Saturday, April 1, 2023

On the Coaxing of Horror: some ghost stories by Robert Westall

I have long wanted to read the shorter supernatural fiction of Robert Westall, ever since becoming aware of the M.R. Jamesian influence on Antique Dust, his collection of ghost stories published in 1989. This volume begins with the overt dedication (both to the man and to the style): 

To M.R. James, 

most ecomonical of writers, 

who could coax horror 

out of a ragged blanket. 

James had been dead for some fifty years when this collection was first published, making Westall's inscription more homage than 'gift' to the master of the ghost story. 

There are three parts to the dedication that fairly define the Jamesian style: 

1) "most economical": James had an exceptional (and exceptionally influential) prose style. In his ghost stories, hardly ever longer than 7,000 words each, the voice is inimitable: a diffident, donnish plainness simply recounting a story once heard over sherry in the Combination rooms of a Cambridge college; a barely contained, sly humour, inwardly laughing at the silliness of the innocent protagonist; a ruthless, razor-sharp nastiness at the climax.

2) "coax[ing] horror": the verb here is perfect. James himself wrote:

Let us, then, be introduced to the actors in a placid way; let us see them going about their ordinary business, undisturbed by forebodings, pleased with their surroundings; and into this calm environment let the ominous thing put out its head, unobtrusively at first, and then more insistently, until it holds the stage.

The "ominous thing" is always "coaxed", lured out of hiding, unobtrusively, hardly noticed...until it is too late. The prose, of course, has a lot to do with it - that calm, level, logical tone only once allowing itself to reveal the terror beneath the surface...by which time, as the reader, you're trapped. It's a very clever - and utterly addictive - style. 

3) "a ragged blanket": in so many of James' ghost stories, the central stimulus of the supernatural terror, often comes from something very mundane, something we would all be familiar, something homely, unimpressive, ordinary. Westall is referring to "Oh, Whistle, and I'll come to You, My Lad" where the finding of a little pipe in the sands calls the 'thing' to the bedroom of the protagonist which then manifests itself physically in the raising of twisted bedsheets. It's a horrible moment, doubly so in that the bed represents the place of personal safety, peace and calm, but which has been invaded. Elsewhere, James draws on the most commonplace of objects - a pair of binoculars, a library book, a framed picture - to let loose the most terrifying of shocks.

I will be reading a fair few of Westall's ghost stories this Easter vacation and, as I have done before with the short fiction of E Nesbit and Philippa Pearce, will regularly blog my thoughts. But it will be the Jamesian influence that I shall explore specifically, the economy, the coaxing...and the ragged blankets of Westall's development of the master's style. 

"The Devil and Clocky Watson" (from Antique Dust)

A haunted clock comes into one man's possession and then very quickly leaves it to wreak a different kind of effect on the life of a more unscrupulous antiques dealer.

There is an overtly sexualised atmosphere in this story which James, who although it might be said infers it in his stories, would never have made so explicit: 

They [contemporary ghost stories] drag in sex too, which is a fatal mistake; sex is tiresome enough in the novels; in a ghost story, or as the backbone of a ghost story, I have no patience with it. [JAMES, 1929]

Ghost stories can, however, very successfully break this standard. Certainly the exceptional work of John Gordon, for one, calls out James' rather prudish ruling; in any case, I can't think that James expected 'his' kind of ghost story would develop in the hands of other writers if all of his pronouncements were kept to the letter.  

I'm trying not to hold up Westall's tale unfairly against James, despite the dedication at the start of the book, but if I didn't know the M.R. James connection with the volume, I'd be hard-pressed to establish a Jamesian influence. Overall, I found "Clocky Watson" an uncomfortable story. The 'possession' of Ashden after buying the clock felt distasteful; and I wasn't particularly taken by the ending, with Clocky hardly falling foul of the ghost/devil. Surely this was meant to follow the intended formula, or have I missed something? What was particularly good, though, was the grubby depiction of the  the world of antique dealing. I'm sure James with his obsessive detailing of ancient manuscripts and dusty tomes - his daily bread and butter - would have been pleased with Westall's invocation of his own world, too.  

"The Woolworth Spectacles" (from Antique Dust)

Before I begin reading this one, I've seen the title in a few reprint anthologies and immediately thought of "A View From a Hill", James' very eerie story about a cursed pair of binoculars which can see into the past. Let's see if there's a connection...

...well, certainly there was a 'curse' of a kind, on the sort of everyday object that James liked to invest with malice. However, Westall breaks the 'no sex please, we're Jamesians' rule again. I liked the antique trade setting - Mr Hazlitt here taking the place of Ashden - and the enticing possibility that something rare and wonderful (or evil!) could be waiting hidden in the local junk shop or cash-and-carry. That is very in keeping with James' formula and Maude takes the role of that innocent bystander caught up in something terribly dark through no fault of her own. I found the ending quite terrifying and felt Maude's horror more acutely for all her original goodness. There's something about this story, too, that makes for a better 'explanation' than the straightforwardly supernatural one posed rather abruptly on the last page: James would have stuck at a straightforward curse; Westall shifts things forward quite a bit, focusing on character more than his dedicatee would have done. 

"Woman and Home" (from The Call and other strange stories)

A boy skives from school, his last resort from a group of bullies, and finds himself drawn to an old house that both tempts him and, at the same time, withholds its secrets. 

This was a very successful story, largely from its burgeoning sense of something very wrong going on but ultimate lack of any supernatural explanation. The description of the smell of rottenness, likened to the pork that went off when the boy's parents' freezer broke down, is an especially horrid touch; in fact, for me, it was the most uncanny thing about the story. I like that something so rationally possible holds a heavily nasty influence on the reader, inexplicably so when the smell returns later in the story...but this time, fainter. This is what 'coaxing' of horror means!

"The Making of Me" (from Echoes of War)

Memories of a boy's grandfather that go deeply into long-lost stories...and how the past comes to affect us all.

There is nothing supernatural about this but it has made me consider what a ghost story is for. I guess one reason for their telling is to connect us to our past; M.R. James, one of the great masters, used it predominantly as a warning against arrogance (not curiosity, as one of his stories might lead one to believe!). In "The Making of Me" it's a similar message, how the past when 'treated gently' might bring peace to the present. There is a line near the end of the story: 

The world goes forward to drugs and violence and fruit machine addiction. I go backwards, to where I am truly free. 

A line that rather sums up James' own view of life in way, a man who spent his life in libraries cluttered with ancient manuscripts, within cloistered walls of equally ancient colleges - Eton and King's, as even his own memoir establishes - and whose private, inward-looking real self was kept in check behind a deceptively donnish exterior. While the grandfather in Westall's story is a very far distance from James, there is perhaps more of that Cambridge academic lying not far beneath the surface than may at first appear.

One further line: 

But he's done enough. Taught me that every object tells a story, and every dent in every object tells a story. 

Yes. Westall puts it very well indeed. 

Monday, March 20, 2023

=IF ("Into Programming" = TRUE, GOTO Line 1 )

Super Questers: The Case of the Missing Memory by Lisa Moss and Dr. Thomas Bernard; illustrated Amy Willcox (QuestFriendz, 2023)

The Eighties were a great time for programming. Spending hours typing in lines and lines of code, eyes smarting from squinting at the minuscule type, fingers jittery from anticipation of the game that would finally emerge (or maybe from the litres of Cola consumed during the process), I was one of those teenagers who grew up glued to my Spectrum 48K (with the rubber keys), who read "Your Sinclair" magazine, and who ADORED programming. I loved Maths too - though it wasn't exactly my forte! - and even when I got to post-GCSE, it was decision maths that was my favourite discipline. Although I wasn't aware of it at the time, I guess the mathematical-logical side of my brain seemed to know what it was doing! 

