A couple of weeks ago I was reading an article in a professional journal written by someone I know in the world of publishing.  It was generally very interesting but one thing jumped out at me: the name of Helen Dore Boylston.  I already knew that the writer of the article and I have similar tastes in children’s books (We once sat together at a conference dinner bemusing our fellow diners with our in-depth discussion of the Chalet School, Anne of Green Gables and Cherry Ames.) but I didn’t know that we were both collectors of the Sue Barton series.

Spookily, I had just finished re-reading Sue Barton and was about to move on to Helen Dore Boylston’s other series about Carol Page, an aspiring actress.  The article hadn’t mentioned those books so I emailed my friend to ask if she knew them.  On finding that she didn’t, I decided to take the first one, published in the UK as Carol Goes on the Stage, to the award ceremony of the Carnegie and Kate Greenaway Medals where I knew we’d meet.  I did and Alyx is now off on a quest to find copies of the books for herself.  I might even be inspired to find better copies for myself.  I’d really like to get hold of the original American editions.

Talking about the books has caused me to think about them again.  They were originally published in the US between 1936 and 1952.  I had read all of the Sue Barton titles by the time I was twelve in 1980.  At that time they had been re-issued in paperback by Knight (I think!) and they were easily available to borrow from the library in Lossiemouth or to buy.  It never occurred to me that the books were 40 years old at that point.  And that must be one of the reasons they remained in print and popular for so long: they don’t date.  There are some references that give their age away (on old man who had seen Florence Nightingale, Sue meeting Lillian Wald, founder of the Henry Street Settlement) but a child would have to be paying a lot of attention to pick these up.  The only one of the Carol series I read as a child was Carol Comes to Broadway, the third title.  I found it confusing because I’d missed so much of the history but I loved it.  I was always aware, however, that the setting wasn’t modern as there are fleeting references to the Second World War.  Like Sue Barton, though, Carol Page appeared to me a fairly modern heroine.

Even re-reading the books as an adult, I still don’t find them very dated.  I know a little bit more about medicine now so I realise that things have moved on; and the manners and etiquette in the books are more formal than they are in my experience (unfortunately) but, that apart, they could certainly have been written in my lifetime.  Except, maybe, for one thing: the romance.

Reading the books as a child, Sue’s relationship with Bill seemed quite believable (although I wonder what I really made of the life of a group of adults as a ten-year-old…) and, as a teenager, I was prepared to accept Carol and Mike’s.  Of course, reading either series as an adult, these relationships clearly date the books.  As far as I can remember, Carol and Mike don’t so much as kiss even though they’re engaged by the end of the series!  I think Sue and Bill might have been slightly more daring.

However, I think that in spite of this, Helen Dore Boylston does something that few other authors of the period managed: she creates believable male characters.  Compare Bill Barry with the male doctors Elinor Brent-Dyer introduces for her heroines to marry.  If you have ever read the Chalet School books as an adult you’ll know that Jem Russell, Jack Maynard, Gottfried Mensch and even the non-doctor Dick Bettany are simply stereotypical collections of fine upstanding characteristics.  Bill is, of course, a brilliant surgeon, handsome, funny and trustworthy.  But he’s also short-tempered, a bit chauvinistic and can be hurt, vulnerable and depressed.  In terms of publishing, Jo Bettany and Jack Maynard get married in the same year (1940) as Sue and Bill finally do the same.

I was going to say: and I know which hero I’d choose.  But, actually, I’d go for Mike.  Michael Horodinsky is tall, dark but certainly not handsome; he’s rude, insecure and a bit of a genius in the theatre; he has an inferiority complex the size of New England and a bagful of prejudices mixed with total honesty and trustworthiness.  And it’s not only Carol who is surprised that he wants to marry her.  Helen Dore Boylston creates a genuinely scratchy relationship between the two of them and it’s really only in the course of the third book that they become at all close and, even then, there’s no hint of romance.  But there’s mutual respect and understanding of each other’s character and background.  Mike matures and develops as a person as well as a producer throughout the series and I’m with Carol’s mother who tells her that she is a very lucky girl to have Mike fall in love with her!

