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Imagine packing up your home, leaving Earth and setting out to travel across space to colonise a new planet.

The journey will take so long you’ll be put into a cryptobiotic state. But there is absolutely nothing to fear: You’re on sleek new spaceship, looked after by a team of well-programmed robots, and everything has been carefully thought through. When you finally arrive at Nova Mundi (it only takes 199 years to get there), you’ll be woken up to a delicious breakfast and the start of a whole new and wonderful life.

It sounds great, doesn’t it?

And so it is in Cakes in Space by Philip Reeve and Sarah McIntyre. Astra and her family are on their way to their new home but – you’ve guessed it – something goes wrong. Astra wakes from her suspended sleep, and feeling peckish goes off in search of a chocolate biscuit.

The Nom-O-Tron (a highly developed version of Star Trek’s Replicator) satisfies Astra’s request, but when she’s tempted to ask for something a little more outlandish (how many times have you seen the word “Ultimate” used to describe a dish?) something goes awry. Soon Astra is hurtling through space surrounded by cakes which have learned to evolve. Cakes which are fed up of being eaten themselves. Cakes which have developed a killer instinct.

Will Astra be able to save her family from the Ravenous Crispy Slices and Ferocious Fruit Cakes stalking the spaceship’s corridors? How much more complicated will things get when a second front opens up and her spaceship is raided by alien life forms known as Poglites, desperately searching for their holy grail, that technology which they haven’t been able to master: SPOONS.

Yes, this is a totally surreal and deliciously outrageous story of friendship, ingenuity and hundreds and thousands.

It’s fast-moving, exciting, just ever so slightly scary in that enjoyably adrenalin pumping way and above all it’s FUNNY! Add into the mix some genuinely beautiful writing (sometimes young fiction is all about the plot and the language – especially for an adult reading it aloud – can be somewhat unremarkable, but Reeve at times writes sentences which I found myself wanting to copy out), a plot which will enthral both boys and girls of a wide age range, and the subtle inclusion of some philosophically meatier issues (the consequences of greedy desire, the demonisation of that which we don’t know and can’t name) and you’ve got yourself a remarkable book.

Image: Sarah McIntyre. Please click on the image to be taken to the original blog post – well worth reading!

McIntyre’s illustrations are a crazy but perfect mix of 1950s brave new world sleekness and outrageous sponge-and-icing based fantasy. I’m delighted that Astra’s family are mixed race (this isn’t mentioned in the text at all, but how great to see some diversity just as-is, without it being an issue in the book).

The top-notch content of Cakes in Space is matched by a stunningly produced physical book. Like last year’s Reeve and McIntyre production, Oliver and the Seawigs, this is first being published as a small hardback in pleasingly chunky, strokingly hand-holdable format. Everything about the book is appealing.

After indulging in a solo read, I read this book aloud to both girls over a couple of days last week. Before we’d even finished the books my girls were off to raid the cutlery draw in the kitchen for highly prized spoons to create a collection of which any Poglite would be proud.

Carefully curated, they labelled every spoon with where it had been found in the galaxy, its rarity and its monetary value (I can see how this could develop into a Top Trumps game…)

Spoons are one thing, but cake is another, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to host our own mini Cakes in Space party. We baked a host of fairy cakes and then turned them into KILLER CAKES…

Lollies made great eyes on stalks…

… as did Maltesers and Aero balls.

We had fun making teeth out of snapped white chocolate buttons, tictacs and rice paper snipped to look like rows of sharp teeth.

We also had some Ferocious Florentines and Sinister Swiss Rolls (helped along with edible eyes).

Other characters from the book were also present: The Nameless Horror was a big bowl of wobbly jelly dyed black with food colouring and with licorice shoelaces reaching out across the table, and jars of purple gloop (thinned down Angel Delight, again dyed to give a good purple colour) with gummy snakes in them made perfect Poglite snacks. Alas these were guzzled before I got to take a photo!

Preparing for the party was at least as much fun as the party itself…

Great music for a Cakes in Space party includes:

Other activities which would make for a great Cakes in Space party include:

We’ve all heard of Death by Chocolate, but what’s the nearest you’ve come to being killed by a cake?

Disclosure: I received a free review copy of Cakes in Space from the publishers.

