Like Marillier’s adult novels that I’ve read before, Wildwood Dancing is a take on fairy tales and folklore.  This one combines aspects of the twelve dancing princesses and the frog prince, as well as drawing on Romanian vampire mythology and local folklore to give it a wonderful atmosphere.  When their father becomes sick and must go away to be treated, Jena and her four sisters are left behind and Jena takes over the running of the family home.  Times are hard, but the sisters find escape in their monthly nighttime visits to the fairy kingdom in the wildwood where they are welcomed as friends to join in the revels.  Jena also finds solace in the company of Gogu, a frog with whom she is able to talk and who is her closest friend.  However, their cousin Cezar does not believe that the girls can look after themselves and imposes himself on their lives.  At the same time, he is also attempting to destroy the wildwood.  Although he claims this is for the safety of the girls and the villagers, and as revenge for the mysterious death of his older brother Costi, his motives are not all that they seem.

A fairytale adaptation is always a double edged sword because its strength is also its weakness: I already know what will happen because I already know the story.  I know that frogs kissed will turn into men, that how something is said is as important as what is said, and that you should always be careful what you wish for.  Above all, I know that things are rarely what they seem.  Anyone likely to read a book like this is probably approaching from a similar position of prior knowledge and experience, and it takes a skillfull author to manage to write a story that satisfies the fairytale conventions while escaping the trap of feeling like something that’s been read before.  Juliet Marillier is such a writer (Daughter of the Forest is one of my favourite books) but this book didn’t quite get there for me.  The story, while enjoyable enough, erred on the side of obvious, to the point of making some of the characters unreasonably dense at times in order to further the plot.  There may be a dream sequence inserted to explain this, frankly, silly behaviour, but it feels like a contrived and flimsy way of excusing the heroine’s strange refusal to act on things which the reader can see that she obviously should.

Frustrations aside, there was a lot that I really enjoyed about this novel.  I liked the Romanian setting and the way that this colours all aspects of the book, from the character names to the food to the folklore.  I also liked the way that the setting, both the time and the place of the book, made Jena’s struggles to maintain her control over the family fortunes seem very real and understandable.  All too often it is easy to dismiss fantasy heroines who are dependent on men for either their day to day existence or for rescue as weak or somehow deficient, but Jena has no choice but to cede to her cousin Cezar’s polite but forceful requests to hand over her family’s money and the running of their affairs to him.  In fact, even though it feels wrong both to Jena and the reader, it is clear that what he is doing is the right thing albeit for the wrong reasons.  I also loved the inventive descriptions of the wildwood folk and their celebrations, which were just the blend of expected fairy tale convention and authorial creativity which I have come to expect from Juliet Marillier.

On balance, this was an enjoyable but unexceptional book, though perfect for the situation in which I read it.  It was entertaining but the story was too simple and obvious for it to be truly engaging and the interesting details of time and place, while they added flavour, were not quite enough to make up for this.

Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier.  Published by Tor, 2007, pp. 370.  Originally published in 2007.

The Prince of Mist tells the story of Max and his family who move from the city to a sleepy seaside town in order to avoid the effects of the war.  Max and his elder sister Alicia soon make friends with Roland, a local boy who shows them around and takes them diving by the wreck of an old cargo ship.  However, though the town is quiet the Carver family house is full of mystery and has a tragic past.  The statues in the walled garden seem to move, a strange cat adopts the family and voices can be heard in the walls.  Then disaster strikes, causing Max and Alicia to be left alone in the house to face the enigmatic Prince of Mist.

One of the things that I remember about The Shadow of the Wind is how well Zafon conjures up atmosphere, and The Prince of Mist continues that; although it is a young adult book and a very swift read it is gripping and immersive.  The contrast between the quiet, unthreatening setting where Max cycles around on his own, buys sticky buns from the bakery and ‘gossip moved at the speed of boredom‘ (p. 140) and the chilling atmosphere which accompanies the main action of the story is cleverly achieved.  The supernatural elements seem even more eerie because of the stark way in which they stand out against the cheerful little town which Max’s father has specifically (and ironically) chosen as somewhere to keep his family safe.

