Tag: book-review

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Glitter Boy by Ian Eagleton

This is a screenshot taken from Ian’s Bluesky feed- you should go and give him a follow if you don’t already

Ian Eagleton, like most children’s authors I’ve spoken to via social media, is actually one of the loveliest people. I remember watching on Twitter, back in the day, when Mariah Carey – yes, ACTUALLY Mariah Carey – praised his book. It was one of – if not the most – magical thing I ever saw unfold on the platform.

Naturally, being a trendsetter, I’d already read Glitter Boy by that point, and I absolutely agreed.

Glitter Boy is a story about grief, and figuring out who you are, and acceptance, and hope. It follows James, who loves dancing to Mariah Carey with his Nan, but who is being bullied at school for being gay, even though that’s not a label he’s attached to himself. While James is very much the main character, the main character arc of the story – to me at least – felt like James’s dad’s. Initially, he spends a good chunk of the book trying to get James to conform, in an effort to make his life easier, but towards the end, he accepts that it’s everyone else who needs to change, and becomes a good advocate for James.

I really love the complex and loving family that Eagleton has written in this book – I love that James’s dad is the primary carer, and that he needs to work through his own ideas of what masculinity means in order to better be there for his son. I love that some questionable actions are coming from a place of good intentions; parents are fallible and in having James’s dad own his mistakes, it almost gives any parents reading permission to do so. And it lets young readers see that change is possible, that grown-ups can be wrong too – and that we can right ourselves. The reasons James’s dad gives for his actions might also help children to understand some of the – admittedly questionable – choices adults make.

I think I said this before, when speaking about Jamie by LD Lapinski, but I’m never really sure how much of myself to put into these reviews. Books are art, and good art elicits emotion, after all. So, I think mentioning my own relationship with my Nan adds something here. My Nan – my best friend – died when I was in my early 20s; I was in the final throes of my dissertation and working an almost-full time job to get by. I didn’t really have time to grieve. My grief came in little waves at inconvenient moments through the later years. Reading this book and getting to grieve along with James was cathartic, even after all this time. So if there has been a death in your family, this might be the ideal book to offer to any child currently grieving.

What are your favourite books with fallible adult characters? Have you read Glitter Boy yet, or did you see Mariah’s post? As ever, I would love to hear from you.

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I’ve set up a ‘bookshop‘ of sorts, over on Bookshop.org, so that I can point you to somewhere to buy that isn’t Amazon. I get a small commission for any sales made there. This helps to support me running this blog. If you’d like to get your copy of Glitter Boy this way, please just click here. If you’d like to support me without buying a book, you can do so here. Thank you.

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Jamie by LD Lapinski

Jamie by LD Lapinski is an absolute beauty of a book. When Wonderland Books asked ‘Which children’s book have you recently read do you wish had existed when you were a child?’ this was the story which sprung to mind.

Jamie follows the eponymous, non-binary character as they transition up to secondary. With a town that only has an all girls- or all boys-school, Jamie needs to make a decision as to which they’ll attend. Sick of being forced into an arbitrary binary, Jamie and their friends decide to make a stand…

I’m never quite sure as to how much of myself to put into these reviews – it’s often difficult to strike a balance, given that books are art, and art solicits emotional responses. In this case though, I think it probably adds something to say that as someone who never really conformed to gender stereotypes, this book spoke to a part of me that as a child, would have found great comfort and solidarity in the character of Jamie. Am I non-binary? I don’t think so; agender, probably, but labels never seem to fit me with ease. Still, seeing someone defy the forced and artificial segregation of children would have soothed some part of my soul in early adolescence. I would have felt less broken growing up, and less at odds with the world.

There’s the old adage that we cannot be what we cannot see, and so books like this one are absolutely essential for young people. With such a small percentage of the population being trans, non-binary, and agender, it’s likely that a lot of young people will grow up without personally knowing anyone impacted by the themes in this book. For those who are gender non-conforming, readers can find a friend of sorts in Jamie. For those who aren’t, Jamie is a wonderfully sympathetic figure to root for, and can hopefully show that those outside the binary aren’t any kind of threat, despite the loud rhetoric in this increasingly transphobic world.

The clear importance of the book aside, Jamie is just a crackingly good story. It’s told with the humour that makes Lapinski’s books so deeply enjoyable, as well as the heart which makes them stay with you. The families seem real and… well, familiar, rather than the polished and sanitised versions that are so common in children’s literature. Parents are imperfect and relatable for adult readers, though are always clearly loving and doing their best.