A rich and warm-hearted coming-of-age tale, Head over Heart is an impressive and important debut novel from Colette Victor.

An adolescent girl is smitten with a boy in her class. But she fears her family would disapprove of her spending time with him. How can she balance her wishes with those of her family? How does she work out what she really feels, when whatever course of action she takes may make someone unhappy?

Victor’s novel is finely told, with an eye for emotional complexity, but what makes it stand out for me is how very relevant it is today in Britain with all this talk of “British values”; the heroine in this story (which made me cry quietly as I reached the final pages) is a Muslim girl, trying to work out some of the issues any teenager might face to do with friendship, love, lust and just who they see themselves as, who they want to be, but she is having to do this at the same time as trying to find a comfortable place between or across two apparently very different cultures.

Ideas of what is right or wrong, what is appropriate or not are thoughtfully explored. There are no easy answers, but there’s lots of respect and understanding, quietly woven into the pages. Whilst it is brilliant to see some publishing diversity (how many other novels for young teenagers can you think of with a Muslim main character?), I firmly believe this is story relevant to any adolescent (and indeed any parent of young people just entering that crazy time of their lives when hormones run riot), whatever their cultural or religious background.

If you enjoyed Anne Booth‘s Girl with a White Dog I’m confident you will love this book, which also explores how life in Britain today is incredibly enriched by the many cultures that find a home here. Pertinent, moving, and at times challenging Head over Heart is a book which makes the world a little better for enabling us to walk in each others shoes and understand our neighbours and ourselves a little more.

Perhaps the last comments of my review should go to a friend of mine: I lent my copy of Head over Heart to a Muslim friend who first warned me that it might take her ages to read the book. Within pretty much 48 hours she was back: “I couldn’t put down the book!” “Her writing is so beautiful.” “I would definitely give my daughter this.”. She also talked about how for her as a parent who didn’t grow up in the UK (but in Pakistan) it was very interesting and helpful to think about the differences between her own childhood and that of her UK born children.

Authors write outside their experience all the time but I still felt it would be interesting to hear what Colette Victor had to say about the experience – she was born in South Africa and now lives in Belgium. Here’s what she had to say to me:

“The magic of being a writer is being able to leave your own predictable and familiar existence to temporarily take up residence inside another person’s skin, a different set of circumstances, a new world all together. If the only viewpoint I was supposed to write from was that of a white, middle-aged South African woman living in Europe, I doubt I’d be doing any writing at all. I certainly wouldn’t have any readers.

So why did I feel I had the authority to write from the perspective of a Muslim teenage girl living in Europe? Well, it all boils down to my job, really. I live and work as a community worker in an ex-mining city in Belgium with a large immigrant population. I’ve worked with many different groups of people over the years – children, senior citizens, ex-convicts, job seekers, resident groups and mothers. Many of the young people and mothers I work with are of either Turkish or Moroccan origin – their families came out here over fifty years ago to work in the mines. I’ve heard countless personal stories, been inside scores of homes and spent hours in the company of young Muslim girls and their mums. I also spent a lot of time interviewing some of these girls to find out their viewpoint on various issues and, I can tell you, they’re as vast and varied as any other group of women.

One of the reasons I set out to write Head over heart was because there are so many misconceptions surrounding the headscarf. People often see it as a symbol of female oppression. Through my work I’ve met many proud, strong women who choose to wear a headscarf as a symbol of their identity, despite the opinions for or against it. I know married women, widows, single mums and emancipated university students who wear a headscarf because that’s who they are and not because there’s a man standing in the wings demanding it. On the flip side, I also know many women who would seem Westernised and wear Western clothing but live an existence of subjugation and submissiveness behind the scenes. I know Belgian women, Christian women and atheists – some lead proud, strong lives, some live in fear and submission. Ultimately it’s about looking further than cultural accessories and seeing the person underneath.

My daughter, Stella, who’s about the same age as Zeyneb, had a Muslim best friend for all her nursery and primary school years. The two girls were always together, doing homework, dressing up, sleeping over at each other’s houses. As my daughter’s friend got older and her body started changing, she often expressed concern about the fact that soon her carefree childhood would be behind her and she’d have to make the choice of wearing a headscarf or not. This is what got me thinking about all the cultural pressures at play in making such a decision and this is what I explored through Zeyneb’s eyes in Head over heart.”