Although this is the third of Zafon’s books to be translated into English, it was his first novel in Spanish, and it lacks some of the polish of The Shadow of the Wind (although this may partially be because of the different target audience).  There are several aspects of the novel which would benefit from a clearer, more defined explanation.  Amongst other things, I wanted to know why the statues in Max’s garden kept moving and what was the significance of that beyond general menace.  I enjoy a bit of supernatural ambiguity in novels like this, but in The Prince of Mist it felt less like deliberate concealment for dramatic effect and more like things which just weren’t explained.  Apparently this is the first book in a trilogy, so I can only hope that some of these things are expanded more fully in the later books.  Nonetheless, Zafon writes a compelling story and I shall be continuing to collect them as they are translated into English.

The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, translated from Spanish by Lucia Graves.  Published by Phoenix, 2011, pp. 213.  Originally published in 2006.

The Circle Cast aims to fill in the gap between the time when Morgan is first seen as the daughter of Ygraine and Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, and when she later reemerges as Arthur’s seductress and the mother of Mordred, his eventual downfall.  How does a young girl who is sent into exile, either for her own protection or simply to keep her out of the way as Uter Pendragon begins a passionate relationship with her mother, become a powerful and vengeful sorceress?

Perhaps because Alex Epstein chooses to address Morgan le Fay’s childhood, an area of the legends which is not traditionally covered (in fact, only The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley springs to mind) and so is able to create entirely new material, I found this book rather enjoyable.  It used a familiar setting and some familiar characters but it didn’t trespass on the traditional stories: it added to them instead and I found this a refreshing and interesting approach.

Morgan, or Anna as she begins the story, is a surprisingly complex character who develops convincingly throughout the course of the novel.  She starts out curious, questioning and vulnerable but quickly acquires a steely resolve and an adult mindset as she is forced to mature by her circumstances.  She’s so controlled and self-sufficient for much of the book that I don’t find her a particularly sympathetic character, but she’s still really interesting and a great strong female protagonist for a young adult story.  I thought it was particularly poignant and a clever touch that what she works towards in Ireland, unification under one High King, is exactly what Arthur later works towards in Britain.

Of course, approaching such well known stories in any way, even Epstein’s rather oblique one, creates a set of problems for the author and reader.  It can be difficult to create tension an excitement in a story where the reader already knows the ending, and I was well aware that the question posed on the back cover of the book, ‘But when Morgan meets the handsome son of a chieftain, will she choose love or vengeance?‘ was not really a question at all.  Almost everyone reading this book will know that Morgan returns to Britain, seduces Arthur and gives birth to Mordred.  The tension then has to come from the writer either making the reader forget that the conclusion of the novel is inevitable or making the choices that the characters have to make so agonising that the reader wishes there were some other option.  Every time I go to see Blood Brothers I always find myself hoping against hope that this particular time it might end differently, despite all rational thought meaning I know it can’t, so I know that this can be achieved.  in The Circle Cast Epstein manages it as well, by and large, and even though I knew what Morgan would decide her situation was compelling enough that I caught myself wishing that this wasn’t the case.

I also liked the way that, although the reader was never allowed to forget the connection to the Arthurian story, Epstein worked in other stories subsidiary to Morgan’s which provide context.  I particularly liked the story of Luan who wanted to live a Christian life of prayer rather than the life of a chieftain’s daughter.  The way in which she dealt with achieving her aims in a male dominated society provided a contrasting counterpoint to Morgan’s situation which added richness to the story.

