UKYA review: Proud, compiled by Juno Dawson

Proud is Stripes Book’s third YA anthology and the second to consciously focus on a representation gap in the YA market. Like last year’s A Change is Gonna Come, this book is a triumph and strongly recommended as an addition to classroom and library shelves.

The genius of boosting representation by anthology is in the implicit message that there is not just one voice to be heard. This book offers ten stories and two poems which feature different aspects of LGBT experience, each accompanied by artwork. All work is created by LGBT-identifying creators, and their interpretation of the theme of pride is as multifaceted and various in tone and genre as the rainbow symbol emblazoned on the book itself. Both the writing and the artwork covers a range of styles and genres, offering a real taster of what is (or will be) available from LGBT creators producing work aimed at the YA market. Again, with an eye to broadening the representation available, the collection features stories by four previously unpublished writers, all of whom are bound to now become more well-known. (The two ‘new voice’ writers from the Change collection both have novels releasing this year…)

If you are a teacher reader of this blog, you may be interested to see the teaching resources (which I produced) for this text, available at the publisher’s website. I focused on key skills required for GCSE English, such as analysis of language and of structure, and evaluation skills, as well as A Level Media and Lit and writing skills. I had the AQA and Edexcel specs in mind while producing these, but was thinking about broad skills practice rather than specific exam questions.

It’s both impossible and unfair to talk of favourites in so broad-ranging a collection, as so much of that is down to personal taste. And yet, there isn’t space here to review each piece. Please know that I enjoyed ALL of the writing in this book and would happily rate each piece separately at least 4 stars on Goodreads. What allows me to rate the collection as a whole 5 stars is its breadth, particularly in terms of genre and tone and the sheer delight I felt as a reader in picking my way through these various pieces.

I loved the reworking of Pride and Prejudice as a queer high school romcom. If you are teaching P&P, you MUST explore I Hate Darcy Pemberley by Karen Lawler, sassily illustrated by Kameron White. It’s a glorious insertion into Austen scholarship which presents key conflicts engagingly and relevantly for contemporary readers, while offering plenty of affectionate nods for those familiar for the source material.

On the Run by Kay Staples initially grabbed my attention as it’s set near my adopted hometown of Leicester, clearly chosen for its vague identity as a city and lack of glamour. I really enjoyed the wry details of the somewhat miserable Travelodge as setting for these teens’ high drama, and particularly appreciated the accurate portrayal of a character’s clinging to and enumerating ‘certainties’ in times of rapid change. Alex Bertie’s artwork with careful use of white space underscores this aspect, I feel.

Finally (because I limited myself to three…) I was thrilled to find fantasy in the collection in the form of Cynthia So’s delightful fable The Phoenix’s Fault, with the dramatic accompanying art by Priyanka Meenakshi. This richly symbolic tale of a young girl realising her true desires is beautifully entrenched in mythic language and landscape, with magical creatures.

These appear alongside many other brilliant examples, including David Levithan and Moira Fowley-Doyle’s pieces which both use form in unusual ways, Simon James Green’s wonderfully ‘light touch’ writing Penguins, Michael Lee Richardson’s amazing and complex cast, Tanya Byrne and Fox Benwell’s tales of fear and bravery and the poems by Caroline Bird and Dean Atta, which zoom in on particular details of LGBT+ experience, in the way that only poetry can.

So, as I’m sure is clear, I am definitely recommending this collection. The one part I haven’t yet mentioned is the foreword by trans author Juno Dawson, which outlines very clearly why the collection is important. She shares part of her own history for context, as well as some of the political background – such as Section 28, which forbade the ‘promotion’ of homosexual lifestyles in schools between 1988 and 2000 (yes, 2000), effectively gagging teachers from even acknowledging that LGBT people exist, never mind that it’s a normal/acceptable/healthy way to be. The ramifications of this haven’t yet really left education, so it is important that we grab opportunities like the resource that this book offers.

Proud is out now from Stripes Books and available in all book outlets.

Writing: Visiting the Ideas Shop

“Where do you get your ideas from?” may be the most common question asked of writers. For many non-writers, or many aspiring-writers-not-currently-writing, we imagine a magical process where ideas simply arrive in the writer’s brain, unbidden. Writers, we assume, have some kind of different way of approaching the world that enables them to access this well of ideas that is not available to the rest of us.

Would it surprise you to hear that it isn’t actually like that? Ideas often come when they are looked for, worked at, or when it has become a habit to work creatively and develop ideas into writing.