My thanks go to Colette Victor for her thoughts on this. And thank you – this has been a long post, but I really think this book deserves the time and space I’ve devoted to it dtoday for it is an excellent, thoughtful, and highly relevant début.

Mr Tibbles – a shy reporter on the local newspaper – has been threatened with the sack. It’s perhaps no surprise: Mr Tibbles is mad about cats, and all his stories end up revolving around felines one way or another. What his editor wants, however, is news!

Photo: Sarah

An act of kindness brings Mr Tibbles into contact with Minoe, a rather strange young woman who appears to be able to talk to cats. Through the town’s network of feline pets and strays Minoe starts starts to deliver interesting titbits of exclusive news to Mr Tibbles; cats across the city overhear all sorts of conversations often revealing juicy gossip and insider information, and when Minoe learns of these pieces of news from kitty comrades, she passes them on to her friend the reporter.

Mr Tibble’s job is looking up until he uncovers information which could lead to the downfall of a local powerful businessman. Will the reporter be brave enough to expose the evil goings on? Will he be believed, when his only witnesses are pussy cats?

A funny and yet quietly profound tale of courage, friendship and what it really means to be human, The Cat Who Came in off the Roof, by Annie M. G. Schmidt, translated by David Colmer is a gem of a story. Ideal for fans of The Hundred and One Dalmatians, or cross-species tales of identity such as Stellaluna or Croc and Bird, this book would make an especially good class read-aloud, with lots of opportunities to discuss what life looks like from different perspectives, helping readers and listeners walk in another’s shoes, as well as perhaps learning a thing or to about overcoming shyness, and how to stand up for what you believe in.

From the mangy, feisty stray cat who you end up rooting for, to the hilarious school cat with a penchant for history lessons and a slight;y different (some might say out-dated) understanding of the term ‘news’, Schmidt has populated her story with a super array of characters. The narrative beautifully unfolds with unseen and fine tuning, climaxing with an exciting and rich ending which is deeply satisfying even though not everything is tied up neatly and not all strands end happily. Despite plenty of kittens and purring, this book never patronises its readership.

Knowing the original Dutch language version as we do as a family, I can also comment on the gorgeous translation. Colmer has wittily and cleverly translated linguistic and cultural jokes. His phrase ‘miaow-wow’ for when the cats meet up for a big parley is genius and has now entered our family parlance. If I nitpick I might personally have chosen -thorpe rather than -thorn for the Dutch -doorn, when translating the town’s name but I feel mean mentioning this as Colmer’s voice is pitch-perfect; at no point will you notice the text as a translation for it reads authentically and smoothly.

This must-read book will make you laugh out loud (whether you are a dog person or a cat fan). It will make you feel like for a brief moment you’ve witnessed and understood the best of humanity. It may also make you rather nervous next time you find a cat sitting ever so quietly next to you whilst you are having a private conversation!

I do so hope Pushkin Press are now thinking about translating Schmidt’s earlier work, Ibbeltje, which shares many characteristics with The Cat Who Came in off the Roof and has the added advantage of brilliant illustrations by another glittering star in the Dutch children’s literature firmament: Fiep Westendorp.

For reasons which will become clear upon reading this charming and magical book Minoe not only can speak the language of cats, she is also known to climb trees when dogs approach. It took about a nanosecond for M to decide she wanted to play-by-this-particular-book by climbing as many different trees as she could one afternoon at the weekend. So, armed with a local map (printed from http://www.openstreetmap.org/) we set off to map all the local trees good for climbing in.

Each tree we climbed we identified (it seems that around us oaks, ash and willow are the best climbing trees).

We remembered the last time we deliberately climbed trees in order to read on location.

Getting out and climbing a tree? Reading a truly terrific book? What more could you ask for as a lovely way to while a way a few hours!

Whilst climbing we weren’t listening to music, but these tracks could go with reading The Cat Who Came in off the Roof:

Other activities which you might be inspired to try alongside reading The Cat Who Came in off the Roof include:

When did you last climb a tree? What secrets might your cat be able to tell me ?

Disclosure: I received a free review copy of The Cat who Came in off the Roof from the publisher.

