. Beautiful fairies adorn the cover but aside from the odd wingless godmother, fairies in the Tinkerbell/Tooth conception of them don't appear. In my mustering I came across William Allingham's famous poem; 'The Fairies'; the 'Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men' one. I was struck by how dark it was. I suspect the sanitisation of the fairy into something benign and twinkly and exclusively female is a relatively modern phenomenon- perhaps even begun by J. M. Barrie and continued by the famous fake Cottingley fairy photos and Cicely Mary Barker's rather lovely Flower Fairies (I had SUCH a lovely Flower Fairy notelet set once upon a time sigh). There must be scholarly work aplenty documenting this and I am intrigued enough to seek it out if anyone would like to direct me?

front cover of the Brown Fairy Book

 Oo an Elf-Maiden at least (again from Brown Fairy Book)

Cottingley fairy. Well I'm convinced.

Slightly stretching the definition of fairy out of necessity therefore I'm going to offer you one last solid classic recommendation from the pre-sanitised fairy days of 1872; George Mcdonald's  'The Princess and The Goblin', and 'The Princess and Curdie' favourites of mine from being read to me by my father and top of the pile to read to the boys next.

Now. Again these book could not be said to be fairy packed HOWEVER I think they are worth including in a round up on the grounds that  Irene the eponymous Princess's great great grandmother is a beautiful and magical shape shifting being with powers of enchantment. It is also necessary to believe in her to see her, so although I don't think she's ever overtly labelled as fairy I think we can call her one. She may be slightly on the large side and wingless but she has plenty of the requisite power and grace without any of the tweeness and I think that's preferable. They are at any rate great and magical reads that any Fairy Fan is going to get plenty out of. Plus there are obviously loads of goblins, who I feel must be related to fairies if only rather distantly.

Irene; the Princess and Curdie a miner's son must rescue both themselves, each other, and the kingdom from a series of sorties by the terrifying and acquisitive goblins who live deep in the mountain, and Irene's 'fairy' grandmother's interventions are critical to their success.
They are books which probably pilfer widely from much of the best traditions of folk lore and are fairly well infused with a dose of Victorian sentimentality but nevertheless remain gripping and satisfying reads for both child and adult. A solid recommendation for a Fairy Bookshelf for those who don't require their magical beings too dainty.

'her grandmother was dressed in the loveliest pale-blue velvet, over which her hair, no longer white, but of a rich golden colour, streamed like a cataract, here falling in dull gathered heaps, there rushing away in smooth shining falls. And ever as she looked, the hair seemed pouring down from her head, and vanishing in the golden mist ere it reached the floor. it flowed from under the edge of a circle of shining silver, set with alternated pearls and opals'

Now that's hair. Who needs wings?

I've taken up enough of your attention so I'm splitting this post in two and present my more modern musterings separately.

'The Princess and The Goblins' and 'The Princess and Curdie' by George Macdonald widely available in various different editions and also as cheap/free Kindle downloads if that's your thing.

The Children of Green Knowe

Have I mentioned much that it's rained a lot recently? I think I just might have made fleeting reference. It's got to the point where I am planning to make stew, jacket potatoes and crumble for supper today. I'm going to put the calendar back  a few months and tell myself it's lovely and mild for January and feel cheerful instead of grumping that it's all terribly un-May like.
In light of this decision a proper meaty and nourishing book is called for; and one not short of rain and floods either, in the form of Lucy M. Boston's wonderful 'The Children of Green Knowe'. I read it to Bill in the depths of winter when it was all very dry and mild. It would be much more appropriate now.

This is the first in the series of six Green Knowe books, first published in the 1950s and 60s. I am lucky enough to have them in beautiful first edition hardbacks, complete with extraordinary etched illustrations by the author's son Peter Boston. They are books of rare richness of language and complexity, written with clarity but also a sophistication that pays proper respect to the abilities of their reader. Lucy Boston is able to channel into how it is to be, think and play as a child without patronage and very few authors match that.

Toseland or Tolly  is an only child, whose mother has died and whose father and step mother live in Burma. He is sent from boarding school to spend the Christmas holidays with his great-grandmother in her mysterious and ancient ark-like home Green Knowe, regularly surrounded by the flood waters of the fens and only accessible by boat. As he explores his new home and gardens and gets to know his magical and ageless Granny he becomes aware of the other inhabitants that live there; ghost children and pets of generations past who can compensate for his loneliness.