I often find that I have the best/most interesting ideas when I am the busiest or most productive. The further I step away from writing, the fewer ideas I am able to have. So, if you don’t see yourself as a writer, ideas are not likely to just ‘come’. Creativity is a practice, a habit, something we do – we don’t invoke it by wishing, but by working with it.

A helpful place to start is by combining elements. These can simply be objects, people, places – a key, a girl, a beach (a castle might be a little more predictable here…), or more specific elements of existing stories: what if you put Snow White in a contemporary urban setting? You’ll find some more kinds of things to draw on and combine in the mind map above.

Yes, I know, this is using familiar things, but there’s nothing completely original to be written, you know – once you free yourself from that particular false shackle, you’re good to go. The originality comes in how you write, how you put things together. And often the ‘copied’ bits disappear as you get more involved in your story anyway, adding more of you.

Interestingly, this can work with non-fiction too – try combining form and content in new ways to find fresh angles. For example, you might think that dinosaurs are a worn-out topic for kids, but still people find new takes to publish successfully. Anne Rooney’s Dinosaur Atlas, shortlisted for the Royal Society’s Young People’s Book Prize last year – combining subject and form engagingly and educationally – is a stunning example.

So if you want to write, but feel you can’t because you don’t have an idea, what do you do? Sit down and mess about with some ideas. (yes, I know). What kinds of stories do you like? Or, what kind of non-fic do you want to work on? What would be cool/funny/interesting to put together? What would create good conflict/an interesting angle for readers (or you)? Scribble down some ideas before you commit to anything more (no, I don’t mean you have to plan if that’s anathema to you – literally just list a few different possibilities or mind map a range of stuff, before selecting what to go with). Often we have to jot down the obvious first ideas to let the better next ideas come through. You may get more than one idea out of this, but seriously, it’s worth a try – personally, I only ever get ideas after a break from writing when I put pen(cil) to paper. No magical inspiration for me – maybe it’s the same for you?

Problematic texts and reader-writer-text relationships

This is a post I’ve wanted – and hesitated – to write for some time. Like many readers (and writers), I worry about representation, about #ownvoices, about the balance between books showing diversity and getting that diversity right. Clearly, there’s a world of difference between wanting to reflect the world around you with a diverse cast, even if you personally occupy a powerful/privileged position within the world, or writing from a well-researched less powerful position and being the brat who tantrums about not being ‘allowed’ to write outside of your own experience.

There are difficult discussions to be had about #ownvoices, which at its heart is intended to validate marginalised writers and bring out stories that we haven’t had enough access to. It has, however, had the side effect of making people feel obliged to ‘out’ themselves or share personal details about identities, health conditions and background that they may not have chosen to otherwise. And, much as we may loathe the tantrummers, their claims that writing is inherently an imaginative exercise are valid: if all writing becomes autobiographical, where does that leave us?

Anyway, I intended to write about problematic texts today, not own voices (although this is related). Texts can become problematic over time as social values shift – witness the difficulties we’ve seen with rewrites to Enid Blyton to make her fit contemporary family value (less slapping in the school stories – particularly that associated with an ‘exotic’ Spanish temperament, although I’m not sure how/whether Famous Five rewrites deal with all the Gypsy-blaming). Obviously, texts can also be problematic from the start, often noticed only by some people – depending on who you are (or where you stand) – an issue of positionality. For example, personally I have issues with a much-beloved 2015 YA novel ‘about’ mental illness, which I feel does an appalling job of representing the mentally ill character: All the Bright Places. Please be aware that I am about to share spoilers for this book, so do skip to the next paragraph if you need to. In this novel, Theodore Finch has bipolar disorder and that’s pretty much his entire self. He commits suicide towards the end of the novel and there is no sense that he needn’t have done, that he could have been helped and – worse – all the kids at school who previously ignored/ridiculed him now celebrate him, so to a depressed reader, it could well look like suicide is a way to achieve love/acceptance. Highly irresponsible.

However, this book is massively popular, because it has ‘big’ characters with overwhelming emotions, which many teens can relate to, and it is emotional and romantic – many reviewers rate it highly, because it moved them. The few negative reviews tend to come from people who have had more personal experiences with depressive illnesses and are concerned with the messages created. This is similar to the issue of the ‘white default’ seen in many SFF novels and TV/film (decreasingly so, thankfully), where writers don’t think about using a diverse cast and describe all their characters based on white-skinned humans, even when they are aliens/dwarves etc. Equally, this was often only noticed by readers/viewers of colour until recently – or, more sadly, was not even noticed by them because it had become so much the norm. I have related before on this blog how my diverse-city-dwelling students will populate their stories with people named ‘Bob’ and ‘Susan’ because ‘That’s who’s in stories’, even though they are more likely to spend their time with people named Bilal or Sufiya.