And briefly…. thank you with all my heart to all of you who commented on my last post, or got in touch via email, phone, snail mail and more. Life goes on and plots are being hatched and plans being laid. As and when I can reveal more I’ll be sure to let you know the latest.

There are not many books which give me nightmares but Snow Bear by Piers Harper is one. It was a favourite of both girls when they were toddlers, even though I couldn’t stand the sight of it (you can read more in my review here). But months, even years, after I last read that book, it recently came back to haunt me with a vengeance.

Piers Harper’s Snow Bear is about a young polar bear who has lost his mum. A young Inuit girl helps to reunite mother and cub and all live happily ever after.

Photo: ucumari

Fine.

Snow. Being lost and then reunited. Cuddly animals. All good. At least for my kids.

But can you imagine that sinking feeling in my stomach when last month a new book arrived for review, a book about a polar bear cub who has lost his mother, but who is reunited with her thanks to a young girl?

Not only that, it too is called The Snow Bear and it’s by an author I associated (without every previously having read anything by her) with soppy, girly stories full of fluff and nonsense?

Uh-uh. No Way. Hide it to the back of the cupboard. Give it away to some unsuspecting soul.

I was not going to go through another round of polar bear hell.

But then the twinkling stars conspired against me. M needed a new book to read (when J has ballet lessons on a Saturday morning we have a little routine going whereby I wrap up a new-to-M book/comic and give it to M to read – a Saturday morning treat instead of sweets) and I had nothing in the house that I could offer. Well nothing other than a book I didn’t want to share.

But aren’t I a book champion? Don’t I believe that all reading is good reading? Don’t I try to be that sort of gatekeeper where the gates are always open allowing a flood of variety through rather than thinking I know best about what ought to be locked up and kept from prying eyes? Don’t I believe, on some level, that every book has a reader somewhere out there for whom it will be just right?

All this as preamble to get to the point where I let my personal demons out of the wardrobe and gave M The Snow Bear by Holly Web.

And of course, M devoured this book. She LOVED this book. She was so excited and happy to read this book. M loves reading, but even I was a little taken aback by the enthusiasm with which she talked about this book and INSISTED that I read it.

So I read it. I read it on my own.

Uh-oh.

It looked like I was going to have to admit I was wrong. It looked like I was going to have to do that hardest of things and change my opinion.

To be doubly sure, I read it again, this time aloud as a bedtime read to J.

Double Uh-oh.

J adored the book, and even on a second read I still thought this book was really rather good.

It’s about people being kind and thoughtful, it’s about family bonds and tensions, it’s about love, loss and longing, and it’s got a real air of authenticity about it.

From the historical / geographical / social details of Inuit life to the emotional world of a young child, Holly Web has written a story which rings true (even in that final moment when you have to decide has it all been a dream or not).

For a young independent reader it’s a wonderful book. It looks and feels lovely to hold – a proper hardback, with a little bit of sparkle. Black and white illustrations every few pages help draw you in and then the magic of the tale takes over. There’s the adventure of making a real igloo and camping out in it, there’s the delight of listening to your grandpa tell what seem like impossible tales. There’s the reassurance that whenever you’re lost, you will always end up being found and reunited with those that matter to you.

So don’t let any misapprehension you might have about soppy girly stories (or polar bears) put you off picking up this book. If you need any more persuading check out Polly’s brilliant review on her blog, The Little Wooden Horse (interesting not least because she reviews as a mother of two boys) or Library Mice’s review which include a video of the author talking about her book.

Given the season, we decide we’d make some Christmas tree ornaments to remind us of Holly Webb’s Snow Bear. Like the hostess with the mostest I was able to conjure up out of General Supplies some wooden die-cut polar bears (bought several years ago from Hobbycraft) which the girls painted and then covered in sparkles.

Some drilling and thread later our first tree decorations were ready:.

Whilst making our polar bear decoration and banishing nightmares we listened to:

Other activities which would be great fun to try along side reading The Snow Bear by Holly Web include:

When was the last time you had to change your mind about a book? When was the last time you came face to face with your own book prejudices?

Disclosure: I received a free copy of The Snow Bear by Holly Web from the book’s publishers. I was under no obligation to review the book and I received no money for this post.

