My bookclub discussed this book, Home fire by Kamila Shamsie a couple of nights ago. Thank you, L, for a great choice! Home fire was published in 2017, long-listed for the Man Booker Prize in 2017 and won the Women’s Prize in 2018.

It’s a remarkable story, told by five different viewpoints. First we have Isma, 28 years old, a British-born Pakastani woman who is interrogated on her way from London to Massachusetts, where she’ll study sociology. She’d given up her dreams of studying seven years ago when her mother died, leaving her with her twelve-year-old brother, Parvaiz, and his twin sister, Aneeka, to raise. While in Massachusetts, she meets the son of the British Home Secretary, Eamonn. Isma already knows who he is – his father as a MP made a cruel comment to her family about her jihadist father who left when she was young. Isma and Eamonn become friends, but it never develops into the something more that Isma hopes for.

When Eamon leaves to go back to London, he ‘arranges’ to meet Aneeka, the beauty of the family. At nineteen, she is studying law. Although she’s initially hostile to Eamonn, she initiates a relationship with him. Eamonn is besotted for a few months, until Anneka tells him she wants his father to allow Parvaiz back into the country.

Parvais has spent the last few months in Syria. He was groomed by Farooq, who told him his father was a hero, and that Parvais should try to emulate him. Fatherless from birth, Parvais is an easy target, but struggles to follow the Isis culture.

The last two sections are told from Aneeka’s viewpoint, then Karamat Lone, Eamonn’s father. I’m not going to explain any further, otherwise I’ll spoil the story for you!

There’s so much sadness in this book. Isma longs for a relationship and then finds out that her sister has what she wants. Aneeka, forever connected with Parvais in their special twin way, feels desolate when he is gone. Parvais’s account of his time in Syria is brutal.

I read the ending at the kitchen table, a few hours before our bookclub meeting, and literally covered my face as I read the last page. No spoiler alert here, but be warned!

It’s a topical, contemporary book which shows many viewpoints and covers many settings, from London, Pakistan, Istanbul, Syria and the US. It’s based on the Greek play, Antigone, by Sophocleous.

Sarah Sands, the judge for the Women’s Prize explained –

“To humanise a political story in that way really does show what literature can do, that it can tackle a hard subject that otherwise would never have that sense of layered sympathy and understanding. It really advanced our understanding of the whole issue of identity.”

In this brief video interview with author Kamila Shamsie, she explains that the heart of the novel is about competing loyalties and loves.

It’s an excellent bookclub book because there’s so much to discuss. I’m still thinking about this book days after finishing it. It’s definitely one of my top ten reads for the year!

It’s such a dramatic title, isn’t it? The war that saved my life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley is a middle-grade book for 10-12 year-olds, and is a Newbery Honor book. Miss 11 read it a while ago and has told me many times that I needed to prioritise it because I would ‘just love it’ and she was absolutely right.

Ada, the nine-year-old protagonist, lives with her mother and younger brother, Jamie, in a single room above a pub in London. It’s 1939, and children are being evacuated due to concerns about the Germans bombing London. Ada’s mother is absolutely horrible to Ada – mainly because she has a club foot. Ada isn’t allowed to leave their room and she’s miserable while Jamie is at school.

Ada decides to teach herself to walk, despite great pain. This means she can escape with Jamie early one morning on the day the children at Jamie’s school are evacuated to the country. Ada and Jamie are the last children to be billeted out, possibly because of their dirtiness and Ada’s cross demeanour. They are taken to Susan’s house, a single lady who is still mourning the loss of her best friend, Becky.

At Susan’s house, Ada finds out that her twisted foot could have been fixed with an operation when she was a baby. This gives her another reason to hate her mother. While life with Susan has its difficulties, Ada makes new friends, watches for German spies, learns to ride a pony and most importantly, begins to trust Susan.

Miss 11 enjoyed learning about the war – references to Germans and ration cards and blackouts are skilfully woven into the story so that all the historical facts are integral to the story, rather than artificially thrown in.

Ada’s voice is strong. Here’s the first page –

‘Ada! Get back from that window!’ Mam’s voice, shouting. Mam’s arm, grabbing mine, yanking me so I toppled off my chair and fell hard to the floor.

