Showing posts with label Anne Rooney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anne Rooney. Show all posts

A good scaring - Anne Rooney

I'm writing a scaryish story at the moment. Well, I'm not writing it - I'm at that stuck stage when you're rather fed up with it, know something is missing and are flailing around firstly trying to make yourself do any work on it at all, and secondly trying to fix it but not knowing how to. And when I've been working on the same scary bit for a while, it doesn't look scary any more. So I started thinking about what scared me in books when I was small(er).



This was the scariest thing ever. This and the following couple of pictures in which all the evil intent in that look is put into action, and those two scary mouths full of teeth... The Tale of Mr Tod.











But it's a close-run thing, because there was also this, in a book my dad brought back from Russia in the 1960s. I studied that picture of how to recognise a wolf for hours. And every time I had to go out to get firewood I just knew there was going to be a wolf. Of course there was. In Hampshire.








Then there was the bit with the ghost in Heidi. And pretty much the whole of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. And the tunnels in The Weirdstone of Brisingamen.

Which things scared you the most in  books when you were small? (I notice mine have a lot of wolfy things.) Please tell me - I need to distil some scariness for this book.

 



Oh - late entry!  That awful thumbsucking-excision picture in Struwwelpeter:


Anne Rooney
(Stroppy Author)

"Ogres have layers" - Anne Rooney

Ogres are like onions...
A few years ago someone whose opinion I respect said the book I was writing dealt with ideas that were too hard for the target market (teens). I think there are many other reasons that book might not find a publisher, including some episodes that will have gatekeepers pulling up the drawbridge quicker than you can say 'they did WHAT?' So I shelved the book, even though I'd got 40,000 words into it.




But now I've nearly finished another book which has Big Ideas behind it, and I'm not so happy to abandon this one. So I've been wondering whether it's actually rather patronising to suppose an idea is too old for a target reader. All readers are different. And if the book works without the reader consciously thinking about the idea, and the idea is not obtrusive, where's the problem? Readers of a more philosophical bent are invited to think about a significant question or issue and will enjoy the mental gymnastics. Readers of a more literal bent will just get on with the story and not think about the issue.

How many of us, returning to a children's book years later, have suddenly spotted references, allusions, themes that we didn't notice with our young brains?

They can be like easter eggs. Not the chocolate ones. Easter eggs are those hidden bits of functionality and jokes in software that are not documented but you might come across by accident, or hidden single frames in a movie. If you want to see an Easter egg in action, open Firefox and type "about:robots" into the address bar. Or open Google and type "do a barrel roll". Type "anagram." OK, enough already - you get the idea. Your previous enjoyment of Google and Firefox was not reduced by your not knowing about those, was it?

There's nothing wrong with layers. We like layers, as Shrek points out. Onions, layer cakes, mille feiulle, ogres - they all have layers. Disney movies have an increasing number of jokes and references for the adults who are going to have to endure the DVD a very large number of times. And they've been doing it for a while. The Nuremberg rally sequence in Lion King springs to mind.




Remember that? Did that stop children enjoying Lion King? And how delighted my Big Bint was, years later, to see the reference to Leni Reifenstahl's film-making - because it's not just (or even) about Hitler and Scar, but about Leni and Walt.



It didn't do Philip Pullman any harm to stuff lots of Milton into the His Dark Materials trilogy, and there must have been a few gasps of recognition when readers grew up a bit and did Paradise Lost for A level English or at university. You not only don't need to have read Paradise Lost to understand His Dark Materials, you also don't need to explicitly sit down and think about authority and freedom, good and evil, or knowledge and ignorance. Themes, references and allusions are gifts for the reader's future self. Not all of them will ever find the gift - probably very few. But for those that do, it's a delight. Do you think three-year olds think about the balance of justice in That is Not My Hat? Does the little fish get away with it? How complicit are you as a reader in either wanting him to get away with it (pro-theft) or get caught (pro-retribution)? When does your allegiance switch? Why? Have you really thought about it? Is this book too old for you?


