The Places You Will Go

Dead Good

Review by DAPHNE LEE

THE GRAVEYARD BOOK
By Neil Gaiman
Publisher: Bloomsbury, 289 pages
(ISBN: 978-0747598848)

THIS book opens with a murder - three murders, actually - and yet, I would call it a comforting book. A man, Jack, is sent to kill a family of four, including two children. The opening paragraph contains the description of a knife, its handle and blade wet with blood. But, yes, on the whole, a warm and fuzzy book.

The title would not suggest that it's a cozy story. Nor does the cover, which shows a pale, gaunt man and a skinny kid standing in a cemetery. Flip to the back and there is a picture of a thin and ghostly woman astride a pale horse.

Jack succeeds in killing all but one member of the family. The toddler escapes by wondering off into the night and ending up in a graveyard where he is protected by the spirits of the people buried there. A ghostly couple, Mr and Mrs Owens, want to adopt him as they never had children of their own. The toddler is named Nobody (later called Bod), because he looks like nobody but himself, and given the "freedom of the graveyard", which ensures his safety so long as he stays within its environs. He also gets a guardian, Silas, who is not a ghost and also not human. Silas is his link to the world outside the cemetery. He brings him food and books, and organises his lessons (there are several school teachers buried in the graveyard).

Silas is a mysterious and intriguing character - probably a vampire although Neil Gaiman never calls him one. His friend, Ms Lupescu, who cares for  Nobody when Silas has to go on a "business" trip, is also something more (or is it less?) than human. Both are refreshingingly unlike fiictional depictions of other-worldly beings, more practical and less inclined to take themselves too seriously.

Still, hardly the stuff comfort-reads are made of, huh? And yet, is it just the sort of book you want to curl up with on a gloomy, rainy day, a mug of hot chocolate at your elbow. It has many thrilling, nail-biting moments; it is a mystery and an adventure story, but it is also a heart-warming tale about a boy making his way in this unfriendly world with the help of friends and family. It is a book about love and loss, learning to trust, making mistakes and finding yourself. It's a book, despite its setting, about Life.

Bod is an extremely likeable kid - as capable of petulance and pigheadedness as the next child, but basically a thoroughly personable chap. I especially like his ability to keep his wits about him in stressful moments; his willingness to admit and learn from to his mistakes; and the kindness he shows to others - not simply casual kindness either, but also acts that are a result of empathetic thought and effort.

Mini Review: Curtain Up

Once again, thanks to Terri Green who emailed me about the fact that I failed to deliver on my promise to write mini reviews of Noel Streatfeild's novels :-D

Curtain Up
By Noel Streatfeild
Illustrated by D. L. Mays
Publisher: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd, 288 pages

THIS is my all-time favourite Noel Streatfeild book. I like it even more than I do Ballet Shoes, which was the first Streatfeild I ever read.

The Fossil sisters, who are the main characters in Ballet Shoes, are also in Curtain Up. But they have off-stage roles, so to speak.

Familiar Yet New

From StarMag

Review by DAPHNE LEE

AT LARGE AND AT SMALL: CONFESSIONS OF A LITERARY HEDONIST
By Anne Fadiman
Publisher: Allen Lane
(ISBN: 978-1846140433)

MY first and only other encounter with Anne Fadiman was several years ago when I came across her essay collection, Ex Libris, at a warehouse sale. Priced at RM6, the slim red paperback volume, which bore the gold-tooled picture of a girl reading while seated on a pile of book, was impossible to resist, not least because its backcover blurb described it as a "book of essays in celebration of bibliophilia" (I bought 10 copies to distribute to book-loving friends).

The first essay in Ex Libris is about how the author and her husband merged their book collections. This is a topic close to my heart since I know the possible dire consequences of making two libraries one: Often, you decide that it isn't necessary to have two copies of any book so you give away all your second copies. And then, when and if you decide to go your separate ways, you end up fighting over who has more claim over which book. In a way, it's less stressful for a bibliophile to marry someone who collects something quite different ... like stamps or stuffed toys.

