The Annotated Alice - Lewis Carroll and Martin Gardner

I've always had a faint, guilty suspicion that I don't like Alice in Wonderland quite as much as I ought. Even as a little girl I felt that that, as a story, it didn't quite work, didn't flow right, that there must be some deeper layers of meaning just out of my reach - not that I would have phrased it like that in those days. If asked, I'd probably have shrugged and muttered something about it being "a bit weird" or even "boring." I liked the Disney film well enough, although it wasn't my favourite, but the book didn't seem like a children's book. Whatever the reason, somehow I didn't quite get it. Coming back to the book as an adult last year (in preparation for watching Tim Burton's Johnny Depp in Wonderland) and reading it with my book-clevers, I didn't like not understanding.

By this point, I'd twigged that Wonderland was a dream story with cards thrown in, and that Through The Looking Glass was either a metaphor or a novelisation of a chess game - again, in a dream. But even so, I often had the feeling that Lewis Carroll was cross-referencing other works, Victorian culture and in-jokes, but  I didn't know what and couldn't quite work it out for myself. And I couldn't be havin' with that. Enter The Annotated Alice, a work which strives to unlock some of the mysteries under the surface of what cannot be denied is a very surreal story.

Now, I have to point out that The Annotated Alice is not for everyone. I know many who love the story uncomplicated by analysis or explanation, and that to look below the surface would spoil the magic. I have full sympathy for that! My brain, though, is cursed with an ardent curiosity and "wanting to know," probably as a result of my years of literary studies. I refused to study the Children's Literature module at university because insider information hinted that the class had the potential destroy books that have been part of me from childhood, going for shock over believable interpretations. And the notes for The Annotated Alice are not entirely free from fanciful speculation - did Carroll really intend the word "little" to be a pun on "Liddell"? (the real Alice's surname.) I'm inclined to believe he chose it because he meant "small" when he wanted to say something that meant "small." The annotator overuses the words "possibly," and "maybe" and "Carroll could be referring to..." Some of these links are tenuous to say the least, although there are lots of interesting snatches of information that make sense of the odd line here or there.

However, Martin Gardner, the annotator, also explains mathematical, political and scientific references that I wouldn't have otherwise understood, and draws attention to the patterns within the story. Reading Alice more closely, I came to realise just how the stories work with dream-logic. "She woke up to find it had all been a dream," is one of the big no-nos of storytelling these days, but Alice is the exception in being a very realistic portrayal of how dreams work - with things changing from one thing to another and this not seeming strange at all. Through the Looking Glass is much  more sophisticated than Wonderland, with its logic conforming very closely to chess rules - kings moving one step at a time, knights being a little wobbly, queens rushing about all the time, and at the same time portraying a back-to-front world as it might well work the other side of a mirror. The cake must be passed around before it can be cut, the White Queen screams in pain until she jabs herself with a pin, and then is quite calm because "I've done all the screaming already [...] What would be the good of having it all over again?"


My other edition of the Alice books isn't illustrated, but The Annotated Alice contains the original drawings by John Tenniel, and Gardner points out the little details in these pictures which show how closely the author and illustrator worked together. Note the illustration of the shop Alice visits: it is based upon a real shop on St Aldate's, Oxford (which I visited earlier this week) but Tenniel has been careful to reverse the image, if you see the position of the window and door, this really is the Looking Glass version of the shop. (The counter, too, is the other way round in the real shop.)

I don't expect The Annotated Alice will by my usual reading copy, but I'm glad to have read it, and it really did make more sense of the books by drawing my attention to details I'd never noticed before. Chances are that most people have figured out a lot without help from annotations. Other people, as I've said before, are quite happy with the book as a dreamlike nonsense fantasy without needing the details spelled out for them. I wouldn't recommend this book for everyone, but if the mysteries of Alice are frustratingly elusive, it's worth looking into.

The Considine Curse, Gareth P, Jones

I don't often buy books on impulse, and I rarely buy books from the 9-12 age group, but in Waterstone's the other day I made an exception for The Considine Curse. The story of a "very normal" Australian teenager who goes to visit her strange cousins in England after the death of their grandmother, it looked like a cross between the Addams family and the Lemony Snicket books. Mariel's cousins are very close, many of them hostile to outsiders, and although they share the same grandmother, they don't consider Mariel to be one of them. Mariel's mother didn't even tell her she had any family, and as she gets to know them, Mariel can see why! Only now her mother wants to take her away from her home, school and friends. Mariel does not approve.

The Considine cousins are certainly a strange bunch, each with their own characteristics. Lily and Amelia are strange but seem friendly enough, but Oberon is threatening, and eight-year-old Elspeth is one of the creepiest children I've come across in fiction, oozing malevolence and speaking only in sinister rhyme, hinting at a terrible fate in store for Mariel. I guessed at the family's secret early on, but this did not spoil the story for me, although one piece of foreshadowing came across as too heavy-handed and unnecessary. The story is a great mix of a page-turning family mystery and a gothic undercurrent that gets darker and more dangerous as the story goes along.