The 'story' of the book is loose and it is unusual in not being broken into conventional chapters. The discovery and progression of Tolly's friendship with the ghostly Toby, Linnet and Alexander, seventeenth century victims of the Plague is interspersed with their own stories from childhood. The book is I suppose relatively uncontemporary in it's focus on description and evoking atmosphere over plot. It is above all, an eloquent study in how to enjoy being alone. Having said that, there is a terrifying set piece towards the end where a cursed topiary version of Green Noah is brought to life in a thunder storm and Tolly is only rescued by the intervention of a ghostly peacock and a stone statue of St. Christopher. That counts as plot then.

I am going to give you the opening paragraph of the book. Call it my little food parcel of meaty nourishment for you in the rain.

"A little boy was sitting in the corner of a railway carriage looking out at the rain, which was splashing against the windows and blotching downward in an ugly, dirty way. He was not the only person in the carriage, but the others were strangers to him. He was alone as usual. There were two women opposite him, a fat one and a thin one, and they talked without stopping, smacking their lips in between sentences and seeming to enjoy what they said as if it were something to eat. They were knitting all the time, and whenever the train stopped the click-clack of their needles was loud and clear like two clocks. It was a stopping train-more stop than go-and it had been crawling along through flat flooded country for a long time. Everywhere there was water- not sea or rivers or lakes, but senseless flood water with the rain splashing into it. Sometimes the railway lines were covered by it, and then the train-noise was quite different, softer than a boat."

I love the way Lucy Boston has noticed and reproduced what a child notices so accurately. Beautiful books.

'The Children of Green Knowe' by Lucy M. Boston, illustrated by Peter Boston, pub. Faber and Faber
isbn 978-0571231461

A Wild Rumpus

We have lost one of the Great Masters today; Maurice Sendak has died. Other people are writing more eloquently than I can of the playfulness and profundity of his work. All I can say is I felt a pang of loss when I heard the news and when I told Bill so did he.

And so it was on with last year's World Book Day Max costume and time for a spontaneous family bedtime wild rumpus.

Hope you're enjoying one of your own somewhere Maurice; the true King of all Wild Things.

The Jelly that Wouldn't Wobble

A few months ago Eddie came out of school with great excitement bellowing 'It's Jelly Day! It's Jelly Day!'. They had made jelly at school ('red, orange, green'). They had walked like jellies at school ('you have to walk all wibbly!') They had talked like jellies at school ('you have to talk all wobbly!') They had undertaken the serious taste testing of jelly at school too ('orange is best'). Jelly day. I was really jealous. I wanted me some of that jelly fun.

Today is a bank holiday and it's raining because that is what the weather does now (may need to find a Noah's Ark How To guide to review this week) and Bill and the husband have gone to admire the forces of destruction at the Imperial War Museum so it's time for Eddie to show me how it's done and share a bit of his jelly expertise. Thankfully we have just the book to inspire us in the form of 'The Jelly who Wouldn't Wobble' by Angela Mitchell and illustrated by Sarah Horne; a pleasingly silly tale of a dessert who seems determined to cheat destiny.

89 year old imperious Princess Lolly has ordered her favourite pudding for her birthday party but when the chef carries out the magnificent red royal jelly it turns out to have other ideas. It doesn't want to be eaten and refuses to wobble. Prodding, rocking and scaring the jelly don't work and it falls to the smallest guest to think laterally about what will make a jelly shiver when all else fails.
I'll admit to feeling a little sorry for the jelly. It brought to mind the cow in Douglas Adams' 'Restaurant at the End of the Universe' who comes to your table and recommends different cuts from itself. The boys, predictably enough, had no such compunction; pudding is pudding whether it has eyes and opinions or no.  They were particularly impressed by the reward of 1001 chocolate sovereigns earned by the smallest guest for producing the necessary wobble.They'd make poor moral vegetarians but serviceable mercenaries apparently.

In truth Sarah Horne's jelly is drawn with a great grouchy menace that suggests it might well eat you if you didn't get in with your spoon first. It also looks delicious. I guess I might as well have a piece too. It is Jelly Day after all- it would be rude not to.