So I'll keep going on the book that is (for me) an exploration of Descartes' and Leibniz's differing views on the body and the soul and that is (on the surface) a jolly story about robots and ghosts.

Anne Rooney
(Stroppy Author)
Latest books: today! From Badger Learning




Why use a book when you can use the web?

Last month, I talked to the school librarians of Hampshire at their annual conference in Winchester.  One of the things they had especially asked me to talk about was why children should use books for research rather than the web. As more teachers expect children to do their homework from online sources, it is harder for libraries to make the benefits of books clear. It was good to be asked that, as it's something that's central to a lot of what I do. It's a question I'd not tried to answer before for other people - I just had a vague sense that there were very good reasons. Working out what they are was a really useful exercise.

There are some obvious reasons, such as the availability of books to be read even by students who don't have broadband at home. It's easy to think everyone can be online all the time, but in 2013, only 42% of UK households had broadband, and 17% had no internet at all.

But there are better reasons to make books available to young people in school libraries, and to encourage their use.

You need to know what you want to know
It's easy to find out something (a specific fact, such as the dates of the Civil War or how to make risotto), but quite hard to find out about something. Suppose a young person wanted to find out about dinosaurs. Search for 'dinosaur' on Google and you get 78.8 million hits. Hardly anyone will look beyond the first page.

The web is not written for young people
The first hit is wikipedia (of course), 17,000 words starting, "Dinosaurs are a diverse group of animals of the clade Dinosauria. They first appeared during the Triassic period, 231.4 million years ago, and were the dominant terrestrial vertebrates for 135 million years, from the beginning of the Jurassic (about 201 million years ago) until the end of the Cretaceous (66 million years ago), when the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event led to the extinction of most dinosaur groups at the close of the Mesozoic Era. Not child-friendly.


How about the Natural History Museum? It has good info but is not organised in a way that makes it easy for a young student to find what they want. Behind the first, child-friendly, page it goes to a database of dinosaurs that can be sorted in  different ways. The information is presented in a dry and relatively unengaging way and if you don't know what you are looking for, it's hard to find what you need.

We could go on.





But let's try something different. Search (just to look, not to buy anything!) for children's books about dinosaurs and the first hit is  National Geographic's First Book of Dinosaurs. Here's the contents page. Which would you rather look at if you were, say, 9? This or the NHM database?

The web has no gatekeepers or guidance
The information in a book is generally accurate and unbiased. If a book is about an issue of fact, the facts are on the whole correct. If it is about an issue of opinion, all sides of an argument are presented, equipping the reader to make up his or her mind in an informed way.

My book on evolution came out last year, so I looked to see what a young reader might find online about evolution.This was the fifth hit - looks quite accessble. But all is not as it seems:

“Dinosaurs could not have gone extinct millions of years ago because Earth isn’t that old!”

“Dinosaurs, reptiles that are very different from birds, did not change into birds. God specially created birds on Day Five and dinosaurs on Day Six!”

A child growing up in a Creationist environment (family/school/USA) might encounter this view, but a child in a school library should be safe from minority views being peddled as undisputed fact. That's what homes are for.

Not all facts are true (see above)
Some websites look authoritative but have an agenda (not just the Creationist agenda). If you were researching sugar, you might think sugar.org looks like a good start. It is, of course, a sort of sugar-marketing board and would give a vulnerable young reader a completely distorted view of the value of sugar in the diet. And some 'facts' are just wrong, such as this one, widely cited: “According to Eric Schmidt of Google, every two days now the human race creates as much information as we did from the dawn of civilisation until 2003.” It's true that Eric Schmidt said it, but that's all. Go back to the sources, and the real fact is that as much information was published, recorded or shared every two days in 2010 as in all of 2002. (And most of it was probably videos of kittens and pictures of people doing something stupid - not useful information.)

