‘Liar & Spy’ by Rebecca Stead - Carnegie review

This is a deceptively short and simple tale of the new friends Georges make when he has to move home. But it is actually a clever and sophisticated piece of storytelling in that most of the intrigue of the tale is in what is left unsaid, rather than what appears on the page.

When Georges moves house he makes friends with Safer, who live upstairs. Safer is homeschooled and is getting interested in the mysterious activities of one of the other residents of the apartments.

Georges gets drawn into Safer’s schemes, but things start to unravel as Safer starts to put greater demands on this new friendship in this this quirky, original story.

Books for children are often very plot-driven, with straightforward storylines, but in very few words, Rebecca Stead weaves several plotlines and plays with the reader’s understanding of what is going on.

Georges is a complex character, dealing with difficulties at home and at school. Rebecca Stead subtly plays with perspective on some of the power struggles that go on in children’s relationships and it is only as things are slowly revealed that the reader can understand

It’s a great story about standing up for ourselves. Why do we let the bullies make up the rules and why do we play them, is the central question of this really delightful and intriguing tale which is never short on surprises.

‘Rooftoppers’ by Katherine Rundell - Carnegie review

Baby Sophie is rescued from a sinking ship and, grows up believing that her mother died in the shipwreck.

But when he slightest of clues means there is a chance of tracking down her mother, Sophie, and scholarly Charles, who has brought her up in London, head to Paris in search of the truth, and the start of an out-and-out adventure story.

Sophie and Charles are used to staying one step ahead of the authorities, as the eccentric way Charles has looked after Sophie means she is only a step away from being taken to an orphanage.


But in Paris Sophie finds helps in her impossible quest from an unexpected quarter – from a bunch of children she meets who scrape a living on the Paris rooftops. Now on the run from police, Sophie sees a way she can still search for her mother. But first she must learn to scale ancient buildings in the dark, must learn to tightrope and to win the trust of the Rooftoppers.

It’s a magical tale, of children getting together to help each other and has a feel of a fairytale about it. But the thing that surprises on every page is the imaginative writing. Katherine’s way of telling the story, her fantastically imaginative word play, means there is plenty to enjoy and delight.

It’s in a great tradition of storytelling. It has huge appeal and, from the children I’ve talked to about their Carnegie experiences this year, it is the book people have most been pleased to have discovered through the shadowing.

It’s a great story about being yourself, not fitting in and a theme of believing the impossible. Great to have such an enjoyable, uplifting and well-written story for younger readers on the list.

We asked author Katherine Rundell what was her favourite thing about her shortlisted book.

"My favourite thing about Rooftoppers is the night-time tightroping scene, when Sophie walks across a rope high above Paris. I've always loved tightroping and wire-walking, but imagining what it might actually be like gave me unexpected jabs of dizziness. It took seven or eight rewrites to get that scene as close to right as I could make it, but it's now one of my favourite things I've written."

'Blood Family' by Anne Fine - Carnegie review

It opens like a thriller, digs deep emotionally and tackles contemporary issues without either dumbing down, over-sensationalising or making a melodrama out of serious subjects.

This year Anne Fine’s ‘Blood Family’ definitely seems to have been the one on the Carnegie shortlist where the content has both surprised and shocked.

‘Blood Family’ is a modern-day story about Eddie, a boy with plenty of problems to fill a book. We meet Eddie, traumatised and imprisoned, aged seven, when the police arrive at his home to rescue Eddie and his mother from a violent relationship.

The intensity of this opening makes for a disturbing start, a menace that never lets up. Yet, however much Eddie’s world seems apart from our own, we get drawn in to understand, which is a great testament to Anne Fine’s concise, appealing writing and her characterisation of Eddie. But it’s the lean and no-nonsense way she handles some really tricky issues that really impressed me about this book.

The story, you have to say, is unusual in itself as a topic of a book for children. But it further stands out in that there are multiple points of view to Eddie’s story – teachers, social workers, foster carers, adoptive parents – and most of them are adults. All with a view, all terribly nice and doing the right thing. All of them are kindly and well-meaning. But none of them really able to understand Eddie.

It’s a downbeat view of how ill-equipped society is to try to rehabilitate children like Eddie, despite lots of very good intentions. And although we’d all like to think there are very few of them, the truth is they are in the headlines depressingly often. It’s strong stuff and definitely aimed at teenage and older readers and would certainly be just as suitable for adults. I felt I enjoyed it much more with my adult eyes than in trying to think how children would come at this story.