I was quite shocked at the level of bloodthirstiness for a book aimed at pre-teens, but what I found more disturbing was the ending. I think it was supposed to be a happy ending, but it was rather bittersweet and a somewhat morally dubious. Although as an adult I don't mind stories with "untidy" conclusions, if I had read this book when I was ten or eleven, I would have been concerned about the decisions Mariel took. Her story may have ended pretty well, but I would have been - and was, a bit - troubled about the wider-reaching consequences for the family and community. Perhaps I think too much. Still, The Considine Curse is an enjoyable, intriguing and creepy read.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling

Pottermania has been abounding in the last couple of weeks with the run-up to the final film in the series, which premiered in London on Thursday. I watched some of the live coverage, and when Alan Rickman turned up, I couldn't help singing, "Snape, Snape, Severus Snape!" from the Potter Puppet Pals online video, "A Mysterious Ticking Noise," and the tune which has popped into my head as a sort of leitmotif for Snape whenever he turned up in the books. So I nearly fell off my chair when, a couple of seconds later, I could make out what the crowd were chanting.

So, I may or may not have been persuaded to go along to the midnight showing of the final film on Thursday night/Friday morning. I've never been one for midnight anything. I'm too fond of my sleep. Instead of visibly succumbing to the Pottermania with the book releases and queuing at the bookshops, I got up early to buy my copy. But this is my last chance. It remains to be seen whether I might dress up... Expect a Movie Monday review next week.

In a way, I envy the next generation of kids. With Pottermania so strong over the last few years, I doubt there are many people who haven't read the books, seen the films or at least had important parts of the story told to them. When the fuss has begun to die down, and a new readership comes along, I envy them the opportunity to read the books unspoiled, not knowing what to expect, like (most of) my experience. But just in case there are readers who don't yet know the whole story, be warned:

This review may contain spoilers for book 7; definitely contains spoilers for books 1-6.

After six books whose major events fit into a neat little routine - Something slightly odd happening in the school holidays, a return to school, slow revelation that something odder is taking place in or out of the school, several mysteries to solve throughout the year building to a climax just before the summer holidays - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows breaks the pattern by not sending Harry, Ron and Hermione back to Hogwarts at all. Instead, the trio set out on their own to search for and destroy He Who Must Not Be Named's horcruxes - a collection of objects to which the Dark Lord has attached portions of his soul in his search for immortality. Considering that Harry has only the vaguest idea of what these objects might be, and no clue where in the country - or the world! - You-Know-Who has hidden them or how to destroy them, this is no easy feat.

Sometimes, in fantasy quests, the world seems very small indeed, and the near-impossible achievable with unrealistic efforts. This is averted in most of Deathly Hallows, which portrays the tensions that rise when three people are living in close quarters, away from the rest of civilisation, embarking on a hopeless quest - especially when they have as a companion a little piece of the most evil wizard of all time, shut into a locket. in addition, because the trio are no longer at school, the plot no longer has to fit into a single academic year. It does, but it's equally possible that it could take years.

After a brief respite in Half-Blood Prince, the Ministry of Magic stands once more against Harry, this time because of its being infiltrated by You-Know-Who's Death Eaters who are terrifying the rest of the ministry into submission through threat and force. Thankfully, as Harry and co spend much of the book out of contact with other wizards, the sense of oppression is less intrusive, and though we do see the horrible Umbridge again, she plays a much smaller part.

Although Deathly Hallows is exactly the same length as its predecessor, it feels like many books in one, with more action, more varied scene changes as the heroes apparate across the country, visiting friends, London, forests in the middle of nowhere, wizarding settlements, more middle-of-nowhere, wizarding businesses, being captured and escaping and eventually winding up back at Hogwarts school after all. Add to this Harry's visions back in and out of Voldemort's mind, and I wonder how this much story can be packed into just over 600 pages. No wonder Warner Brothers chose to make this story into two films instead of just one.

As if this weren't enough, we find out a lot more about Albus Dumbledore's youth, where it is revealed that the wise old wizard was not so infallible as we'd previously been led to believe. Indeed, the man had spent his whole life trying to atone for a tragic mistake from his youth. And at last, the true character of one of children's literature's most complex anti-heroes is revealed: the enigmatic Severus Snape.

I stand in awe of J. K. Rowling's storytelling, for Harry Potter's story is made from so many strands of plot and subplot, but Rowling does not lose a single thread, weaving them together perfectly in this finally installment. Everything is significant, nothing is left dangling, Rowling is truly the master of her craft. The saga culminates in an epic battle at Hogwarts which is a bit of a family reunion, reintroducing forgotten faces and old favourites. But it is rather a bloodbath! We are forced to bid farewell to some beloved characters, for in war, no one is guaranteed immunity. There were two characters, just two, that I thought were safe (and neither of them were Harry.) I was proven wrong, and it is just one cruel, devastating loss.