‘I was only saying hello to Stephen White.’ I knew better than to talk back, but sometimes my mouth was faster than my brain. I’d become a fighter that summer.

Mam smacked me. Hard. My head snapped back against the chair leg and for a moment I saw stars. ‘Don’t you be talkin’ to nobody!’ Mam said. ‘I let you look out that window out a’ the kindness of my heart, but I’ll board it over if you go stickin’ your nose out, much less talkin’ to anyone!’

‘Jamie’s out there,’ I mumbled.

‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Mam said. ‘He aint’ a cripple. Not like you.’

Wouldn’t you read on, too? We have a strong, feisty protagonist who has become a fighter, maybe because of her bad leg and is struggling against the antagonist, her mother.

There is a sequel, The war I finally won. When you enjoy a book so much, it’s wonderful to know that there is an equally enjoyable sequel.

While I loved Alice in Wonderland as a kid, I still identify with her story as an adult. I took Miss 11 and her friend to see the ACMI Alice in Wonderland exhibition yesterday.

The exhibition is timed, so I booked online for 11am – a perfectly civilised school holidays time to be in the city. But we were slightly late. I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date. Oh, the irony in being late white rabbit style! But it didn’t matter at all, and we were ushered down the rabbit hole for a wonderful display of the various different ways Alice has been depicted from the publication of Lewis Carroll’s book in 1865 to the 21st century.

Our favourite section was the Mad Hatter’s tea party. The ten minute wait was worth it – we sat on white wooden chairs around a cluster of white tables with white crockery. We watched a four minute film which was shown on the surrounding walls of the room, as well as the table and crockery. There were quotes from the book, scenes of dreamlike images and the crockery kept changing patterns.

I flicked through my copy of Alice at home and found some of my favourite quotes –

“Who are YOU?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I–I hardly know, sir, just at present– at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

Sometimes it seems that when I wake up in the morning I know exactly who I am and what I need to do but by the end of the day, I may have turned into several different people! One moment I am a writer merging two chapters into one, the next minute I am a mother organising playdates, then I have morphed into an uber driver, a chef, a workshop presenter …

Alice laughed. “There’s no use trying,” she said: “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

It’s not the believing that’s tricky – it’s the achieving! Dreaming up six impossible things before a breakfast green smoothie is fine – it’s getting them done that’s the challenge.

The ACMI exhibition is on until October 7th – it’s definitely worth a visit, both for children and adults. Miss 11 and her friend enjoyed following the Wonderland map for the curious and finding all the links, and I enjoyed all the displays of the art, costumes and history.

Curioser and curioser!

 

I’m not alone in having a ‘busy life’. Anyone with work commitments, family responsibilities, life admin, a cat to feed, a garden to weed, meals to cook, groceries to buy, a car service to book has a ‘busy life.’ So sometimes the idea of putting myself in a small room without anything on that list sounds like a dream come true.

For Sarah of Hartham, the protagonist in Robyn Cadwallader’s book, The anchoress, this is exactly what she did. Sarah is seventeen, living in a small village in England in 1255. After the death of her beloved sister, Sarah willingly commits to becoming an anchoress, a holy woman who encloses herself in a small room built off the side of a Catholic church for the rest of her life. Once she enters, the door is nailed shut behind her forever.

Her cell is nine paces by seven paces, with a squint (a small niche into the church so she can receive communion) a window leading to her maids’ room and a window leading to the tiny parlour where her confessor and the women of the village may meet with her for counsel. Sister Sarah, according to the Rule, a book to guide her, is not allowed to have any contact with men apart from her confessor, Father Ranaulf.

While Sarah’s physical surroundings block her in to keep her focused on prayer, village life creeps into her room. The lives of her maids and the women who come to talk with her bring in the outside world which Sarah is trying to shut out.

Sarah relies on her senses – the touch of the stones in her cell, the scent of the herbs her maid uses in her food, the smell of the women who visit her, fresh from the fields, the colours of her embroidery threads. There’s also the lack of sight outside, so Sarah’s sight is contained to inside of her cell.