The web is a false form of laziness
It might look as though it's easier for a child to look online than find a book in the library. But it's laziness that backfires.
 
The web is full of accurate, fascinating information. It's also full of inaccurate, dull garbage. The web is not bad - but using it properly takes time and skill. A book written specifically for children could be based entirely on online research - but the author will have done the hard things:
  • finding the right information
  • checking the information
  • selecting the relevant and interesting information
  • presenting the information in an accessible, appropriate way for young readers.
If a young reader goes straight to Google, they have to do all this - and usually they don't, of course. They copy and paste the first thing they come across and learn nothing. Learning to use the web is a vital skill, but learning subject content should not be jeopardised by expecting children to depend on their nascent web skills.

I ended my talk with this chart. I could just have given you the chart and shut up, I suppose. This is why kids learn more from a well-chosen book than a Google search:


Using the web, the pupil has to do all the work - find the information, select it, find a route through it, work out what the words (usually intended for adults) mean, and decide whether the facts are correct. In a book, the author has done all that. The pupil can get on with learning about the subject. They can develop those other vital skills while researching less important content.


Evolution, TickTock (Hachette), September 2014: 9781783251346




Celebrating children's non-fiction at the House of Commons - Anne Rooney

Last month, I was one of the judges of the ALCS award for educational writing for children. There are not many big prizes for children's non-fiction, so it's a very important award. The eligible books were those written for secondary-age children,  published in English during 2012 or 2013. The age groups alternate every year, so next year it will be for books intended for readers of 5-11. Publishers - take note! Entries have to be in in June of this year. Contact ALCS or the Society of Authors to find out more.

The prize-giving was in the House of Commons on 2nd December. I spoke about the shortlist and why we had chosen those books. And Tristram Hunt talked about Lauren Child, which was entirely irrelevant as she doesn't write non-fiction. 

The books were great. Here's the shortlist:

Keep Your Cool: How to Deal with Life's Worries and Stress, by Aaron Balick and Clotilde Szymanski (Franklin Watts)
Lots of books address the problems that plague young people. But this book goes further, in tackling the festering worry that makes everything even worse. It doesn’t just say ‘don’t worry’, but – much more importantly - tells you how to ‘not worry’. The illustrations feature a great ‘self-talk monster’ that speaks all those horrid things we say to ourselves – ‘you’re too fat/ugly/stupid/boring’, and so on. But it’s your monster –  you can challenge or ignore it.



The Danger Zone: Avoid Being Sir Isaac Newton!, by Ian Graham and David Antram (Book House)

This really humanises an iconic figure, looking behind Newton’s famous achievements to show him as a person – and rather an odd one at that. Born prematurely, he almost died infancy. Life didn’t get much easier, and some of his problems were his own fault: he was stroppy, prone to tantrums, antisocial, and arrogant. If he was alive today, he’d be shut in his bedroom playing World of Warcraft. If you look carefully, you’ll see that on nearly every page Newton looks miserable or annoyed.


The world in infographics: Animal Kingdom,  by Jon Richards & Ed Simkins (Wayland)

This is an amazing fusion of text, images and design. It’s a book with great ‘Oh wow!’-potential, crammed with really useful facts – such as that a blue whale eats the weight of three cars in krill each day, or that that you couldn’t outrun a squid, which can speed along at 40 km/hr. This book is especially good as it’s accessible to readers of all levels of competence and confidence. A struggling reader can dip into it, and just a few words will reward their effort. A keen reader will devour it.



Mission: Explore Food, by the Geography Collective and illustrated by Tom Morgan-Jones (Can of Worms)

Food is let out of the cupboard and runs riot over the page in a series of ‘missions’ that range from getting an onion to escape from a maze to making cheese. It covers how food is grown and produced, cooked, eaten, processed by the body (that’s a good yukky bit) and finally decomposes and is recycled to grow more food. Some of the missions produce tasty outcomes, and some produce a right mess. Some pages are packed, with lots to explore; others give illustrated instructions; and some are largely blank, templates for recording discoveries.