Thirty or forty years may have passed and those Spectrums are now collector items...but programming lives on! It's there, quite rightly, at the heart of the Computing strand of the National Curriculum. For young people from the very earliest age these days to find pleasure in developing perseverance and problem solving is a truly vital attribute to grow. I heard Ian Livingstone (he of Games Workshop fame and mega computing genius) speaking to Nikki Gamble recently. He talked about his experience of school as a young person himself then specifically of his involvement with the development of the curriculum in 2011: 
ICT, as was taught at the time, was largely a hybrid of Office skills. Kids were learning Word, Power Point and Excel. They were being taught  how to USE other peoples' software but had no insight how to create their own. What that meant of course is that they were effectively being taught how to read but not how to write. And for the world that's being transformed by technology, for them to be operators in this world, [they] have to have an understanding of how code and programming works, even if they don't become programmers themselves.
Enter the Super Questers books...

I am truly delighted to see the second adventure now published in the series - this time, titled "The Case of the Missing Memory". This book, like the previous one in the series, is perfect for every Year 2 and Year 3 child. The bright, colourful illustrations by Amy Willcox (diverse and vitally inclusive) are key in attracting this age of readers. These work beautifully in tandem with the carefully graded puzzles that introduce, with the very lightest of touches, many key programming skills and understanding of the knowledge behind the code; in Quest 5 for example, we have a bit of Decision Maths in the form of the Bake-O-Matic problem (I wish I had got a doughnut sticker when I completed my A-level homework like this!!); while Quest 7 is a full-on programme, so elegantly written that the 'language' is perfectly understood - another example of the brilliant interplay between pictures and puzzles. Ian Livingstone's goal for children, those 'operators of the future', to learn how coding works, really couldn't be in safer hands.

I'm so glad a series like this exists today, that treats young children with the respect they deserve in the field of programming: coding is only complicated when we have our 'grown up glasses' on; kids massively enjoy it and they succeed as a result. Getting such young children, who are moving from the infant to the junior stages, excited and keen on computing and problem solving is absolutely what these SuperQuester books are about and I can't recommend them highly enough! 

Before I go, and to whet your appetite for the sort of puzzles in "The Case of the Missing Memory", here's an example of just how approachable and expertly written similar problems are in the books. Leo has a Python programme for you to solve. I'm thrilled that this language is highlighted here - I spend a lot of my Year 6 computing time using Python and the kids love it. Once you've found Leo's object, explain why the remaining objects are NOT the ones he was looking for!

Ahhhhh! Takes me right back to post-dinnertime evenings at my Spectrum, battling with BASIC...except this is even more fun!

 

Super Questers: The Case of the Missing Memory was published on 28th February. Do support your local bookshop where you can!  

Also, you can listen to Nikki Gamble's interview with Ian Livingstone here: https://justimagine.co.uk/podcast/ian-livingstone/ 


Tuesday, February 28, 2023

"Liberating the world of rats"

Moonflight by Gill Lewis; illustrated Pippa Curnick (David Fickling 2023)


When Tolkien began The Hobbit 
(according to his own letter to W.H. Auden), the legend goes that he was sitting in 'that everlasting weariness' correcting exam papers when he suddenly scrawled on on a blank leaf those immortal words of the opening chapter: 'In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit'. He claimed not to know where those words came from. 

Gill Lewis wrote Moonflight during the 2020 Lockdown. While the outside, public world was denied us all, she turned inwards to a story of rats, cats and cursed gemstones, and the creative process burrowed its way deep inside. By comparing the births of Tolkein's Hobbit and Lewis' latest novel, I do not mean to claim that creativity is born from 'restriction' of a kind - physical or mental - though it interesting to note that these two books of High Fantasy both began in this way.  Both books derive their main plots from an underdog (or should that be under-rat?!) learning to find himself only by digging deep inside to mine previously unacknowledged resourcefulness, strength and bravery to carry out a quest that only they could undertake. If there is anything that Covid-19 has showed the world, it is the hope that exists in human nature - to pull through together, to weather the storm, to show our initiative to overcome a formidable terror. 

Some say that Tolkien's novel derived in part from his experiences of the First World War, and the incredible force of communal will to beat the darkness being  concentrated into the figure of Bilbo Baggins is a tremendously powerful image to offer to children. Indeed, the longevity of The Hobbit's power to enchant and inspire each new generation shows no sign of dwindling. But Lewis' new novel draws on a similar source - in the days of Lockdown, today's children have had to deal with a rocking of their worlds on social and emotional scales not seen for decades. 

I am delighted to have been given the opportunity to interview Gill about her writing, process and Moonflight in particular. Listening to what she has to say about her work and thinking is an inspiring experience - and we are so fortunate to have her books at the forefront of children's literature, guiding, teaching and entertaining the young people of today's world. 

***

After so many books rooted in the ‘real world’ of humans and animals, what attracted you to an anthropomorphic approach to your storytelling? Were there any surprises for you along the way writing in this style?

Nearly all of my books for 8–12-year-olds have been set in the real world with human protagonists. Having a scientific training, I had veered away from giving my animal characters a voice, as I felt it was more realistic and truer to the story not to project human thoughts and emotions on the animal. My first foray into anthropomorphism was in A Street Dog Named Pup, where I have given a voice to the dog characters. They are dogs in a dog and human world. But in Moonflight, the Dockland Rats wear clothes, hold markets and have their own ceremonies. They are anthropomorphised to the degree that they are more human, thinly veiled as rats. And I suppose that’s how I wanted to write the story, because the rats’ lives essentially reflect our own humanity.

It was great fun and liberating to create the rat world. I could free myself from my usual highly detailed research for my other books and I could quite literally just make things up and explore the infinite possibilities of world-building stories. This changed my writing process too.

Usually, after months of research, I already know my ending and key events along the way. But with this story, I just began to write and had no idea where it was going which it made quite an exciting way of writing. Every twist and turn of the story were as new to me as they were to Tilbury. However, the first draft became a sprawling beast, and it took just as long to edit the story as to write it. But overall, I think this book has been the most fun to write.

What have you learned about your craft and potential future writing by writing about animals as talking human characters?

When writing about animals talking like humans, I think a writer must think about what level of anthropomorphism they are going to give to that creature. Is that animal going to be as close to the behaviour of the animal in the real world or are they going to portray it essentially as a human?

There is a sliding scale of anthropomorphism from an animal which isn’t given a human voice, eg; the osprey in my book Sky Hawk, to the rabbits in Watership Down where they show behaviour of rabbits, to Toad of Toad Hall who is essentially a human dressed as a toad. I don’t think there’s any wrong or right answer, but I think the world building and the rules need to remain consistent.

(Which is why Toad’s size change from human washer woman to small toad always annoys me – but don’t get me started on The Wind in the Willows!)

Maybe in the future, I will explore giving animals human voices, or maybe I will give humans the language of animals. The magic of storytelling is that any story is possible. Maybe writing Moonflight has freed me up to experiment with writing in different forms. As writers, we need an excuse to play and discover new challenges. After Moonflight, who knows where the next adventure will take me!

