Old Friends Sheena Wilkinson

At a dinner party last week, a family friend said she was getting rid of an old bookcase. ‘And I’m just getting rid of the books too; after all, I’ve already read them.’  When I had recovered from spitting out my wine, I admitted that I have seventeen bookcases in my house (which is perhaps half the size of hers), full of books I have mostly read.

‘But why do you keep them?’ she asked.

‘I just – have to.’

There are two kinds of people: re-readers and non-re-readers. I became a re-reader out of necessity: as a child the local library couldn’t keep up with me, and besides, re-reading was fun. Reading a new book is like going to a party with strangers – it might be wonderful; you might meet exciting new friends; but it might equally be a disaster as you turn the pages sadly, finding nothing to tempt you and wishing you had stayed at home. Re-reading is like curling up by the fire for a gossip with old friends.

I have certain books which I reread every few years. I don’t know when the need will descend or what will spark it off. Sometimes a new book by a favourite author will inspire me with the desire to catch up on her backlist. Sometimes real life will throw something at me that can only be dealt with with the help of fictional old retainers – Antonia Forest’s Marlows got me through being laid up after an accident ten years ago; the months surrounding my father’s death were partly assuaged by daily escapes to the Chalet School.

But you know what happens! But there are so many new books! non-re-readers proclaim.

Yes, I know. I read lots of new books too. Maybe a hundred a year. And have a ‘to-read’ pile in double figures piling up in one of the seventeen bookcases.

But last week, I don’t know why, possibly because things weren’t going well in my WIP, I found that the only thing I wanted out of the thousands of possibilities in my bookshelves, was the Gemma series by Noel Streatfeild. Nothing else would do. Not her best books, and certainly not a model of good editing (Christmas happens twice in Gemma And Sisters within a couple of months.) I know every line of every gorgeous Betty Maxie illustration; I know not only what event is coming next but often every syllable of dialogue, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoyed every word. Again.

                                 

Lazy? Maybe. But sometimes you just want what you want. One day in 2012 I was walking down the Cromwell Road in London when I thought, This is where the Fossils live. And suddenly I needed to read Ballet Shoes. That moment. (Or at least when I got on the tube.) Because I had my kindle with me, I was able to gratify that. Maybe such instant gratification isn’t good for the character, and I probably stopped reading some worthy tome in order to wonder (again) which of the Fossils I would rather be (Pauline, though I know I’m meant to want to be Petrova); but I didn’t care. I was enjoying Ballet Shoes too much.  

Of course it’s comfort reading, and thank God for it. Christmas is coming, and I expect Santa will bring some new books. Possible new friends. But it’s OK if he doesn’t, because I’m going to be curled up by the fire with the Cazalets (again).

The Market or Institutions or Both? Which Route Produces the Best Kids' Books Part 1 by Emma Barnes

With the recent election for Labour Party leader, there's been a lot of debate on whether goods and services like electricity, train travel, health etc should be provided via government institutions or privately through the market, or a mixture of both. So far as I know, none of the candidates put forward a view with regard to children's books (correct me if I'm wrong!) So I thought I'd do a bit of ruminating on the subject myself. It may be a rather dry-sounding issue for a books blog – but important all the same.

It's a Market, Innit?

In some ways, children's books are a classic free market good. Books are commissioned and produced by publishers, who are typically private companies aiming to produce a profit, and are then sold in bookshops or online (again, privately owned companies hoping to make a profit) to consumers (parents children and teenagers themselves). The writer is usually a self-employed individual, receiving sale-dependent royalties. So far, so free market. (And here many authors reading this will be giving hollow laughs, thinking they know all this already: how many writers have heard that though an editor “loves” their story, they can't see “a market” for it or they don't think they could “market” it successfully? In fact, there's a lot of writers out there who regularly bemoan the commercial nature of modern publishing.)

Or is it?

But in fact, there is a lot of non-market involvement too. For one thing, schools and libraries buy large numbers of children's books, and provide them to children without charge. They fund this with public money (taxation) and have traditionally different criteria for choosing books from the individual consumers who go into bookshops. Librarians and teachers shape wider consumer taste too - for example, by reviewing books, or by running awards (one of the most prestigious children's books awards, the Carnegie, is chosen by librarians) or by inviting authors into schools to discuss their books. Some writers receive funding through the government-funded Arts Council, or rely on income from school visits and library events, or from teaching creative writing in universities or elsewhere. Then there is the role of the National Curriculum in determining which educational books are published, or book festivals in promoting books and authors. There is big institutional framework, which is not driven by profit.