If the Horcrux quest seemed a little too conveniently resolved, and if the wand-politics at the end are confusing, these are small criticisms when compared to the rest of the finale. The final showdowns - for there is more than one - are poignant, beautifully written and epic, and a couple of unexpected characters get moments which I fully expect to raise a cheer in the cinemas. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is an utterly satisfying conclusion to this wonderful series that has captured the hearts and imaginations of children of all ages. While rereading the series, I have been fully absorbed both while reading it and when I was not, and it's strange to have finished it now. Roll on Thursday midnight!

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling

After the stifling atmosphere of the last book, it comes as a relief to be reintroduced into the familiar, friendlier Hogwarts. Yes, the wizarding world has become a dark, dangerous place. Voldemort and his folllowers are at large and in the open, and every edition of the Daily Prophet newspaper reports more death and devastation. Even the Muggles know something strange is going on. But at least the threat is in the open. Harry and Dumbledore don't have to deal with the Ministry's opposition to their every move and wild accusations - on the contrary, the Ministry want to be best buddies. It would make them look good, because rumour has it that Harry Potter is the Chosen One destined to destroy Voldemort.

Before this book was published, it had been publicised, like the last two volumes, as being darker than ever. But, for the majority of the book, this is a return to a tone that was more reminiscent of the first half of the series. Harry, Ron and Hermione are now sixteen and a great deal of the plot focuses in on their muddled attempts at romance. There also seems to be a lot more humour, even among the dark events going on outside Hogwarts - and within, if Harry's suspicions about two of his oldest adversaries are correct.
Thankfully, Harry has grown out of the rage that was the defining point of his character in Order of the Phoenix! Professor Dumbledore plays a greater role, as he and Harry work together out of school hours, seeking the information and means to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all. Through flashbacks, Harry learns a lot about Voldemort's backstory, from his parentage, to his childhood and adulthood, before his rise to power as the most feared wizard of all time. I found Half-Blood Prince an easier book to get through, not as emotionally taxing - and frustrating! - as its predecessor with the lack of Umbridge. There is a good balance between lessons, mystery, humour and exposition, with some significant development of some of the best-loved characters.

And then, right at the end, comes an abrupt change in tone, in the most disturbing scene of the entire series, the Cave Scene. The book comes to an end with a series of climactic events that mean that nothing can ever be the same again.

If somehow you have got through the book publication in 2005, and the film release in 2009, and still don't know what happens, be warned that plot and character spoilers follow:



While Harry has shown himself as growing in maturity throughout the book, with the increased responsibility allotted to him by Dumbledore, and in his own actions, the cave scene marks Harry's coming of age. Early in Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore tells Harry:

"I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?" 

"You are with me."

When it was first revealed,
this cover bothered me. I knew
very well that Harry was not a good
 enough Potions student to continue
studying the subject in 6th year.
But then, I'd predicted Snape would
be made Defence Against the Dark
Arts teacher in book 7 - and that he'd
be really good! It hadn't occurred to
me that this might happen  earlier,
because of the rumoured curse -
Snape was too good a character to
lose before the end of the series. But
I hadn't foreseen the changes that
happen in this book.  Clearly I'm
not a candidate for Professor
 Trelawney's class.

At the time, it seems like a typical Dumbledore thing to say, a quirky but reassuring lack of false modesty - after all, Dumbledore is the greatest Wizard alive at this point. So it's a testament to how far Harry has come, when Dumbledore says, after a terrifying ordeal that reverses his and Harry's roles,

"I am not worried, Harry [...] I am with you."

But it is not Harry's characterisation that is so fascinating as Severus Snape's. We've known since the end of Goblet of Fire that he has been a Death Eater, and that he is assuming his former role, acting undercover for Dumbledore. And he is doing a very good job. To fool either Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort would be unthinkable - but Snape is fooling one of them. But which one? All the evidence in this book paints him in a very suspicious light indeed, making an Unbreakable Vow to commit some unnamed act for Voldemort, arguing with Dumbledore and trying to back out of a deal with him, and offering assistance to the very dodgy-acting Draco Malfoy. But Dumbledore trusted Snape, and I couldn't bear to think Dumbledore could be wrong. What sort of message was that to give the kids? Besides, Snape has always been the most complex person in the story, an ally but completely unpleasant! To make him a villain after all would surely diminish him as a character. But sneaky Ms Rowling gave plenty of evidence to support either argument - Snape as villain or Snape as hero - but no definite proof either way.

Until the end, when Snape proves his true colours beyond all doubt.

I read the last chapters in disbelief, desperate for some revelation to prove that somehow, something wasn't as it appeared. I read on, and I read on, and at last I came to the understanding that I must have been mistaken, that there could be no coming back from what he had done. But still it bothered me. Surely there must be more to this man than meets the eye?