The violence isn’t notably worse than in a lot of young adult fiction, but the feeling Anne Fine creates, how she cleverly creates her reality, certainly makes it a story that will stay with you for a long time.

On being freed, Eddie finds it really difficult to relate to the world around him, yet he is sweet and a character easy to warm to.

If there is one thing that living with a violent father has taught him – it’s how to not make waves, how to make yourself almost disappear, how to pick up on signals and always, always say the right thing. So he clears the hurdles set by the social workers and ends up settled with a new family.

The psychiatrists and social workers disappear from Eddie’s life, congratulating themselves on a job well done. But Eddie’s troubles have hardly begun.

None of them have scratched the surface of how Eddie will behave when he starts to grow up and starts to think independently. Everything is there poised like a huge weight ready to topple down on him.

What you could call the second half of the book looses much of the adult viewpoint and gets more into its stride with Eddie, reaching an age of maturity and starting to question his early life. Then the wheels fall of his current, carefully constructed existence. Why did his mother never try to escape? Did she not think he was worth saving?

And the biggest question of all that truly comes to haunt Eddie – is he destined to repeat that violent behaviour? Is it somehow mapped onto his genes? If he is Harris’s son, can he stop himself turning into the monster his father became?

His adoptive family appear ill-equipped with what to expect. And as he has to keep visiting his mother, he can never start afresh and truly try to move on and forget his past. His wonderful sister is the only person who gets under the surface, but she becomes the target of his anger.

Without anyone noticing, Eddie, full of self-disgust, tries to blot out the fear and becomes dependent on alcohol, stealing to fund his habit, occasionally breaking into violence. Is he already walking in his father’s footsteps?

The descriptions of alcohol dependency and Eddie’s journey are finely described, not shying away from the truth, and although there is much to shock a sensitive reader, the violence is not written as entertainment. It is written as a read to provoke thought and discussion.

How easy it would have been to be gratuitous in situations, such as when Eddie realises one of the other inhabitants of his squat has died of an overdose. But this story isn’t using violence for entertainment, in the same way that it doesn’t make drug or alcohol abuse appear even slightly appealing.

There is plenty here that will surely provoke good book-group discussions. It’s about topics that crop up every day on the news. And, ultimately, through unstinting support, he conquers his demons.

Eddie’s voice, from damaged child to damaged adult and beyond, is a bravura piece of writing.

Ghost Hawk by Susan Cooper - Carnegie review

This is an enchanting story of two young men, the disparate cultures that they inhabit and the emerging nation that they share. It is set amidst the atmospheric historical background of seventeenth century Massachusetts. Like much of Susan Cooper’s work, Ghost Hawk is hauntingly written and draws heavily on mythology, magic and the local landscape.

It opens with eleven year old Pakanoket boy, Little Hawk, preparing for the traditional three month solo journey which will prove that he has become a man. Little Hawk survives and matures but returns home to make a horrifying discovery. He moves to a new village and some time passes before a confrontation with European settlers that utterly changes him - and the course of the story.

Ghost Hawk is very much a book of two halves, and although Little Hawk remains the narrator, most of the second part of the book follows the life of ten year old John Wakeley through to middle age. Although the boys’ backgrounds are different, changes occur that set John on a new trajectory and elements of his story begin to mirror those of Little Hawk. 

There is an age guidance label of the back of Ghost Hawk of 11+ which feels about right, given the mature - sometimes even harrowing - themes that are explored. These include the struggle to survive in harsh surroundings, the subjugation of indigenous populations and religious freedom. 

This book contains many evocative descriptions, covers a long timespan and has an unusual structure. These were all elements that I enjoyed, but as I reread the book for this review I wondered if it may make Ghost Hawk a trickier read than tweens and younger teens are accustomed to. The advice I would give them - and indeed did give to my twelve year old daughter - is that the pace of this book allows the reader to take the time to pause and feel. The writing is unwaveringly beautiful, and it is a story to be savoured.

The Child’s Elephant - Rachel Campbell Johnston - Carnegie Review

On initial glance the cover of The Child’s Elephant with its beautiful painted illustration of a young boy and a juvenile African Elephant sharing an embrace, gives the impression that this book is going to be a happy-feel-good-easy read. However when your turn the book over and see the illustration on the back cover depicting the silhouette of a child holding a rifle to a backdrop of army camouflage, it’s a physical jolt and you know that this book is more than just a tale about a child and his elephant.