Why rats? What do these animals ‘do’ that made you choose them as your main protagonists.

Firstly, I love rats. I know they can be hugely unpopular. But they are highly intelligent, fierce, funny and rather cute. They also show empathy within their social groups. They are excellent problem solvers, food finders, hoarders and agile climbers. Because I have anthropomorphised them to the extent of being humans thinly veiled as rats, it’s advantageous that they can walk on their hind legs, hold things in their paws like human hands and have the sort of physique of a human - they are ideal to send on an adventure with the bonus of rather long and useful tails. Pippa Curnick has illustrated the rats in the story perfectly - it’s as if she could see inside my head.

Was Moonflight particularly easier or harder to write than your other stories for this age group?

There were aspects of Moonflight that were both easier and harder to write than my other books. It was easier because I didn’t have to do the huge amount of research required for my novels that are based on facts. Some of my other novels cover some quite difficult and dark topics and I sometimes struggle to find the right tone to ensure the story is realistic without making it too dark.The peril in Moonflight is so removed from reality that I didn’t have to worry too much about its impact. 

In some ways, the story was harder to write because I had so many ideas in the first draft. I had created other groups of rats including the City Rats who live at the top of the Shard, who are domestic fancy rats that love a bit of bling. The first draft was a sprawling mass of over 150,000 words. Half of those words had to go, and it was hard losing some of the richness of the story. Pulling threads out of the story sometimes seems to make the whole plot unravel and I learned much more about my editing process.

Which animal fantasy stories/authors influenced you most when writing Moonflight?

It’s hard to say. There are many adventure stories where the protagonist is small, but a brave hero. I think this appeals to young readers who feel small in an adult world, where their voices can go unheard. I really love Kate Di Camillo’s portrayal of Edward Tulane in The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane and also Despereaux in The tale of the Mouse, Despereaux. She creates such believable characters and worlds. Kieran Larwood’s Podkin One-Ear is a great animal fantasy adventure. The Disney films of The Rescuers are fun adventures of Bernard and Bianca, and I have a huge fondness for the film Ratatouille. Watership Down is a classic favourite.

Moonflight is in many ways a traditional swashbuckler of an adventure. Indeed Moonfleet is echoed strongly in the title, yet you’ve captured the flavour and still made the novel seem modern. Was that one of your aims and if so, how did you go about doing this?

Thank you. I did want to present this story in the modern day and I’m glad it has come across this way. I remember sitting near the Southbank, eating a sandwich and watching rats scurrying along the mud at low tide, and I thought of all the rat lives that have lived parallel to our own as the City of London has grown over the centuries. The Dockland Rats’ story is bound to the rat, the Great Bartholomew who lived in Victorian times, and I suppose that’s why I wanted to throw in a few steampunk themes of the type of clothes the rats wear, and their mechanical inventions. I became fascinated by the names of the docks of London that refer to the type of cargo or the countries that have been colonised and plundered: West India Docks, Tobacco Docks etc. And I thought of all those rats that once climbed aboard ships and inadvertently travelled across to far-flung shores. Hence the sea-shanty singing Ship-Rats became part of the story. The story grew so organically that I didn’t really know it was going to be a swashbuckler. I just wanted an adventure during lockdown and escape into the infinite possibilities of story. To my shame I had not heard of Moonfleet and had to Google it. The title Moonflight was found relatively late during edits. Publishing folk at David Fickling and I were trying to think of a title. The working title had been The Remarkable Life and Times of Tilbury Twitch-Whiskers, which is a bit long-winded, and there is a trend for shorter snappy titles. The title came to me one night when I was walking by moonlight. The clouds were illuminated by the moon so brightly above a silver sea, that they seemed to shine with their own light. I had an image of Tilbury flying high,silhouetted by the moon, above those bright white clouds, fleeing by moonlight - hence Moonflight was born.

Moonflight by Gill Lewis is published on 2nd March 2023 from David Fickling Books. Do support your local library and bookstores where you can! 

Sunday, February 12, 2023

Read for Empathy

The Read for Empathy Collection 2023

Personal choice: The Boy who Grew a Tree by Polly Ho-Yen; illustrated by Sojung Kim-McCarthy (Knights Of, 2022)

Some books are so good they deserve TWO blog-posts, and Polly Ho-Yen's The Boy who Grew a Tree - my top choice from the frankly outstanding Read for Empathy Collection 2023 - is definitely one of them! As with the other bloggers on the tour this year, I was amazed by the quality, range and depth of the choice of books, but when I saw The Boy who Grew a Tree was on there, there really was, for me, no deliberation necessary. You can read my first blog about the book here, which gives a summary of what it's all about and why I love it so much: https://afewtoread.blogspot.com/2022/04/the-boy-who-grew-tree.html. In that blog I've included a little Reading Guide, to use with younger readers too. 

There were so many wonderful books to choose from in the Collection but, on behalf of Empathy Lab, I wanted to champion The Boy who Grew a Tree for the following reasons that I felt made this the stand-out top choice for me. 

1. It has a quiet, beautiful voice. Reading Susan M. Cain's book, Quiet, early in my teaching career showed me the especial strength that introverts have. Her words have stuck with me as a teacher, aiming to find a way to create a balance in the classroom between the outwardly confident and the quietly thoughtful. There is strength in both! In The Boy who Grew a Tree, there is a gentleness to the passion that runs through this little novel: it is a bracing inspiration to quiet children everywhere and speaks directly to them all. 

2. It celebrates libraries. I'm sure I don't need to convince readers here of the truth that libraries are the at the centre of civilisation! Repositories of knowledge and understanding, we are so fortunate that libraries are there for us ALL. They must be treasured and protected to the highest degree.

3. It draws much-needed attention to the importance of (reading) communities. As a Reading teacher, it's the scene near the end of The Boy who Grew a Tree, where everyone reads to each other in the branches of the tree, as the Utopia that I work towards in my small way every day. By reading and talking together, we connect over stories. We listen to how those stories affect us all in different ways, because of our glorious uniqueness! And we are given a glimpse of what it means to be someone else...and learn much about how that understanding can change us for the better.

The Boy Who Grew a Tree is a book that I love so much, and I'm so proud to have been asked to take part in this blog tour, because now I hope that you will go out and find a copy to read. If you've read it already...read it again with someone else! 

And as I said before...

Everyone deserves a good story.

The Boy Who Grew a Tree by Polly Ho-Yen, illustrated by Sojung Kim McCarthy, is published by Knights Of.

Sunday, January 29, 2023

Sweets for Sad-Souls

The Miraculous Sweetmakers: The Frost Fair by Natasha Hastings


Natasha Hastings does not pull her punches. The Miraculous Sweetmakers: The Frost Fair, her debut novel, begins with the sudden death of a nine-year-old boy. Thomasina has lost her twin brother to an asthma attack and the guilt, shame and grief that dog her afterwards are the lasting echoes of the tragedy. A glittering backdrop of London's Great Frost of 1683 forms the silvery patina on this novel which is, at heart, a moving story of a family coming to terms with loss. 

