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Thanks for all the recommendations! Most of them have yet to wing their way to me, so I've mostly been reading other things, to whit:
Eating Things on Sticks by Anne Fine. I do so enjoy Anne Fine's children's books, and this one allowed me to pass a very pleasant hour or so. While this one was just a light and amusing children's story (and nothing at all wrong with that; quite the opposite, in fact, since such books seem thin on the ground right now) it's also reminded me that I need to reread her Up on Cloud Nine, which I consider a very excellent book, dealing with weighty emotional issues while still being very funny. I found it far more moving than many earnest Issue books of teen angst. Who says that humorous books can't be deep or important?
Death, destruction and a packet of peanuts by Chris Pascoe. I grabbed this on spec from a display in a library I happened to be in, drawn by the title and the cover. It's a humorous travelogue in the vein of Bill Bryson, about a man who's been obsessed with the English Civil War since childhood, and set out to visit every battlefield, accompanied by a drinking companion determined to visit every pub on every battlefield, and to get roaringly drunk on local ales. I liked his style and his sense of humour, it made me laugh, and I could also relate to it since I, too, was obsessed with the English Civil War as a child. I doubt I'll reread it or remember it much afterwards, but it amused me as I read it.
What I saw and how I lied, by Judy Blundell. A rave review in a library supplier's newsletter made me grab this out of a box of new arrivals. It's a first person narrative about an inexperienced 15 year old girl in post-war America (1947), who develops a crush on an older man, and watches as her elders get caught up in a web of jealousy and hidden secrets. To be honest, it never quite grabbed me the way it should have. I thought it was well-written, with some striking imagery and turns of phrase, and with a good sense of place and period, but big emotional moments left me dry-eyed, and it didn't linger after I'd closed the page. After the rave review, I was a little disappointed.
The graveyard book, by Neil Gaiman. I thought this one was truly excellent. It's about a boy brought up by ghosts in a graveyard, and the various adventures that befall him, and it comes in two editions, each one illustrated by a different illustrator. I ended up with the adult edition, since that happened to be on the shelf in a library I visited, but I mean to seek out the children's edition, since I want to see Chris Riddell's interpretation of the characters. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me gasp aloud in shock and horror. I particularly liked how the first half of the book seemed to consist of episodic, unrelated adventures, but how everything came together at the end. This is one to buy and reread. Absolutely wonderful, in my opinion.
Eating Things on Sticks by Anne Fine. I do so enjoy Anne Fine's children's books, and this one allowed me to pass a very pleasant hour or so. While this one was just a light and amusing children's story (and nothing at all wrong with that; quite the opposite, in fact, since such books seem thin on the ground right now) it's also reminded me that I need to reread her Up on Cloud Nine, which I consider a very excellent book, dealing with weighty emotional issues while still being very funny. I found it far more moving than many earnest Issue books of teen angst. Who says that humorous books can't be deep or important?
Death, destruction and a packet of peanuts by Chris Pascoe. I grabbed this on spec from a display in a library I happened to be in, drawn by the title and the cover. It's a humorous travelogue in the vein of Bill Bryson, about a man who's been obsessed with the English Civil War since childhood, and set out to visit every battlefield, accompanied by a drinking companion determined to visit every pub on every battlefield, and to get roaringly drunk on local ales. I liked his style and his sense of humour, it made me laugh, and I could also relate to it since I, too, was obsessed with the English Civil War as a child. I doubt I'll reread it or remember it much afterwards, but it amused me as I read it.
What I saw and how I lied, by Judy Blundell. A rave review in a library supplier's newsletter made me grab this out of a box of new arrivals. It's a first person narrative about an inexperienced 15 year old girl in post-war America (1947), who develops a crush on an older man, and watches as her elders get caught up in a web of jealousy and hidden secrets. To be honest, it never quite grabbed me the way it should have. I thought it was well-written, with some striking imagery and turns of phrase, and with a good sense of place and period, but big emotional moments left me dry-eyed, and it didn't linger after I'd closed the page. After the rave review, I was a little disappointed.
The graveyard book, by Neil Gaiman. I thought this one was truly excellent. It's about a boy brought up by ghosts in a graveyard, and the various adventures that befall him, and it comes in two editions, each one illustrated by a different illustrator. I ended up with the adult edition, since that happened to be on the shelf in a library I visited, but I mean to seek out the children's edition, since I want to see Chris Riddell's interpretation of the characters. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me gasp aloud in shock and horror. I particularly liked how the first half of the book seemed to consist of episodic, unrelated adventures, but how everything came together at the end. This is one to buy and reread. Absolutely wonderful, in my opinion.
