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.

How to Be Disabled and Proud (or at least kinda sorta okay with it) – Cathy Reay

How to be Disabled and Proud by Cathy Reay was sent to us by the lovely Sally Oliphant for review and we have thoroughly enjoyed this.

It’s not something I tend to talk about often, but there’s a lot of neurodivergent people in my family – I’ve been diagnosed with autism and dyspraxia in recent years, and there are various other family members with their own things going on (though these aren’t my stories to tell).

That being the case, there were lots of excited, willing readers for this.

Let’s start with the intended demographic;

“I only read the part about puberty. It was really good. It was very inclusive and I liked the illustrations, they were eye catching and big, and had speech marks and stuff. And they finished the paragraph’s using a speech bubble.” – Youngest kiddo (10)

“It represented lots of different types of disabilities and it talked about intersectionality too, which was good. There were different sections for different types of disabilities like invisible and visible ones. It uses the author’s personal experience as well so it’s really authentic. I think it’s all explained in a really succinct way. I thought the illustrations were really cute and they’re so bright and lively that you can imagine them in colour, even though they’re black and white. They carried through the representation that was present in the text.” – Eldest kiddo (13)

For me, I wish I’d had this book growing up – which is something of a complicated statement, because I didn’t know about my own neurodivergence until much later. I think, though, that even if I’d found this book without knowing about my own disability, I’d have got so much from it. I knew I was different, even if I didn’t have words for why that was. I knew that I couldn’t do some of the things that the other children could, and the tone is such that even without possessing the vocabulary to describe my brain that I have now, I would have felt seen and valued.

For those interested, here’s the blurb:

A warm, funny and empowering guide to what you can expect growing up disabled, written by disabled journalist and mum Cathy Reay.

Have you ever felt like you don’t fit in anywhere?

Or like no-one understands what it feels like to be you?

Maybe you feel like you’re the only person in the world who looks, moves or thinks like you do.

Well, I’m here to tell you that you are not alone, and you belong in the world exactly as you are.

In this honest, funny, empowering guide, Cathy Reay draws on her own experiences of growing up disabled to encourage young readers to embrace (or at least, feel kinda sorta OK with) their disabled identity.

This book will guide disabled readers through navigating the move from primary to secondary school, voicing their accessibility needs, finding disabled community and gaining the confidence to stand up for their rights, and for others too. Cathy examines the challenges faced by disabled children, touching gently on issues such as bullying and discrimination, and what to do when people just don’t get it, with comforting and practical advice to help readers through tough times.

How To Be Disabled and Proud empowers disabled readers to value and appreciate themselves for who they are, exactly as they are, and acts as a powerful call to action for both disabled and non-disabled children to advocate for a more accessible, more understanding world.

Featuring interviews from a wide range of disabled changemakers and friends, including Ellie Simmonds, Jameisha Prescod, Nina Tame, Dr Shani Dhanda, Ellie Middleton, Elle McNicoll, Simon Wheatcroft and even a couple of disabled kids.

This is the essential guide to growing up disabled, perfect for children aged 9+ to read together with their families.

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 How to be Disabled and Proud this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.

The Nightmares of Finnegan Quick by Larry Hayes

The Nightmares of Finnegan Quick by Larry Hayes is a scary novel pitched at 11-13 year olds. We were lucky enough to get a review copy from the lovely Sally Oliphant, just before Christmas.

Both children – 10 year old and 13 year old – had a go at reading this, though (the admittedly very sensitive) 10 year old didn’t continue past the early pages. Youngest has a policy on not consuming media if the dog dies so…. that might be worth knowing if you have a similar stance.

The story follows the eponymous Finnegan Quick, whose nightmares have an impact on the real world come morning. We went into reading this book expecting something akin to Goosebumps or Gremlins – given the excellent neon-nineties vibes of the cover – but the story itself was something darker, and there are some genuinely scary moments.

Eldest kiddo really enjoyed this book, and I think it’s the perfect sort of novel for those between years, when young adult books can be slightly too old, and middle-grade can feel slightly too young. Horror isn’t a genre that Eldest would usually read, but the more grown-up themes explored here within the context of a middle-grade novel worked perfectly. We’ll definitely be looking out for more books like this in future.

What are your favourite spooky books for children? Are there any you’d recommend we explore beyond the old-school obvious?

