The Willow Man, by Sue Purkiss

 It's interesting how sometimes, it turns out that a book you've written isn't really about quite what you thought it was. I thought for sure that I knew what The Willow Man (first published by Walker Books in 2006) was about. It was, first and foremost, about children who were stuck: one of the children in the book, Sophie, is quite literally stuck, because a sudden illness has paralysed her on one side. Another, Ash, is stuck because he's dyslexic and can't read. And Sophie's brother, Tom, is stuck because Sophie's illness has turned his family's world upside down, and he doesn't quite know how to cope with it. 

The Willow Man of the title was the great willow figure which used to stand proudly beside the M5 near Bridgwater in Somerset. (It's now, sadly, a shadow of its former self: much of the willow is missing, and it's hemmed in by a huge supermarket warehouse on one side and a housing estate on the other.) Like the children, it was stuck: Within him, woven with the living willow into his great frame, power lay coiled. But the power was captive. Strong as he was, he couldn't move. 

So I thought - I knew - that it was a cry for help for children who were stuck, in whatever way that might be.

But I realised as I was writing it that it was also about the way that children often aren't listened to, and indeed I dedicated it to my own children, but also to 'children anywhere who feel that no-one is listening'.

And now, writing about it here because I've just republished it, I realise that it's also about something that's subtly different. Before I explain, I should perhaps say that this is far and away the most personal book I've ever written. It draws on my own experiences in the years just before writing it. But I've only just realised that it also draws on an experience from many years before that.

When I was about eight, I realised I couldn't see properly. I suppose it must in fact have come on gradually, but the way I remember it is that I could see properly - and then I couldn't. I couldn't see what was written on the board at school, and had to enlist the help of the person next to me. I remember being on holiday, and we went to see an end-of-pier show, and I couldn't see what was happening on the stage. And I do remember being very upset by that, almost to the point of tears.

But I didn't tell anybody. I didn't tell my parents that I couldn't see the show, and I didn't tell the teacher that I couldn't see the board. This went on for at least a year. Nobody noticed, and I didn't tell anyone, even though I was getting more and more upset about it. It wasn't that I was worried about wearing glasses - I quite liked the idea. I wasn't afraid that it was anything really serious. I simply didn't know how to tell an adult what was wrong.

In the end, I broke free when my sister mentioned at tea that in her class they'd had sight tests, and one of her friends turned out to need glasses. At last! "I think I need glasses too," I squeaked. Oh, the relief of getting it out in the open! (And, once I had glasses, of being able to see again.)

And that's the thing that I hadn't realised The Willow Man was about. It's not just about adults not listening: it's also about children not being able to put into words what's wrong - because sometimes, particularly when the problem is a big one, they just don't know how to do it.

Perhaps this all sounds rather heavy. It's certainly not a lovely, frothy, magical fantasy - though there is magic in it, quite definitely.

The Willow Man as it used to be.

But in the years after it first came out, I used to go into schools to talk about it. When you read something to an audience, you can soon tell if you've 'got' them. And when I read extracts from The Willow Man, that happened. Every time. Particularly with classes where there was very clearly a student who was having similsr problems to Ash. With the questions they asked, with the expressions on their faces, you could see that they were thinking, He's like me. He's just like me!

It wasn't the kind of book that easily becomes a bestseller, and it came out before Twitter and social media generally might have helped spread the word. So it didn't become a bestseller, and, eventually, it went out of print. 

But I think there are still children out there who might see themselves in this book. And so, just on the off-chance that it might find them, I've brought out a new edition. It's available from Amazon, and it would be just lovely if a few people would buy it. Go on - let's set the Willow Man free once more!