My point is that often only certain groups of reader are positioned to see how texts are problematic – and we should listen to them. If enough people with a specific experience/identity are saying that a text misrepresents that experience/identity, then it probably does. Some of these examples might be explainable due to changing social context – note I’m saying explainable, not excusable/forgivable – but that doesn’t mean we keep holding them up as great examples. New texts exist that can replace these older texts (yes, Laura Ingalls Wilder apologists, I am looking at you!). At the same time, no single view of the world (and that is what a text offers – a view) can be perfect. It’s a snapshot. We need to consider how damaging that misrepresentation is. In the case I examined above, I believe it’s actively dangerous for some readers, who are in a particularly vulnerable state already. In the case of whitewashing racial representation as discussed in SFF, the damage is cumulative, so adding new texts is what’s needed, rather than getting rid of existing ones, although texts that provide obviously negative racial rep do need removal.

To end on a positive note, here are some YA novels that offer more productive representation of mental illness:

  • Highly Illogical Behaviour, John Corey Whaley (Faber) 2016
  • Under Rose-Tainted Skies, Louise Gornall (Chicken House) 2016
  • Am I Normal Yet?, Holly Bourne (Usborne) 2015
  • Beautiful Broken Things, Sara Barnard (Macmillan) 2016

Mini-reviews: fab YA genre reads offering great representation

Often when we talk about diversity and representation, it’s contemporary novels that get all the attention. Somehow, it seems that those ‘edgy’ reads set squarely and realistically in the present lend themselves maybe a little more easily to reflecting the world’s diversity a little more readily. That doesn’t have to be the case, though. Here are three novels I’ve read recently that are both fab YA genre titles AND offer something more positive in the way of representation.

White Rabbit, Red Wolf, Tom Pollock (Walker), 2018

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This absorbing spy thriller features a maths genius protagonist with a severe anxiety disorder. The book opens with Peter in the midst of a panic attack, and the inciting incident (as stated in the blurb – don’t worry, we’re still spoiler-free here) is his scientist Mum being found stabbed before an awards dinner in her honour, his twin sister Bel missing. So, you can see that the tension levels are high from the start, and trust me, things do not get any easier for poor Peter, who already found it difficult just to go to school and cope with life on a normal level.

It’s quite difficult to talk about this book without spoiling it but, trust me, if you like high-octane thrillers, codes and conspiracies with plenty of uncertainty about who to trust and what’s coming next, this is a masterpiece. And, of course, the representation of Peter’s mental state is perfectly executed.

The Wrath and the Dawn series, Renee Ahdieh (Hodder), 2016

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This is a gorgeous take on the Thousand and One Nights, which opens with sixteen-year-old Shahrzad facing down death to be a bride of the Caliph, Khalid, and avenge her friend who met a terrible fate.

I’m not generally a fan of purely romantic books, but there’s plenty going on story-wise in this sweeping fantasy duology which explores a kingdom in ruins through the introduction of various amazing characters. Be warned that book 1, The Wrath and the Dawn, has a shocker of an ending, so you may want to have book 2, The Rose and the Dagger, to hand ready!

If, like me and many other readers, you find you can’t get enough of those characters, there are also novellas which add to the world Ahdieh has created. Some of these are insertions from specific points in the story, while others provide backstory.

The Fallen Children, David Owen (Atom), 2017

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This gripping novel brings creepy sci-fi unease to a contemporary London tower block, and reflects the community you would expect to find there. Owen offers a retelling of The Midwich Cuckoos that explores how teens are othered by society and treated as inherently problematic and dangerous, as well as layering on additional social problems.

The result is unsettling and provides well-rounded teen characters that it’s easy to understand and root for in their context, even if sometimes you’re willing them to make different choices.

All three of these are great examples of books offering positive representation, with The Fallen Children presenting contemporary reality as it is, not the default white, and both The Wrath and the Dawn and White Rabbit, Red Wolf offering #ownvoices perspectives.

For more information about these authors and their fabulous books, I’d recommend looking them up on Twitter:

@tomhpollock

@davidowenauthor

@rahdieh

Happy New Year – my 2018 discoveries

Well, it’s been a while! I’ve been a busy bee this last term, going back to uni after 20 years to begin a PhD looking at the possibilities diverse YA might offer in the classroom. It’s been great to read theory about reading and to look at some studies into different types of reading (as long as I can avoid getting despondent about the limitations of GCSE English/Lit, of course…).

