ACHUKAREVIEWS...

A short introductory text places the structure of “76 Pumpkin Lane” into context and provides a tantalising glimpse of the gory and grotesque inhabitants found therein. Character exposition is limited to a scant few details, but this is purposeful, allowing readers to act-out their own stories and scenarios using the figurines included within the setting that Mould has created. Each of ten rooms sport different accessories and accoutrements allowing for imaginative interaction and play. A victory for the delight of visceral fears made visual!

Dad is eager to enter the human bird competition that is due to take place over the river Tyne and which has attracted international interest – ‘there’s a fella from France that’s screwed wings to his bike. There’s a lass from Japan with a ten foot pogo stick. There’s a bloke from Brazil with an umbrella on his head and a propeller on his bum…’

The archetype whereby the child’s inner-imaginative world is constructed as all-embracing is reversed by David Almond in this latest work, where it is Lizzie’s dad – and his obsession with all things fowl and flight – that drive the story and the attempts to find freedom of flight.

Polly Dunbar’s vibrant illustrations make her the perfect illustrator to collaborate on this book. The building blocks of the story will feel familiar with those who have read Almond’s body of work to date, influences from William Blake continue to abound as too does a preoccupation with the human form and flight. Ultimately, however, this is an upbeat and uplifting story that transcends ideas of social norms through realising the importance of the love than underpins all of this.

In bringing the story of Cleopatra to life through the eyes of Nefret, a young Egyptian girl who is conscripted to work for the royal household, Adele Geras paints a vivid portrait of this extraordinary, sparkling historical figure. The diary entries of Nefret provide a wealth of colour and detail about Ancient Egypt and – through choosing a first-person narrative told by a girl, Geras easily conveys just what an astoundingly inspirational figurehead Cleopatra must have presented.

Cleopatra’s story links Ancient Egyptian history with that of Ancient Rome, both focal areas in the key-stage two, National Curriculum history syllabus. Production values of the book are incredibly high with M. P. Robertson’s lavish spreads that perfectly capture the movement, tone and time of the period being interspersed with photographic imagery of key historical artefacts. Notes are appended at the end about Alexandria, the Roman army, the river Nile and more, providing valuable factual context to this fictionalised account of Cleopatra’s life.

An accomplished synergy of wonderful writing, illustrative innovation and pride in publishing production values make this a venture that is not to be missed. Whether reading for pleasure or for purpose, this is a tome to be treasured. Look out for Steve Augarde’s “Leonardo da Vinci” which Kingfisher have scheduled for publication in 2008.

There is a marvellous sense of joyous celebration towards the end of this short book as we see Ben actively engage and participate, at which points he feels valued and worthwhile. The juxtaposition between this and the opening of the books is a testament to Anderson’s very real skills as an author. In a short work she has created an entirely convincing fiction where characters develop and adapt to the circumstances surrounding them and to the altered situations facing one another when interacting.

Praise must go to Barn Owl Books – who have recently faced financial uncertainties – for bringing back into print this brilliant shot novel, first published under the ‘Mammoth Read’ imprint and given a new lease of life with superb new accompanying illustrations by Jane Ray

Arabella’s studious nature leads to her developing ‘The Sparklebang Code’, this when combined with the Mammoth Mammoth, a giant model that pupils have made at the academy leads to an explosive solution as the humans encroach upon the Academy.

The inimitable and illustrious Layton’s mixed media illustrations perfectly complement the anarchic irreverence of this latest installment about the Mammoths; fun, friendly and furiously fast-paced, readers will find themselves caught in a frenetic race to the feast at the finale!

Following a meeting with his social worker, Mouse bumps into Cat, whom it transpires is a petty shop-lifter. The two of them form an alliance and are able to relate parts of their past to one another.

Together the pair help Mouse’s mother re-establish the Phoenix Centre, the drugs rehabilitation centre in the ironically named ‘Eden Estate’, following its destruction in an arson attack. Cat and Mouse become convinced that the vicious circle the estate is trapped within can be broken and so they embark upon carrying out vigilante style retribution. Whilst this is, in part, successful, it throws them into the arms of the police whereupon the secrets they have kept concealed from one another are revealed with huge consequences.