They are all great books and the winner - Animal Kingdom - especially so. So let's sing their praises and encourage young people to read them.

But there are a few problems.

One of the shortlisted writers told me he had been to both Waterstone's and Foyles when the shortlist was announced to take a look at the other titles. Neither shop had any of the shortlisted books.

But why?  Forty per cent of all 8-11 year olds who read outside school each day read non-fiction, and sales of children’s non-fiction have risen by 36% since last year.The kids clearly know a good thing when they see it.

The shortlisted books are all brilliant. They look lovely; they use innovative design and all are illustrated with real, commissioned pictures, not just the usual photo-library munge we've seen a hundred times before. Why are these books not in bookshops? Why are books that are liked by 40% of children given only about 10% of the shelf-space? Children enjoy reading - and should be encouraged to read - both fiction and non-fiction books.Let's give the chance to do so.






Anne Rooney
Latest book:
Space Record Breakers
Carlton Books
November 2014

We lived through it... Have a 1960s day

"You're lucky - you know what it was like before."

Ex-Bint Boy, who is 20, said that the other day. We'd been talking about some aspect of technology, as I'm writing yet another book about the internet.

When we discussed exactly how 'before' it all was, he was quite astounded. He can remember a time before Facebook and YouTube, of course. But he didn't realise that it wasn't only the web I didn't have as a child.

My own Bints are well aware of the strictures of my early life because I used to impose sporadic '1960s days' on them when they were not allowed to use anything that wasn't available to me in the 1960s. It was actually a game, and although I tried to get them to do the whole day, the Smaller Bint rarely made it beyond 11 am before cracking.

So, if you'd like to try your own 1960s day, this is what you have to do:

No internet, including email.
No computers, games consoles, tablets, mobile phones of any type.
No wireless anything (including landline phones).
Probably, no landline phone.
No CDs, DVDs, videos.

No digital tv or radio - indeed the only TV you are allowed is BBC1, BBC2 and ITV and you have to watch them set to black and white. You can only watch TV at times when children's programmes were broadcast: Watch With Mother at lunchtime, then from about 3:30 onwards - until Magic Roundabout before the 6 o'clock news.You can listen to Listen With Mother on the radio.


If you want to take a picture, you'll need a film camera and you'll have to take the film to a chemist to be developed and pay for the pictures. Yes, really. And it might well be transparencies, that you can only view with a projector and a bunch of bored neighbours.

You'll have no clothes with velcro; no lycra or indeed any artificial fibres except rather nasty nylon, polyester and crimplene. No trainers. No backpacks. No leggings. No sweatshirts/hoodies. No t-shirts. Your knickers and tights will be saggy because there is no elastic in the fabric.
If you are a girl, you will have to wear a skirt. If you are a boy under 11, you will have to wear shorts. Your legs must be cold - there is a gap between your socks (which fall down) and your skirt/shorts.

If you want to do some writing, you'll need a dip pen and an ink pot (if you're at school), unless you're going to use a pencil. (Eventually, my school relented and allowed biros, but not until 1969.)
Colouring-in will be done with crayons, not felt-tips. No gel pens. No highlighters. No post-it notes.
You probably can't go anywhere in the car, because even if your family had a car, it would have been taken to work by your dad.

Crisps are plain and have a little pack of salt - you have to sprinkle it yourself. (You can still get these, as a novelty.) That's why salted crisps are called 'ready salted' - because the salt is already on them.
There's no microwave oven, no freezer (for most people). You might have a fridge, but there won't be any ready-meals in it.
You have to cook with ingredients.
You probably have sandwiches as your evening meal and you have them at about 5 or 6 pm.
There is some fun to be had making 1960s meals, actually - you might not realise it, but you can still buy Vesta curries, Bird's custard and Angel Delight. I'm not sure whether you can still make school-issue Spam fritters or whether the space-time continuum has somehow made that impossible.