I wish that Helen Dore Boylston had written more books and I especially wish that she’d taken Carol’s life further.  And it seems that I’m not their only fan.  Trawling the Internet recently, I discovered that a small American publisher (Image Cascade Publishing) has put out new editions of the Sue Barton series.  Maybe Carol and Mike will be introduced to new readers sometime soon.

My next set of reviews will be in The Scotsman on Saturday 27. June 2009.  I hope you find them interesting!

I’ve been waiting years to read this book, having loved the first two parts of the series, Airborn and Skybreaker.  Starclimber tells the story of the first space exploration – but you have to bear in mind that these books are set in an alternative past.  Having said that, this third part is much more firmly grounded in time and place.  There are references to Mrs Pankhurst and the Suffragettes, the King and Canada.  The series always felt like it was set in the Edwardian period so I’m glad to be confirmed in that.

I raced through Starclimber and thought that it was both better and worse than its predecessors.  I think the plot is more satisfactory; it’s tighter and has fewer moments of high drama.  In the earlier books, there was sometimes a slightly imbalanced feel to the plot.  This one develops well and believably in context.  But I think that the changing relationship between Matt and Kate isn’t handled as well.  It ebbs and flows and at times it disappears altogether.

But that’s a minor gripe.  I thoroughly enjoyed  Starclimber and it was well worth waiting for.  I hope that there will be further books in the series -   Kenneth Oppel is rapidly becoming my second favourite Canadian author.

A couple of days ago, I picked up my proof copy of Lifegame by Alison Allen-Gray meaning to flick through it.  I started at the first page, however, and was immediately hooked.  I read it off and on all day – tea breaks, lunch hour and for a few minutes while the internet was down – and then took it home where I read it to the end.  You’ll have gathered that I enjoyed it.  I don’t know why I’m so surprised as I read Alison’s first book, Unique, with the same intensity.

 

Lifegame tells the story of two teenage friends, Fella and Grebe (I could wish that they had different names), who live in the Island State at some indeterminate time in the future.  For different reasons they both need to leave the island.  However, they believe that there is nowhere else to live after a bio-chemical attack left the rest of the world poisoned.  The novel takes them on a quest for the truth – some of which turns out to be horrific.

 

This isn’t a perfect novel.  If I were judging it for the Carnegie Medal, I’d point out that there are loose ends, glitches in the plot and extraneous details.  I’m not, though, so I’d recommend it whole-heartedly to young teenage readers.  It’s pacy, engaging and compelling and published in May.

Elizabeth Laird often writes about subjects in which I am not at all interested.  But that never discourages me from reading her books.  They are always meticulously researched, beautifully written, fascinating stories.

 

My personal favourite is probably still The Garbage King.  It’s one of many books by Elizabeth to have been nominated for the Carnegie Medal, having been shortlisted a few years ago.  Set in Ethiopia, it tells the story of two boys from very different backgrounds who find themselves living on the streets.  It’s powerful and moving and heart-breaking and life-enhancing – and it stayed with me long after I’d finished reading.  Its major strength is that it doesn’t have an unrealistically happy-ever-after ending.

 

Just about to be published is The Witching Hour.  By rights, I shouldn’t be at all interested in its subject matter, either.  It’s set in seventeenth century lowland Scotland and, as I often tell people, I’m not interested in history until at least the eighteenth century.  However, I found The Witching Hour immediately engrossing.  The blurb on the back cover would lead you to think that it’s about witchcraft but, as far as I can see, it’s really about the Covenanters.  Perhaps it’s about being an individual and true to oneself. 

 

Elizabeth Laird has dug into her own family history to research the book.  Perhaps that’s why the characters are so engaging.  I had intended to read the book over the Easter weekend but ended up reading it in the space of a few hours on Good Friday.  It really was a book I couldn’t put down and I suggest that you find a copy as soon as it’s published.