Image: be_khe

Yes, I know it’s not Easter, but I have two lovely egg themed books that deserve to be read NOW, not only in 9 months time so please go and scrabble in the back of your kitchen cupboards to find that secret stash of chocolate I won’t tell anyone about, break off a piece and enjoy whilst I tell about these two egg-tastic picture books.

Croc and Bird by Alexis Deacon explores how very different two friends can be (so different they come from quite separate species), and yet, how they can still be the best of friends if they listen to their own hearts, and are not forced into conformity by others. If you like, it’s a reworking of the themes explored in Stellaluna by Janell Cannon, but this time with a crocodile instead of a bat.

It asks questions about who your family is. Can long lasting ties only be based on shared customs and cultures, or can friendship and love transcend such differences?

Deacon’s illustrations have a magical and somewhat mysterious air about them; indeed they reminded me of William Blake‘s paintings. Unlike Deacon’s earlier Beegu, the characters in this book are not so cute. The young bird is as ugly as they come – and this too says something about friendship and brotherly love.

Croc and Bird is not a sugary, all sweetness-and-light picture book. I think its themes and images are somewhat more challenging and thought provoking than you’ll find in many books on the kids’ bestseller list, but its is not without humour and it’s certainly full of hope.

The Fishing Trip by Béatrice Rodriguez (sold in the US under a different title – Fox and Hen Together) is also about cross-species friendship, this time between a chicken and a fox.

In this wordless story Chicken entrusts the care of her Egg to Fox (it is clear they have set up home together), whilst Chicken goes off to bring food home for them all. The fishing trip referred to in the title turns out to be a rather hair-raising, risky experience, but

The Pirates Next Door by Jonny Duddle has been on my to-review pile for a long time. I really rather like the book, but I’ve found it hard to write a review because I can’t help but read it as a satirical story, commenting on society’s attitudes towards “outsiders” (immigrants, travellers, people who are somehow “other”). It’s been difficult for me to find the words to write a book review rather than a political rant.

M (7) would say it’s a extremely funny story about a dream scenario: just how exciting would it be if a real pirate family pitched up to live in our street whilst they repaired their ship? Answer: VERY! And if they left treasure chests behind? …Even better!

My adult head says it’s a rather acutely observed tale about how most people in a neighbourhood react with horror when an strange family arrive in town; there are complaints the pirates don’t wash, they are untidy, they terrorize the people they come into contact with. All in all, most of the pirates’ (grown up) neighbours agree “they won’t fit in round here”.

After a long list of complaints from neighbours, the pirates eventually move on their way, leaving behind wealth and a display of generosity that puts the local residents to shame.

Did Duddle write this book as a commentary on society’s attitudes to “outsiders”? I don’t know. What I do know is that it speaks strongly to me because of my own experience of foreigner nimby-ism: I once had a family of Kurdish refugees as neighbours who enriched my life with generous gifts of lamb dishes perfumed with dill, and stories of humanity against a backdrop of the atrocities committed against their families by Saddam Hussain. They were lovely people. And yet I witnessed them being harassed, abused and threatened by local residents, residents who didn’t even know where they came from (always calling my neighbours Turks – completely incorrectly) but who for some reason felt threatened by this kind, creative family.

But put aside this personal connection, and you’re still left with a great book (indeed, earlier this year it won the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize). Told in rhyme (I want to sing the text, playing my accordion, as if it were a sea shanty that a pirate might very well sing themselves), this is a story for kids of dreams come true. What fun to have naughty neighbours doing everything that you’ve always wanted to do yourself (not having to wash, making people walk the plan, dressing up like a pirate), and how brilliant that in the end they leave you treasure and invite them to sail away with them next holidays.

The illustrations are glossy and remind me of Pixar animations – no doubt these will appeal hugely to kids used to a diet of tv/film/game animation. There are lots of fun details in the pictures (

For last week’s book+activity session I held at the girls’ school we read and played aliens. First up was a new book by Sue Hendra, Wanda’s Space Party.

For Wanda’s birthday treat, her friend, the alien, takes Wanda to his planet for a special space party. Wanda is amazed by all the new things she sees on the way to the party and the different ways things are done on her friend’s planet. But will she like the what her friend has prepared for her birthday celebration? Or will alien customs be all a little too… well, alien for Wanda?