However, in spite of my enjoyment of Morgan’s story I have two problems with this book, the first zoological and the second temporal.  They may be relatively minor quibbles but both of them jolted me out of the narrative rather an immersing me further in the story.  Problem number one then.  There are two rather strange wildlife appearances in the novel.  The first is when Anna is travelling by boat across the Irish Sea from Cornwall to Ireland and the following description cropped up:

When Morgan woke they were sailing through a vast flock of pelicans, thousands of them floating on the water, hundreds more reeling above their heads.  One of them dove at the water and came up with a fish.  (p. 58

Now, to the best of my knowledge, there are no pelicans in the Irish Sea, nor have there ever been.  Puffins, yes.  Seagulls, yes.  Pelicans, no.  A quick Google suggests that they don’t come any closer to the British Isles than the extreme south east of Europe.  The other issue was equine, when Morgan discovers a three-toed horse, which she takes as a special creature.  Once again, the best of my knowledge is largely represented by Wikipedia and consultation with some horsey friends, but nevertheless sources seem to agree that equus has one toeand the mesohippus shown on this diagram with three toes horses died out around 40 million years ago, which is a little old for Morgan to be riding one.  I am of course not an expert on historical zoology and this isn’t to say that I’m not wrong; Google, after all, is not infallible.  However, even if these animals are technically correct, they don’t feel as though they fit within the locale and time period that Epstein is evoking and so they would have been better substituted for more typical wildlife which instantly suggests Dark Age Britain.  Edit: Apparently I’m wrong about the horses.  They do occasionally come about as a genetic throwback, and Julius Caesar’s horse Beaucephalus had three toes.  Knowing this, it actually makes Morgan’s three toed mount a rather clever idea rather than a slightly peculiar one, as it places her in a context of great leaders.  Thanks to the author for clearing that one up.

My other problem with the book was the inconsistent timescale: the amount of time that Morgan spends in slavery seems to vary hugely.  When she escapes to join the Christian community, we are told that ‘Morgan tucked into her first proper meal in eight years‘ (p. 142); later she rescues the Greek slave who came to Ireland with her from Cornwall and ‘she could see he was trying to turn the twelve-year-old he had lost into the sixteen-year-old in the white cloth and gold that stood before him’ (p. 240); later still she meets the man who enslaved her and ‘The head on the grass was ten years older’ (p. 244).  Even a brief glance shows that these timings don’t match up, and I wish that some more careful editing had picked this up so that it could be fixed.

With these two exceptions I really enjoyed this novel.  I like Alex Epstein’s writing and I get the feeling that we’d get on rather well if we ever met, and would spend hours geeking out over Arthurian legend.  I hope he continues to write more stories in this vein, perhaps continuing with Morgan’s tale, as I’d really like to read them.

The Circle Cast by Alex Epstein.  Published by Tradewinds, 2010, pp. 300.  Originally published in 2010.

In The Final Reckoning the mice find themselves under threat not only from the army of rats that is massing under London but also from the mysterious eternal winter which has enveloped Deptford.  Everything points to Jupiter being back and so the mice, together with the bats and the Starwife, must try to stay alive long enough to defeat him.

You may remember that one of my favourite things about Robin Jarvis’ writing is that he isn’t afraid to be dark even though he is writing for a younger age group, and this book was no exception.  Often in children’s fiction, the forces of evil (whatever form they may take) are distant, incompetent or impotent or a combination of all three.  Evil is usually active in a far off land to which the protagonist must journey to fight it, its plans fail fairly easily before they can be put into practice, and if a character is important and liked then Evil will frequently content itself with capturing rather than killing them.  All in all, Evil often isn’t terribly threatening.  However, the forces of evil in Jarvis’ books are immediate, powerful, bloodthirsty and indiscriminate in who they attack.  Just because a character has a name and has been well developed does not mean that they are safe.  I love that I can read a book for younger readers entitled The Final Reckoning with a final chapter also called ‘The Final Reckoning’ and do so with apprehension because I don’t know which, if any, of the characters will make it through to the end alive.  There is real tension and anxiety in these books which I’ve not often found in children’s fantasy.  Of course, this might be far more common in children’s literature now, I don’t know, but I still think Jarvis should be applauded for what he has done, particularly considering The Deptford Mice Trilogy is more than twenty years old.