The phoenix motif in the novel is particularly apt to this story about rebirth and regrowth. Cathy Cassidy has paired the importance of responsibility against the essential nature of self-expression in this heart-warming, life-affirming tale.

“The Snow Goose” follows the plight of Philip Rhayader, an artist living out a solitary existence on the Essex Coast. Blighted by a physical deformity that distances him from the society surrounding him, his tenderness and love find purpose only through nurturing injured wild-fowl back to well-health.

An injured snow goose brings the feisty young Frith to Rhayader, and together the two of them nurse the creature. The other-worldly aspect of the Great Marsh is purged by current affairs as news of the war and the situation facing soldiers in Dunkirk spreads. With this, human devastation infiltrates the ebb-and-flow of the natural, wild environs of the marsh.

Rhayader resolves to sail his boat across to Dunkirk whereupon he plans to rescue the soldiers stranded upon the beach. From this point, the remainder of the story becomes piecemeal, gathered from a variety of sources and puzzled together arriving at a conclusion laced with pathos, unfulfilled desires and things unsaid.

The salt-sting of the sea air and its desolation are captured brilliantly by Angela Barrett’s majestic illustrations which evoke the wild untamed, atmosphere of the book with a raw, untamed power and grace that proves entirely equal to this haunting tale.

Purporting to guide readers through the ‘mysterious and inventive life of Enid Blyton’, Duncan McLaren’s “Looking for Enid” documents the geography that lay behind much of her life and attempts to place this in context of her work. The major initial problem with this line of thinking is that the hypothesis it posits is reliant upon the weight of emphasis and significance that McLaren places upon particular works and characters at the exclusion of others that are in contravention of his pre-defined ideologies, making this a curiously single-sided work. Only those out of the many tunnels and secret passages that fit with McLaren’s slightly aslant psycho-analytic reading, only those towers which fit with the autobiographical detail he feels permeates the works are granted accord, the remainder meanwhile are dismissed.

In spite of this, parts of McLaren’s work are revelatory and parts of his research – where it is grounded and does not involve flirtatious theorising that seems to serve its apparent primary purpose, the titillation of his travelling companion Kate – are to be applauded. This, however, is too dilute and embedded within too much supposition to be of major interest.

With the literary equivalent of a nervous-twitch, McLaren appropriates Blyton’s characters and lives out parts of his own thoughts, feelings and desires and those that he projects upon Blyton herself. This occurs most inappropriately when Enid and first husband Hugh have an imagined bed-time conversation as rabbits, Binkle and Flip discussing the hope for a fully-developed uterus… “Oh, it wouldn’t have to be a fully developed one. Not an arterial road running right through me! But perhaps I could wish for the uerus of an 18-year-old girl. Do you think that would be too much to ask for?” It becomes hard not to recoil!

Blyton’s position within the children’s literature world and the sheer mass of work she produced means that further consideration – and that which travels beyond the shifting trends and tectonics of political correctness – is needed, but this title is unequal to that. Barbara Stoney’s official biography is far more engaging, more precisely written and of lasting interest than the current work.

Portobello must be praised for the high-production values on this work, however, whether the self-indulgent content in its current form warranted publication is certainly questionable.

Raven’s grief, despair and guilt moves through stages as the novel progresses. He denies the reality of what has happened, weaving around himself a protective film of lies and half-truths. Though the stigma of mental health problems are encountered through the levels of misunderstanding and of miscomprehension that surround Raven, the mind is depicted here as resilient, strong and in a process of renewal and of resolution.

Suzuma’s willingness to draw from a reservoir of biographical experience to colour her characters with credibility makes this a courageous novel and, in an age when one in four people experience mental health problems throughout their lives, a highly worthwhile and contemporaneous one also.

Against this backdrop, Shehana herself, a Londoner with Bangladeshi family ties, rallies against the fast-approaching marriage that her family feel is so timely but that represent a very real blockade to the future she herself aspires towards and her desire to enter higher education.