Even your ingredients are restricted - no courgettes, peppers, aubergines, brocolli, pineapples, kiwi fruit, out-of-season soft fruit, exotic fruit and veg of any type. Potatoes are white and muddy (no fancy purple or red potatoes and certainly not black ones unless you have let them go off). Carrots are muddy. Cabbages might have caterpillars on them. Raspberries have maggots in, but it's OK as they float out in the evaporated milk.
Nuts come in shells and need cracking. Except peanuts, which you can open with your fingers.
Fruit and veg come in paper bags, never trays or plastic bags. You will have to find a market or greengrocer if you are going to do it properly, but as long as you buy things that were available, you're let off sourcing it properly (because you don't have a car, remember?)
You most certainly cannot have your shopping delivered by the supermarket. For one thing, there isn't a supermarket. But you might buy food from door-to-door butchers, fish mongers, veg sellers, bakers. Meat is bought in chunks and wrapped, bleeding, in brown paper. Ditto fish, but leaking salt water rather than blood.
You will eat a lot of mashed potato. It is made from muddy potatoes that are peeled, cooked and then mashed - it doesn't come in  a tray from Waitrose. But it might be Smash....

There are no wheelie bins: your dustbin is made of metal and is smelly.
If you have some large items to get rid of, you can't order a skip. You will have to wait for the rag-and-bone man to come with his horse and cart.
Your milk is delivered in glass bottles every morning. In the winter, birds drink it, pecking through the metal top. Try to put some bird-spit (and salmonella) in your milk for that authentic 1960s taste.


You're going to have to go to school by bus or on foot. Or cycle.
You will have to drink a disgusting bottle of tepid milk at break time - or try to use your body-heat to melt a frozen-solid bottle of milk if it's winter.
If it is winter, you will also need to wear your coat in the classroom until it warms up. You will need to crack the ice in your ink-well before you can do any work.
Your school lunch will be beyond horrid and children in Biafra would be glad of it.

(Our blankets were never this good)
You might spend the afternoon knitting brightly-coloured squares that will be sent to those same unfortunate children in Biafra. Your granny might suggest you use 'day-glo' colours because they show up so nicely against their dark skin, dear.

If you have poor eyesight, you can't wear your contact lenses. You will have to wear glasses - probably extremely ugly plastic NHS glasses.

With your glasses on, you will see endless coverage of the Vietnam War, in which the US dropped more tonnage of bombs on a small Asian country than were dropped on the whole of Europe during the Second World War.
You can listen to the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Sandy Shaw, Petula Clark... but only on your record player, or when they happen to come on the radio/TV.
If you go to the cinema, there will be only one screen, so you have to see the film that is showing (no choice). There will be an interval when you can buy a choc-ice if your parents let you, but it's quite expensive so they probably won't.

You will have to use old money - 12d = 1s, s0s = £1. (OK, I only showed my Bints the money. We didn't actually try to spend it.)
If you have a dog, you will need a licence for it, even if it's not a killer pit-bull.

If your paternity is in dispute, you will just have to argue it out with your parents as there's no DNA testing.
If you get pregnant at 14, woe betide you. (But if you manage this in only one day of 1960s, you're not playing the game properly.)
You have to call adults Mr and Mrs and Miss - or, if they are friends of your parents or neighbours, you might be allowed to call them Auntie and Uncle.They will all feel free to tickle, tease, touch, bully and antagonise you in whatever way they like and no one will take any notice of your objections.

If you are a woman, you will be slapped, pinched, subjected to sexist banter, unwanted attention, discrimination at work and elsewhere and will be badly paid.
You will be scorned if you work at all if you have children. Why aren't you at home cleaning the house and cooking your husband's dinner?