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J. K. Rowling

It was the summer of 2003. My dad was the first person on the Isle of Wight to pre-order the fifth Harry Potter book, happening to be in the shop where I now work, when the publication date was – after a three-year wait – finally announced. I was in the lower sixth form (junior year of high school, to my American readers) and my friends and I spent plenty of lunchtimes and free periods rereading the initial four books and trying to figure out what clues J. K. Rowling had planted in them, discussing what we thought might happen next. We had picked up on Dumbledore’s look of “something like triumph” when he had heard that Voldemort was now protected by Lily Potter’s sacrifice. What did this mean? What was the Order of the Phoenix, and did it have anything to do with the messages Dumbledore had sent out to Professor Lupin, “the old crowd,” including a Mrs Figg – the same Mrs Figg who had babysat for Harry before he knew of his Wizard heritage? I myself wondered about Dumbledore’s throwaway line about Professor Trelawney having brought her total of real predictions up to two – what was the first, and was it plot-significant?

Order of the Phoenix was published
with a choice of covers, catering for
the growing adult readership who'd
rather not be seen reading a kids' book.

And the big question was who dies? J. K. Rowling had let slip that she had killed off a main character, and that the scene had made her cry, and it seemed that question was more interesting than the other 700-odd pages of plot development. Recently I found the old school homework planner in which I had written my shortlist of possible victims. Hagrid. Neville. Lupin – because I knew he was returning. Sirius. Ron. Was I right about any of them? If you’ve read the book, you’ll know.

I think this was the first book with a midnight release, with Ottaker’s bookshop temporarily rebranded “Pottaker’s.” (Groan!) I didn’t go to any of the bookshop events, but I did note that HMV was opening an hour early, and I went down there to buy my shiny new book, not even peeking at the back or cover-flap blurbs. In fact, the postman looked at my book before I did. He spoke to me as I was walking home, “Nice day. You’re up early. You haven’t been buying the new Harry Potter book, have you?” he asked, sounding bored. “Yeah…” I said in the same tone. “Oooh! Let’s have a look!”

It was, as the postman had said, a beautiful day, and I read in the garden. All that day, I read – it was a Saturday – but as the day came to a close I realised I’d rather savour it, draw it out a bit longer. Who knew how long we’d have to wait for another new Potter book? But then I had to go back to school on the Monday, with about a quarter of the book left to go. “Have you read the new Harry Potter book?” asked a certain little squirt in the lunch queue. I should name and shame him, but I won’t. “I’m reading it,” I said, “So don’t…” “[NAME OMITTED*] dies,” he said, before I could get my hands over my ears. Thank you very much! I wanted to believe he was just messing around, but I was watching out for the event now, and not surprised when it happened after all. This boy was in my sister’s class and friendship group at school, and apparently he made himself very unpopular both in 2003, and then in 2005, when Half-Blood Prince was published, by giving away crucial plot spoilers to people trying to savour the story. Not decent, old chap. Not cricket.

***

But onto the book itself. Perhaps it’s because I’d familiarised myself with the first four books over the previous three years, but Order of the Phoenix felt like the odd book out. It didn’t seem to fit in, somehow. And, to be honest, it’s my least favourite book in the  series. In each of the books so far there has been a sense of danger. Lord Voldemort has always been out there somewhere, plotting world domination and Harry’s murder, and now he has returned, the threat is stronger than ever. Harry, Dumbledore et al know it is only a matter of time before outright war.

But worse than the deadly fear is the opposition from the Ministry of Magic. Not only do the Minister and his supporters refuse to believe that Voldemort has returned, but they actively hinder the spreading of the unwelcome news, discrediting it as madness and lies. At Hogwarts, the Ministry is represented by the awful Dolores Umbridge, the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who is largely responsible for ensuring that actually learning any kind of self-defence is brutally punished. As Umbridge slowly gains more power at the school, the book’s atmosphere becomes unbearably oppressive. One can’t even love to hate Umbridge, who makes Severus Snape appear a real sweetie by comparison.

As well as my least favourite character in the series, two of my favourite characters, clumsy young witch Tonks, and dippy fourth-year Luna Lovegood, are introduced in this book, and we are reunited with former Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers Remus Lupin and Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody – the real Moody, this time. We also learn more about Sirius Black, Severus Snape and Harry’s own parents, and some shocking revelations about Harry's father come to light.

We get to see a bit of the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts: much of the action takes place in the Ministry of Magic buildings, and Rowling goes into more detail about Wizard Politics – an ugly game. There are some great plotlines – the titular Order’s covert war against Voldemort despite the Ministry’s opposition, Harry’s mysterious dreams in which he seems to be reading the mind of Lord Voldemort, the students uniting against Umbridge and the Ministry to form Dumbledore’s Army – a sort of trainee Order of the Phoenix - and we learn more about Harry's parents. Yet this book also contains are several subplots which I find less enjoyable to read about. As well as the poisonous Umbridge woman, Hagrid’s story leaves me cold, and Harry throws a year-long strop, shouting at anyone and everyone. Then again, he is fifteen. Finally, I think the scenes at the Ministry of Magic have too high a concentration of weirdness which is left  largely unexplained. I take away from the chapters in the Department of Mysteries a vague, blurry impression of sometimes overwhelming, sometimes grotesque magic all happening too fast to take in. Although the Order of the Phoenix is still a great read, it is a vast and chaotic novel which could probably have benefitted from tighter editing.