Usually, when we finish a book, we pass it along to school so that a) we don’t drown in the number of books that pass through this house, and b) school’s library stays current. In this case, neither I nor the children could part with our copy of Jamie. So I bought school their own one. I can’t recommend this book enough.

Which begs the question: Which books do you wish existed when you were a child? Which books came into your life at just the right moment? I’d love to have a read.

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I’ve set up a ‘bookshop’ of sorts, over on Bookshop.org, so that I can point you to somewhere to buy that isn’t Amazon. I get a small commission for any sales made there. This helps to support me running this blog. If you’d like to get your copy of Jamie this way, please just click here. If you’d like to support me without buying a book, you can do so here. Thank you.

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The Secret Sunshine Project by Benjamin Dean and Sandhya Prabhat

The Secret Sunshine Project by Benjamin Dean and Sandhya Prabhat is one of the amazing novels that my children got in their advent calendar from the superb Wonderland Books.

The story follows Bea, as her happy family of four become a sadder family of three. After the death of her dad, Bea’s family starts to struggle financially and it becomes necessary to move in with Bea’s grandmother – far away from London in the countryside.

The countryside – miles and miles from London Pride, where Bea’s family was last happy. Miles and miles from the one event that Bea and her sister Riley were looking forward to. So Bea decides to take matters into her own hands, and begins The Secret Sunshine Project. If she and Riley can’t go to Pride, she’s going to bring Pride to this village – whether her gran’s arch-nemesis and head of the village council likes it or not!

I really, really loved this book. Though it dealt with incredibly serious subjects – family death, financial instability, systemic racism, as well as trans- and homo-phobia – The Secret Sunshine Project never once felt hopeless. Whilst I loved Norah’s Ark, there were times when I needed to put the book down and take a moment because of the subject matter, but that didn’t once happen here. I read the whole thing in a single, joyful sitting, and came away from it feeling uplifted.

The book doesn’t end perfectly, and any resolution the characters enjoy is a temporary respite in the grand scheme of things, but it felt real, and honest, and hopeful nevertheless.

The ‘dead parent’ trope is one that’s used fairly commonly in children’s fiction – and I should know, I used it myself in my upcoming novel – but it’s sometimes feels like it isn’t properly dealt with. I thought The Secret Sunshine Project did an absolutely wonderful job of this though.

What are your favourite books for Pride month? I would especially love to hear about those by LGBT+ authors – especially trans authors at this time.

Fran ❤

I’ve set up a ‘bookshop‘ of sorts, over on Bookshop.org, so that I can point you to somewhere to buy that isn’t Amazon. I get a small commission for any sales made there. This helps to support me running this blog. If you’d like to get your copy of The Secret Sunshine Project this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.

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The Girl Who Talked to Trees by by Natasha Farrant and Lydia Corry 

This is a gorgeous concept-album of a book. Following the story of Olive, The Girl Who Talked to Trees by by Natasha Farrant and Lydia Corry, is about the life of an oak across the ages, but also about the other trees close by.

When ‘her’ oak is threatened with removal, Olive sends out a wish, hoping to figure out how to save it. In her dreams, the trees begin to tell her tales of their lives across time – a series of self-contained, yet interconnected short stories which cover the mythology and facts about different types of trees. On waking, Olive uses these tales to advocate for her oak, and ultimately save it.

The connection between people and the natural world is beautifully explored in this book, not just in the present day, but also across history. The differences between how people treat some kinds of tree compared to others is also touched upon, as is the way we conceptualise the forest, verses individual trees.

I actually listened to this as an audiobook, so wasn’t aware how beautifully illustrated the physical copy is. Researching for this post, though, led me to some photos of amazing full colour illustrated spreads, and I think I might have to invest in my own copy. It was amazing to listen to this book, but I’d like to be able to enjoy the glorious artwork too.

This is a rare look at the very personal side of felling trees, and the way in which individuals interact and form relationships with single plants. It reminds me of a line from Oak and Ash and Thorn, by Peter Fiennes where he asserts that whilst Britain loves trees, we’re afraid of the woods. That really plays out here, across the series of short stories.