In The Child’s Elephant, author Rachel Campbell Johnston has achieved something remarkable, following the tradition of many great classic books like, White Fang, Tarker the Otter, Zes, Born Free, the story shows the intimate relationship between a human boy; seven year old Bat and an orphaned African elephant, demonstrating the trials and emotional roller-coaster of caring for a wild creature. The writing is a feast of imagery that builds up into a world so intense and real that you can almost touch the culture of Bat’s community living in the village on the African plains.

The Child’s Elephant ensnares you from the first line, cranking up tension as it depicts the danger that  seven year old cattle herder, Bat, is in when alone in the Savannah he witnesses the brutal killing of an adult elephant by poachers. When Bat and his friend Muka bring the slain elephant’s calf home to the village and care for it we discover that Bat’s farther was a ranger who was himself slain whilst protecting the great beasts from poachers.

“The next thing Bat knew, two figures were scrambling onto the elephant’s corpse. A third fetched the chainsaw…it ripped into life at first tug and snarling, lunged forward, ferociously as a chained dog. Bat heard the long rising whine as it finally bit. Its blade spewed bloodied flecks.”

The book really comes to life with the arrival of elephant calf Maya, whose personality and mischievous nature brings lightness to the book. The relationship of Maya and Bat and the whole village who adopt the her is heart-warming, and the details of the day-to-day trials of rearing such a large wild creature who knows not her strength is fascinating and humorous as the little elephants... 

“trunk remained a source of problems. Sometimes she stepped on it and stumbled and tripped; sometimes it got stuck in a big clumpy knot; and often, snuffling about, she breathed up a great whoosh of dust which would madden her with its tickling and she would writhe it and wave it violently about.”

Reading the book and witnessing child and elephant grow is mesmerising and watching the two part ways, when Maya is reintroduced to the wild and taken in by a herd of her own kind, is an emotional tug. It’s in these scenes that Rachel’s writing is at its best; wrenching at your emotions; hinting at some deeper power of the mighty beasts; yet standing well clear of over-sentimentality.

“Bat gazed into the depths of her [Maya’s] russet-brown eyes. He could hear his heart pounding; the blood singing in his ears. He could see his tiny reflection, stilled like a speck in her long slow gaze. It was like a fly trapped in amber.”

The Child’s Elephant is written in three parts, each part having a different illustration at the beginning of each chapter within it. Part one being a lovely depiction baby Maya and then part two is of an army camp. This is when the book takes a darker turn, after Maya is released and fully integrated into the heard Bat and his friend Muka are abducted and forced into the child army. These chapters are engrossing and penned in a manner which clearly shows the terrors and atrocities that children, as young as eight, are forced to endure and inflict on others. The author has written in such way that the terror, fear and clearly displayed yet is obtainable and suitable for the audience. The section compels you read, willing the young protagonist to prevail as Bat contemplates escape rescuing Muka and save his beloved elephants.

“the boy called Bonyo…jumped up from the fire where he had been smoking dagga and staggered about waving his gun over his head, ‘I killed the last owner of this,’ he cried. ‘He deserved it. He had done too much damage with it…and since then I have done damage with it myself.’ Then all at once he began shooting.”

The book conclusion is bittersweet as the whole circle of life is shown, yet its ultimate feeling is one of hope. The Child’s Elephant is an astonishing read, at times brutal, at others gentle, always hopeful and an education in a culture and a part of the world that is often ignored, and highlighting the  plight of elephants against poachers . Rachel Campbell-Johnston’s writing is moving and honest, and in light of recent not dissimilar under-reported events in Nigeria I strongly compel you to pick up this book.

The Bunker Diary - Kevin Brooks - Carnegie Review 2014

Kevin Brook’s The Bunker Diary is a gripping grim read for older YA readers. This is one of those rare book that does what is says on the tin (well cover) as it is literally the diary of sixteen year old Linus, as he records his imprisonment in a bunker.

 

This book is dark, grim and relentless; it is not an easy read and is most suited to the older end of YA. It is however a masterpiece, Linus is a sympathetic, strong and complicated protagonist with a gripping voice that makes you want to read along and endure his suffering and that of those of his five randomly abducted prison mates, as they try to rise above the indignity and create order is chaos.