*Name omitted for COMMON DECENCY, a concept that some people might not understand. Not that I'm still sore, mind you. Not me. Nope.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J. K. Rowling

If Azkaban was when the wizarding world of Harry Potter* started to change, Goblet of Fire marks the real turning point. After the Quidditch World Cup celebrations are ruined by Voldemort’s old supporters showing themselves and causing chaos and panic, Harry and his friends expect another school year of magic lessons, Quidditch, rule-breaking and perhaps a finale of risking their lives in some adventure. But the pattern is broken from the moment Dumbledore announces there will be no Quidditch cup this year, because there will be an even bigger event at Hogwarts: The Triwizard Tournament: a trio of challenging tasks for the champions of three wizard schools: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Not that Harry, Ron or Hermione will be affected directly, except that they will be provided with a bit of entertainment. The Triwizard Tournament is far too complicated and dangerous, and Dumbledore has installed failsafe measures to ensure that no one under seventeen can be selected as champion…

Oh.

Yeah…

Somehow, Harry Potter has found himself in deep. Again. Putting one’s name into the Goblet of Fire signifies a legally binding contract – if the Goblet says you are to be a champion, champion you must be. Never mind that Harry didn’t – couldn’t – enter his own name. For the first time, there are four wizards and witches competing in the Triwizard Tournament (though they don’t change the name) and Harry’s year is devoted to finding ways to survive the Tournament. Because in all probability, the person who nominated Harry – in his own category without any competition – did so  in the hopes that he will die in the process.

But when Harry does survive – and win – the Tournament, it is only the start of his troubles. In the most horrifying, terrifying and gruesome scene so far, Voldemort, He Who Must Not Be Named, the Dark Lord is reborn. So far we’ve only seen him as a whisper, a memory, or heard about what he was like through other people’s stories. He seemed like a fairly standard memory of a children’s story’s villain, mostly harmless now. This new Voldemort puts an end to that delusion: he is terrifying. Although nearly-dying seems to be an occupational hazard for Harry at the end of the summer term, never has death felt so real – we witnessed the first on-page death of an established character moments before – and so inescapable.

In my opinion, the adaptation of Goblet of Fire is the first really good Harry Potter film, faithful to the book without being slavishly so, a good film as well as a good interpretation of the book. As such, I found on this reread  that the film had a stronger impression on me than I had realised, and that there were many wonderful moments in the book which I had completely forgotten about: the Weasley family arriving at the Dursleys’ house to collect Harry for the rest of the summer holidays, Fred and George’s Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Hermione’s entire S.P.E.W. campaign for the better treatment of house elves. (Still not entirely convinced by the house elves, I wasn’t too sorry that they were omitted from the film.) Even in the scenes that had been filmed directly from the book, I discovered I got more pleasure from reading than watching them. The scenes of chaos at the Quidditch World Cup felt so much more intense to read on the page than to watch a load of people running and screaming in the dark on the screen. And the Graveyard scene is so much scarier in my imagination than someone else’s translated to the screen.

I wonder why that is? Perhaps what is described but unseen appeals to the individual’s own worst fears for them to imagine the worst. When it is given shape through film, there is only one way to interpret it, and that is what is shown. Maybe it’s because you can read a book at your own speed, savour the moments and take your time to let things sink in. Whatever the reason, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire is a fine example of the power of the imagination, and how superior books can be to the film of the same story.


*not the theme park

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Contains some spoilers (just in case you've survived this long unspoiled!)

After J. K. Rowling's first two fun and magical boarding-school adventures, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban seems to be the point at which the series starts to assert itself as something extraordinary. The first two books worked well as connected, stand-alone stories, setting the scene for Hogwarts and the wizarding world. Although there is still much to learn and discover all the way through the series, book three is where, for me, The Story really begins.

Prisoner of Azkaban has a noticeably darker tone than its two predecessors. I will state this once, and in my reviews for the rest of the series you can just take this for granted. Each book is darker than the last. (When the last few films have been released, this information was announced by reviewers as if it were some great surprise. We all know it. Let's move on.) So far, despite events at Hogwarts, the wizarding world as a whole has been at peace. Now, there is a flutter of fear in the air. Notorious mass-murderer Sirius Black has escaped from the supposedly inescapeable Azkaban Prison - and all the evidence suggests that he's trying to kill Harry. The Dementors, shadowy prison guards who spread despair wherever they go, have been set to guard Hogwarts, but they don't seem to be doing any good, and their presence is having a serious effect on Harry. Thankfully, for the first time there is a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts: the mild-mannered Professor Remus Lupin, who gives Harry some valuable extra coaching. But Lupin has some dark secrets of his own...