I found the story absolutely captivating, and loved the world Sarah inhabited, with monks who were responsible for the beautiful illuminated manuscripts, painstakingly copied and the lives of the villagers revolving around the seasons and harvests.

The idea of blocking the outside world out in order not to be distracted is something you have to learn to do as a writer or a creative in order to bring forth your art. I often wish I could empty my head of the dentist appointments and the dinner menu and the basketball schedules so there would be more space for creativity.

The Me too movement is relevant here, although this book, published in 2015, is set in England, 1255. There’s a strong message that women can do the right thing and still be overpowered by men. Sister Sarah eventually faces up to her past, as she confronts the demands of her new patron, sir Thomas Maunsell.

I loved the focus on quiet – the gentle silence at a poignant moment between Sarah and Father Ranaulf.

The silence slipped through the gaps under the curtain and into the cell beyond. A velvet thing, it seemed. It swellled and settled, gathering every space into itself. He did not stir; he lost all sense of time. all he knew was the woman but an arm’s length away in the dark, breathing. That was enough.

The ending was lovely – for a while I wondered which way this book would end, which choice Sarah would make. The ending seemed perfectly fitting.

I’m looking forward to reading Robyn Cadwallader’s second book, Book of colours.

While a retreat from the outside world sounds beautiful and quiet, I can’t quite imagine how I would manage it. However, we are taking a family holiday next week so I hope there will be lots of time for spacious thinking and maybe some quiet, too. I’ll post again in two weeks.

Wishing you some quiet in your busy lives, too!

 

Would you like to read a story about a gorilla who’d like to wear glasses because she thinks it will make her look wise and smart? How about a guinea pig who wants to be a wrestler but her parents won’t let her? Or would you like a story about a slug who wants to beat Usain Bolt in a race? Maybe you’d like to hear about a hippo who wants to be the next prime minister?

These story ideas and more were generated in a series of three workshops I presented to a grade three class. We focused on funny animal stories, so the kids created their main character as an animal.

I read quite a few picture books about animals to begin each session. While the kids laughed at the story, they were also fabulously serious and curious about analysing the characters and the language.

I find that kids are great at creating a character but often they become stuck when it comes to putting that character in a story. Once the kids had their character, we talked about what that character wanted more than anything else in the whole world. Once we have that wish sorted, then we focus on who or what is going to stop that character from getting what they want. After all, it’d be a pretty boring story if the character found what they wanted within the first three sentences.

We also discussed repetition – how writers can use it to build up suspense and help the readers to guess what is coming next. The repetition in Doreen Cronin’s Click, clack, moo – cows that type was particularly popular!

Click, clack, moo.
Click, clack, moo.
Clickety, clack, moo.

The grade three classes were so receptive and open to learning a new way of writing, and their story ideas were absolutely amazing. Watch out bookshops and libraries, there may be some fabulous animal books coming your way!

If you would like me to run a writing workshop for your school, please email me at karen@karencomer.com.au. I teach a range of workshops on different themes to suit different year levels.

This could be my shortest blog post – read this book! But as you may want to know why you should read The lost flowers of Alice Hart by Holly Ringland, I’ll make this post a little longer for you.

From an aesthetic viewpoint, the cover and chapter illustrations by Edith Rewa Barrett are beautiful. I adore botanical illustrations, and Ringland’s book has a gorgeous cover of Australian native flowers and each chapter begins with a pen and ink botanical illustration and a brief description of a specific flower, complete with botanical name, common name and meaning for the chapter title. Really, why should illustrations stop for adult books?

As you may have guessed from the title and cover, Australian native flowers feature heavily in Ringland’s book. Alice Hart loses both her parents in a fire at the age of nine. She deeply misses her fragile mother who loves gardening and has nightmares about both the fire and her abusive father.

She’s taken to Thornfield, her grandmother’s flower farm, a long drive away and doesn’t talk for a couple of months. There’s a strong matriarchal history of her family at the farm, and she slowly understands her family and her place in it, surrounded by the care of the twelve women who are also working and healing at the farm, under the care of June, Alice’s paternal grandmother. June teaches Alice to use the language of flowers as a way to communicate the words that are too hard to share. There are many secrets and many unspoken words at Thornfield.

