Blog
08 August 2011
Here's a link to a lovely review of two of my early titles, on a blogsite specialising in horse and pony books. I would describe both these titles as novels that have horses in them, rather than horse books - and I think that's Jane Badger's conclusion, too. Both these titles are out-of-print, but are readily available from second-hand websites such as ABE Books. And there will soon be a Kindle edition of THE DAMAGE DONE, with a different cover.
http://booksandmud.blogspot.com/2011/08/review-linda-newbery-damage-done-and.html
Anne Magill, the artist for both these, is someone whose work I greatly admire, but I don't think the cover for THE DAMAGE DONE, though intriguin in its way, gives the right impression of the novel. The two others she did, for THE NOWHERE GIRL (seen in this link) and for FLIGHTSEND, are both far more atmospheric.
http://booksandmud.blogspot.com/2011/08/review-linda-newbery-damage-done-and.html
30 June 2011
Being shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal has had long-lasting effects. Although I haven’t been on the shortlist since 2004, Lob was longlisted this time, and I was invited to Cardiff for a special Shadowing Day organised by Karyn Chapman, librarian at the Bishop of Llandaff High School. She’s been organising these celebration days for six years now, and the occasion has steadily grown in scale and ambition. This year, it took place at the Gate Theatre, a former church which is now a theatre with gallery space and café, and involved fourteen schools from South East Wales, over two days.
The participants from the various schools were put into mixed groups on Tuesday morning, each to represent one of the shortlisted books in a short dramatisation on Wednesday. Quite a tall order, especially as those taking part had been chosen for reading keenness rather than for acting ability. There were about twelve in each group, ranging in age from year 7 to year 10, each with a teacher or librarian to help them develop their presentation.
My job was to take part in the judging panel, and of course we were assessing the presentations rather than the books. First, I’d read five of the six titles – the one I missed was the book that turned out to be the Carnegie winner, Monsters of Men, by Patrick Ness. From the five I read, I thought it was a very strong shortlist, any of which could deservedly have won.
The groups clearly had great fun devising their presentations. There were two performances – one in the afternoon, for an audience made up from the various schools, and another in the evening, for parents and teachers. As judges, we were told that we could make two different choices, if we wished – and certainly all the groups had refined their acts by the evening. But, in the end, we chose the same one both times – the presentation of Out of Shadows, by Jason Wallace. This group focused well on key events in the Zimbabwean boarding school, including nasty bullying episodes. Everyone played their part well, including the boy who took the role of Weekend, the telephone operator – a small part which he made characterful and endearing. The female presenter held it all together with presence and style, and was awarded a trophy for best participant overall.
Also memorable were the market scenes from Meg Rosoff’s The Bride’s Farewell, and the creepiness of the chosen episodes from Marcus Segwick’s White Crow. This book was also voted as the shadowers’ choice for Carnegie winner. Monsters of Men ran the winner close, in my opinion, and Prisoner of the Inquisition was also very dramatic. The group presenting The Death-Defying Pepper Roux , by Geraldine McCaughrean, had great fun with the mixed-up love notes in the department store.
It was a lovely day, well-supported by Camelot Books and Literature Wales as well as by the schools. It’s great to see how the shadowing scheme continues to grow, and particularly good, I think, to bring readers together in a special setting such as the Gate Theatre. I’m sure those children and teenagers will always remember taking part. I only wish such a thing had been going on when I was at school – I’d have loved it!
The Carnegie shadowing scheme is sometimes criticised because the children’s vote, although recorded on the website, doesn’t contribute towards the judges’ decision – the Carnegie and Greenaway Medals are awarded by panels of librarians from the various regions of the UK. So far, CILIP has resisted urgings to include the children’s vote in some way, and I think that’s right. There are numerous awards now which are voted for by children, and the Carnegie must keep its special status as the most prestigious prize for a children’s writer by respecting the judgements of specialists.