Prisoner of Azkaban is one of my favourite books in the Harry Potter series. There is less world-building and more plot, a twisty, page-turning and very satisfying plot. We learn some of Harry's family history, about Harry's father at school, and about the circumstances leading up to their deaths. Harry starts studying two new subjects: Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Although both of these classes are crucial to the plot of this story, it is probably Lupin's extra-curricular Patronus charm lessons that are the most valuable to Harry. In later books, the Patronus seems to come as second nature to Harry, passing it on to his fellow students, and I forget how advanced magic it is, but for Harry, aged only thirteen, to produce a Patronus is extraordinary.

Remus Lupin is one of my favourite characters in the books - and the first sympathetic werewolf I ever encountered. Rowling managed to change the way I viewed some of the typical "monsters" of fantasy and horror writing, and influenced a couple of werewolves into my own writing. Again, I was blown away by the twists and revelations that came at the end of the book, and by this point it is apparent that the books are coming together to lead up to some bigger event; that the stand-alone stories are just chapters in a seven-volume epic.

The Girl From Away trilogy, Claire Mowat

There are some people who are, as Anne Shirley would put it, true "kindred spirits." These are the people you can travel with, go for coffee or even lunch with, and completely ignore each other while you are both engrossed in books. Most people would probably think this weird and unsociable, but my closest friends understand completely. I've known my best friend, Judith, for as long as I can remember, and like me she is a complete bookworm. We've been on holiday and on day trips up and down the country, but our favourite finds when shopping are the bookshops, from big chain stores to teeny-tiny second-hand shops. So when she recently went on holiday to Canada, it is only natural that the souvenirs she brought back for me included books. The Girl From Away trilogy was a tatty old ex-library book with stamps, old-fashioned ticket pocket and the opening times of the local swimming pool still visible in light pencil. I love a book that's picked up some history along the way, and especially one that has crossed the Atlantic.

The Girl From Away

The Girl From Away introduces Andrea, a teenage Toronto girl who pays an unwilling visit to Anderson's Arm, a small fishing community in Newfoundland, while having to come to terms with her mother's remarriage. Andrea spends the Christmas holidays with her aunt Pearl and cousins - her uncle Cyril is away working on an oil tanker, and though they remain cheerful, Pearl and her children are clearly anxious about him. The Girl From Away is a lovely portrait of a small community, where everybody knows everyone else and pulls together in a crisis. The setting came vividly to life, and felt identifiably Canadian. The three-in-one edition of the book was published in 2002, but I recognised the stories as being originally written earlier, in the 1990s. There were details that felt old-fashioned, but yet not so much so that they were strange to me. Most noticable was the personal cassette player that was Andrea's birthday present, and the story itself was reminiscent of the books I read when I was a child.

The French Isles

Book two of the trilogy sees Andrea back with her cousins, aunt and uncle - now safely home. A trip to collect Uncle Cyril's fishing boat finds Cyril, Andrea and the Cousins at St Pierre and Miquelon, islands which are located near Newfoundland but are actually French. Not French Canadian; owned by France. Andrea takes a job working at a bed-and-breakfast hotel, and befriends the owner's son, Philippe. After the drama which led Andrea and her family to St Pierre, the story is fairly gentle and uneventful, with a little hint of a youthful romance. It does help if you have a working knowledge of the French language, as there is a lot of dialogue which is left untranslated.

Last Summer in Louisbourg

Andrea is now fifteen and is vacationing in Cape Breton for the summer job to die for! She is childminding at the Fortress of Louisbourg, a job which involves dressing up in period costume and doing a fair bit of historical re-enactment. While working, she is offered a bit part in a film which is shot on location.  Again, Mowat sets the scene beautifully, and I envied Andrea her summer job. It was amusing to see how quickly the novelty of working on a movie set wore off, however, and Andrea came across as rather a sulky teenager, anxious that her costume makes her look silly, and objecting when extra filming spoiled her day's plans. I was a bit disappointed not to see the Newfoundland family this time around, or to hear anything else of Philippe, but there were some great new characters introduced: landlady Jackie and Andrea's verbose roommate Justine, as well as the cast and crew of the film, and Andrea discovers a family secret.

The Girl From Away trilogy is a lovely, easy holiday read ideal for girls aged about 9-12 years old.

Anne of the Island, L. M. Montgomery




Anne of the Island is the third book in L. M. Montgomery's classic series about the imaginative redhead, and in many ways the end of "part one" of Anne's story. This is the book about Anne Shirley's college years, the last book about Anne the girl and the beginning of Anne the woman. It is also the last part of the story in which the community of Avonlea features prominently, and even now, despite the book's title, a good half of the the book's events don't even take place on Prince Edward Island, but in Kingsport, which is based upon Halifax, Nova Scotia. Even when the story is in Avonlea, I found it wasn't quite the Avonlea I knew.