The second half of the book focuses on adult Alice, as she falls in love, has her heart broken and leaves Thornfield.

Ringland explains the editing process by Harper Collins, Fourth Estate, in this short video clip, where she states that she needed to go a little deeper into some of the more difficult chapters to write which she had been avoiding. Her editor helped her to look at these chapters more clearly.

This book rings with authenticity and authority. It’s one of my favourite reads for 2018 – maybe it will be one of your favourites, too!

If you are a Stars Wars fan, you live for the next movie. If you love watching Test cricket, you hang out for the first match in Australia. And if, like me, one of your favourite authors is Rebecca Stead, you buy her latest book as soon as it’s published and read it cover to cover in a day!

Rebecca Stead is the author of award-winning books like When you reach me, Goodnight stranger, Liar and spy and First light. I have reviewed her books here.

She has co-written a  book with Wendy Mass called Bob, with gorgeous illustrations scattered through the chapters by Nicholas Gannon. (I’m looking forward to reading Mass’s many, many books now!) It sits at the lower end of middle-grade fiction – I know both Miss 11 and Mr 8 will read it once I pass it on.

Livy (ten and a half) has come back with her mother and baby sister from Massachusetts to visit Gran in Australia. Livy knows she’s forgotten things since her last visit five years ago. She can’t remember her old elephant toy Rufus or why she loved holding on to the black pawn piece from the chess set.

And she certainly can’t remember the name of the green zombie (who’s not really a zombie) who’s wearing a chicken suit, lives in a closet and has been waiting for her to come back for the last five years.

Bob reminds Livy of the best parts of her ‘old’ self, is excellent at reading her face and is pretty much invisible to adults in his homemade chicken suit. Livy tries to help Bob find a way back home by remembering how he saved her, and then how she saved him. The story is fresh and original – it is a quest book and there is magic but there’s nothing predictable about it. There are themes of friendship and memory, and a small thread of rain and droughts.

Stead writes the chapters from Livy’s point of view and Mass writes the ones from Bob’s perspective. It has been a labour of love for both of them for about seven years, sending the chapters back and forth, responding to each other’s work.

“Since so much time would pass between when I would work on it, I would always start by reading the book from the beginning,” Mass said in an interview with Publishers Weekly. “It definitely got to the point where I couldn’t remember who wrote what.”

Teachers can find notes and classroom activities here.

Please buy this beautiful, beautiful book for your kids, your grandkids or your library. Be warned – if you are one of my lovely nieces or nephews or if you invite Mr 8 or Miss 11 to a party, you may well receive this book during the next few months! Everyone needs a Bob!

Dear friends, you might remember that my husband and I declared that we would buy a family dog if Mr 14 received 95% for a specific maths test.

Goodness me – our minimalist-homework son scored 100% on his pythagoras test!

Hello, Griffin!

We are currently researching dog breeds – there are requests for labradors, kavoodles and golden retrieviers. Any advice would be gratefully received.

In the meantime, I have researched the best literary dogs in picture books on our bookshelves.

Here are my favourites.

Harry the dirty dog written by Gene Zion, illustrated by Margaret Bloy Graham – this is such a classic, published in 1956. There are also two other books about Harry.

Harry was a white dog with black spots who liked everything, except …having a bath.

I would use this book to teach students – here in the first sentence, we have the main character, a little about him, and then the problem to be resolved.

Because Harry doesn’t like baths, he runs away when he hears the water running in the tub. On his adventures, he becomes dirtier and dirtier until he becomes a black dog with white spots. Then when he returns home, he has to convince his family that he really is Harry, their dog.

Fancy Nancy and the posh puppy, written by Jane O’Connor, illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser – Miss 11 loved all the Fancy Nancy books when she was at kinder. In this book, Nancy (who likes to be fancy) is super excited because her family is going to get a puppy. She wants a papillon, like her neighbour’s dog, because its name means butterfly in French (very fancy). But her family aren’t too keen. Eventually, Nancy and her family find Frenchy.

My dad says Frenchy is a La Salle spaniel. That is a very unique breed. (Unique is fancy for one of a kind.)