I’d like to thank Karyn Chapman and her fellow organisers for inviting me to take part in such a memorable and enjoyable event. Congratulations to Patrick Ness for winning – and at least I can now sit next to a Carnegie winner on the bookshelves!
03 April 2011
Not everyone can see Lob, but at least he has his own Facebook page. Find him here:
http://www.facebook.com/editprofile.php?sk=basic&success=1#!/pages/Lob/163768473681537
19 October 2010
SPOILER ALERT! Do not read this if you haven't read THE SHELL HOUSE and are likely to do so ...
Of all my books, THE SHELL HOUSE is the one that generates the biggest reader response in the form of emails and letters. Most of these messages comment on the ending, often in the form of a question: What happens next? And specifically, will Greg and Jordan get together? While some readers like the ending as it is, others have taken me to task for failing to establish absolutely that there will be a happy resolution. Some assume that there’s going to be a sequel – tempting though that might be, I have no plan to write one.
Although I claim not to have a favourite among my books, THE SHELL HOUSE would be one of the front-runners if I were forced to choose. It’s partly because the setting, the burned-out 18th century mansion, is based on a real place which I visit several times each year: Copped Hall in Essex (see my last post). Partly it’s because the story has a particular intensity of feeling, I think. Partly because it was the first of my books to be edited and published by David Fickling, who has made such a difference to my self-esteem. Partly because I enjoyed being a mediocre First World War poet, and am rather pleased with my efforts. But mainly because I’m so attached to the characters. .
I’ve replied to these readers in various ways, sometimes suggesting that my opinion is no more important than theirs. (It’s a strange thing about fictional characters. No matter how much I like or even love them while writing, it feels as if I have no more right to them than anyone else, once the book is ended.) Sometimes I’ve suggested what I think Greg will do next; more often I suggest a re-reading of the last few pages, where I think there are ample hints.
Only recently did I discover that some readers have written the “missing” ending for themselves. Writer friends have mentioned Fan Fiction, but I only discovered while idly Googling my name (again) that I came across Fan Fiction episodes for THE SHELL HOUSE. (Just to put it in perspective: TWILIGHT has more than 165,000 entries on the FanFiction website; THE SHELL HOUSE has four). So, of course, I read these episodes with keen interest. One has used first-person; another has given Jordan’s viewpoint instead of Greg’s. Each one brought the two boys together romantically, whether immediately or after several years have passed.
It felt very strange to read other people’s stories about my Greg and Jordan, but I was astonished and impressed – not only by the attentive reading (all the writers had picked out tiny as well as major details, so much so that I felt they knew more than I do – I even had to remind myself who one of the minor characters was), but by the understanding of Greg’s motivation and of the confusion and panic he feels over his attraction to Jordan. I was glad, too, that they had picked up the hints I left in the final pages: Greg wouldn’t be able to leave things as they are, and would have to be honest with himself. Above all, though, it was touching to realise that these readers care enough about my characters to want them to live on in their own imaginations. They want them to be happy.
In the Guardian last Saturday, 16th October, there was an article about the difficulties of writing about sex (I wasn’t, exactly, but it’s certainly an undercurrent). Hilary Mantel is quoted as saying: “What is explicit is ineffective … you can do more by hints and implications. As with describing anything, the trick is to get the reader doing the work. The space between the lines, that’s where the reading experience takes place.” Yes, I recognise that; it’s what I wanted in the final pages of THE SHELL HOUSE.
Was there enough, though? If the novel is reprinted, as I hope it will be, it might be tempting to slip in an extra sentence or two. Not to spell anything out; just to make the hint broader.
18 October 2010
Last Sunday, in most beautiful autumn weather, I revisited the Shell House. In real life, it's Copped Hall, on the edge of Epping Forest, and it's open to the public on one day each month and for special events.
It always feels strange to go there; my fictional version, Graveney Hall, is so strong in my mind that I almost imagine I might meet Greg or Edmund wandering in its grounds. There are differences: Copped Hall has no lake and no tiled grotto, both of which I gave Graveney Hall. Graveney Hall doesn't have Copped Hall's Victorian walled garden, or the ruins of an earlier Tudor mansion.