Race assumptions are constantly subverted and just what it means to belong to a particular group and to identify ourselves within a specific set of cultural and social ideologies is probed incisively with by Johnson. This is a gripping thriller, with rich writing that envelops and engages from start to finish and that reveals the dehumanising influences of viewing the body as object, distinct from mind and personality. In parts dark, in parts disturbing, this is a smart and sassy novel with a strongly defined sense of pace and of purpose. A relevant and resonant novel that is well worthy of promotion.

So begins a desperate plight to escape pursuers, to find sanctuary to seek assistance where available, but to be aware of the position and danger such a trust necessarily places himself and Ninian within.

Jauncey’s ending to the novel leaves the swathes of problems over the nature of land-ownership and possession open and poses the chilling question as to whether we are in fact now fighting for the political and philosophical space of childhood itself…

Following the life and thoughts of Rachel Riley through a series of diary entries, the novel is similar in form and in feel to the Georgia Nicholson series by Louise Rennison. A distinction exists, however, in that a more coherent thread of storylines and plots courses beneath the self-conscious, though rarely self-aware, diary entries of the protagonist.

Resolved that the current year truly will be her most dramatically tragic yet, Rachel is so focused upon this aim, she is unaware of the more irregular and surreal aspects of her life. Ascorbic and probing, writing so sharp and so pointed should carry a safety warning!

Narinda Dhami has a definite ear for dialogue and a keenly astute eye for social interaction resulting in prose that is witty, wise and a genuine delight. Analogies between changes that have affected past and present generations and an ability to reach a resolve for past misdemeanours and misconceptions make for a thought-provoking and satisfying read.

Following the separation of his mother and father, Kyle has become socially withdrawn. Embarking upon a class trip, the train that Kyle and his peers are on is de-railed and hangs precariously between safety and danger, life and death, for all those on board.

One of the few individuals conscious on the train, Kyle finds that he is able to experience at first hand the dreams – and thereby the fears, guilt and neuroses – that his fellow passengers are subject to…

Large questions regarding, faith, belief, reality, truth, preordination and psych-kinesis are stimulated and are constantly brought to the fore as the narrative pace races through a total of thirteen nightmares told in a frame-setting.

Blackman depicts horror at its most chilling and efficacious through drawing the shades of darkness from sources identifiable to the everyman. The personal base to several of the dream described makes this a brave work, its considered nature and seriousness of intent ensuring it is, at once, in equal parts worthwhile.

The strands of a story that spans three separate generations are woven together expertly by Michael Morpurgo and chart life prior to, during and following the Holocaust. Far from explicit, the atrocities of the period are concealed beneath the urgent attempts of Paulo Levi’s parents’ to survive.

High culture and barbarism are played out against one another emphasising the tragedy and extent and magnitude of the history that underpins this fiction. Subtle reference to this is made as Morpurgo draws a wide geographic base around his characters that are thrown together, pulled apart and eventually drawn back to one another through the nature of all they have seen and heard.

The power of art to heal and foster understanding is explored and manifested in this quiet, contemplative work.

This first story sees the cattle careering back to Tudor times where they must foil the Ter-moo-nator’s attempts to install a cow-counterpart in place of Henry VIII’s fourth wife, Anne of Cleaves.

Milking the thrills of time-travel alongside the spills of a history, plotted to have gone somewhat awry, this series presents bovines at their brilliant best kowtowing to none and to nothing.

Keen to see David with others of his own age, his grandmother insists on his attending an egg hunt over Easter. Caught in a reverie, David instead begins looking the woods and finds an egg in the mouth of what he believes to be a dead body.

Through a series of false-starts, trust and mistrust, David is befriended by the thirteen-year-old Primrose who has no dad and a neglectful, eccentric, fortune-telling mother. Realism and surrealism interweave to concoct a heady memorable rites-of-passage narrative whereby neither David nor Primrose feel complete, happy or entirely understood and supported.

Spinelli’s understated narrative brings the two together as friends whose bonds are robust and rigorous. A moving account of the way we each of us depend upon others even at those times when we endeavour to assert our independence most stridently.