Seven more sleeps, written by Margaret Wild and illustrated by Donna Rawlins – Babs the Baby and Fog the Dog, along with Mum, star in this book. It’s a build-up to someone’s birthday and Babs and Fog are very excited as they count down the seven days. Every day, they do something to get ready for the birthday party. The repetition is perfect for toddlers and kinder kids – I used to read this a week out from my kids’ birthdays for years!

On Wednesday, Mum says, ‘It’s just four more sleeps until the birthday party.’

‘Four more sleeps!’ says Babs the Baby.

‘Woof, woof, woof!’ says Fog the Dog.

While they wait, they play musical chairs.

The excitement builds and builds, until on the last page readers find out that the party is for Fog the Dog and all his dog friends!

Sad the dog, written by Sandy Fussell and illustrated by Tull Suwannakit – this is a beautiful story about a lonely dog who isn’t loved. It takes a new family with a little boy to make him feel special.

The little dog felt happy and in his heart he whispered his new name. Lucky. He was never Sad again.

Dog in, cat out written by Gillian Rubinstein and illustrated by Ann James – 

The illustrations tell the story here, with a clock pictured on every page to let young readers know the different times of the day. All day, from early in the morning to late at night, the cat and dog are in and out the house as the family go about their day. The animals cause havoc as the family have breakfast, the bigger kids go to school, the toddler helps a pregnant mum hang the washing out, the kids kick the footy after school, then Dad is home to help with dinner. This is perfect for little ones who prefer pictures to words at this stage.

Let me know who your favourite literary canine creature is or offer some dog advice in the comments!

 

While advertisements for Mother’s Day gifts would imply that all mothers like pink pyjamas and electrical appliances, the reality is that there is more of the ‘other’ in ‘mother’.

There are as many different types of mothers as there are mothers. When I think of all the mothers I know – all different ages and stages – there is a lovely mix of women.

The quotes chosen below illustrate the many different aspects to mothering – losing a child, parenting a child not your own, feeling ambivalent about motherhood. There’s also the perspective from children, of a splendid mother, an absent mother and a mother with superhero powers.

In the quiet by Eliza Henry Jones, 2015. The story is narrated by Cate, a dead mother who watches over her family. She’s remembering a conversation she and her husband had with their fourteen-year-old twin boys about dating girls.

Being a mother is a fullness. Pregnancy gives way to exhaustion, love, anger, weeping, frustration, wonder. The emotions, they fill you up till you think you don’t have room left for anything else.

On the verandah, no longer laughing. It was the first time being a mother had made me feel hollow. For the first time, that tug of emptiness, as my children started to pull away from me.

The eye of the sheep by Sofie Laguna, 2014. Jimmy Flick sees the world a little differently, and his mum, Paula, protects him from that world. Jimmy, the narrator, describes his mother at his specialist appointment.

I watched as the redness moved up over Mum, washing her chin and her cheeks pink. It was a mother’s fury coming up from her core. She had tried to cover it up with chocolate cake and tea from the hospital cafeteria, but it was linked to a vat of mother’s fury that could power the world and she couldn’t hold it down. She bit back her lips and held her own hands tight and swallowed.

Little women by Louisa M. Alcott, 1868. Such a classic! I love this description of Marmee, the four girls’ mother.

She was not elegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the grey cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in the world.

The paper house by Anna Spargo-Ryan, 2016. Heather gives birth to her stillborn daughter, and spends the next six months grieving for her. This quote comes from the end of the book, where Heather and her husband Dave celebrate their daughter.

I had read in a book that an unborn baby could recognise its mother’s voice in the fifth month, and from that time on I had spoken to her, sung to her. I’d told her about the world, about the people banging around downstairs, about Mrs Carson in the next apartment, who was seventy-four but still brought home a different man every week. I’d told her about the Indian place around the corner, and how I would take her there for chicken korma, and I’d told her about the dumpling house at the end of the street, and how I would take her there for xiao long bao. I’d told her about the pancakes at Mart180, and how I had decided that was the first place we would go together. I’d told her I would buy her a pretty new dress for the occasion.