A number of times in the novel, particularly during the early chapters, I sensed not inappropriate nods to Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell: both books deal with the sometimes discomforting aspect of being human; both employ the supernatural-as-metaphor to present this truth. There are some tiny, rather wonderful, allusions to Clarke's story: a mysterious nocturnal visitor claiming to have the means to bring back Arthur - Thomasina's brother - from the dead; the strident, show-offish demonstration of conjuring up fantastic horses (here a kelpie!) from the sea as tempting proof of the visitor's power;  there is even, near the end, a throwaway description of that same visitor commenting on the wildness of another's hair - 'thistledown' thatch, perhaps...? But listing these little nods is not to belittle the originality of Hastings' own novel. The Frost Fair is a gourmet confection created from all the best parts of our beloved reading. Characters and scenes whirl in through the pages then out again, leaving light dustings of The Dark is Rising, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and Northern Lights to name but a few. 

Whilst The Frost Fair is, in one important way, a love letter to the joys of reading, there is no forgetting that it is ultimately about grief, moreover the depression that can form as a result of trauma. Since Arthur's death, Thomasina's family has become dysfunctional*: Thomasina is confused and lonely, Father brooding and angry, Mother desperately ill and distant. (It's interesting, though, that perhaps fate was always waiting in the wings for the family, whether Arthur had died or not - there are hints towards the end of the book that their Father had not quite foreseen how his children were to turn out had they both grown to adulthood...) The family barely communicate, if at all, and so at Inigo's fairy-(faery?!!)-godmother-figure arrival, he is even more persuasive to Thomasina's desperate, guilt-clouded mind. 

Despite the icy chill of the plot (and it really does become horribly cold), the subtle shaping of the characters, especially Thomasina, Anne and Henry, lends a warm glow throughout that is never extinguished...and this is a vital part of how the book manages its darker themes for a younger audience, leaving them with hope. 

Hope...and sweets!

***

The Miraculous Sweetmakers: The Frost Fair by Natasha Hastings is published by Harper Collins. Illustrations throughout are by Alex T. Smith. 


Monday, January 2, 2023

Dodging About

Talking to Jan Mark by Neil Philip, March 1983 (TES Interview)




It is New Year's Day 2023. Jan Mark would have been 80 this year. I like to think that had she still been alive, she would still be writing - in fact, I can't believe that she wouldn't be doing so! And what would her books be like now? The Protean nature of the writing of hers that we do have makes it impossible to guess, though one thing of which I am certain is that it would still be as fresh, determined and relevant to young people today as it ever was.


I have very much enjoyed reading Mark's work over the past three years, first the short stories, then then a slow read of Handles, but for #JanMARKuary this year, I wanted to explore her thinking a bit more and how it evidences itself in her writing. So, each day in January this year will highlight a sentence or two from her TES interview with Neil Philip (it's available on Jon Appleton's treasure trove site here: https://janmark.net/talking-to-jan-mark-neil-philip-march-1983/). I won't be setting any particular prompts; I will simply be interested to see how the quotations resonate with other readers. My own responses will be recorded here. 

***

January 1st 2023

want to do an adult novel. I mean one that can’t possibly be published as a children’s novel.

Forty years have passed since Jan Mark spoke those words. Arguably, she never wrote an adult novel, before or since that interview, so I'm interested in why she wanted to write one at all; and what even was an 'adult novel' to  her mind? 

From my (limited) reading of her work, she always writes for young people but from a very sharply established adult viewpoint. JM returns time and again to that one big thing that truly matters to children, that of finding ones own place in the world. She understands acutely, whether it's a very young boy rewriting the status quo (in William's Version) or a teenage girl (in Handlesexcited, curious, confused by the rules of the impending passage into adulthood.

Do adults have that same sense (or drive) of 'finding themselves' that young people do…?


January 2nd 2023

I don’t think you can get much wider a public than you can as a children’s writer.

JM here, I think, is talking about children as her public. I could be wrong, but I don't think she was considering adults being part of that (unless, like her, they were teachers). Her stories, wide-ranging as they are, match her young audience and there is that sense in her words here of the possibilities of growing children; how in a moment they are one thing and then transform in the blink of an eye, allegiances changed, interests morphed. It is, when taken seriously, the widest public imaginable indeed.


January 3rd 2023

The books that JM wrote were never 'long', certainly not in the league of those weighty trilogies, quartets, sequences that flurried into bookshops in the early 2000s (perhaps influenced by the increasing lengths - up to 2003 anyway - of the Harry Potter books) - she says what she has to say and then moves on. It is that sharply exacting quality that makes her writing so enviable and, in this way, it doesn't surprise me to read this from her: 

Once I’ve finished a book that’s all I wanted to say about those people in that situation, I might, I very often do wish I’d written it differently, but I never want to write more.

There's no fat with her writing, no spilling over into other books, no ends untied. Certainly there's no prequel/sequel stuff going on - even though in books like Man in Motion or Handles, there's a line that cuts through the narrative at the end and there's a feeling of stuff carrying on, beyond the last words. This may be one key to her success, her leaving us wanting more.

I also suspect that the words, 'I very often do wish I'd written it differently' hints at what she actually did do, which was to look at similar (or the same) subjects and themes through different eyes. Do it again, but better maybe? And dodge about a bit too, Jan: throw us off the scent...!


January 5th 2023

"[...] there is an overriding theme: the uses of friendship."

While there has been a fair bit of talk this #JanMARKuary about the differences between grown-up and children's literature, I am interested that this quote points to an almost-ubiquitous theme of children's books in general: how friendship changes, how it stands unyielding, how it carries us as children through the world outside of our families. Adult literature isn't quite so taken up with this theme, the one of C.S. Lewis' Four Loves - Philia - that becomes the Cinderella of the quartet once we have grown up.

Today's quote comes from Neil Philip. I find his word 'uses' a particularly sharp bump, but absolutely right in the case of Jan Mark. There's a kind of knowingness, not-quite-cynicism, there: how Friendship in a child's heart and mind is not quite as altruistic as it will, generally speaking, become. JM's books do  dance between the lives of the very young and the just-adult and as such never fall exclusively into any particular tropes associated with the literature of either group. Thunder and Lightnings, for instance, is a joyous, but slightly prickly, celebration of Philia, whose scenes steer clear of what might have easily become inauthentic expressions of what a grown-up believes representative of children's friendships.

Philia is most definitely a huge (and hugely complex) theme in JM's work; she doesn't lecture her readers about it, or moralise. She tells the truth, as unpalatable at times - and necessary always - as that may be.


 January 6th 2023

"There's too much emphasis on how to use [literature in the classroom], I think."

Reading books in the classroom can be the making or breaking of readers. (Fortunately, the breaking of a reader in this way isn't irreversible as there is another book, or way of looking at a book rather, around the corner!) What any teacher must do, I believe, is to think very carefully before selecting a class book to 'use'. 

There is one vital question to answer and hold in mind first: why does any author write their books in the first place?  Any successful text will have something to say; of the author, of its time, its society, its characters...anything really; but it will say something and that something will resonate with its readers. Sadly, as JM notes, the 'emphasis on how to use' books can very easily overgrow teachers' thinking about bringing particular books into the classroom. Their somethings can so easily be snuffed out. But if they do manage to be identified, a book that has its true purpose explored, questioned, discussed and considered within the classroom, by a community of readers freely sharing their thoughts, experiences and feelings with dignity and respect, untrammelled by curriculum constraints, is a wonderful thing. When it properly speaks to that 'classroom audience', it is a true marvel.

Life-changing, in fact, as the best education (and reading) should be.


January 11th 2023

“I wanted to try and write science fiction, because I used to like reading it[...]”

JM wasn't alone in feeling the urge to create something that she enjoyed reading: one of the things that has inspired me most about Pullman's thinking about his writing was that he writes for himself. 