Anyway, this is just a quick post to wish you all a happy new year and give a quick rundown of some of my 2018 favourites. You may well have heard me mention these before, but just in case, in no particular order…

image of the covers of the books recommended in the post
  • The Fallen Children, David Owen, Atom – brilliant creepy vibe in a YA sci-fi novel (aliens!!) which also explores the contemporary UK setting and its realities for many teens perfectly.
  • Out Of The Blue, Sophie Cameron, Macmillan (YA) – great pace and twists alongside fab representation, plus a truly brilliant angels plot allowing for an exploration of grief and family dynamics.
  • Slay, Kim Curran, Usborne – so much fun packed into this YA urban fantasy featuring a boy band with a sideline in killing demons. I’m looking forward to the sequel due this year.
  • The Death of Mrs Westaway, Ruth Ware, Harvill Secker – great modern (adult) thriller, with plenty of red herrings and atmosphere. A tarot reader down on her luck, a big old Cornish house, mystery and tension – what’s not to love?
  • White Rabbit, Red Wolf, Tom Pollock, Walker – possibly the twistiest YA I’ve read. A great spy thriller focusing on a maths whizz with extreme anxiety who gets caught up in a web of deceit.
  • Before I Let Go, Marieke Nijkamp, Sourcebooks (YA) – described by the author as her antidote to disability inspiration porn, I felt this was beautifully achieved in this tale of a friend’s death in an atmospheric Alaskan small town.
  • The Queen of Bloody Everything, Joanna Nadin, Macmillan – a rare adult read for me, and the author’s first adult novel. This is a hugely entertaining (and sometimes poignant) meditation on mother/daughter relationships, spanning several decades and particularly great for those of us who remember the eighties.

Plus two great YA series concluded this year:

  • Hero at the Fall (Rebel of the Sands, book 3), Alwyn Hamilton, Faber – read this series for action and magic combined with real feminist sensibility (i.e. not just a ‘tough heroine’ but female friendship and a range of female characters as well as male ones) in a fabulous desert setting infused with shades of the Wild West and the Thousand and One Nights.
  • Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, book 7), Sarah J Maas, Bloomsbury – read this series for strong character development across the seven books, which takes place in a complex set of lands showing strong world-building. One for fans of high fantasy.

One of my new year’s resolutions is to blog more consistently, so I’ll be seeing you again soon. What have you resolved to do more/less of in 2019?

Wordy Wednesday: Writing and Ritual (beware of mythologising)

Writing is fraught with danger, mostly related to myth and ritual. Obviously, as a writer I love myth and mythmaking – the lure of the woods, the charm of the chosen one – but that’s not the kind of myth I mean. In this case, I mean the dangerous myths about writing itself:

  • I can only write if my desk is arranged a certain way,
  • I need complete silence/the perfect playlist aligned to my project in order to write.
  • I must start writing by 7.30 or the day is lost.
  • I wear my lucky ring to write.
  • I have a talisman on my desk which I must never lose or I’d forget how to write.
  • I can only start writing  a novel once I’ve made x amount of notes and can hear the characters talking in my head.

All of these things may help, but they are not what makes it possible for you to write – that’s you. Really, just you. Many, many writers write on trains, in chaotic cafes, at kitchen tables, in lunch breaks at day jobs – none of which allow easy access to most of these extras or props.

For a long time, I thought that I couldn’t try my hand at fiction because I’d never had the experience of a character ‘talking’ to me in my head. You read all the time of authors saying they got the idea for a story when a character made themselves known, and I believed that was the way it was supposed to be. Eventually, I saw another author I admired saying that wasn’t how they worked and I realised that it was just one possibility. I can never visualise either – can never get actual pictures into my head, so I suppose my mind just doesn’t work that way.

Coffee and notes – always useful…

The reason these stories are reported so much more in the press is because they fit with our romanticised idea of the writer as somehow special – characters pop along and talk to them as they recline on their chaise longue. The press is less keen on the ‘just get on with it’ model of writing! Obviously, writers are special – but in that, like all artists, we dedicate time to the work. There are literally hundreds of different ways of approaching that work and while it is important to identify the tricks that will make it easier for you, it’s also crucial to recognise that they are tricks and that all is not lost if you break the ornament that symbolises your current project/delete your white noise app by mistake/drop your favourite coffee mug/have to travel for work for a week.