The other side of the world by Stephanie Bishop, 2015. Charlotte, with her husband Henry and two small daughters, has moved from England to Australia, and she is struggling to find her place.

If she can just delay for long enough Lucie will find something else to do and forget about the watering can. I don’t mind filling it up once, Charlotte thinks, but it is never once – it is five, ten, twelve times, bending over and standing up and bending over. It should not be so difficult. It should be a joy. I should know how to make it a joy. Today, though, the repulsion overwhelms – this need to be alone, away from the children. She is so tired, and it is so hot, so terribly hot now.

My mum has x-ray vision by Angela McAllister and Alex T. Smith, 2010. This is a gorgeous picture book, which shows Milo trying to work out whether his mum has x-ray vision. She seems so ordinary, yet she always knows what he’s up to. This is a superhero quality I suspect many mothers possess!

Milo’s mum was like all the other mums. She had ordinary hair, ordinary clothes and a nice smile. Milo’s mum was just like all the other mums … Except she could see through things. Milo was pretty sure she had x-ray vision.

The light between oceans by M. L. Stedman, 2012. A lighthouse keeper and his wife, living on a remote Australian island, bury three babies of their own and choose to keep an unknown baby who washes up on a small rowboat on their island. I chose this quote written in a letter from Isabel, the lighthouse keeper’s wife, to Lucy because it reflects how many women who don’t have biological children feel strong ties of love and belonging to other children.

You are a grown woman now. I hope life has been kind to you. I hope that you can forgive me for keeping you. And for letting you go. Know that you have always been beloved.

Anchor Point, Alice Robinson, 2015. The absent mother, Kath, in this book disappears, and only Laura, her daughter, knows the reason why. Laura is a young girl at the beginning of the novel, where this quote is taken from.

Laura loved her mother best like this: scrubbed clean, a raw version of herself. She took the edge of Kath’s silk kimono gingerly, rolling onto her back. Though the room was dark, a wedge of light made a halo of Kath’s hair.

‘Are you asleep?’ said Kath unnecessarily. Laura shook her head. Her mother sighed, touching Laura’s face, stroking her hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I love you very much. I shouldn’t have, you know, hit you.’

Finding Serendipity by Angelica Banks, 2013. This is one of my favourite middle-grade novels because it is about a wonderful mother who is also a writer. (Ok, I may be a little biased here!) Tuesday McGillyCuddy has an ordinary mother called Sarah who does tuckshop duty, but her mother is also the famous writer, Serendipity Smith, who has flaming red hair and wears long velvet coats and purple boots. But only Tuesday, her father and her mother’s assistant know that Sarah is also Serendipity. This is a lovely quote about parents checking their children in bed at night.

Perhaps you don’t actually know that long after you have drifted off to sleep, your mother or father or someone else who loves you will invariably tiptoe into your room. They will pull your covers up over your shoulders if it’s cold, or fold them at the bottom of your bed if it’s hot. They will turn your light down, or off, and pick up that pair of shoes you’ve left lying in the middle of the floor. And do you know what they do next? For the briefest moment, they will watch you sleeping. They might stroke your cheek, or kiss your head, or whisper a good dream into your ear. Or perhaps they just stand there and think how lovely you are, and blow you a kiss, and leave you to your sleep.

The secret life of bees by Sue Monk Kidd, 2001. The narrator is fourteen-year-old Lily, whose mother died when she was four, in an accident that was apparently Lily’s fault.

That night I lay in bed and thought about dying and going to be with my mother in paradise. I would meet her saying, ‘Mother, forgive. Please forgive,’ and she would kiss my skin till it grew chapped and tell me I was not to blame. She would tell me this for the first ten thousand years.

The next ten thousand years she would fix my hair. She would brush it into such a tower of beauty, people all over heaven would drop their harps just to admire it. You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair. My hair was constantly going off in eleven wrong directions ….

Here’s to all the women who are nurturing, kind, funny, strong, courageous – and are doing the best they can to raise their children.

And thank you to everyone who commented on my post last week about raising funds and awareness for ovarian cancer. I’m so grateful to everyone who bought a Witchery white shirt!