Orion Children’s books have produced a bind-up of “The boy with magic numbers”, where a gift from his father enables protagonist Billy to predict number sequences with remarkable proficiency leading him to solve numerous numerical conundrams and ultimately to become embroiled in trying to rescue son of a millionaire, Walter Minks Junior, from kidnappers. Positive attitude and furthermore the desire to utilise skills responsively build through a succession of twists, turns, plots and sub-plots to a thoroughly heartening climax.

Flipping the book provides readers with the opportunity to read the story of “The Invisible Boy”. When Sam’s parents win a trip to the moon., the appropriately named Mrs Hardbottom, the family’s nextdoor neighbour, offers to look after him. This allows Gardner to achieve one of the archetypes of children’s literature, the child alone, conquering adversity. Salvation from the harsh treatment Sam suffers at the hand of Mrs Hardbottom arrives in a salad-spinner in the form of Splodge, an alien, whose patch makes Sam invisible, thereby initiating a series of... and reversing the adage that children should be seen and not heard.

These are sedate stories feeling almost as though they are from an age ago, in spite of these, or more properly, because of this, they retain a sense of wonder, magic and awe that makes life feel fuller and more flavoursome. Sally Gardner taps into the dream consciousness of children – and adults(!) – everywhere in these two timeless tales.

What makes these books so special and so clever is the sense in which they are thoroughly recognisable and set in an everyday environment that readers are instantly able to feel an affinity towards. Whilst magic influences gives levels of guidance to the child protagonists that lie at each story’s centre, that magic is skilfully utilised by Gardner as a means for developing a resilience and an increased sense of engagement with the world that surrounds them.

Critical comment surrounding ‘Harry Potter’ has increasingly failed to distinguish between popularity and content. The brand has become testament to the technologies and communications that have rendered popular culture as globalised. Commentary has focused around a rigid mythology surrounding its creator and creation rather than pinioning itself to the books themselves.

In establishing the ground-plan and layout for the final book, previous titles have worked towards determining this as a cataclysmic wrangling between good – personified via Harry Potter – and evil – manifested through Voldemort in an epic battle that sends quakes of fear and impending danger through the whole of the wizard and non-wizard worlds alike.

With the exception of the opening of the novel, the impending doom, however, never feels to be significant, or indeed to exert itself on anyone other than a minor clique. Sentimentalism and sensation have removed the edge from this particular brand of danger.

Genetic inheritance and race underpin the whole of Voldemort’s philosophies and are structured as the backbone that affords Voldemort’s evil a level of intent and thereby of plausibility. Failure to engage with this and a reticence to draw deeply from oblique thematic reference to Hitler’s ‘Final Solution’ make the concluding episode of the ‘Harry Potter’ books flaccid shackling Voldemort to the position of a pantomime villain. As readers, we may ‘boo’, we may ‘hiss’, but there will be few that are chilled to the bones by result of the 'what if' as without root or foundation many of the blurrings between good and evil that Rowling has outlined are degraded

Magic is as much a convenience as it is an integral part of a plausible culture and community. Delineations between the magic and non-magic world are shifting with squibs, mudbloods (or the more euphemistic term ‘Muggle-borns’ – although this itself appears a derisory reference towards those lacking potential and ability, more so than non-wizards at least). Distinctions are rarely explained and so cohesion to the fundamental premise of this fantasy world is eroded.

Characterisation and development through the series is highly limited, restricted to a series of gropes and fumbles – abhorrent stereotyping of adolescence - that allegedly symbolise the ascent towards physical and mental maturation.

If the paucity of ‘Pottermania’ is indeed, truly a gauge of our reading culture, nationally, perhaps we should all be concerned that one series should, alone, have attained such breadth of focus in a country that annually publishes upwards of 10,500 books and that the 'magic' of the literary inheritance for the inhabitants of this sceptred isle is a world - like that of Hogwarts - unattainable for so many...

This takes a sinister turn when he is captured on the moors and is appropriated as a couple’s child… A beast is reputed to be at large on the moors and there are rumours concerning the disappearance – and possible murder of a child.

Catherine Macphail’s text probes at identity, stimulating question as to just who is after Ram, the nature of the knowledge he possesses and why this poses a threat to certain individual… MacPhail seeds the idea of latent knowledge and examines how we operate in an environment when we lack understanding of our positions within that society.