I'm writing for me - I write for all the "me's" that have been.

- Philip Pullman, Writing Tips (2017)

It's an unusual way to think about writing in some ways because what is writing for other than to communicate to an audience...and what is one communicating, though, if the audience is yourself? It goes beyond the pleasurable aspect of reading, the enjoyment of reading something because you've chosen to read it. JM's reading of science fiction prompted her writing of it. The 'what ifs' of those books she read developed dimensionally into the what ifs of her writing: 'What if I could do this? What if I tried that?' Experiment, in fact, seems to me to be one of the major tones of JM's work; each story, each novel asking questions of its characters while the plot explores the answers...or at least the possibilities. 


January 13th 2023
"[...] you must be as intimately acquainted with your imaginary world as with the real world"
I read Gill Lewis' forthcoming book, Moonflight, in December and have been writing about it in a blog to celebrate publication. I note that 'going inward' is something that connects some writers in their process and here is JM saying something, if not quite the same, then certainly tangential: the real (outside) world becomes less and less of a 'thing' than the one that is being created in the writer's mind.
In reading, I have had this experience where I emerge blinking from the pages surprised to find myself in a different place to the one I was just a moment before: an intimate 'being' in another world entirely. It's very rare for this to happen (though wonderfully it is a regular experience for me at the moment reading Louise Welsh's new novel, The Second Cut). The disciplines of writing and reading of course being two sides of the same coin, I can see how in the cases of authors who authentically feel what goes on in their imagination - as I would describe how JM must have lived and worked - that sensing this in our own reading of them is testament to that 'intimate acquaintance' alluded to above.


January 19th 2023

“I always have the impression I read a lot, but I’m not sure I did. I read continuously almost, but it tended to be the same books[...]"

This makes me think of Isaiah Berlin's essay that claims: "the fox knows many things but the hedgehog just one big thing" and thereby draws a distinction between the habits of the pluralist (fox) and the monist (hedgehog). 

Jan Mark's reading in childhood (the most potent kind of reading we can ever enjoy) was, she says, 'a lot' but 'the same'. The seeds of her own writing (as with so many writers) are buried somewhere here, it seems. I was digging around in the box of all my JM books this week and two things came to mind: 

1) Crumbs, I have more books by Jan Mark than any other writer;

2) Every one of these books is so different. 

Quantity. Variety. 

In regards the foxy plurality, it would appear that from 'Fun' and 'Out of the Oven' through to 'Handles' and 'The Dead Letterbox', every move she made pointed in a new direction; but isn't this just the surface, is she disguising her true workings? Because each time I read one of her books, I can sense the same 'Big Thing' being explored through a slightly different tilt of the kaleidoscopic (hedgehoggish) lens. Whatever that Big Thing might be, it's something in her voice rather than the characters or plot. 

Is it a step too far to invert her statement - “I always have the impression I write a lot [...] I write continuously almost, [and] it tends to be the same books[...]"? I mean not to be critical, but complimentary: despite a huge and widely varied output, she returns again and again to the same central concern...and finds new facets to shine their light and dazzle the reader. 


January 21st 2023

"[...] you can’t cope with fear till you’ve learned to identify it."

Two or three years before she said this, Jan Mark had published her collection 'Nothing To Be Afraid Of', the title story of which deals exactly with this same examination of fear. When I read this story as I child, I remember most vividly the cover of the book (the paperback version) - the weird, leering face in the bushes grown to horrible size, bearing down on the boy. I remember the girl's refashioning of the everyday walk home into something quite terrifying. 

As an adult I love horror writing, especially that which twists normality into darkness ("Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" is the ultimate for me, though Shirley Jackson and Patricia Highsmith do particularly horrible things in their exceptional stories, too). But as a child, I was scared of lots of stuff - one of my first blogs was about Usborne's 'Ghosts' which disturbs me still, forty years on. 

JM is quite right about fear. 


January 26th 2023

"You need to be able to refer authoritatively to anything, as you would in real life, so it’s got to be accounted for mentally, even if it never gets into the book."

In my own reading, I try very hard not to give up on a book. There's one main reason why I would, though, and that is because it has been badly researched. Books about music that are actually well-researched are particularly rare and I became very annoyed with a novel about Mozart once for just that reason. 

I don't see why a fantasy novel should be any different: just because the place and the people don't exist in real life shouldn't indulge any less sharp an eye and mind in the creator.


January 29th 2023
It was the first book I’d ever read where you got some idea of this is how people might talk, a family with in-jokes, unfinished sentences, people speaking at the same time – tremendous vitality in it.

This weekend, I have enjoyed Hilary's McKay's Saffy's Angel, the first in the 'Casson Chronicles' each of which I'll be reading over the next six months. JM's stylistic thumbprints are all over it, especially in the dialogue; once I 'heard' the talking, the connection fell into place. 

While both develop plot, there is an unmistakeable sense that it would be nothing if not for the voices. It's not even character; it's how they speak and think that moves things forward. The vitality that JM writes about above gives both writers a buoyancy that whisks the narrative along, and makes the reading of these books a pleasure and quite compulsive. Being in their company (do I mean the two writers or their characters...?!), and sometimes their heads, feels warmly inclusive: a very real family, in fact.  


Thursday, October 6, 2022

Miraculous beyond measure: Themes and Thinking in S.F. Said's "Tyger"


Nothing is ordinary,” said the tyger. “Everything is extraordinary. In all of infinity and eternity, that flower exists only in this world; this precise position in space and time. Everywhere else, there is a different flower, or no flower at all. And the same is true of you. Nothing special? You are miraculous beyond measure, both of you.

S.F. Said, Tyger (2022)


On August 18th 2022, A-Level results day, the TES announced that English Literature had finally dropp



ed from the Top 10 most popular A-Level subject choices. Forecast for a while,
The Guardian had back in 2019 reported on 'a 13% decline [that] summer in entries for all types of English A-level' (WEALE, 2022). A NATE Position Paper opined: 

One of the pleasures of English studies has always been the experience of discovering insights that go beyond language and literature through detailed discussion and analysis of text. This is what Barbara Bleiman (2019) calls ‘big picture English’. A student’s first exposure to a text should be geared around the primacy of the reading experience (Cushing and Giovanelli 2019). Student experience of English study today, however, tends to be a microcosmic analysis of textual features and their alleged ‘effects’ rather than on reading for meaning with close textual reference. This tendency has developed over more than two decades since the introduction of the National Literacy Strategy in 1997. Its effect has been to reduce English studies to the transmission of supposedly correct, objective knowledge about language and literature. This is evident at every level, from the current primary language curriculum to the official view of literary texts as ‘cultural capital’, knowledge of which is good in itself, rather than as a means of pleasurable reflection on and participation in life.

NATE, The Decline in Student Choice of A Level English (2019)


Later, came the final nail in the coffin:

When children write about their reading, there is now an overwhelming emphasis from Year 7 onwards on writing paragraphs of micro-analysis of literary texts using formulae such as the ubiquitous PEEL (Gibbons 2019). It is little wonder that many 15-year-old students report they no longer read for enjoyment (Lough 2019). An English graduate known to one of the writers reported that her 14 year old daughter asked her: ‘Why would you want to study English at university? It’s so boring!’

ibid.

So the 2022 drop of English Literature from the Top 10 subjects is hardly surprising; almost to be expected in fact. And, yes, a bleak picture, certainly. 