Anyway, in Ex Libris are also essays about written inscriptions on the flyleaves of books; the varied treatment of books by those who love them; the different ways bibliophiles house their collections; and writing sonnets. These are personal essays, describing Fadiman's own and her family's relationship with books, and garnished with anecdotes from literary history, and about literary and historical figures.

Fadiman's style is graceful, light and humourous. When she offers information, she sounds rather like she has just come upon the fact herself, and her enthusiasm is infectious. Thanks to the obvious delight and the thoughtfulness with which she approaches her subjects, she never sounds like a show-off. And unlike some personal essays there's never a moment in these when the reader cringes and thinks: "Stop! Too much information!"

In her latest collection, At Large and at Small: Confessions of a Literary Hedonist, Fadiman's is as charming, as amusing and as informative, as perfectly balanced between passion and erudition . The essays in these volume are of the genre known as "familiar". Fadiman, in her preface, describes familiar essays as having equal measures of brain and heart. Their subjects are dear to the author, an important part of her life, past or present, but, although coloured by personal and particular experiences, also presented, researched, discussed and explored with scholarly curiousity and objectivity.

Among the subjects covered in At Large and at Small are collecting butterflies, ice cream, Charles Lamb (himself an admired familiar essayist), coffee, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and the American flag. Some subjects are of more interest than others. In fact, each subject is bound to inspire its fair share of interest and indifference - depending on the tastes of its reader. I love coffee and relate to Fadiman's addiction to caffeine; remember when my sister and I used to go out with our butterfly net; but couldn't care less about the American flag. Still, although I was more eager to read the essays that were about things I was interested in, I wasn't even tempted to skip the others. I guess this is because I really enjoy Fadiman's easy, intimate, discursive style. I like the chatty flow of the essays, the friendly air they have, and the impression one gets of the author talking animatedly about a favourite thing or person, with frequent and random inclusions of every thing and anything related to it/him - even if the thing or person isn't to your taste you read on because it's likely that you'll pick up some fascinating titbits along the way.

Thanks to the literary references, the historical facts and figures, and the trivia, Fadiman doesn't end up sounding self-indulgent. I mean, no matter how much you like ice cream, would you really want to read 1000 words about Fadiman's favourite flavours and how much weight she would lose if she ceased to indulge in tubsful of Chocolate Chocolate Chip? I think not - unless you're the sort who stays up nights reading blogs in which strangers describe, in minute detail, every minute of their lives. The average, intelligent reader would, I'd like to think, prefer Fadiman's personal revelations regarding Haagen-Dazs interspersed, as they indeed are, with an awe-inspiring description of the dessert served at the Nobel Prize banquet, a catty anecdote featuring snow (an early version of ice cream) served at a fourth century B.C.E party in Greece, a snippet out of a British Medical Journal article on ice cream headaches, and an ice cream recipe that uses liquid nitrogen.

More than 50 years ago, Clifton Fadiman, writer, radio broadcaster and the author's father, wrote about the death of the familiar essay. He blamed its demise on the passing of the age of "formal manners, apt quotation, Greek and Latin, clear speech, conversation, the gentleman's library, the gentleman's income, the gentleman'" - quite pompous and mostly, in my opinion, untrue. Familiar essays, I believe, can be written by any writer with wide-ranging interests and experiences, who possesses an enquiring mind, loves to discuss and speculate, and delights in life's absurdities. Clifton Fadiman at least got it right when he declared the art of conversation necessary to the writing of a familiar essay. Reading a well-written familiar essay is like having a tete a tete with an interesting, erudite but approachable friend. The familiar essayist, Anne Fadiman says, speaks not to millions but to one reader. Read her essays to know what she means.

Double the fun

I remember being really upset that I didn't have double eyelids. My sisters (all three of them) had them and advised me to stick tape on my lids to produce the desired "fold". I seem to remember trying this method and others too, including applying baby oil to the lids and "encouraging" a fold by drawing it on with the blunt end of  a toothpick!

This was when I was in primary school so I shall blame my shameful and ridiculous behaviour on ignorance and youth.

By the way, my efforts with toothpicks, tape etc did not pay off. However, I ended up with double-eyelids anyway. I can't remember when they appeared, but according to a character in An Na's The Fold, it sometimes happens when you grow older and the skin on your eyelids become thinner!