Fab Fiction Friday: 3 Great Recent UKYA Reads

For this Fab Fiction Friday post, I’m micro-reviewing three books by fab UKYA authors that I’ve read relatively recently, all of which are gripping stories with great diverse representation. The first two of these have ‘incidental’ representation – the stories are not ‘about’ the character’s identity as such (although it may add complications to their situation). It is important that these stories exist in order that readers can see a range of characters experiencing adventures – otherwise we can find ourselves left with the situation in which I found myself in the classroom a few years ago:

We were covering ‘narrative writing’ for the GCSE and, frustrated by the weirdness of my 70% Asian class naming all their characters ‘Bob’ and ‘Susan’ (and equally ‘old white person’ names), I asked them why they weren’t writing about ‘Mohammed’ or ‘Sufiya’. They were stunned into silence. Eventually, one boy answered, ‘But Miss, we’re supposed to write real stories. Stories aren’t about us. They’re about you.’

That’s when I knew we had a problem. A problem that books like these are addressing. It’s not just race, though – when I was growing up, as a working-class kid, there weren’t many books about me, either.

My Box-Shaped Heart by Rachael Lucas

(from Goodreads): My Box-Shaped Heart is a powerful story of an unlikely friendship from Rachael Lucas, author of The State of Grace.

Holly’s mum is a hoarder, and she is fed up with being picked on at school for being weird . . . and having the wrong clothes . . . and sticking out. All she wants is to be invisible. She loves swimming, because in the water everyone is the same.

Ed goes to the swimming pool to escape the horrible house he and his mum have been assigned by the women’s refuge. In his old life he had money; was on the swim team; knew who he was and what he wanted. In his old life his dad hit his mum.

Holly is swimming in one direction and Ed’s swimming in the other. As their worlds collide they find a window into each other’s lives – and learn how to meet in the middle.

genre(s): contemporary

representation notes: British working-class (specifically Scottish), blended family with complex relationships, mentally ill parent, domestic abuse

read it for: a touching but not sentimentalised story of first love and growing up; a vividly-drawn emotional journey with pace and real action; gentle (rather than ‘gritty’) treatment of issues but never sanitised

This would be appropriate as an ‘eye-opening’ read for young readers, or potentially as a comfort for those in similar circumstances. I’d also recommend it for swimming lovers.

Out of the Blue by Sophie Cameron

(from Goodreads): When angels start falling from the sky, it seems like the world is ending. Smashing down to earth at extraordinary speeds, wings bent, faces contorted, not a single one has survived.

As the world goes wild for angels, Jaya’s father uproots the family to Edinburgh intent on catching one alive. But Jaya can’t stand this obsession and, still reeling from her mother’s recent death and the sudden disappearance of her ex-girlfriend, she’s determined to stay out of it.

Then something incredible happens: an angel lands right at Jaya’s feet – and it’s alive …

genre(s): fantasy (angels), contemporary

representation notes: MC is biracial lesbian with Sri Lankan heritage, chronic illness/disability

read it for: a beautiful story about dealing with grief and loss – and love; a character-led, very ‘literary’ feeling novel with fantasy elements with a solid focus throughout on relationships and emotions; an original premise that is explored in an interesting and very human way

This is a book with wide appeal, I think: there are almost post-apocalyptic elements with the angels seeming to herald the end of days, as well as the strong relationship and character focus that contemporary fans crave.

We Are Young by Cat Clarke

(from Goodreads): On the same night Evan’s mother marries local radio DJ ‘Breakfast Tim’, Evan’s brand-new step-brother Lewis is found unconscious and terribly injured, the only survivor of a horrific car crash.

A media furore erupts, with the finger of blame pointed firmly at stoner, loner Lewis. Everyone else seems to think the crash was drugs-related, but Evan isn’t buying it. With the help of her journalist father, Harry, she decides to find out what really happened that night.

As Evan delves deeper into the lives of the three teenagers who died in the crash, she uncovers some disturbing truths and a secret that threatens to tear her family – and the community – apart for ever…

genre(s): contemporary

representation notes: bisexuality, mental health

read it for: thriller-like pacing and gritty but never sensationalist treatment of some difficult issues (if you want specific trigger warnings which are too spoilery for me to share, check Goodreads first)

As with all Cat Clarke titles, this handles complex and disturbing issues well, treating young adults with the respect they deserve. There are a few low ratings on Goodreads because people have bought into the ‘snowflake’ rhetoric, but a book like this may be just what a young person struggling with serious problems (or having come out the other side) needs – to know they’re not alone.