With her trademark gorgeously bright, bold, modern and zingy illustrations (which look oh so ripe for adaptation to tv animation – think Octonauts, which has a not dissimilar aesthetic) Sue Hendra has written a lovely story about differences and similarities across customs and cultures. Kids will enjoy the apparently far-out traditions on the alien’s planet (such as brushing your toes instead of your teeth before you go to bed). On a more serious note, it provides an easy route in to talking about how we’re not all the same, and that such differences are enriching rather than threatening.

Next we read Colin McNaughton’s The Aliens are Coming (I think originally recommended by a reader of this blog, but I can’t track down who it was – thank you to whoever you are!).

An alien invasion has been launched. All sorts of aliens are heading this way; wobbly ones, two-headed ones, ones that have eyeballs stuck on stalks, the list goes on… It’s a terrifying prospect! But as the aliens approach and catch sight of us, the readers, what do they do? What do they see? Who is more frightened? Us or them?

This book is so much fun to read aloud! It’s told in rollicking rhyme so the words just bounce along and the illustrations are hilarious (even when trying to be scary). The yuck factor is just right (with squelching, smelly gases and some burping) and the denouement is perfect – [spoiler alert] the penultimate page has a mirror in it, so we can see what the aliens see… and what they see is enough to stop the attack and get them retreating back to outer space. The listening kids emerge as the victors, more mighty and powerful than a whole host of extra terrestrial life forms. Hurray!

For our session at school we had several different activities on offer after reading the books (all photos below are from the dry run I did at home with M and J as I’m not allowed to take photos in school). Kids could make alien spaceships out of foil plates and plastic bowls, decorated with permanent pens and stickers.

3 Comments on Aliens at school, and how (and why) to choose books to read to large groups of kids, last added: 5/28/2012

The Last Giants By Francois Place (original title: Les derniers géants), winner in the picture book category of the 1993 Prix Sorcières, is a fictional account of a 19th-century naturalist whose discovery of a race of giants ultimately leads to their destruction, despite his personal sensitivity and respect for them.

In 1849 Archibald Leopold Ruthmore purchases a very unusual piece of scrimshaw; it appears to be a giant’s tooth intricately carved with all sorts of images, including a map showing a land of giants.

The hopeful explorer sails to Calcutta, before travelling on to Burma, where Ruthmore and his group of porters tackle water rapids and dense jungle. An attack by a head hunting tribe leaves Ruthmore’s entourage decimated. Those who survive desert their leader, but Ruthmore refuses to give up his dream, and continues on alone to eventually discover a mysterious valley inhabited by nine giants and giantesses.

They were covered from head to foot – including their tongues and teeth – with a dizzying maze of extremely complex lines, curves, twinings, spirals and speckles. Given time, one could discern recognizable images within this fantastic labyrinth: trees, plants, animals, flowers, rivers, oceans – a veritable symphony of the Earth that echoed the music of the nightly invocations.

Ruthmore lives with the giants for almost a year, taking meticulous scientific notes. He is generously welcomed into their society and responds with warmth and an open mind. Eventually, however, Ruthmore returns to “civilization” and publishes his findings. Having raised enough money to mount a return expedition, Ruthmore sets out once more to find his friends. But this time his journey ends in tragedy not triumph.

Deep within me, I could see how my stupid determination to reveal the secret of their existence had brought about this terrible calamity. My books had killed them more surely than a regiment of artillerymen. Nine Giants who dreamed of the stars, and a little man blinded by his lust for glory: that was our entire history.

A thought provoking book about the power of knowledge, the ethics of science, about what it means to be human, and mankind’s role in the greedy desecration of the earth, this is the first book I’ve read this year that I’ve wanted to buy multiple copies of just to give away to people (the last book I felt like this about was Patrick Ness’ A Monster Calls).

The story is beautifully and evocatively written. Indeed, when I first read it, I was so convinced by the text that I had to double check that this was a fictional work, not a republished 19th century account from a real explorer. Perhaps the fact that Warner Bros have optioned the film rights to this book tells you something about how thrilling the story is. The fact that that The Last Giants is also one of 3 Comments on Murderous books, and stories told on skin, last added: 3/20/2012