The prank falls somewhat flat, however, when an apparition does indeed appear and begins maligning Justin, his sister and Daniel with an ever forceful vehemence. As in previous works, “The Devil’s Footsteps” and “The Intruders”, Richardson’s prose is sparse, taut and highly charged. The book transcends much of the genre through its exposure of intergenerational familial dysfunction and the ramifications of a failure to reach resolution. Dark, brooding and boldly different...

“It may sound fanatical to time everything out so carefully, but minutes were what we lived by: stolen minutes, minutes between lessons, four minutes to smoke a fag, twenty minutes for a pint at the pub, free periods during which forged exam papers or contraband could be purchased.”

Rosoff writes in a nowhere time that paradoxically is anytime and everytime, she writes about nobody that is anybody and somehow everybody.

In her latest novel, the slow submergence of the Suffolk coastline emphasises the inevitable movement away from childhood and into adulthood with all the efficacy of the Tick Tock of Barrie's interminable, crocodile-swallowed, clock.

Rosoff explores a childhood that, divorced from the rigour and regime of adult influence is empowered and free. Written in retrospect, the novel recounts one boy’s complete, obsessive infatuation with another… The latter youth, Finn, is a Thoreau-like figure who has returned to a more basic, less pressured style of existence. Refuge from the outside world is broken when Finn becomes ill, however. It becomes apparent then that Finn is not the person he was seen as being. Gender, sexuality and an assumed knowledge about ourselves and others combine in this delicately wrought novel.

A wonderfully rich invocation of pathos and humour are evoked by the stuffed pike that befriends Stanley, by the misfortunes that befall the ghost of Admiral Swift and his lost appendage. The manner through which affectionate good humour and the chill of suspense and fear are juxtaposed and yet equally held in balance makes for a beautifully full-bodied and wholesome story. Illustrations draw on the quirky satirical traditions of Searle, Scarfe and Steadman and there is a touch of genius in the thoughtful way with which these have been appropriated and augmented for the market of children’s books.

Through etching indelible images, visual and verbal, in the minds of his readers, Mould is creating a series that will appeal at once to the polar extremes of the most avid readers and those who are least confident. Exciting both in terms of its production and its narrative, this book is a potent reminder that reading at its best really is the adventure of a lifetime and that stories are a birth-right in which we all share and are able to communicate differences and divergences of opinion.

Fans of Pete Johnson’s work will neithbe neither surprised nor disappointed to learn that he has penned no ordinary teenage spy novel. Henry has a secret concerning his father and indiscretions from his past that have been manipulated to secure self-interest. Henry is now determined to reveal the truth and with a similar deftly, Johnson sows the seeds of his story with just the right precision to keep readers edging ever closer, but never quite guessing the truth behind this twisting, turning story. Fiendishly cunning and cleverly observed, Pete Johnson brings fresh flavour and gives food for thought to the common staple of the teen spy novel

Back for his ninth adventure, the hapless Jiggy McCue finds himself transported to a parallel world in which he becomes divorced from his familiar motley crew of musketeers. In itself, this highlights Lawrence’s aptitude for revealing the inner-workings and mechanics of group friendships, social interaction and communal thoughts and actions – an understanding that places his series alongside stalwarts of children’s literature, Nesbit and Blyton, who showed similar awareness and ability to convey this effectually through unembellished, fast-moving prose style.

Literary influences figure highly in Michael Lawrence’s body of work, as he quite correctly asserts in his preface, this is not done ‘slavishly’ here, but rather creates parallels that are parodied – and sometimes ridiculed(!) – adding to the jovial nature of the predicaments Jiggy encounters.

Cleverly interweaving details and character facets from the previous books in the series, this is absurdist humour at its unequivocal best – belly laughs abound in this rib-tickled read!

Choice of the plague as a colourful backdrop for the novel betrays a pedestrian storyline and prose style that relies largely upon stereotype and sweeping generalisation as to the tastes and ‘truths’ of childhood. Eclipsing the novel is the story of its production. This is the first of several series in Egmont’s cynical “2Heads” imprint, which sees children consulted over the contents of the list.