My spring round-up of children’s books will be published in The Scotsman on Saturday 4. April.

A while back I promised that I’d write more about the newer children’s books I love.  As my bookshelves prove, there are many of them but there are a few in particular that stand out for different reasons. 

 

One of them is Airborn by Kenneth Oppel, a Canadian.  This is a book I had to read whilst judging for the Carnegie Medal and my heart sank when I saw it.  It appeared to be yet another sci-fi/fantasy mixture, two of my least favourite genres.  But one should never, of course, judge a book by its cover and when I finally steeled myself to read it, I was enchanted.  It’s set in an alternative past (it feels Edwardian) on an airship – a very enclosed community – and tells the story of Kate and Matt who are first-class passenger and crew.  It’s a fast-paced adventure but it’s also a character study and has a great supporting cast.  I loved this so much that, when the sequel, Skybreaker, was published, I rushed out to buy a copy.  And now I’m excited because there’s a third book due out in May.

 

I’ve mentioned Linda Newbery elsewhere in this blog, I know, but her books are so good that I can’t apologise for that.  I discovered Linda’s books in my early years as a school librarian and loved them immediately.  In my view, Sisterland is an outstanding teenage novel and it was a strong contender for the Carnegie Medal.  Linda has a tremendous ability to create memorable characters and to cause them to interact believably.  In Sisterland she cleverly depicts a variety of relationships, some of them overlapping and all containing an element of tension.  Without it ever becoming an issue-driven novel, it looks at the nature of prejudice and explores the reactions of various characters to it.  I have to say, though, that the first time I read the novel that wasn’t what I thought about.  I simply enjoyed the story.  Whenever I see Linda, I nag her about writing a sequel.  I know she’s never going to but it doesn’t stop me wishing she would!

 

That I would include here something by Eva Ibbotson was never in doubt; the problem was always going to be which her books.  As I’ve said before, I love them all but in the end I chose The Star of Kazan.  It’s a jewel!  With a deft touch she has created memorable characters: Annika, a girl in love with life and Austria; Ellie and Sigrid, servants defined by duty and generosity; the eccentric professors for whom they work; the glacial Edeltraut von Tannenberg.  And Vienna.  The warmth and fondness with which the author always describes Vienna make me feel as though I’ve been there – although I never have.  This is a wonderful evocation full of waltzes, Sauerkraut, the not-so-blue Danube, the Prater, Lipizzaner stallions and affectionate laughter at the city’s idiosyncrasies.  Vienna is integral to the novel.  It is more than a setting in time and place.  It is a main character.  The Star of Kazan is a delight.  Eva Ibbotson’s gentle irony and subtle humour enhance a beautifully crafted and well-managed plot.  There is no extraneous detail; like an expertly conducted symphony, everything comes together in a satisfying Viennese conclusion.  It truly is a masterpiece and I’m still a bit put out that it didn’t win the Carnegie Medal!

 

Hot off the press at Macmillan is this fascinating and engaging first novel.  It tells the story of seventeen-year-old Louisa Cosgrove growing up in Victorian England.  Louisa is disinterested in society, disinclined to marry and dreams of becoming a doctor.  This unconventionality has devastating results as Louisa is committed to a mental asylum.

The novel starts slowly but builds up well and by half-way through I was hooked.  I was fairly sure I’d pieced together the circumstances surrounding Louisa’s incarceration early on and that irritated me.  However, I was fairly completely wrong!

I enjoyed the book and would recommend it to mature teenage readers.  Jane Eagland handles the mental asylum setting and plot well, I think.  But I’m less convinced by the developing relationship between Louisa and Eliza, one of the asylum attendants.  That all seems too facile and disconnected; the novel would have lost little without it.  That said, this is well worth reading.

Ages ago I wrote about Anne of the Island and said that it was one of my desert island books.  I chose the books in question for an article I wrote for the journal Folly.  As I already mentioned, what the books have in common is a strong sense of community and they also form part of my comfort reading.