Having enjoyed this smile-inducing silliness I then followed the instructions of the Jelly Master. We walked like jellies.

We made and wobbled our own jelly; orange because that is Officially the Tastiest, bunny-shaped because that is Officially the Cutest.
It was much more co-operative than Princess Lolly's.

and then we ate it. It was delicious.

Should you be feeling a little grey and gloomy this rainy May I can thoroughly endorse the Jelly Day Cure. Get wobbling.
'The Jelly That Wouldn't Wobble' by Angela Mitchell, illustrated by Sarah Horne, pub. Maverick
isbn 978-1-84886-079-7
Disclosure: We received our copy by kindness of the publisher. Our opinions are our own.
I suddenly recall an infamous plate of lime green jelly gone wrong from my school canteen. Not only did that Not Wobble it was quite possibly sentient too. Cubes of it were discovered stuck to pieces of playground equipment for months afterwards.

Hurray for author school visits

Just a quick post tonight, and to be honest the title says it all. The boys' school has been incredibly fortunate to have not just one but three authors visit them in the last few months. First up, the one, the only Michael Rosen- Coo get them! He did 'chocolate cake' and everything. As Bill reminisced just this morning; 'Michael Rosen can almost take off his whole face Mum and that's really clever.' (only almost mind)
Next, the lovely Helen Peters of course (she couldn't very well NOT speak to her own kids' school)(but hurray that all our kids get the benefit). I hear today that 'The Secret Hen House Theatre' is already being reprinted- great news indeed.

This afternoon we had a flying visit from Ciaran Murtagh, the writer of many CBBC shows and author of the 'Dinopants' series and now 'Genie in Training'. It fell to my lot to meet him, offer him tea and set up tables for the book signing to follow so for the first time I actually got to attend the event.

Wow. He was BRILLIANT. In just 45 minutes he managed to get the whole school producing quantities of ideas to write a story about a 'Spooky Sponge' involving extreme tactics to avoid the washing up, a belly ache of epic proportions and the consumption of a toilet . He also levitated a 3rd year on his magic carpet. He made everyone, teachers included, weep with laughter. He generated enough infectious energy to power a light house. Most importantly he made the business of writing and generating stories seem accessible to all and FUN.

In a month where SATS tests are being taken and approved writing rules and formulae must be followed to Achieve Standards, for once even I was happy that space was being made for talk of poo. Addressing the problem of how to get a T Rex into pants  may not be the most intellectually stimulating literature but boy did it make that hall happy. And if you want to get children reading AND writing, getting silly in a school seems a pretty good way of doing it to me.

Thanks Ciaran.

'Genie in Training' by Ciaran Murtagh, pub. Piccadilly isbn 978-1-84812-226-0

Topically there's also a nice piece in the Guardian today about how schools can make the most of author visits. Read it here.

Leo Geo

'Leo Geo- and his miraculous journey through the center of the earth' by Jon Chad is a book designed to appeal to a lot of different types of geekery going on in our household. It appeals to my book-as-fun-and-beautiful-object fetish: It is a very long, thin hardback and you have to turn it first on its side and then upside down as you follow the story. Ooo- unusual! It appeals to the husband's love of intricate linework and pen and ink hatching excellence. Ooo- detail! It appeals to Bill's love of terrifying monster encounters and outlandish machinery. Ooo- scary! And it's also Quite Educational which is obviously good for all of us but particularly Eddie, who is fond of a fact.

Leo Geo is the Morph-like featureless hero who takes us on an adventure to the centre of the earth and out the other side, courtesy of a giant drilling machine, a whole network of handy tunnels, ladders and the odd ancient civilisation and unexpected mining community. En route he imparts a wide range of different scientific factoids about his encounters and we get to learn about the constituent layers and features of the earth as well as other diversions onto crystal formation, thermal generation, magnetism, the limbic system and possibly too much about the digestive tract of a quadclops ('hurray!' say the boys). There's no attempt to dumb down, rather a revelry in scientific language and precision labeling. Geeky text- and none the worse for that. Sample speech bubbles as he negotiates that quadclops:

"'The membrane in our noses that lets us smell is called the olfactory epithelium. phew I could do without mine right now.'
'Oops! I had intended to sneak up on this ugly brute!'
'I think the monster means to masticate me!'
'Ugh! This is the worst! Wait! This monster might have the same sort of digestive system as other mammals...'
'I'll use science to get out of this pickle!'
'Yuck! I made it through the ileum and colon and managed to...er...escape...Ugh...'"