Reliant upon the notion of a set of ‘universal’ truths that are somehow applicable to all children and are made available through consultation with a select group, consultation is located firmly within the contemporary preoccupation that active engagement in the arts is possible without tutelage or awareness of the field. A necessary lack of experience and restricted reading base become limitations that seriously impinge upon the imaginative scope available to writers, necessitating that the ways reading is able widen our windows onto the world and our sense of perspective and understanding. Reading at its widest and most liberated instead becomes substituted for that which is already known and has been experienced. It becomes a process of less than enviable recirculation…

The self-flagellating approach that children should be consulted with all that concerns them, limits the choices and opportunities available, only to those which are readily within a said ‘child’s’ field of experience. It is invariably difficult to rise above the mundane with something that is lasting and likely to make an impression. “Terror in Cubicle Four” lacks the characterisation and emotional base that make it possible to empathise and understand.

Production values are low, illustrations by Pulsar Studios bear little relation to the text – the tentacle described on page twenty-three is visualised as a distinct creature, a nematode of sorts and the choice of illustration feels arbitrary and often poorly orchestrated.

Our approach to writing, publishing and making reading material readily available for children is seriously jeopardised when reticence over ‘adult’ involvement is made whether that be instigated through commercial or egalitarian motivations…

The highly innovative and imaginative illustrator Joel Stewart proves himself equally proficient at the pacing and plotting of fiction for young readers in “The Trouble with Wenlocks”. Travel on a train takes an unexpected turn when everyone slips into slumber save for Stanley Wells who experiences an apparition. This apparition is later revealed to have been a Wenlock, an ethereal being with the ability to remove fear and uncertainty.

With parents living apart, and voyages made between their respective home, Stanley has been the subject of great change. His train ride extends as a metaphor for the journey of his own life, one that he must travel, arriving at difficult decisions alone with regard to his outlook and intended destination...

Delightfully idiosyncratic and whimsical, Joel Stewart captures that sense of the surreal that accompanies feelings experienced for the first time. Caught, on the one hand, between the enigmatic Dr Moon's careful guidance and sage advice and, on the other, Joel Stewart's intriguing first novel, readers could not be in safer hands.

“Unzipped – a toolkit for life” is a welcome return of the winning format used previously but here updated for revised. Carefully interwoven firsthand experiences and the occasional joke prevent the book from becoming a diatribe of paternalistic guidance and advice diminishing the very real concerns that can accompany adolescence.

Written and designed with precision, many will feel as comfortable with reading this as with FHM, Loaded, Nuts or any of the other boorish magazines aimed at the young male market and further restricting popular constructions of masculinity through positing football, cars and sexual bigotry as the unique preserves of the male and denying all that is emotional or cerebral in content. Matt Whyman’s skill is in appropriating this style but through subtle awareness of the head of emotional steam that lies behind all as they encounter the transition from childhood to adulthood, paying tribute to the emotional concerns that lie beyond the front, a standpoint worthy of applause.

Suffering a slight at the hands of the ‘Lip Gloss Girls’ after having been accused of betraying her former best-friend, Erin, Hannah Driscoll feels isolated, ostracised and caught between her former gang and their rivals, the ‘Hell Cats’. In an abrupt – though totally convincing – plot turn, Hannah becomes accepted into the rival gang, allowing for the dynamics of group mentalities to be exposed and for a series of lively revelations as to the characteristics and motivations of both groups of girls to be played out against one another expertly.

As ever, Catherine MacPhail shows deftness of in having crafted a thoroughly readable and compelling novel that has a needle-point sharpness in its no-bars-held insight into the types of assumption and prejudice concerning the stigma and prejudiced expectations that arise concerning ‘class’ both in educational and social settings.

Although sometimes overt in the narrative’s placement of moral and ethical standards, the story nonetheless makes for a fast-paced, action adventure that will doubtless find a legion of fans foremost of these are likely to be those who are savvy with the fast evolving worlds of gadget and computer aided technologies. With often exotic and far-flung locations, an increasingly enticing array of spy gadgetry and the promise of top-secret assignments, this series has enough hooks to capture the imaginations of even the most reluctant of readers…

Assigned the task of looking after new pupil, Ivan, by headteacher Mrs Blaizely, Boris finds himself constantly trying to veil darkly threatening comments and a deliberate flouting of authority when translating his new class-mates comments from Russian into English for the benefit of teachers and pupils alike at the highly convivial St Edmund’s school. Throughout the course of the day, the problem escalates in magnitude, placing Boris into ever more cringe-worthy, difficult circumstances as he tries to meet and match Ivan’s menace with good manners.