About a Boy

Review by DAPHNE LEE

SLAM
By Nick Hornby
Publisher: Penguin, 342 pages
(ISBN: 978-0141324494)

I THOUGHT Slam was going to be about skateboarding. I was wrong and glad I was wrong. I used to skateboard when a teen - to impress a huge crush I had, who roller skated, but I didn't do any impressive stunts and I didn't think I'd be interested in reading about a guy doing them. However, as I said, Slam is not about skateboarding. It's just about Sam who skates and who worships the air skating champion Tony Hawks flips through.

He's so into Tony Hawk (or TH as he calls him) that he talks to a poster of the skater (skateboarding and skateboarder, Sam says, would be terms used only by losers) and, as he's read Hawk's authobiography contless times, finds it really easy to imagine his hero talking back, giving him advice, offering opinions, telling him where he's gone wrong and what he's done that's worthy of praise.

Anyway, Sam is a 15-year-old lad who lives with his single mum. Near the start of the book, Sam morosely reflects that his family isn't the sort that goes from strength to strength, each generation doing a little better than the one before. Instead, everyone just takes turns to make stupid mistakes that put paid to any hopes of success: "In our family," Sam says, "people always slip up on the first step. In fact, most of the time they don't even find the stairs."

Saying Goodbye

"Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes," said Benjamin Franklin.

Death is not a common topic in children's literature, but it is something that kids have to deal with and books help to explore the topic, which most adults find hard to discuss with one another let alone little ones. 

Ways to Live Forever is the story of a dying boy from his own point of view. Other YA books that deal with death and dying include winner of the Costa Children's Award, The Bower Bird by Ann Kelley, and Garbrielle Zevin's Elsewhere.

Michael Rosen's The Sad Book (a picture book, illustrated by Quentin Blake) was written in response to the death of his son Eddie.

And Badger's Parting Gifts by Susan Varley (illustrated by Maurice Sendak) tells the tale of Old Badger who senses that he will soon be leaving his friends and gathers them so he can say a fond farewell.

For the Love of Blue Shoes

Like me, Priya Kulasagaran, isn't used to reading Malay stories and, also like me, she was pleasantly surprised by how much she liked and "got" Kasut Biru Rubina by Sufian Abas.

I don't know about Priya, but I felt quite chuffed that I could read and understand, and appreciate, something not in English. What can I say ... Kasut Biru Rubina mademe feel quite accomplished!

Read Any Good Books Lately?

Find an opening

By DAPHNE LEE

WHEN I mentioned to a friend that I was writing an article about literary fiction, he asked, “Actually, what is literary fiction?” I immediately referred him to David Lubra’s Guide to Literary Fiction.

True Story

I think Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian would make a great Christmas present. The bloke I've asked to review the book isn't as impressed as this old woman though. Look out for his review, due out in StarTwo in the next few weeks.

Just Read It

The Star never reviewed any of the books in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy so it decided to correct this oversight by running a review of Northern Lights to coincide with the 6th December release of the  New Line Cinema film based on the book (renamed in the States as The Golden Compass to avoid confusing it with Jennifer Donnelly's A Northern Light, this is also the name of the movie).

The reviewer, who loves the books, was not impressed with the film, saying, amongst other things, "they turned it into a cliched good-vs-evil thing, which is NOT what the story is about, and eliminated Pullman's technique of slowly giving out answers - instead they spent pretty much every moment explaining things!!! [It was] so dull and the dialogue was so cliched and completely missed out the variety of voices Pullman has."

I have yet to watch The Golden Compass and I think that even if I decide to, I can wait til it's released on DVD.

Philip Pullman told Roger Sutton, in a Horn Book podcast that, "To be truly happy with [a film adaption of a book] you have to be the director as well as the scriptwriter and the star and the composer and the producer and everything else because the whole nature of the film obviously is collaborative. It’s the work of many, many people and the writer, even of the script, is not at the centre of it. The director is at the centre of it, and the writer of the original book on which the film is based is a long way away from the centre of the action. So inevitably there are things that, as writers, we always think we’d have done that  differently, or “I wouldn’t have put the camera here, I’d have put it there."

You can read the entire transcript of the interview here and listen to it here.