 As a child, the only Anne books I owned were the first two: Green Gables and Avonlea, which I read over and over again. My mother had an old copy of Anne of the Island, so I was quite familiar with it, but less so. It comes as a shock that the community that seems more vivid than my own hometown in my memories, should be as I imagine it for such a brief time in the series - only two books out of the eight. Some characters have moved away, such as Reverend Allan and his wife - did they really appear so briefly? I knew them so well! Rachel Lynde, the town gossip, is still around but now living at Green Gables itself! Although this was due to happen at the end of Avonlea, it seems strange for her not to be down the road, but in the house itself, helping to bring up the twins. Anne's "bosom friend" Diana is engaged to be married, and for the first time, Anne has to face the death of her own school friend, Ruby Gillis, the bright, flirtatious girl who was always a little shallow and tiresome, but who made up a four with Anne, Diana and Jane Andrews on many an occasion. "Everything is changing - or going to change," said Diana sadly. "I have a feeling that things will never be the same again."

Not that there is much time to be melancholy, with Anne's whirlwind life at Redmond College, full of fun and friendships. She is reunited with two girls from Queen's Academy, Priscilla and Stella (who, alas, I can't really tell apart) and befriends the outrageous but adorable, frivolous and fun-loving Philippa Gordon. After a year living in boarding-houses, the girls rent a cottage of their own, a cute little house called Patty's Place, in a road full of grand mansions. Many pleasures of this book come from the simple domesticity of four girls and Phil's young-at-heart aunt Jamesina "Jimsie" making their house a home, and there is a lovely chapter in which Anne gets to visit the little yellow house where she was born.



And as well as her female friends, Anne - no longer the skinny ginger kid, - receives proposal after proposal, each less romantic than the last, before she is swept off her feet by the story-book hero Royal Gardner, who seems to be the man of her dreams. Personally, I can't stand the man. He is too suave, too smooth, and knows all the right things to say to an idealistic soul which has been nurtured on romantic literature, but he has no personality. All his grand gestures come across as studied and fake, and it comes as a great relief when Anne comes to her senses. But it's not until it appears to be too late that Anne realises what everyone else has known for years, to whom her heart really belongs.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J. K. Rowling

Isn’t it funny how your brain makes startling revelations when it’s winding down for the night? I was planning to start this review by explaining that, due to an enormous to-read pile, I couldn’t really justify rereading a seven-book series, but compromised by listening to the audio version of Harry Potter on my CD alarm clock. I’d got as far as explaining why Stephen Fry is the perfect narrator for the series, and describing him - like Hogwarts, like the series itself, as a British national institution, when suddenly it came to me: is not Stephen Fry the nearest thing we have to a muggle Dumbledore?

Maybe I drew this conclusion because Dumbledore is the nearest character within the story to a narrator, seemingly all-knowing, all-seeing and completely in control. Do I draw the connections because Fry happens to be reading the story, or are the similarities the reasons he was chosen? After all, they share many of the same qualities; both are wise and ridiculously intelligent, impossible to dislike with a comforting air to them; old-fashioned and a bit posh in a cosy, nostalgic sort of way. You feel that everything is under control in their hands. All Fry needs is the beard, the pointy hat and about another hundred years on his age.

But onto the story. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (or Sorcerer’s Stone in the USA) is where it all began, the first in a series of books which revolutionised children’s literature and got kids - and adults - discovering the wonder of books, who might not have done so otherwise. With the hype surrounding the release of the later books and then the films, it’s a bit strange to return to the beginning and read (or listen to Mr Fry reading) as if it were all new.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone has a very different feel to it than the later books in the series. It is noticeably a children’s book, written in simple language, with colourful, comical characters who are sometimes more like caricatures. We discover with Harry the wizarding world, a truly magical place, brought to life by Rowling’s vivid descriptions: Harry’s surprise that people in wizard photos move - and Ron’s surprise that muggle pictures stay put at all times; the novelty of going to school in a castle with towers, dungeons, secret passageways and staircases that lead to different places on different days, the wonder of flying on a broomstick and the thrill of playing Quidditch.

In later books, the wizarding world ceases to be quite so surprising - though there is something new to discover in each volume. The description gives way to plot: a plot with so many threads and strands that I am impressed and astonished at Rowling for keeping everything under control and weaving it all together in the end. Even in The Philosopher’s Stone, when the world is not yet fully formed and characters are still taking shape, there are hints at what is to come, throwaway lines that mean nothing and are forgotten until a later installment when they gain a new significance. I stand in awe of Ms Rowling’s mastery of her story - this is a writer who knows her story inside out.

Cookie, Jacqueline Wilson

After J.K. Rowling, Jacqueline Wilson must be the second most famous British writer of children's books. Formerly (if not still) the Children's Laureate, Wilson takes up plenty of shelf space in all UK bookshops, bringing out about two books per year. Most of her books are targetted at around 8-to 10-year-olds, although she has several for younger children and a few teenage books. Wilson often writes about difficult topics that nonetheless may be reality for her readership, such as broken families, mental illness and poverty.