The writing is crafted beautifully to bring the bleak account of five random strangers thrown together deep in an underground bunker completely at the mercy of their abductor, who toys with them and plays games to cause discord and suffering for presumably his own amusement.

The six characters are all strong whole and well envisioned; Linus, a teenage runaway living on the street to escape his privileged life and loveless father. Linus proves to be smart and empathetic feeling the need to protect the others especially Jenny. Jenny, is a nine year old girl, innocent yet smart in her naive approach to solving problems. Anja, mid-twenties, confident beautiful career women who dissolves as soon as she arrives. Fred, a grizzly bear of man, strong, drug addict, with a good heart yet not to be trifled with. Bird, a sleazy rotund business man. Russell, an elderly deep thinking, black, gay gentleman. Each is different (one assumes purposely so as they've all been chosen up HIM UPSTAIRS) to cause the right amount of friction that is likely to combust with the right amount of pressure.

As the time goes on, and Him upstairs creates more disturbing games and plights to inflict on the them, the pressure builds and Linus records everything in his diary interwoven with memories of home, and inner thoughts, as a kind of therapy, or record for anyone to find, and for something to do. The book has a subtle tones of hope, as Linus has a strong instinct to survive that extents not just to him but for his comrades, and it’s this and his voice that compels you to read no, as you route for a happily ever after.

One of the real achievements of The Bunker Diary is the seventh character, Him Upstairs, the abductor. Him is faceless, every account given by each of the six is different; The Blind Man. The Policeman. The un-notable house viewer. The drunken business man and so on, so you never get a fix on what Him is like. Him never makes an appearance, yet he is ever present directing the action, and his personality is as just as strong and intriguing as the six, yet in a morbid-fascination-kind-of way.

Lastly, hat’s off to Kevin Brook’s for making the most dull inanimate objects so ominous, I for one will never be able to look at plastic cutlery in the same way again!

All the Truth That’s in Me – Julie Berry - Carnegie Review 2014

To be honest when we were divvying up the Carnegie short list books for review, I chose All The Truth That’s in Me because of the authors name, her surname is what mine was prior to saying I DO, and us Berry’s should bunch together I feel. I had no expectations, and was not aware of what was in stall between the cover of the book, but I was not disappointed at all, All the Truth That’s In Me, is AMAZING.

The premise sounds dark and depressing here’s the blurb from the back of the book…

“After two years missing. Judith returns home –her tongue cut out, her best friend dead. No one knows what has happened and Judith cannot speak of it.”

Depressing this is not. All the Truth That’s In Me, is full of hope, as the Judith tells her story, her inner monologue, as if she were sharing all her thoughts, fears and experiences to the boy who she has always loved; Lucus. Julie’s writing is strong and confident, penning Judith’s strength of character and wit. Set sometime in Amercia’s infancy within a highly Purist community of settlers, Judith is ostracised by her community and shunned by her own mother. Treated as, sinner, victim, and prey, Judith’s must use her wit to survive.

When her beloved Lucas is betrothed to the village Belle, and then goes to war to save the village from invaders, Judith must face her fears and sacrifice herself, to give her love and the town it’s best chances, enlisting the help of Lucas’s father, her captor, to lead the battle.

Judith tells the tale like a sonnet to Lucas, her fears, memories of her captivity and aspirations to win her love and regain her life with passion and honesty. Despite seeing and experiencing horrors and the continued cold-shoulder and suspicion of her community she is a strong and formidable character, enduring harassment from the schoolmaster as she learns to read, and the painful process of re-finding her voice, which when both her life and her beloved Lucas are in the balance may have the power to save them.

I thought long and hard to think of any book for which I could compare All the Truth That’s in Me to, and it’s tricky, the writing, the originality of the story and the amazing twist at the end, (which completely took me by surprise which is not an easy task) however, I think the closest is Celia Rees’s Witch Child, as the voice of the female characters are both wilful and the setting are similar too, especially the purist community so quick to point fingers and succumb to gossip. However All the Truth That’s in Me has a thriller who-done it undertone which is more akin to films, The Village and The Woman in White coming to mind.

Julie Berry has done the bunch proud, with All The Truth That’s In Me, it is a stunning and amazing read, with a strong wilful female protagonist, that transcends genre and is truly a stand-alone masterpiece.