Does all this matter? A book is a book – if it ends up in a child's hands via a 3 for 2 table in a big chain bookstore, or via a library shelf after being on an awards shortlist, the response of the child is what matters, surely?

It might not be so simple.  Looking back on my own favourite childhood reads, I'd argue that the two routes can produce rather different books. Here are a few examples, all of them books I loved and cherished, but which I came across in different ways..

Emma's Bookshelf - the Market-Led books

Enid Blyton was wildly popular with kids but was widely shunned by the books “establishment” - she didn't get prizes, was often excluded from schools and libraries for her allegedly dubious values, both cultural and literary, and her work was famously banned by the BBC.  But her books sold (and still sell) in bucket loads – a definite case of the customer winning out.

My favourites included the Secrets series, the Famous five, the Magic Faraway Tree...I could go on.

The “Jill” Books by Ruby Ferguson – this girls' pony series never won any prizes, but like many readers I loved its wit and verve.

The Chalet School Books – girls' school stories were another genre often regarded with pure snobbery by the establishment – no prizes or reviews - yet this series not only established a huge fan base (and still has a strong adult following) but surely deserves credit for its unusually cosmopolitan setting and cross-national cast of characters.

Roald Dahl – it's strange to remember that Dahl was actually viewed with suspicion at first by many in the UK book world. Eventually – after his enormous popularity in the US could no longer be ignored – he was published in the UK, and of course became equally successful.

How did I acquire these books? I never saw any of them in my local library or at my school (except for, perhaps, Dahl). Instead I was either bought them as presents or I actually bought them for myself - not new (I didn't have the funds) but second hand from the shelves of DL's Book Exchange, where the small children's section was squeezed in between the shelves of adult paperbacks.

Non-Market Led

Some of my favourite books, though, were less mainstream. I was an avid reader of historical fiction – a lot of which, I suspect, depended on libraries for sales and shelf-space. The covers were often rather worthy and “educational” in appearance – not designed to immediately entice a child. Such books would sit on the library shelf until some child like me stumbled upon it, decided to give it a go - and then took it to their hearts.

My battered copy

A classic example is One is One.  A real slow burner, with much dense description, set in the medieval period, it relates the story of Stephen, a bullied boy whose artistic gift  ultimately leads him to choose life in a monastery over the adventure of being a knight. Doesn't exactly sound like a crowd pleaser? But it's a wonderful book and actually still in print today. (It's harder to imagine it being taken on and published today, I have to admit).

Needless to say, I never found any of these books at DL's book exchange.

Both Market and Institutions

What's interesting to me is that some favourite authors fall between camps. Or rather they depended on both routes for success.  

Diana Wynne Jones, although probably one of the most influential children's fantasy authors of the twentieth century, was never a household name. I actually bought Charmed Life myself, new, at a Puffin book sale at my school. (It was very rare that I bought a new book for myself.) So – that was my choice was as a consumer. However, it was a choice from a range of books that would have been considered suitable to offer in a school in those days – the solid titles, rather than the glitzy. (And Charmed Life had won an award, which might have led to its inclusion.) My other favourite, The Ogre Downstairs, was acquired through school too.  Like Forest, I'd suggest Jones reached her ardent fans by negotiating a rather tricky route between commercial and institutional approval.

Antonia Forest never won a huge audience, but she did get favourable reviews and Carnegie nominations early in her career. Later on, though, when many librarians shunned her for being “elitist” it is probably the fact that her school stories were so squarely “genre”, and so were released by Puffin, which ensured she continued to find enthusiastic fans.