If you are not white, don't even bother going to the 1960s. Ditto if you have a disability or any mental illness.
Don't forget to get your newly-introduced vaccinations so that you don't end up in an iron lung. Or dead.
Some of your friends or neighbours won't have the usual configuration of limbs. You might not, if your mother took thalidomide while pregnant.

There are children with Downs syndrome and they are quite common - no one can scan or test their unborn baby and decide whether to keep them if they are not 100% 'normal' ('normal' was big in the 60s).
Everyone, everywhere will be smoking, with no regard for your presence as a child (we can't emulate that one).

You can play boardgames and with things like Lego (but only bricks and windows, not special shapes) - no electronic or battery-operated toys of any kind and relatively few plastic toys. Most things require some effort/imagination.
If you are bored, you can go to the park. Don't accept lifts or sweets from strangers.
Look out for the local policeman on his bicycle. You can ask him directions to somewhere, or what time it is. He won't have a gun, won't assume you have drugs in your pockets and might pat you on the head. You can't lodge a complaint about inappropriate touching if he does. He isn't a woman, ever.

If it is your birthday, you might have a party. It will be at home. There will be sausages, crisps (just plain, salted), home-made cakes, jelly and ice cream. If you have a party bag, it will have a sweet and a balloon in it (but you probably won't have one at all). You will get cards with your age on and, if someone is generous, one will have a badge with it.
You will get perhaps 1s or 2s pocket money (5p or 10p). If you spend it on sweets, you can't eat them all at once. No one will ever have eaten an entire (smaller-than-now) Mars bar in one go.
Your meals will be smaller, and on a smaller plate.

No one will care if you eat lots of butter, full-fat milk, fatty meat or sugary cakes and biscuits. You will not be encouraged to eat five fruit and veg as they are expensive and pointless (except for the 'fibre' that keeps you regular).
Someone will always be talking about the War - the Second World War if it's your parents, the First World War if it's anyone older. (Actually, that bit's quite easy this year.) They have seen and endured things you can't imagine - and you don't have the internet or a load of videos to help you imagine it, so you really don't know, except what they tell you.
Oh - and remember most of the world was black-and-white in those days.

The black-and-white world might end at any moment. You live in the shadow of the Cuban Missile Crisis and imminent nuclear destruction, the bomb about to be dropped by the USSR.
You know that you have to get under the table if there is a nuclear attack.
You can't travel to Eastern Europe.
There is no euro, or eurozone.
If you go abroad (you won't) you have to take travellers' cheques.
There are no charter flights. You will probably go on the ferry.
Britain has bits of an empire left. Zimbabwe is still called Rhodesia. Hong Kong is still a British territory. Your school atlas might be so old that it shows India as part of the Empire (mine was - only 20 years old).

Men go into space and will land on the moon. This is considered the most significant event in the history of the world.

There's a school holiday coming up - why not go back to the 1960s for a day? It's fun and educational.

I don't think ex-Bint-Boy realised just how very different it was. And it's only 50 years ago. Anyone over 30 or so has lived through the fastest changes the world has ever seen; perhaps it is a privilege after all.

I wonder whether my grand-daughter (Micro-Bint) will be subjected to 1990s days...



A little bit of remembrance - Dulce et decorum isn't (Anne Rooney)


Today is both Remembrance Day and the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. 11th November - 'real' Remembrance Day, would also have been the 116th birthday of my granny, who died in 1970. War and the Wall were defining icons of my childhood, and she was my favourite relative.

I was born closer to the First World War than my children were to the Second, though of course it was the Second that people talked about most. My parents' characters were forged by the Second World War - by rationing and evacuation and air raids and watching the planes fly over.

Imperial War Museum

But my mother was born eight years after the end of the First World War and that also shaped her childhood. It also produced that generation of women teachers who had never married, or had been early widowed. The First World War was in my classroom. I knew nothing about my father's family in the First World War - it was never mentioned. My mother's father, an ARP warden in the Second World War, was in the merchant navy in the First and so had an easier time than most. He had three brothers, and I think one was in the 'proper' navy, and one was too young to serve. No one died.