Wordy Wednesday: But how do you read so much?

I’m often asked how I read so much – or people say ‘oh I wish I had time to read’ (often in that passive aggressive way that implies that they’re just doing much more important things, actually – but that’s a different issue).

Firstly: I don’t read that much. I average about 50-60 books a year – for a book blogger, that’s seriously small fry. I’ve seen some whose Goodreads counts are 250+ per year!

Secondly, I’m not reading War and Peace on a weekly basis. Mostly, I’m reading YA novels, some children’s (Middle Grade/9-12), with an occasional adult title thrown in.  It’s rare for me to pick up a massive tome, but it can happen.

Most importantly, though: I want to read, so I read. To that ‘oh I wish…’ person – you clearly don’t, actually. And, incidentally, it’s the same with writing. If you want to do it, you make/find the time for it. For me, that means reading on the bus, sometimes while cooking dinner, as a five-minute break between heavy-thinking tasks to clear my mind (nothing spirits me away like a good book!), as well as the standard reading in bed.

Starting this beauty on my bus journey today. I’d read a lot less if I could drive! #diverseYA

— Beth Kemp (@BethKemp) August 20, 2018

A final point: having discovered podcasts, bus time started to get a little crowded, so I now try to limit podcasts to walking to and between buses – commuter life is complex! What uses for otherwise ‘dead’ time like travelling have you come up with? When/how do you fit reading in?

Adult review: In Bloom by C J Skuse

Genre: is serial killer black comedy a genre? If so: this is it!

Age range: definitely 18+ – graphic language, violence and sexual content are key features of this series.

I loved Sweet Pea and was very excited to read this sequel, which picks up the minute Sweet Pea leaves off. Consequently, it is very difficult to talk about without making spoilers for the first book. I will therefore assume you know the basics: Rhiannon is a serial killer, the novel is narrated in her highly engaging voice, including notes from her diary (I particularly love her lists of people she wants to get rid of). The tone is darkly comic and like the best comedians, Rhiannon often pulls you along noting things that you can easily agree with but, as she is a psychopath, she will then take a turn into grotesquesly violent territory where you or I would not have gone – which is a nice reassurance of our normality, perhaps.

If you haven’t read Sweet Pea, you should toddle off and do that now, and I’ll move on to In Bloom-specific points…

For much of this instalment, Rhiannon has the complication of being pregnant, living with her in-laws and being the girlfriend of a convicted killer to deal with, all of which make killing difficult in different ways. But don’t worry, her irreverent voice and her drives are still very much in evidence. If, like me, you found Sweet Pea hilarious and were weirdly rooting for Rhiannon, you will definitely enjoy In Bloom. (and PS, I saw C J Skuse say on Twitter that there is a third book to comes, as well as a TV series!!) So much Sweet Pea goodness to look forward to!

I very much enjoyed seeing Rhiannon negotiate and wriggle around the further limitations imposed by her chatty fetus, her nosey and well-meaning in-laws and the pressures of being recognised as the girlfriend of killer Craig. The idea of her trying to fit into a pre-natal group is, by turns, hilarious and heartbreaking (serial killers have feelings too – and the ‘cliquiness’ of those groups was perfectly captured).

Overall, I obviously very much recommend this. The combination of genres is highly original and I think the use of humour will appeal to a lot of readers.  The pacing of the plot and control of tension in this second novel is well-judged and had me turning pages, but the novel’s real strength is in its characterisation and voice.

Thank you to HQ and to C J Skuse for providing a copy of In Bloom via NetGalley for review. Note that accepting a review copy never influences my expressed views and I only opt to review books I enjoy.

Reading Recommendations Slide 27: Revision Season Escapism 3 – Historical

This half term, all my recommendations will focus on reading for pleasure, relaxation and escapism during revision season. This week I’m offering four historical titles allowing students to get lost in rich evocations of the past.

I pop these recommendation slides up while I take KS4 and 5 registers (if I had yr9 classes, I’d use them there too) and allow students to read the info and decide whether they want to find any of these books. It’s a key one of my attempts to widen their reading and help them find books they might enjoy as there are certainly plenty of those out there, and the curriculum doesn’t always make it easy for us to present students with a pleasurable reading experience.

Download the slide here: 4 – Revision Season Escapism – Historical

The last theme posted was escape into fantasy for revision season. I make some links thematic, some topical, some more English-y. Please do let me know if you have ideas/suggestions/requests for future possible links.