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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 Nightmares of Finnegan Quick this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.

Top 5 Books of 2024

With the year about to tick over into 2025, I thought I would take a moment to list my favourite five books of 2024 – in no particular order…

The Legendary Mo Seto by AY Chan was an absolute blast to read – I loved it, and so did all of my family.

Abraxus Elijah Honey by Ella Ruby Self is probably my number one book of 2024. I haven’t actually got around to writing up a full review of it on here, but if you’re interested in my thoughts, check out my Storygraph

Rory and the Snack Dragons by Louisa MacDougall was a book my family had been waiting for since The Kelpies Prize 2022 when it was shortlisted. It absolutely didn’t disappoint, and despite both being older than the target demographic, both children absolutely loved this fantastically quirky, fun read.

Skyfleet by Victoria Williamson was a super fun story which took me back to my favourite childhood cartoons in the best possible way.

Chris Mould’s War of the Worlds Graphic Novel obviously had to feature. Again, I didn’t get a chance to write a dedicated review here yet, but what an absolute treat of a book. You can check out my thoughts on my Storygraph page.

Books that I really enjoyed that weren’t necessarily released in 2024, but that I read this year include:

Mexikid: A Graphic Memoir by Pedro Martín
The Secret Sunshine Project by Benjamin Dean
Pumpkin Heads A Graphic Novel by Rainbow Rowell
You Know, Sex: Bodies, Gender, Puberty, and Other Things by Fiona SmythCory Silverberg
Story of Now: Let’s Talk about the British Empire by Shelina Janmohamed

What are some of your favourite books from the last 12 months? What should I add to my (admittedly already vast) TBR pile for 2025?

Before signing off for 2024, I’d like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has sent me a book to review, or shared a link, or liked one of my posts. I really, really appreciate it.

2025 kicks off with some really exciting news for me, and I can’t wait to share it with you all.

I hope that whatever you’re doing this New Year, that it goes as well as it can for you.

See you on the other side.

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 books mentioned above this way, please just click here. Thank you for your support.

Earth Hagiography by Sfarda L. Gül – LBT blog tour

Today, I’m reviewing Earth Hagiography, an adult poetry book by Sfarda L. Gül.

This is a first for me, and I’d love to know if you’re interested in me doing more.

But first, let’s get into this.

For those who don’t spend their lives reading about medieval saints for fun, a hagiography is – according to the Cambridge dictionary –

I love this as a title for a book of poems about the earth – it’s probably the main reason why I decided to review this book, rather than sticking to only children’s literature. Not only does it encapsulate this sense of a holy ‘Mother Earth’ , but it also speaks to the idea that we’re celebrating something that has passed – a warning, in this day and age, that the climate crisis can (and will) end us unless we act.

There’s very little in the way of introduction to this book, which I found to be something of a double-edged sword. I love poetry, but one of my favourite things about reading it is looking at the author’s intentions and the way that they were executed. I like Hollie McNish for this reason – her accompanying essays enrich the poetry so much – and I’ll forever be a fan of a good anthology, like Ella Risbridger’s Set Me on Fire. That said, it sort of works here – the intentions of the earth are unknowable, and we can only make meaning in the natural world for ourselves.

The poetry is enigmatic, and as a fan of writing that uses incredibly specific, unusual words that feel good to say aloud, I really loved the vocabulary of this book. And yes, I realise that sounds pretentious, but I was a linguist in a former life. I love the way we pronounce words in contrast to their spellings, and their etymologies, and the way that English has incredibly niche ways to describe such odd things. Words like ‘enubilous’ (used in Dew) just feel so good to say.

Time (Nonlinear) was a favourite – the branching penultimate and final verses reading like the splitting of tree roots. I also loved Taxidermy, which felt both grim and humorous and hopeful. I also found When I opened my Eyes and Natureless Sphericity to be particularly hard-hitting. And then there’s the layout of Solastalgia and Artificial Life both of which I could have spent a long time unpicking – and might, later.

Overall, the themes are somewhat bleak, but that’s probably because… *gesticulates wildly* You know. I do like that the final inclusion is a poem of hope though, or rather, a plea for something to hope for.

If you’re a fan of poetry and words, this is definitely a book you should consider.
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So, what do we think? Should I review more adult books? More poetry books?

I would love to hear your thoughts.