As in my story, the mansion was burned out by a devastating fire in 1917, though the circumstances in my book are imaginary. One of the features of Copped Hall which appears in my story is the caryatid, who is significant in both Greg's and Edmund's parts of the story, and has her own poem supposedly written by Edmund. Here she is, in a photograph taken by my mother, Iris Newbery, who has been one of the volunteers for more than ten years, and is no mean photographer. Her cards, including this image, are on sale at the Open Days. I owe at lot to this beautiful photograph. Not only was it the impetus behind THE SHELL HOUSE, but it also led me to write SET IN STONE, two books later.
Much progress has been made by the team of volunteers since I wrote my book. The house now has a roof on it, and stairs, and safe flooring so that visitors can see the upstairs rooms which are being restored. There are jazz concerts in the cellar and performances of Shakespeare in the grounds. It's not really a shell any more, though you can still see how it was. It will never be fully restored, but it's fascinating to see the partial renovations and the hints of how the mansion looks in photographs from the time before the fire. Some of the upstairs rooms have walls of bare brick or plaster with just a solitary chandelier or piece of moulding to given an idea of former splendour.
Like Greg in the story, I prefer the house and grounds when there's no one around. Last Sunday's Open Day was a huge success and the place was packed with visitors, but I'll go there again some time and see it as Graveney Hall.
If you're interested in finding out more about Copped Hall, or even in visiting, here's the link:
http://www.google.co.uk/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUK274&q=copped+hall&aq=0&aqi=g10&aql=&oq=Copped+Hall&gs_rfai=
15 October 2010
When you're nominated for an award, it's hard not to start mentally rehearsing your acceptance speech. However much you tell yourself it's silly and pointless, not to mention tempting fate, your mind insists on doing it at odd times (in the swimming pool, for instance) and in the middle of the night.
In fact I've never been required to make one. The first time I won a prize (the Costa Children's Book Prize, for SET IN STONE) no speech was needed. The second award was a very well-kept secret - I was voted, somewhat improbably, Best British Author in the Lit Brit Awards, something I discovered while idly Googling myself one day. No one has ever told me any more about it, or so much as referred to it, so it can't be very important; without that Googling displacement activity at a time when I should have been writing, I'd never have known.
For the Guardian prize I was delighted that LOB was on the longlist of eight; disappointed not to make the cut to the shortlist of four; then a bit less disconsolate when I realised that Theresa Breslin, Marcus Sedgwick and Ally Kennen were also not included, so I was in great company. I went along to the presentation, and heard Michelle Paver, who won with GHOST HUNTER, thanking her editor and agent. October is a wonderful month for Michelle - not only did she win this prestigious prize, but her first adult novel, DARK MATTER, is published. It sounds enticing - a ghost story set in the Arctic.
So, will there be another possible airing for my unwanted acceptance? Will I ever give public thanks to the people who helped bring LOB into being: David and Bella, my editors, and Pam Smy, the illustrator? If the chance should ever arise, I've got my speech ready ...
05 February 2010
LOB has gone through several drafts on its way to publication. All my other titles for David Fickling Books have been young adult novels, so LOB - for readers of roughly seven or eight and up - is a bit of a departure. Although I'd written for younger readers before, LOB felt very different from anything I'd done so far. I wanted to give it a timeless, traditional feel, and to blend reality and fancy, partly through the viewpoint of Lob himself.
Looking back at my first drafts, I can see now that they were far too wordy; the first draft was about twice the length of the finished book. Along with a lot of words, I reluctantly had to cut some of my favourite scenes - one, involving the ravens at the Tower of London, may well resurface in some other form. As I always do, I'd started off without much of a plan, and had gone skitting off in all sorts of tempting directions. It seemed to suit the tale of Lob and his wanderings, but it didn't add up to a coherent story. It may seem odd now to anyone who reads the published book, but there was no Lucy in this first draft - Lob was the central character. Lucy didn't appear until draft two or three.