The Final Reckoning by Robin Jarvis.  Published by Macdonald, 1997, pp. 305.  Originally published in 1990.

In this second installment in the Deptford Mice Trilogy, Audrey makes a deal with the mysterious Starwife that she will journey to the countryside, taking the mad rat Madam Akkikuyu with her, in exchange for the Starwife saving her friend Oswald’s life.  The two of them set off with her brother Arthur and friend Twit to visit Twit’s family and stay with the fieldmice of Fennywolde.  Once there, however, the countryside proves to be far less idyllic than Audrey had anticipated.  Many of the country mice do not take kindly to the newcomers, and soon their peaceful lives are threatened by an even greater evil which has come with the mice from Deptford.

Having read all of the Deptford Mice books now (one of the unforeseen benefits of being behind with reviews), I think that this one is my favourite.  Robin Jarvis does a wonderful job of creating the society of the fieldmice and of making it different from that of the town mice in Deptford that we saw in the first book.  The pace of life is slower but there are also far more dangers to be thought of: the fieldmice post guards constantly around there homes, whereas danger for the city mice is an external thing which thus far has remained outside their domain and is only encountered by those who go looking for it.  I particularly liked the traditions and folk ways which played such an important role in the fieldmouse culture and in the plot of this novel, including the much greater emphasis on the Green Mouse and the mouse religion.  This managed to be both charming and rustic as well as having a latent threatening quality, and I enjoyed watching Jarvis show how this tension slowly and believably built up as the fieldmice transformed from welcoming but wary characters into a raging mob.

Madam Akkikuyu is a wonderful character.  She has a distinct way of speaking that is instantly recognisable, and I’m pleased that this book spends more time with her than the first installment, The Dark Portal, did.  The Crystal Prison also sees the other characters develop well: Audrey becomes more sensible as she is forced to make difficult decisions; Arthur plays a much bigger role, allowing the reader to get to know him a bit better; and Twit shows that he is not as empty-headed as all the mice suspect (although I’m sure the reader won’t have been lured into the same trap) simply because he is cheerful and has a rural accent.  In this, and in its cliffhanger ending, it paves the way well for book three.

The Crystal Prison by Robin Jarvis.  Published by Simon & Schuster, 1994, pp. 261.  Originally published in 1989.

Author: Jostein Gaarder.  Translated by Elizabeth Rokkan.  Illustrated by Rosemary Wells

Published: Phoenix, 1998, pp. 247.  Originally published in Norwegian 1992

Genre: Fiction

Blurb: A young boy finds a faded, home-made Advent calendar in a bookshop.  A piece of paper falls out of the first window on which is written the first part of an extraordinary story about a small girl who travels back in time to Bethlehem and the birth of Christ…  Meanwhile, the intertwining story of the present unfolds, and the boy finds out about the strange man who made the calendar and about a girl who disappeared on Christmas Eve 40 years ago.

When, where and why: One 1st of December, when I was at primary school, my mother produced this book along with the eagerly anticipated chocolate Advent calendar when my sister and I came home in the evening.  The Christmas Mystery is a sort of Advent calendar in book form, with one section of the story being revealed each day, and so every evening the family would sit together and be entralled as either my mother or father read us that day’s chapter.  In the absence of a chocolate Advent calendar this year, I decided to read this book for myself for the first time.  As I’m reviewing out of sequence to get the Christmas books out of the way before January starts, this rather confusingly counts as book 42/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.

What I thought: I was a little bit worried when I began this book that it wouldn’t live up to the memories I had of it, tinged as they were with sentimental recollections of childhood Christmases, but it turns out that I needn’t have been so anxious.  Even though I didn’t have the excitement of experiencing this book for the first time (and it says a lot about it that I can still remember so much of it, including chunks of dialogue) it was still a really interesting read, and there are things that I noticed this time around which no doubt went over my head when I was eight or nine.  Although the story is simple enough and sufficiently engaging to be read and understood by young children, it includes some quite complicated ideas and there is more than enough material here to keep adults interested as well.