I must have first read something by Jacqueline Wilson at the age of nine or so, Double Act (which depicts a set of inseparable twins growing into two individuals) or Tracy Beaker (Wilson's best-known character, a lively, untameable girl in foster care, waiting for the day her mother comes back for her.) Looking at her books as a whole, I find the "gritty realism" a little overpowering with its steady stream of abusive or neglectful parents, school bullies, lost tempers and loneliness, so that I wouldn't want to read her books one after another. But there is a simple sweetness in Wilson's storytelling, an empathy with her narrator - usually a preteen girl and often a social outcast. Wilson was clearly a student of the Enid Blyton school of world-building, with plenty of description, especially of clothes and food. I sometimes skim over these passages now, but it's the sort of thing that I couldn't get enough of when I was in her target readership.

Cookie is the story of the unfortunately-named Beauty Cookson, who is plain, dumpy and shy. A loner at school, and having to tread carefully at home, lest she provoke her dad's temper, Beauty finds refuge in her books, her drawing and with her pretend-friend Sam, in reality the presenter of a pre-school TV show, but with whom she imagines interaction and the sympathy she doesn't get from her father. Beauty's mum tries to shield her daughter from her husband's rages, but after Dad's moods ruin Beauty's birthday party, Mum decides enough is enough. She takes Beauty away to start a new life, though where, Mum does not know.

When we first met Beauty's Dad, I thought he could go one of two ways. He had the potential to develop into a 3-dimensional character, being a man who's made a small fortune, built a perfect world around himself and determined to keep it that way no matter the cost. Unfortunately, I ultimately found him too much of an exaggeration, with very flimsy excuses to fly into a temper, when it suited the plot if not a character. I couldn't believe in him as a person, because he was too much of a monster, defined only by his rages and cruel words. Mum, on the other hand, is very true to life, a rather young and timid wife and mother who married straight out of high school, and who has never had the chance to become her own person. She is torn between fear of her husband - who despite everything, she still loves - and the need to protect her daughter - and herself.

The school scenes took me right back to my primary school days, and in places it was painful to read about. Like Beauty, I was clever, but socially awkward, with a vivid imagination but far behind my classmates in terms of popular culture, TV and fashion. Shy Beauty could so easily have been me. If her descriptions of family life can be a little over-the-top at times, Wilson's recreation of the primary school playground politics took me about seventeen years into my own past.

Artichoke Hearts, Sita Brahmachari

Mira Levenson has just turned twelve and her world is becoming a strange and unrecogniseable place. Her Nana Josie, always so artistic, passionate and full of life, is dying; she can't stop thinking about Jidé Jackson, whose confident, joky manner hides a tragic history and a sensitive soul. Mira is changing. Sometimes she catches her mouth saying what she didn't intend to say, speaking out when she's always been so shy, or alternatively keeping secrets to herself. Nothing particularly drastic, she just doesn't feel like sharing everything with everybody.

There are a lot of books for teenagers that deal with the aftermath of the death of a loved one. Artichoke Hearts actually seemed to be targetted at the younger end of the Young Adult range (11+) but is unusual in exploring a terminal illness, and the feelings of helplessness of those who can only watch as a relative approaches death, and Brahmachari writes this with simplicity but a great deal of maturity. Nana Josie is early on established as a vivacious, artistic woman, a former hippy and passionate protester. Early on, there is a moment of dark, uncomfortable humour, as she embarks on her big artistic project: to paint her own coffin. It is heartbreaking to watch such a lively person fade.

The artichoke of the title refer to a charm given to Mira by Nana Josie, a symbol of the human heart, and how with age and experience, a heart which may seem to break grows tough layers to protect it, like the layers of an artichoke. The novel is a sweet, beautiful coming-of-age story, showing a child starting to learn who she is. Mira is a quiet girl, artistic and thoughtful, but through the sadness of seeing her grandmother die, the strangeness of early adolescence and the sweetness of a first romance, she grows in confidence and self-awareness. The characters are all very-well rounded individuals, and I think that Jidé Jackson is one of the loveliest boyfriends I've encountered in a kids' or teen book for a long time - and he's only twelve.

Read for the Support Your Local
Library Challenge 2011

One way that Mira grows in her understanding is in her extracurricular creative writing class, which is led by writer Miss Pat Print, and consists of herself, her best friend Millie, Jidé and his friend Ben Gbemi.  In the classes, Miss Print (an unfortunate name for a writer!) helps the children to understand themselves and their world through writing. The novel is written as being Mira's diary, in the present tense which itself is highlighted early on as helping reader and writer feel the immediacy of the narrative. On occasion, after a short writing exercise, the children start to feel empathy for others in a way that they hadn't before. I found these writing sessions fascinating, and they summed up what is, to me, why literature is so important: Fiction (or poetry, theatre, film, TV) helps to make sense of the world and cultivates understanding of other people.

Artichoke Hearts is a pensive, sometimes sad read, but ultimately it left me feeling uplifted, a celebration of life, youth, a loving family and good friends. I would recommend it for Judy Blume fans and older readers of Jacqueline Wilson, who are maybe looking for something a bit more grown-up. So far, Artichoke Hearts has quietly slipped onto the bookshop shelves with little fanfare, but it deserves to be widely read and talked about.