In other news, just a few days before the A Level announcement, S.F. Said tweeted a picture of the final hardcover first edition of his Tyger, saying: 

This means everything to me. I've put everything I have, everything I know, everything I love into Tyger. So it's an emotional moment, holding the finished book in my hands.

S.F. Said, Tweet, 12th August

Tyger follows three earlier, very popular novels by Said so its publication has already been much-anticipated. In addition to this, it has taken nine years to write and early reviews of the novel mention 'future classic' status. But I must admit that I was surprised when I received an early proof that it was but a fairly modest size. I had been expecting something more like Phoenix, Said's third novel, something more...big. But when I finally came to read the novel, I found my first impressions were wrong - SO wrong. I tweeted on 21st June: 

I am taking [Tyger] VERY slowly. There are moments when I have to stop reading because the writing is so breathtaking, I can’t read on. Some passages are like nothing else I’ve read and so intensely vivid I have to remind myself that I’m not *there*. It bursts at the seams with ideas yet the story pace is perfect. There are so many layers here, symbol on symbol like a great palimpsest of history and philosophical thought. But the story is timely and the Vision…infinite.

I couldn't write about Tyger for months. I didn't know what to feel or think, only knowing that I had read something vital. Where had it left me? I didn't know then, and am still not sure that I know now. What makes it such a big book for us all to read, especially children and their teachers, and why exactly we should read it? It was on that Results day that I started to see that the bleakness of those stories of our Education system and the brilliance of Said's tygers might just prove to be two sides of the same coin.

That coin I’ll return to again later; in the meantime I’d like to offer some ‘Big Picture’ thinking for a Big Book. I’ll start by welcoming in Mister William Blake.

***

Artist, poet, printmaker, free-love advocate, Romantic, William Blake (1757-1827) is hardly disguised as the major influence of Tyger. The title alone, the spelling, immediately invokes the well-known tattoo:

Tyger Tyger

(...those two trochees that beat their way into our consciousness the very first time we hear them...)

burning bright,

(...sparking fires in the imagination...)

In the forests of the night;

(...whilst all around remains dark, knotted, tangled.)

Tyger goes far deeper into Blakean symbols, mythologies and themes than just the eponymous character; so much deeper in fact that anything less than ‘Big Picture’ reading leaves us lost and overwhelmed by those ‘forests of the night’. If we allow ourselves with Tyger to ignore that kind of reading, then things far too quickly turn 'boring'.

I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. 

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.


In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear 

[...]

William Blake, London (verses 1 and 2)


One peculiarity of Tyger appears at the very beginning of the book: 

It happened in the twenty-first century, 

when London was still the capital of an Empire, 

and the Empire still ruled the world…

This is not the London we know, quite. It is a London of the present and future, yet in so much of the novel the feel, the atmosphere of the story is older, more suited to the world of the late eighteenth century, the time of the Enlightenment, the Georgian world of William Blake. The social order of things has men arriving on horseback to proclaim in city squares; technology is seemingly non-existent - phones, tablets, email, computers are noticeably absent; Tesco and Sainsbury’s have given way to what seem like small, independent businesses - shoppes, perhaps; a thick (maybe more Victorian!) pea-souper lours over the city. 

Regardless of its old-fashioned feel, the impression of the capital is hardly an inspiring one: dirty streets, abandoned warehouses, sites fenced off for reconstruction. The streets, like Blake’s, are 'chartered', owned by and under control of the status quo and the barrier described at the very start of the novel forms perhaps a physical symbol of these borders. 

Why? Why this ‘future of the past’?

This is not a country of progress; in fact Albion has regressed some two hundred years! Albion has fallen, yet still waves its tattered standard, stubbornly refusing to admit the truth of its fate. A foul, pig-headed ignorance has taken hold. Citizens chant ‘Foreigners out!’. This is a post-Brexit novel, riddled with the fear of losing power to foreign ‘others’ and the attendant ironic portrayal of those who have created a social order that rewards no-one but the rich. 

Writing in The Guardian in 2014 (the time of which would also tie in with the early days of Tyger’s composition), Said said: 

I came to Britain in 1970, when I was two. I don’t remember living anywhere else. I don’t look obviously Arab, so I seldom faced racism on the street, but whenever my name came up, everything changed. What kind of name is that? Where are you from? And why don’t you go back there?


Back then, there weren’t many Arabs or Muslims where I lived. I felt very different to everyone around me. In Britain, I was seen as a foreigner, while in the Middle East, I was seen as British. I felt like I belonged nowhere.


The only place I felt at home was in books.

S.F. Said, “Books showed me it was alright to be different”, The Guardian, 15th October 2014

When Adam finds himself at one of those checkpoint-barriers leading out of the streets more familiar to him onto the more salubrious Oxford Street, he is questioned, rather as Said was, regarding his name and origins. Adam is finally allowed through, though it’s implied that the guard would rather Adam knew his place, figuratively and literally, and stay exactly where he belongs - like those other ‘good’ citizens who play by the rules, their minds manacled so easily. 

Adam, though, is different to them; even at this very early point of the novel, he demonstrates his independence from the drudge of work. He is on an errand, a servant, yes, but one brave enough to complete his mission, one who goes so far as to cross boundaries to do so. It is a quiet but momentous indication of Adam's destiny.

Division, separation, is apparent elsewhere too in the references to the River Walbrook, one of London’s ancient subterranean waterways. Some think that its name comes from the Saxon weala broc ('river of foreigners’), where it split the city of Londinium into the eastern side on Cornhill and the western Ludgate. This latter portion of land had a cathedral, royal residences and was generally ‘higher status’.  By its inclusion, the Walbrook metaphorically and physically invokes echoes of racist fears from history, showing us that what we read about in Tyger is nothing new: groups of people have been looked down upon - literally, even, from horseback or hill! - for centuries. 

Soon, Adam finds Tyger and, in her, Blake’s greatest theme is made incarnate. The poet set it down in just one line:

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.

William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 

…meaning that the wildness of the 'untameable' creative  is ‘greater’ than the trained, rule-follower. 

Before we consider those wrathful tygers, let’s turn first to the horses. In Blake’s Visions, even the hard work and effort of horses is not as highly regarded as the mystical nature of inspiration. In Tyger, horses appear (literally) beneath their masters, controlled, obedient, subservient: 

Some lords rode down the first class lane on horseback. Their slaves followed behind them. (p. 66)

Then, comes a horrifying tableau: 

Four horsemen in scarlet coats, with white faces; with long leather whips and rifles in their hands. Each one was flanked by a pair of hounds. 

A kind of eighteenth-century, powdered (white) aristocracy in bloody livery, a macabre parody of the traditional hunt. No pistols though, these are rifles, guns with power. A rank stink begins to creep into the narrative. 

One of the huntsmen declares to the assembled crowd: 

“The beast has escaped from my lord’s menagerie [...] You may believe such beasts exist but this one is alive and dangerous. If you see it, or hear anything about it, report it at once [...]”

S.F. Said, Tyger (pp. 67-68)

The hunt is on: Find the tyger! Do not listen to its lies! It must be destroyed! Here are echoes of the mechanical cats in Varjak Paw - they smelled wrong, just like these men on horseback. Both sets of characters are there to keep a stranglehold order. There is no place in their London for tygers. What tygers mean is too difficult for them to contemplate…and even more difficult for them to control. 