The Christmas Mystery manages to have a very strong message without being didactic and, although the framing narrative with its cast of angels and shepherds is undoubtedly Christian in flavour, the message itself is universal: peace and goodwill to all mankind.  The way that Gaarder puts this across is so straightforward and simple that it’s very effective.  He makes bold statements such as ‘For there’s no sense in believing what’s right unless it leads to helping people in distress’ (p. 113) that make his message seem clear and easy.  These lines of wisdom are shared out between all the characters, ranging from Elisabet, the little girl, to the angels of God, emphasising its universal nature and its ease.  I was impressed at how moral this book managed to be without ever being irritating.

This was definitely helped by the fascinating story, which is described with the same straightforward tone, applying logic to impossible situations.  For example, when Elisabet is despairing of ever catching up with the little lamb that she chases out of a department store, thereby starting her journey through time and space, she thinks:

The worst of it was that she realised she was unlikely ever to catch up with the lamb.  She had decided to follow it to the ends of the earth, but the earth was round, after all, so they might go on running round the world forever, or at any rate until she grew up, and by then she might have lost interest in such things as lambs.  (p. 15)

The statement is simultaneously supremely logical and utterly bizarre, and is typical of the quirkiness of this excellent book.

The mise en abime structure of The Christmas Mystery, whereby there are Advent calendars inside Advent calendars and mysteries inside mysteries, is very well thought out.  Each day, the reader opens the calendar door and is allowed to see more of Joachim and his parents trying to puzzle out what happened to Elisabet as they open their own Advent calendar door and discover more of her story as she runs back in time to Bethlehem, accompanied by angels, shepherds, sheep, wise men and Romans.  I enjoyed the different layers of narrative and how the two were intertwined.  I do think that the external mystery regarding the real Elisabet was wrapped up a bit quickly and I found it a little unsatisfactory, but that is my only issue with what is otherwise a genuinely wonderful book, highly recommended to all.

Where this book goes: This book is staying on my shelves.  I don’t think that I’ll read it every year, but I definitely want to read it again in the future.

Title:

Author: Joyce Stranger

Published: Corgi, 1967, pp. 142.  Originally published 1965

Genre: Young adult fiction

Blurb: The magic is of foxes running wild over the Cumberland hills, of an otter cub adopted by a poacher, of young hounds caught in a badger-run, and of dour, lakeland farmers who hunt on foot and are out-witted and out-run by a vixen and her cubs.  It is the enchantment of a swiftly-passing England, an England of countrymen and stone-walled cottages.  And it is the magic of an era that, in the hills and tarns of Cumberland, has not entirely died.

When, where and why: I can only assume that I acquired this book when I was in the rabid, animal-loving phase that most little girls go through (as opposed to the rabid animal loving phase, which I should imagine fewer experience).  Joyce Stranger wrote loads of good animal stories, but somehow I must have passed this one by.  Clearly it is ancient, and so it becomes book 34/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.  I picked it up to read now because I needed something light (literally and figuratively) to read on the tube while I was reading Quicksilver.

What I thought: Although The Running Foxes is a children’s book I’m very glad that I unintentionally waited until I was older to read it, as I don’t know that I would have appreciated it so much when I was little.  It is a subtle, quiet book with a relatively sparse storyline, but remarkably touching.  Joyce Stranger has filled her book with the well-created and maintained atmosphere of the fells in a fading era.  The penetrating cold and damp of the morning mist on the hills and the warm, smoky camaraderie of the local pub are almost tangible in The Running Foxes. This simple but magical world is populated by a cast of gruff but good hearted old men whose lives revolve around animals both for work and recreation and who I thoroughly enjoyed following as they hunted over the fells, made bets or came to terms with their loneliness.