It's easy to think that everyone who went to war was slaughtered, but in fact 90% came back. Fairly obviously, most of us are not descended from those who died, or even who were horribly wounded or traumatised. Those young men were not the ones to marry and have families. They were people like the old man who ran the shop at the end of the lane where I grew up: partly blind, scarily angrily for no apparent reason (not apparent if you're six and just wanted to buy sweets), living alone with a dog and a limp. We remember those who died, but we should also remember those who survived, as it wasn't always the better alternative. And, of course, the families who survived, their lives rent apart by loss or by the return of destroyed young men. We should remember them.

'Lyricmac', 1982 - creative commons licence

The Wall existed from soon after I was born until the time I was pregnant with my own first child. As my father made frequent trips to Germany on business, the East/West split was something I was aware of in a shadowy way. When I began to travel in Eastern Europe as a teenager, it was unpopular - seen as fraternising with the enemy. But it was more a keen desire to understand what this 'other' was like that was presented as the enemy.

I was in Budapest when the Wall fell. I went to the railway station to get a ticket to Berlin. It was packed. I realised it wasn't my fight. The people around me wanted to go to Berlin to reach the West. I couldn't take their seat, so went back to the hotel and watched it on TV instead. I would have loved to have been there, but in the end it was better not to be.

My granny didn't kill anyone and was killed by a heart attack, so although I will remember her fondly, she doesn't need much of a paragraph here. Just a loving hello across the lost years. 

Mostly, today is about the First World War. The poppies at the Tower of London are an impressive and moving memorial. There will be 888,246 poppies - one for every British soldier who died. Not that there is a definite number of known casualties, but hey, you can't make an approximate number of ceramic poppies. Perhaps there could have been some way to show, though, that we don't even know how many people died. (The figure of 888,246 is the number reported by the War Graves Commission in 2010-2011 and includes names from war memorials and all named burials.) Non-British soldiers who fought for the Empire are not remembered at the Tower, even though The Mirror erroneously stated that the poppies commemorate the '888,246 British and Commonwealth servicemen' killed. The German memorial exhibition in the Deutsches Historisches Museum simply says that 15 million died, without singling out German soldiers for special note (and around twice as many German troops died as British).

It all looks more real in colour - French troops
Britain got off lightly in the First World War by comparison with some other parts of Europe. Approximately 10% of British (and Empire) troops died and a further 20+% were injured. The British (and Empire) death/casualty/missing rate was about 35% of troops mobilised. That's truly terrible. But the death/casualty/missing rate for Romania and France was over 70%, and for Russia it was 76%. A British soldier had a better-than-evens chance of surviving intact (or what passed for intact) - a Russian soldier had only a one-in-four chance. But wait: in Germany, 65% of soldiers were killed , missing or injured. In Austro-Hungary, it was 90%. Yes, 90%. OK, they started it. But not the individual young men dying on the battlefields. They didn't start it. Let's remember them all - not just the notional 888,246 who warrant a ceramic poppy. Four million people will have visited the Tower exhibition. Just look at the crowds in any photo. Imagine wiping them all out at a stroke - probably several thousand in any picture, but it would only be a tiny fraction of those represented by the poppies, and the poppies only represent a tiny fraction of those who died. It makes you think. The poppies make you think in ways that just numbers on a page don't.

Edna Gertrude Urwin
The best writing I know about the the First World War is Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front (German) and Wilfred Owen's poetry (English). Perhaps some of you know of equally good writing in French or Russian or Greek or Romanian. There must be some. Maybe a good way to spend the day is in reading, remembering all the men on both sides - and the 4.5-5 million men, women and children who died of malnutrition and disease as a result of the War. And let's remember, too, the 200 or so who died trying to escape East Berlin and the millions whose lives the Iron Curtain ruined. That's a lot of remembering to do. And I'll add my granny, too.