This Tyger, prophet-like and most certainly, dangerously, alive - no figment of London gossip! - is paving the way for a boy and a girl towards something far, far beyond those lords’ cold, stone hearts. (Also, it must be noted that once the order begins to fall apart later in the book, happily those horses do get to run ‘wild’).

***

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.

William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 

Throughout the novel, the two main protagonists, Adam and Zadie, encounter Doors. The first of these are the Doors of Perception, Blake’s metaphor for the limits of and passages ‘through’ consciousness. Blake’s ‘cavern’ for Adam is transformed into ‘a ruined building in a dump’, and the ‘narrow chink’ becomes 

‘A crack down the middle, between the doors, through which he could see a whisker of light. The brightest light he had ever seen.’ (p. 57) 

Is Blake’s Vision becoming too complex an image for a book with a young audience in mind? Not at all. It is both testament to Said’s belief in the Infinite possibilities of the child’s imagination and joyous, encouraging celebration thereof, and alarm-call to the grown-ups who run the world and shape the childhoods of young people: Who is it who closes those doors? Who is it who shuts down the perceptions of young people? 

I heard Katya Balen speak at an Open University Reading for Pleasure conference recently. Talking about reading in her keynote speech (paraphrasing here): 

Children should read widely and what they want to read, not be cut off at the root. Children make their choices and if those choices are not noticed - or scorned - then that part of their development is crushed. It’s something I feel strongly about.

Katya Balen, Keynote at OURfP Conference 1st October 2022

She kept returning in her speech to the teacher in Year 3 who gave her an exercise book with the instruction to write in it what she wanted, not bound by grammar rules or restricted, tightly (teacher-)planned subjects. This is what Balen needed, she said, as a child: she needed freedom. Freedom to explore. Freedom to pass through those Doors, not in want or need of any particular key that teachers thought was the right one. Freedom, so that untethered, her imagination could burn bright

Then, talking of her own writing, came the thunderbolt:  

I want to focus on those small details of what is around us…and expose the world.

A writer for children, like Said, echoing the great words of Blake from two centuries earlier: 

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 

And Eternity in an hour.

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence (1808?)

When Adam passes through the first door, he finds himself in a Wildflower meadow: compared to the dirty squallour of his London, he has truly found himself in Heaven. Everything is wild, sprawling, open…free. This scene in particular from Tyger (as Blake’s Auguries poem does in part) encourages us to consider the depth, size and potency of even the smallest things: a fragile wildflower has infinity housed within it, thousands of billions of future wildflowers locked away in potentia in every seed it produces. The magnitude of enumerating every grain of sand on a beach, in the sea, and then to consider the trillion future grains locked away in huge rockfaces. Where did they come from? Where are they ‘going’? As Tyger says to Adam when he first passes through the Doors: 

Do not look ahead, or behind. Focus on what is here, and now. 

Tyger, p. 58


Perhaps thinking about it for too long, thinking about the sheer hugeness of what we are contemplating, will burn. As Adam contemplates his heart, it is at this moment too much for him and he passes back to the real world, back to the Night. Tyger tells him he is not yet ready to pass to the next set of Doors, that Adam has glimpsed in the distance. From another angle, Balen talks of this: 


I’m not really much of a nature person, but because of that I look more closely and appreciate it more. If you know something well you run the risk of not really seeing it properly. 


This is what thinking does! It’s dangerous if rushed and needs time. There is no hurrying thought! It opens the doors, lets in the light:  


Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born 

Every Morn and every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight 

Some are Born to sweet delight 

Some are Born to Endless Night 

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night 

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light 

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night 

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence (conclusion)


Blake, like Tyger, shows us that there is no real perception (the ‘Lie’) if we do not See with heightened Perception.


Auguries and the world of Tyger are echoed too by C.S. Lewis: 


I was standing today in the dark toolshed. The sun was shining outside and through the crack at the top of the door there came a sunbeam. From where I stood that beam of light, with the specks of dust floating in it, was the most striking thing in the place. Everything else was almost pitch-black. I was seeing the beam, not seeing things by it. Then I moved, so that the beam fell on my eyes. Instantly the whole previous picture vanished. I saw no toolshed, and (above all) no beam. Instead I saw, framed in the irregular cranny at the top of the door, green leaves moving on the branches of a tree outside and beyond that, 90 odd million miles away, the sun. Looking along the beam, and looking at the beam are very different experiences.

CS Lewis - Meditation in a Tool Shed


This is another wondrous dimension to consider: what happens when you look through the Beam, look into and along the light? There is no toolshed (Said’s abandoned dump), no Beam even. Only the green of the trees, the Sun, that slim glimpse of Heaven! Being inside the Beam gives us a wider, intrinsically felt Experience: we move beyond un-knowing. We leave Innocence behind. 


Before we do that though, let's take a closer look at that concept of Innocence through another of Blake’s best-known poems, The Lamb. This poem is placed in dir
ect contrast to
The Tyger in the collection Songs of Innocence and Experience, Lamb and Tyger respectively. The connection between the two is mentioned explicitly in The Tyger: ‘Did he who made the Lamb make Thee?’, while placement of the poems in different ‘song-books’ - Innocence and Experience - may on first glance seem to set the two creatures as polar opposites: if The Lamb is ‘goodness’ then the Tyger is ‘badness’, surely? Is this actually the case, though?  


The interesting thing about the poem The Lamb is that, despite its sweetness and light, and strongly Christian rhetoric, the poem feels unstable - the Lamb may be Innocence incarnate but the questions that are voiced in the poem set a tone of shaky doubt. The strangest thing about the poem is that there are no question marks printed in Blake’s original. The Tyger too is full of questions, again about the animal’s creation, but here question marks punctuate the lines and stick out sharply. What does this grammatical oddity tell us about these creatures? 


If one considers that the two poems are about creation - ‘Who made the Lamb?’ ‘Who could ever have shaped the Tyger?’ - then the use of questions around this subject invoke a sense of Blake’s concepts of creativity. The urgency of ‘The Tyger’ is enhanced by breathless, ‘burning’ questions; the Lamb’s calm purity not so strongly questioned, much more gentle and laidback. As one interpretation, we therefore have a deeper kind of contrast posed by these two poems: on one hand, the ‘established’ Creation that we all know, safe and secure; on the other, there is the dangerous kind that burns and is wild. Both spark a kind of wonder. 


And yet…


I’ve been teaching now for over twenty years and I remember, clear as day, those early days of training, when I came across that Isis speech Philip Pullman gave on teachers and teaching. It sent far-reaching shockwaves through me - I see that now, though at the time it felt a more thrilling experience than the profound one it turned out to be. In the speech, he quotes an earlier teacher-writer, Marie L. Shedlock


[...]why are we in such a hurry to find out what effects have been produced by our stories? Does it matter whether we know today or tomorrow how much a child has understood?

quoted in Pullman (2003)


(How her words echo those of Bleiman!)


Pullman then turns the focus more sharply on the 'system' and attitudes of teachers at that time: 


The culture of exam after exam, test after test, with a curriculum like the deadly upas-tree that casts a blight over every corner of a child’s school life, cannot possibly encourage the kind of openness of mind, the intellectual curiosity which the best teachers have to have. 


I fear it will bring up a generation who are kind, who love children, who are full of good intentions; but who have been discouraged from intellectual adventurousness. Who are not interested in how things came about.