The mix between 'real' science and fantasy earth contents might confuse or irritate some but I (and Bill) found it more engaging than a purely straight approach. It's clear enough when we're going off piste from the truth. (and -aha-oho-who really knows what's down there anyway hmm?) For kids who like Science Facts and Science Fiction in equal measure (and I know there are plenty out there) this book would be heaven.

Text aside though I'm with the husband in principally admiring this book for it's beautiful black lines. There is detail to pore over and savour. An awful lot of very lovingly drawn rocks and some pretty darn cool monsters too: It's a great visual reference for those developing their drawing passion. Pretty!

(and apologies for the photos which are not going to do that prettiness justice)

'Leo Geo and his miraculous journey through the center of the earth' by Jon Chad, pub. Roaring Book Press isbn 978-1-59643-661-9. another US import- so Gosh, Amazon or similar required.

Side note- Jon Chad apparently works at the Center for Cartoon Studies. Now doesn't that sound a nice place to study?
I'm labelling this post non-fiction which may be a little controversial.

Monster Mess

When I brought home 'Monster Mess' by Lewis Trondheim from my Gosh shop I didn't realise I'd inadvertently picked out one of the husband's favourite cartoonists. See how our hearts beat as one dear? I'm sure Bill would like some of his adult books too now I look at them. They're quite heavy on poo and mindless violence and very funny. Nevertheless we'll hold them back a few years; he doesn't need any extra encouragement in the first two after all and 'Monster Mess' is plenty funny without Any Poo At All.

Trondheim has a very small and controlled style of drawing. This is a comic book that you have to get your nose quite close to the page to read the little print and follow the frames. I like that. It seems to foster a kind of immersive nerdery generated by all the best comics. You want to curl yourself up in a box with it and escape. Not for sharing. Not for reading aloud. Just for one.

'Monster Mess' is the first of four Monster graphic novels (I'm not sure about the term graphic novel here- but that's what it describes itself as. Can't we call it a comic book and not get all uppity? Or is that inverse snobbery from me?). It's a Frankenstein familiar tale. The children of cartoonist parents (they're drawn as an indeterminate species of bird but don't let that worry you) draw a set of monsters and then  bring one to life after an accident with some magic powder. Their father then draws a 10 mouthed friendly monster and animates him too, with the idea that he can catch and eat the baddy one. Unfortunately Kriss, as they call him, is not very focused on the task set (note- monsters do NOT make good family pets) and sets about causing his own brand of havoc around the house.
The whole family must unite with Kriss in forming a new plan to take down bad monster Oko, but a heap of new trouble awaits as Oko creates his own team by animating all the other monster pictures in the house. Running away from them is problematic as, being only the thickness of a piece of paper, they can get under windows and through cracks. It's definitely more than a little menacing. A showdown on a neighbour's roof sees the finale and...well the fact that there are three more books suggests escape may be possible.

The charm of the book lies in the well observed family dynamics (a cautionary tale for any of us who have left our children playing 'quietly' unobserved for a little too long) and also in the use of real children's drawings to create Team Bad Monster. It's a lovely juxtaposition of drawing styles and it seems clear that the book must have been originally drawn for and as a reflection of Trondheim's own family. There's a whole lotta love in them there flesh-eating paper bad guys.

Lewis Trondheim is a prolific French cartoonist of some renown and these books date from the 1990s but are only now being published in translation. Again I bought them as a US import so it appears you may need to do your own comic shop foray or use Amazon if you want them. Bill enjoyed this one so much that I've already added 'Monster Christmas' to my ever growing 'basket', the other two aren't out yet.

 Monster end papers

'Monster Mess' by Lewis Trondheim, pub. Papercutz isbn 978-1-59707-294-6

We created our own scene of monster/robot destruction and despair courtesy of some very pretty buttons and ribbon sent to us by Child-Led-Chaos. It was a very rainy weekend. Just as well no magic animating powder in this house; 20,000 dead apparently.