If you’d like more books on nature, the environment, plants, or the climate crisis, there’s a short list here. Hopefully I’ve included something for everyone:

– Terra Electrica (Middle Grade)
– Global (Graphic Novel)
– Feast of Ashes (Young Adult)
– This Book is Not Rubbish (Non-fiction)
– Ruby Nettleship and the Ice Lolly Adventure (Picture Book)
– Plant the Tiny Seed (Picture Book)
– We Travel So Far (Picture Book)
– A Swift Return (Picture Book)

What are your favourite nature books for children? Do you know of any others told in this short-story format? As always, I would love to hear your recommendations! ❤

Fran xx

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I’ve set up a ‘bookshop‘ of sorts, over on Bookshop.org, so that I can point you to somewhere to buy that isn’t Amazon. I get a small commission for any sales made there. This helps to support me running this blog. If you’d like to get your copy of The Girl Who Talked to Trees this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.

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Tyger by SF Said and Dave McKean

Before I start reviewing this book, I’d like to tell you a short story about our local landscape.

In the 1800s, pushed from their homes by the Improvement practices that estates were bringing into force at this time, a group of crofters set up home on the Commonty (or common land) of Bennachie. This so-called ‘squatters settlement’ lasted for around 50 years before three lairds decided that the inhabitants had made this land fertile enough to be useful, at which point, said lairds made to claim it. In celebration of their success, they capped the hill with a carved stone – something that we know to this day as ‘the thieves’ mark’.

A photo I took of the “Thieves Mark”. This is carved into the bedrock on top of Bennachie’s peak, Mither Tap . The “B” stands for Balquhain, the “P” for Pittodrie, and the “LE” for Logie Elphinstone. The stone is dated 1858 although the Court of Session didn’t approve the sectioning of the land until 1859. Bit cocky.

You can read more about their story here.

So why am I telling you this?

Tyger by SF Said follows the story of Adam – a young immigrant boy living in a British Empire London. Adam discovers a mystical tyger, hiding in a rubbish dump and pledges to help said tyger face an encroaching danger which threatens its life. Using his talent for art, and through speaking to people across various echelons of this eerily familiar Empiric Britain, Adam and his friend Zadie aim to avert disaster.

Again – what’s with the story about the commons?

The theft of common land by the powerful is a large theme of Said’s book, and it stuck with me on account of my ties to the Bennachie colony. Not only do I live within drivable distance, I’ve also helped out on digs close to this site, and researched the history of the place for my archaeology degree. A combination of the local past and the empathy I felt for Said’s characters really stirred something deep inside me as I read this, and I found myself with a bubbling anger at what had been done to the Bennachie ‘squatters’. When I tried to express this rage at the theft of common land to friends, I was met with blank stares. So few people now understand that there used to be swathes of countryside set apart for people to use as they needed – whether for grazing livestock, or gathering stone, or in the case of Bennachie, for living on when rents became impossible. The violence of the abolition of common land could be seen in the archaeology of this settlement – crockery lay smashed, just beneath the surface from where residents had been dragged from their homes for refusing to pay rent. To quote from the link above;  it is believed that a sheriff’s officer, policeman, factor, and estate employees would pull down a course of masonry so that the wall [of residents’ houses] would collapse.

This isn’t something that took place within the distant past – these are events from our great-grandparents’ living memory. The theft of the commons is something that shapes our daily lives now. I love how Tyger brings this part of our history into focus, and can open discussions about land ownership, right-to-roam, and trespass. The need for connection between people and the earth matters now more than ever, and without space in which to foster that connection – space which is accessible to all and doesn’t depend on income – is absolutely vital.

And then there’s the elements of the book which tackle the concepts of national identity, the role of the outsider, the desire to conform…. honestly, there are dissertations-worth of things I could say about this book and how important it is that young people read it. Colonialism impacts all aspects of our lives, and it’s crucial that we understand that so we can take steps to counter it.

I’m going to be reviewing a book about the history of the British Empire soon – Story of Now – but as I think it goes hand-in-hand with Tyger, I thought I would mention it here. These books in combination would make for an incredible addition to anyone teaching the Victorians. Before, or while reading it, I highly recommend looking up where your local common land used to be, or just looking up the Cambridge Cows.

Can you think of any other books which deal with common land and the theft of it? Do you know of any other good books for children, about the harms of the British Empire? I would love to hear your thoughts.

— Fran xxx

I’ve set up a ‘bookshop‘ of sorts, over on Bookshop.org, so that I can point you to somewhere to buy that isn’t Amazon. I get a small commission for any sales made there. This helps to support me running this blog. If you’d like to get your copy of Tyger this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.