If the specifically Blakean allusions to Tygers and the Lambs are not made quite explicit yet then the ensuing passage really spells it out: 


Marilyn Mottram of the University of Central England in Birmingham, who has been studying the way the National Curriculum and the Literacy Strategy work in schools, wrote to me last month: “When I work with teachers on developing ways of using texts I’m frequently asked ‘… but are we allowed to do that?’ This sort of continuing anxiety about literacy teaching,” she goes on, “suggests that a culture of conformity has been quite securely established among our primary teachers and, like many others, I find this deeply disturbing.” 

Said’s Urizen is like this: his culture is likewise disturbing. This supernatural creature appears in Blake’s longer poems but unlike other references to the poet’s mythology, Said has chosen quite literally to transplant the character whole, with no disguise, echo or inference, into Tyger. His name is unchanged, and its meaning too: ‘Your Reason’...? ‘Horizon’: the distant view but ultimately the limit of what we can see? Wings may make Urizen seem angelic; though the vision is certainly not a heavenly one, more akin to the fallen angels led by Lucifer in Christian texts. His whip emphasises the oppression: the ultimate slave-master. 

Blake’s Urizen is drawn as an old man with a long beard, a weary face…even he is tired by his own net. In Blake’s drawings, his is no vital image, nor on face-value a dangerous one; though he certainly poses a dreary future for those ensnared by his traps.

Pullman too references these traps in his speech:

These young people [teachers] are tigers born in cages, and kept caged until they think that being caged is a natural condition; and they look down at themselves, and they see their magnificent stripes, and the only way they can understand them is to think that they themselves must be made of bars: they are their own cage; they dare not move outside the little space they occupy. But they are tigers still, if only they knew.

It is Reason that helps make those cages. Like that lingering, sticky guilt and even stickier ‘culture of conformity’ that Mottram describes, Urizen plots and fights, then fights some more:  The net Urizen has made of the Established, the Time-Worn, the attitudes of What’s-Been-Done-Before-Must-Be-Right does not tear, or even fray, easily. His whips of Self-Doubt sting like fire and keep their targets in their cages. 

So, for me, those ‘twin’ symbols of Tyger and Lamb are there, explicitly in the narrative of Tyger but very much haunted by the ghosts of Pullman and Blake:


Tyger appears first in a warehouse, right in the centre of the city, its brilliance setting the gloom and dirt of its surroundings in stark relief. She is badly wounded. Here is another of the book’s strongly marked visual images, one that makes the reader see the detritus of the city absolutely clearly, love Tyger instantly despite the peril, and yearn for her.


Lamb appears on the outskirts of London, in the hamlet fields of Highgate (much transformed from the district it is today!). It has managed to ‘escape’ the squallor we have identified in Tyger’s first scene, and now lives peacefully in the countryside. It gambols among the lush green grass! It breathes the fresh air! But it is ‘caged’, it has no freedom, and two shepherds to care for (manage?) it. Humans, kind though they may be, have twisted its existence to their desired intent. It wasn't difficult - Lambs tend not to be Tygers! "They offer themselves up like..." (ahem!) The scene plays itself out peaceably, though the reader really should consider what little Lamb’s ultimate fate is destined to be.


Meanwhile, Tyger runs wild. 


Said’s intent for these two symbols pulls together Blakean philosophy and Pullman’s politics into one original, exciting cord that runs, sparking and vital, through the whole novel.


***


The thing about Tyger - very likely the reason why I couldn’t speak about its impact on me for so long, and still can’t do so properly (as my ramblings here probably attest!) - is that it is so Big. In this essay, I’ve tried to shape a few references from the novel and a bit of knowledge about Blake into some coherent form, to help new readers and Teachers to see something of what I have seen in Tyger, and what I see in the spirit of Education. But it’s been hard and I’ve probably failed: Tyger won’t allow herself to be ‘framed’ that easily - maybe I ‘dared aspire’ too ambitiously! Tyger is full of stuff, so full it will take far longer than a few months for me to unearth and digest and make meaning of it all. In the meantime, I’m happy not to hurry myself and take my time and re-read and re-think. 


But although I haven’t any desire to answer everything I want to know about Tyger, I have always had those questions I mentioned earlier beating away deep inside: Why, today, do we need William Blake? Why indeed do we need Tyger? So I’d like, finally, to hazard a guess:


Firstly, Blake/Tyger speaks authentically to every child - regardless of background - of the powers of their imaginations. I don’t mean that because it has fantastical beasts and supernatural elements then it will appeal to those imaginations (though it will do that too!); I mean that Tyger will show them what their imaginations are, the challenges they might face in harnessing those possibilities- or at least in attempting to! It will show them to go beyond, to question what is ‘real’ and ‘true’ and ‘understood’. Tyger will show them that although their individual Perceptions may be different - wildly so, perhaps! - each one of them has potential and Greatness. Tyger encourages the realization of what is there, hidden maybe for now, but still there for the taking…if only those young readers are to be brave and be allowed to do so. 

Secondly, it speaks authentically to every teacher - and I don’t mean just those in classrooms; I mean every grown-up who Teaches young people, everyone who shows them the world, everyone who nurtures them to get better at stuff, everyone who helps them see  how their imaginations might fly. Tyger will show us all the magnitude of our responsibility and demonstrate the sensitivity with which we must wield it. Like Said’s great cat, let all our teaching be as muscular, strong, wise, powerful, fierce, lithe, elegant...Humble. 

Earlier in this blog, I said that those grim stories of the Education system, specifically in the context of reading, were the counter-side of Said’s Tyger. I need to return to that coin now. 


That blasted coin. It’s the coin we grown-ups hold jointly, we grown-ups who find themselves in the powerful and highly responsible position of Teacher.

So, let’s toss it into the air…

…and while it spins…

                …then free-falls…

                                  … before it lands…

                                                    …let’s just pause a moment…

                                                                                          …and think: 

We can choose.

Defying all laws of (meta!)physical probability, we actually can choose which side up that coin will land. By some miracle, that coin could land Tyger-side every single time

Every. Single. Time. 

Imagine that

And if we make it happen, for every single child…

“Miraculous beyond measure”.


References

LEWIS, C.S. Meditation in a Toolshed http://ktf.cuni.cz/~linhb7ak/Meditation-in-a-Toolshed.pdf

PULLMAN, Philip.: The Isis Lecture (Lecture given at the Oxford Literary festival, 2003 ) https://www.philip-pullman.com/cm-content/pdf/isis_lecture.pdf 

SAID, S.F.: Books showed me it was alright to be different (The Guardian, 15th October 2014) https://www.theguardian.com/childrens-books-site/2014/oct/15/sf-said-diversity-in-childrens-books-1970s-uk 

WEALE, S.: 'Less fun' English declines as choice for A-level pupils (The Guardian, 14th August 2019 https://www.theguardian.com/education/2019/aug/14/less-fun-english-declines-as-choice-for-a-level-pupils )
A levels 2022: English lit drops out of top 10 most popular subjects (TES, 18th August 2022) https://www.tes.com/magazine/news/secondary/a-levels-2022-english-literature-drop-in-entries-subjects 

The Decline in Student Choice of A Level English (NATE, 2019) https://www.nate.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/NATE-Post-16-position-paper.pdf 


With heartfelt thanks to Meggie and Fraser at David Fickling Books for providing the wonderful illustrations by Dave McKean and for sending me the novel itself in advance, to S.F. Said for his constant encouragement, and to Katya Balen for a last-minute inspiration! Tyger is published today, 6th October 2022. Please do support your local independent bookshop where you can.