As the title suggests, foxes and fox hunting play a large part in this book, and I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a book which managed to address this in quite such a balanced way.  The author admires the foxes for their cunning and trickery, but also admires the men for their dedication to their animals, their country skills and the sense of community that the hunt brings.  Both fox and man seem to enjoy the thrill of the chase.  Of course, it helps that there are no fox killings in the book, but nonetheless it was refreshing to read something which is able to see both points of view and present them alongside one another.

All in all, this was a good, quick read, perfect for the winter.

Where this book goes: I think I’m going to keep this one for now.  According to LibraryThing, it’s the first book in a trilogy about Dai the local vet, so I may be tempted to acquire the other two for when I feel like returning to the Cumberland hills for some escapism.

Tea talk: As this was exclusively a train book, there was no tea with this one.  There definitely should have been though, as all that reading of walks on frosty mornings and coming home to roaring fires called for a pot of tea.

Title:

Author: Michael Morpurgo

Published: Egmont, 2001, pp. 300

Genre: Young adult historical fiction

Blurb: Sean and Annie have fled the potato famine in Ireland for America, leaving their dying mother behind.  They are the only O’Brien children to have survived their family’s suffering.  The worst is not over as they embark on a hard and dangerous journey all the way from Cork to California.  One thing gives them the courage to go on: the hope that they might at last be reunited with their father.

When, where and why: My mother was kind enough to pick this one up for me and get it signed and dedicated by the author from a bookfair that I wasn’t able to attend.  I was in the middle of university at the time, and so this book was pushed aside by other books on which I had to write essays.  I picked it up now because I wanted something short and light to follow The Woman in White.  It’s book 24/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.

What I thought: I’ve loved every single one of Michael Morpurgo’s books that I’ve picked up since I first read Why the Whales Came many years ago.  He is, in my opinion, one of the best older children’s authors still writing, and Twist of Gold serves as a wonderful reminder of why that is.

The story of Twist of Gold follows two children as they journey from Ireland to Boston and then onwards through America in search of their father.  Along the way, they are helped by a string of supporting characters who are all well-drawn and engaging.  Morpurgo is able to make the reader warm to each of these people in a very short space of time and each one is a carefully crafted individual so that although the story develops in a fairly formulaic manner (children get into trouble and are rescued by kindly person) it never feels repetitive or dull.  I was also pleased that Morpurgo doesn’t feel the need to tie all of these characters into the ending in a contrived manner, but leaves them as steps along the journey.

The writing, as always, is very skillful and the sort which can be enjoyed by readers of any age, which for me is the mark of a good children’s book.  His vocabulary choices are sometimes challenging but always appropriate to the age range for which he writes without ever feeling dumbed down.  His descriptions are full and evocative, instantly conjuring up arid deserts or crowded city streets.  The story is full of adventure but is sufficiently grounded in reality to be believable.  I would definitely recommend this book for children of eight and up.

Where this book goes: Even if it hadn’t been signed, this book would still be staying with me as it’s a lovely story.

Tea talk: As I read this book in one sitting on the train between home and London there was no tea in sight.  Train tea is unpleasant, and even if it weren’t, the buffet service has been inexplicably removed from my train in the mornings, so no opportunity to buy it anyway.

Title:

Author: Brian Selznick

Published: Scholastic, 2007, pp. 533

Genre: Young adult historical fiction

Blurb: Orphan, clock keeper, and thief, Hugo lives in the walls of a busy Paris train station, where his survival depends on secrets and anonymity.  But when his world suddenly interlocks — like the gears of the clocks he keeps — with an eccentric, bookish girl and a bitter old man who runs a toy booth in the train station, Hugo’s undercover life and his most precious secrets are put in jeopardy.  A cryptic drawing, a treasured notebook, a stolen key, a mechanical man, and a hidden message from Hugo’s dead father form the backbone of this intricate, tender and spellbinding mystery.