When I handed in that first draft, I knew, without wanting to admit it, that the telling wasn't quite right. This is where David Fickling is so skilled as an editor: he can see what a story is trying to be, or what it could be. Without interfering, he nudges and suggests, leaving the author to find the answer. And, throughout the difficulties, I never lost the sense that the germ of the story was worth hanging on to, and that it would emerge somehow in the right form.
When I returned to the story for what eventually became the final draft, I read the first page and knew that David was right. What the story needed was simplicity and directness. Once I'd seen that, it was the key. It was at this final stage, too, that I had the idea of giving Lob's viewpoint in small sections: concise, sensual and immediate. These are in large print in the book, punctuating the narrative and taking the reader (I hope) into Lob's rootedness in the natural world and his bafflement when he strays into urban surroundings.
When I'm immersed in a story for young readers, it seems impossible that I could ever write anything else; and when I'm writing for adults, as I am now, I can't imagine myself writing a younger story. In another way, though, all writing feels the same. You have to live in the story, and inside the mind of the viewpoint character or characters. A friend of mine, the author Adele Geras, says "It's like acting." I can't act and fortunately have rarely tried, but I know what she means.
05 February 2010
LOB was published yesterday, and I'm delighted with the finished book. While working on it, I had no idea who the illustrator would be; fortunately Ness, the designer, found and approached Pam Smy. As soon as I saw Pam's first sketches I knew she was the perfect match for my story of Lucy and Lob. You can see some of her drawings here in the Gallery; among them is the one I specially requested, for the dedication page: FOR THE MAN WHO WALKS THE ROADS.
This book has been taking shape over a number of years, during which time I've worked on several others. But LOB was there, waiting, ever since the Walking Man (as I think of him) first appeared in my life more than a decade ago. At that time I was teaching at a comprehensive school in Oxfordshire, and driving down the A43 every morning. Occasionally I would see a man plodding along the roadside: a man in a shabby raincoat and boots, with his belongings in a carrier bag. I took him to be a tramp, or a gentleman of the road, to use the courteous euphemism. He was usually on the same stretch of road, heading south: I never saw him walking back the way he had come. He wasn't hitching a lift, and seemed to take no notice of the traffic speeding past.
At that time I was teaching the poetry of Edward Thomas for English A-Level, and his poem "Lob" came into my mind whenever I saw this man. In the poem, the narrator meets an old countryman whose face lodges in his mind; years later, when he tries to discover who this man might have been, he is given a range of names and identities. This man might be Jack Button, long dead; he might be Tom who brought the logs in, or Herne the Hunter, or Robin Hood, or Jack-in-the-Hedge, or Lob-lie-by-the-Fire: he is the very spirit of the land, ageless, youthless but also deathless, his names marked on maps and remembered in folk tales and sayings and the names of wild plants. My Walking Man must, I thought, be one of his many incarnations; there was something poignant about this stoical figure trudging along next to the noise and hurry of modern-daya traffic and busy-ness.
A while later I had one of those dreams from which I wake up thinking that I've got a brillant spark for a story, only to find it nonsensical when examined. This one didn't make much sense, but it had something to do with the Walking Man, the elderly men who worked the allotments next to the house I lived in at that time, the rhythms of the season and the constant renewal of life. A story began to take shape.
I resigned from my teaching job ten years ago, and don't travel the A43 every day. But the Walking Man has a habit of appearing at significant times. I put the idea of LOB to my editor, David Fickling, to see if he liked it; he did, and I passed the Walking Man in my car next day. I saw him again on the day I handed in the typescript. The last time I saw him, just over a year ago, he was waiting at a bus stop in London.
I hope I'll see him again. I'm going to carry a signed copy of LOB in the glove compartment of my car, in case I do. He might not be pleased with an extra piece of luggage to carry, but I think it's only right that he should have one.