Anne Rooney
(Stroppy Author)
Latest book: Space Record Breakers, Carlton, 6 Nov 2014


Innocent and heartless - Anne Rooney


"So long as children are gay and innocent and heartless."

Those are the closing words of Peter Pan. It's interesting that 'heartless' is the very last word, as that's the word that has been unspoken throughout the book and is uncomfortably central to it. Children will have dangerous adventures. Children will grow up and leave. They must. Peter Pan is a freak, and real children aren't like that. They are, instead, like Wendy and John and Michael. They will torture their parents by going off and doing stupid things with no thought for their parents' suffering, putting themselves in danger and just thinking it's jolly good fun. And - worst for parents - that's how it should be. Because children are 'gay and innocent and heartless.' And it's both delightful and unbearable.

I read a very interesting blog post by Clementine Beauvais last week which was really about open-access academic articles, but it described an article she had written some time ago (not much time ago, as she's very young for someone so accomplished!) The article discusses the power children have or don't have in literature, and how children have a particular type of power because they have more potential than adults: they have more life ahead of them, can do more stuff than we will be able to, and will be around after we are dead (in the usual run of things). She is clearly right - this is an extremely important part of the power dynamic between adults and children. I'm not sure it's one that finds much expression in children's books, though - but perhaps Clem can point me in the right direction. It's rather undermined in the dead-kids genre currently in vogue.

Another important source of the child's power is that they can destroy the adult's life at a stroke, just by choking on a peanut, falling under a bus, getting diphtheria or walking through a wardrobe into a non-existent land. Adults are scared of their children because the children hold ALL the important power. And children are at least subliminally aware of it. Children's literature plays with that dynamic to a greater or lesser degree depending on the perspicacity and courage of the writer.

In the nineteenth century, children's books (and children in adult books) generally end up being absorbed into 'normal' (thank you, Clementine) adult society - what we could call an aetonormative resolution if we wanted to be jargonish about it (thank you, Maria Nikolajeva for that word). But today we tend to write books that leave the future more open for children, perhaps because the real future looks so uncertain (although futures have always been uncertain). Or perhaps because we don't like to endorse a 'normal'.

When we, as writers, exclude parents from the picture - sending them to work, killing them off, making them neglectful, leaving them asleep in the cave, or whatever - we give the stage to the child characters. I think most of us do it, if we think about it, to free the child to act. In Arthur Ransom's day, it was fine to give your kids some sandwiches and stick them in a leaky boat, not expecting to see them for a few days. Now it's not. To do so (in a book) would be to make an issue of irresponsible parenting. So we need another way to give children the freedom to have adventures. But why ever we might think we do it, one of the undeniable results is that the parents, once out of sight, are out of mind. And not just the reader's mind. I'm writing something set in the late 19th century at the moment. The hero is an orphan, with an abusive guardian. No one cares what he does. But, perhaps more importantly for me as writer, whatever he does can't harm anyone who loves him. I can have him chased by a murderous villain, threatened with drowning, cut to ribbons by a slasher robot, and not have to worry about a grieving or angst-ridden parent behind the scenes.

I'm struggling to think of a children's book in which loving parents are present and respond realistically to the dangerous exploits of their children. Children don't want to see that, of course - it's either not interesting to them, or would detract from the joy of the story, depending on the child. But neither do we want to write it. We don't want to think about it. There's a terrible tension at the centre of exciting children's books, as in real-life parenting, between wanting the child to have exciting adventures and not wanting them to die. Every parent draws their own line of acceptable/unacceptable risk. Every story-teller pushes the risk and harm as far as they can/want and usually stops just short of death (if we exclude Edward Gorey from the mix). And they are freest to  remain gay and innocent and heartless if we don't have to think too much about their parents as we write.



Anne Rooney
Stroppy Author
Latest book - Evolution, Octopus, September 2014

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