When, where and why: I was given this book recently as a preset (thank you, Dave and Annie).  I decided to read it now because both of my main reads are quite long and involved and I wanted the satisfaction of finishing something.  This book seemed just the thing for a quiet read before bed.

What I thought: This book is unique among my reading this year in that the story is told through words and pictures.  By that, I don’t mean that the book has illustrations which accompany the text, but that it has pages and pages of beautiful drawings which tell the story without the need for words at all.  I know next to nothing about art, but these are undoubtedly excellent illustrations.  They not only further the story in an interesting and engaging way, but they are also full of emotion.  How Brian Selznick manages to convey so much with just a pencil is completely beyond me.

The story itself is basic, yet charming and endearing.  The writing style is pared down and simple, but I found that this highlights the intricate pictures by the contrast between the two, and while the text is necessary to convey dialogue and other aspects which cannot be portrayed in drawings, it is the illustrations which are undoubtedly the star of this lovely book.  I highly recommend this to anyone looking to spend an hour with a quick, enjoyable read that is guaranteed to make you smile.

Where this book goes: This book is staying with me, definitely.  It’s one that would be easy to pick up again when I want something relaxing to read.

Tea talk: This book was so short that I didn’t have time for tea while I read it.  I put the kettle on to boil, started reading, and by the time I remembered the tea I had finished the book.  I have learned my lesson and in future will sort out my brew before settling down with a book which looks as though it might absorb all my attention.

Title:

Author: Martha Bacon

Published: Puffin Books, 1971, pp. 220

Genre: Children’s historical fiction

Blurb: ‘My little panther’, Nono’s father called her, but he didn’t get the chance to say it for long.  Her African village was destroyed and she first lived in the bush then was sold as a slave, given a name and a home and then — horrifyingly — sold once more into the hands of pirates.  A rich, exciting story about a fascinating and thoroughly believeable character.

When, where and why: I have a nasty feeling that I bought this book when I was the correct age for the target audience, which would make it at least thirteen years old.  It has languished on my shelves ever since, so it definitely qualifies for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.  I was prompted to read it now by a challege in which I am participating on Goodreads, one of the criteria of which is to read a young adult book.

What I thought: Some children’s books are so delightful and charming that I love them just as much now as I did when I first read them so many years ago.  They have vivid, engaging characters and absorbing stories which draw me in time and time again.  Particular favourites are the wonderful stories of E. Nesbitt: The Railway Children and Five Children and It and the subsequent books. Reading Sophia Scrooby Preserved, I got the feeling that I would have really enjoyed it when I was eight or so, but it lacked the elusive magic necessary to translate into a book which I could still enjoy as someone in their twenties.

However, I do think it would be rather unfair to judge this book from my adult perspective when I’m clearly no longer the target audience, as this has all the elements which make for a good, if not great, children’s book.  It has a likeable and resourceful heroine in Pansy, as Sophia Scrooby is known, and a series of suitably far-fetched but exciting adventures for her to undertake.  It has danger, magic, and history.  It has so many of these things that at times they can feel a bit rushed.  Nono (as the heroine is initially known) sees her village being destroyed by Zulus, goes to live with a herd of impalas, then journeys to the coast and is sold as a slave without pausing for breath or reflection.  As a child, I would probably have found this fast-paced and exciting, but reading the book now I wanted more detail and development.

I thought the pictures throughout the book were a lovely accompaniment to a sweet story, and I would recommend this book as a good historical adventure for readers aged between eight and ten.  For me now it was a quick, simple, enjoyable read, but not worth revisiting.

Where this book goes: This book is going off to BookMooch to look for a new home.  It wasn’t bad (my usual reason for getting rid of books) but there’s no way I’m ever going to reread this or want to lend it to anyone and as I’m not likely to be spawning for many years it’s definitely not worth hanging onto for future generations to read.  It will be good to clear some room on my shelves.

Tea talk: I read this book while sipping some lovely golden Darjeeling.  First flush is just starting to be available in the shops now and I’m taking full advantage of that.