 

If you’re paying attention it’s quite easy to tell when I’m stressed: I start re-reading certain books.  Most of them are children’s books and many of them are school stories although there are exceptions.  And this month I’ve read lots of them.  Things are hectic at work just now and I’m pretty sad at being back from Norway and away from the sea again.  So, there’s been nothing else for it but to lose myself in my favourite books.

 

Of the children’s authors I collect, my absolute favourite is Dorita Fairlie Bruce.  One of the Big Three (along with Elinor Brent-Dyer and Elsie Oxenham), she wrote fewer and (I think) better books than the others.  I like all of her books but most of all I enjoy her series about Nancy Caird, some of which are set in Scotland and some in England.  The later books in the series are set in Scotland and have a real homecoming feel to them.  It’s the last of them that’s my favourite: Nancy Calls the Tune.  By this time Nancy is grown up and is living in a small town and working as a Church organist.  It’s set during the Second World War and has a strong sense of community and camaraderie.  I’m a small town girl myself and, to a daughter of the manse, the Church setting is extremely familiar and the characters completely believable.

 

On my imaginary desert island I would have to have a Chalet School book but I found it hugely difficult to decide which one.  In the end I chose The School at the Chalet because it’s where it all begins.  It’s the Chalet School I’ve been re-reading recently and that made me realise all over again how much I like them and how difficult a choice it would be if I could really only have one of them.  I think The School at the Chalet has the best descriptions of the setting and it brings Pertisau and its environs back to me whenever I read it.  And, although I’ve fallen in love with Norway’s west coast as brought to me by Hurtigruten, Tirol will always have a very special place in my heart.  There have been many fill-in Chalet School stories written over the years but the first and best of these is Visitors for the Chalet School by Helen McClelland.  It’s a great addition to the series but it’s a good book in its own right too.  It gives a wonderful outsider’s view of the Chalet School and contextualises it historically.  And it has more descriptions of Tirol…

 

I enjoy Elsie Oxenham’s books, too, although not as much as those of the other two.  There was no competition for the one I’d take with me to my desert island (actually, I was going to Westray, one of the Orkney Islands).  It had to be The Secrets of Vairy.  I borrowed it when I was a teenager just beginning to collect EJO and for years afterwards it was the title I aspired to own.  For that reason alone, I wouldn’t be able to leave it behind but I think it’s my favourite anyway.  I was probably about the same age as Patricia, the main character, when I first read it and I could relate quite well to her even though it was set between the wars.  It takes place in Scotland, on the Clyde coast, and I can picture the setting which adds to my enjoyment.

 

These books are my hardcore comfort reads – at least as far as children’s books are concerned.  Another day I’ll tell you about some of the newer children’s books that I return to time and again.  And I’d be interested to know what you read in times of stress…

 

It’s Christmas Day and I am in Tromso in the north of Norway.  Not coincidentally, I have just finished reading The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder.  I’m reading Gaarder’s books on the recommendation of my friend, Kenny, who thinks they’re great.  He’s been encouraging me to read them for ages and I finally caved in this year.

The first title I read (just a couple of days ago) was The Orange Girl.  Whilst I understand the philosophical point being made, I’m not sure that I enjoyed the book for itself.  The Christmas Mystery was another story altogether, though.  It can be read in many many ways but, as a Christian, I read it as a discussion about the true meaning of Christmas.  And I enjoyed it as a story, too.  I couldn’t put it down; I wanted to know what would be revealed behind each door of the Advent calendar.

I’m not sure that I think these are children’s books, although I bought them in a children’s department.  I’m also not sure (sorry, Kenny) that I’d buy any more of Gaarder’s books.  I enjoyed one but not the other and I’m not sure what I think of the style and quality of the writing.  But that’s a problem as, of course, I read them in translation.  My Norwegian has some way to go before I’ll be able to read them in the original.  Maybe until then I’ll borrow the English translations from a friend…