Anne Fine’s trademark black humour is laced with a delicious sense of precision and of timing throughout the novel. As concurs with the author’s body of work per-se, however, underpinning this humour are keen observations as to the functionality of communication in modern life, the need for expressing one’s wants and desires across whatever boundaries we encounter in life – whether these be geographical or based around engaging with those from different ages or backgrounds to our own and a tendency for children’s voices to be marginalised alongside the egalitarian intents of those imbued with their education and wellbeing.

Publication of this admirable and compelling short novel is the flagship for Anne Fine’s revised and rejacketed backlist with Egmont books.

Not so much a teenage miscreant as an individual for whom the education system and social structure around late childhood has failed to secure and keep safe, Chas, together with his best friend Devil indulges in joy-riding of the most extreme and immoderate variety when hot-wiring a heavy goods vehicle. Consequence of this night is the pair’s eventual placement in a remand home.

Running parallel to this, Chas has been writing to a prisoner on Death Row who has been accused of murdering a child. In order to be accepted onto the letter-writing programme, Chas pretends to be his mother, thereby concealing his age, a deception that later has dire consequences.

Throbbing at the heart of this gritty, urban tale is a wealth of ideas. It is the social interaction and the minutiae of power-dialectics amongst adolescent characters that Kennen observes with such accuracy.

Unlike with ‘Beast’, Kennen’s prodigious debut novel, the narrative and thrust of ‘Berserk’ feels at times a little too out of check and control. The convoluted relationship between Lenny Darling and Chas and Devlin’s families, in addition to the obfuscated messages within the letters he sends when imprisoned stretches credibility to belief and beyond. Scale of many of images in the novel – the severed finger, the hedonistic consumptive feast on the lorry and the high-altitude climax – serve to eclipse many of the like-clockwork mechanics that underpin the narrative. This lends the work an air of many-a-Hollywood blockbuster, high-in-energy, huge-on-impact, yet ultimately disallowing the time and reflective space for its idea base to unfurl to the height of its potential.

The approach negates the careful teasing out of character and motivations that made ‘Beast’ instantly so remarkable and refreshing. Its consequence is a legacy of discursive, high-impact images without the context, continuity or coherency that would have elevated this novel to being exceptional and, if addressed, will lead to Kennen’s becoming one of the most exciting new writers for the young adult market.

Bali Rai’s descriptions of the various dubious ideologies associated with the cult in the book, one of the prime suspects believed to have been implemented with the disappearance of Sophie, shows a clear understanding of the social instability caused by rhetoric and dogma that disassociates itself from even the most basic of humanist ideals. The politicised nature of the cult , a group of individuals forming an enclave of their own rigid and unquestioning beliefs, makes for a compelling, wholly convincing and engaging and thoroughly enraging narrative.

A surprise wholesale turn in narrative direction gives a highly unexpected twist in the tale. This device, however, is neither entirely satisfactory, nor presented in a manner that makes it credible within the story.

Ironically, the nature of prejudice that Rai’s prose incisively negotiates with regard to race is seemingly arbitrarily switched. Implication that the motivation for extreme behaviour carried out by one of the main characters is derived from a gender confusion that stems from infanthood is a facet of the novel that makes for a convenient explanation, but one whose superficial psychological depth succeeds only in making these passages emotionally cold, lacking in sympathy and slipping into the types of prejudice they have so skilfully manoeuvred where race is concerned.

Six new stories see Jamie struggling to protect Angus from the boisterous Bella, learning to paint, taking a post-Christmas, countryside ramble with Uncle Edward, deciding a means for organising his book collection – the one chosen incidentally will have librarians the length and breadth of the country curling their toes in anguish! – and ultimately growing older and the possibility of his feeling a little more distanced from Angus…