Kaye Webb biography

Kaye Webb's biography is a fascinating insight into some of these interactions, and how children's publishing worked, during the time when I was a child reader. Webb was the chief at Puffin – the immensely influential paperback children's imprint which brought many authors into the mass market. Webb had enormous freedom to follow her tastes – but, as her biographer points out, the massive expansion in demand from libraries and schools was equally important in trends, creating new demands - for example, for books about children from less privileged backrounds, something publishers like Webb then responded to. This was an “institutional” objective – more diverse characters – but there were also more purely “market” pressures: Webb was not herself a particular fan of Roald Dahl, but his enormous appeal to children (demonstrated through hardback sales) meant she did publish him, and his titles became some of Puffin's most successful ever.

the first Mantlemass book

One of my own childhood favourites, the Mantlemass series – was published by Webb after she had surveyed libraries about their most popular titles. I remember myself originally discovered the Mantlemass series in hardback in my public library (I can still visualize the covers) – then acquiring my own puffin copies, to read again and again.

My childhood reading would have suffered if I'd been only reliant on one category of books – the purely commercial or the institutionally approved. Both were needed. (And both, it has to be said, delivered their clangers too. The pulpier titles of DL's Book Exchange did not always deliver on their promise. Some of the “worthy” school and library reads were pretty turgid too.)  When I look  at children's books, a mixture of organisations, of market and non-profit-driven institutions, seems to have been what worked.

I thought I'd try and organise these thoughts a little.  Here, it seems to me, are some of the pros and cons of both categories.

Good Things About the Market

• Not snobbish – if a child likes it, and parents are prepared to buy it, they will publish it.

• Interested in all age groups and tastes – all “markets” in fact.

• Respects “genre” books – school stories, humour, ponies, mysteries etc

• Want books to be attractive and so compete with other entertainment/consumer goods.

Bad Things About Market

• Publicity potential, celebrity tie-ins, “hooks”, “high concept”, current fashions, may all end up more important than inherent quality.

• “Quieter” books, experimental books, unusual protagonists, niche interests etc may all get overlooked.

• Responds to purchasing power – which means some groups of readers will be neglected.

Good Things About Non-Market Institutions

• Don't just have to think about profit

• May be more likely to reward innovation, experiment or pure literary quality

• Can allow children to discover more "educational” or worthy themes, or pursue minority interests by providing slow-burn, non-glitzy books

• May help to include groups with low purchasing power

Bad Things About Non-Market Institutions

• May be overly “worthy” or snobbish – eg about genre books, overtly “commerical” titles – or inversely snobbish (eg the 1970s backlash against “elitist” titles)

• Has its own fads and fashions

• Adult-led – danger of losing touch with child readers

• May have objectives which may come before pure quality or enjoyment. 

This has turned into a monster post - for which, apologies! Meantime, I'd like to hear your thoughts. How are books being provided - how should they be provided?  How did you get hold of your favourite books, then and now?  And how does this all impact on the children's book market today (a question I'll return to next time...)

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Emma's Wild Thing series for 8+ about the naughtiest little sister ever. (Cover - Jamie Littler)
"Hilarious and heart-warming" The Scotsman

 Wolfie is a story of wolves, magic and snowy woods...
(Cover: Emma Chichester Clark)
"Funny, clever and satisfying..." Books for Keeps

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Emma on Twitter - @EmmaBarnesWrite

Who Would You Be? by Keren David

It’s unusual to be completely thrown by a question from the audience, but a teenager in the audience at my most recent event managed to do just that.

The event was the Hay Festival, my fellow panellists were Sally Nicholls and Anne Cassidy and the question was this: ‘If you could be any other writer, who would you be?’

‘Homer,’ said Sally, for his wonderful stories and use of language.  ‘J K Rowling,’ said Anne, ‘just think of the money.’

I mumbled something about Shakespeare, but it wasn’t really true, and over the last few weeks I’ve been wondering which writer I should have picked. Anne Tyler, whose novel ‘The Accidental Tourist’ is written so beautifully that I have line-envy on every page? Antonia Forest, because then I’d know more about the Marlows, possibly my favourite family in children’s fiction? Hilary McKay for creating the Casson family, who run the Marlows a close second? Lauren Child, because I’d love to have her visual imagination? Jodie Picoult or Joanna Trollope, because I feel I could do what they do, but then I wouldn’t have to do it and I’d have all their royalties.

No. The answer, I realised was simple. I write because I like to create my own stories. I don’t want to write other people’s books or plays, even if they are more lucrative than mine, win more awards, are better written. I don’t want to be another writer, is what I should have said. I just want to work on being an even better version of me.

How about you? Is there an author you’d like to be?