Misrule

Here's my annual report on the Lady Cutler award for services to children's literature, given by the NSW branch of the Children's Book Council of Australia.

This year's so very well deserved recipient is the inimitable Di Bates: writer, mentor, teacher, activist, networker and all round children's literature enthusiast.

I've known Di from the earliest days of my involvement with the children's book "scene". She is a woman of remarkable energy and generosity. Her books frequently speak to the lives of young people in some of the most difficult personal circumstances with honesty and hope—like Di herself. She has opened her door and her heart to too many new writers to count (young and "older"), and on a personal note, she has always been a great emotional and practical support to me in my various roles in the world of books for children.

One of those new writers, Sandy Fussell (whose novel Samurai Kids: The White Crane, I was privileged to launch earlier this year), spoke to Di's nomination at tonight's award dinner, and much of what she said focused on the support Di has offered over the years to emerging writers. 

Guest speaker at the dinner was Melina Marchetta. I won't even try to begin to paraphrase Melina's talk—I have asked her to post the speech on her website so I can link to it—but it was a wonderful meditation on writing full time, crossing genres and ignoring assumed imperatives to write to audience, voice or expectations based on having written one of this country's best-selling and best-beloved YA novels ever.

I should also add that it was a great good thing that the late Lady Cutler's son Mark was on hand to present Di her award.

And also that the recent deaths of two of Australia's greatest and most significant writers for young people was noted. Eleanor Spence's son (I apologise—I missed his name) received a posthumous award on his mother's behalf, recognising her contribution to Australian children's books, and spoke in the most touching and affectionate way of his "most creative mother".

The death this weekend past of the remarkable Ivan Southall was also noted. We've lost so many wonderful Australian children's writers in the last year or so—Eleanor, Ivan, Colin Thiele... All reached grand ages and left their mark on the culture, but still, how we miss them.

In closing (!), I have to add that I took some really lovely photos tonight, but my camera has been playing up and may have at last given up the ghost entirely, so I will have to find out how to transfer the pics from the memory stick to a computer. If I'm successful, I'll let you know.

Anyway, grand good wishes to Di, and kudos to the great support and love of her life Bill Condon (also a writer: his latest novel, Give Me Truth, is his best book to date, I believe). Enjoy that Wedgewood trophy, the certificate (illustrated and calligraphied by fellow Lady Cutler recipient Donna Rawlins) and the gift of original artwork by Bronwyn Bancroft. You deserve it all!

My cat Bridie* turns 19 today. 19! I can't believe she's that old, but I am so very grateful that she's still with me and in pretty good nick. She had her old lady cat checkup a couple of months ago, with the wonderful, kind and understanding vets at the Annandale Vet Clinic, where she's been a patient most of her life. (These people are so lovely. They understand when you get all teary even talking about the fact that she's so old and will, very likely, die in the next year or two.)

I've known for a few years that her kidneys haven't been in top shape, typically for an old cat, but on this last visit they also found that she had a problem with her heart. I forget the exact condition, but basically her heart has been working overtime and she had very high blood pressure. (Ironically, this heart problem was good for her kidneys: the heart was pumping lots of blood through them, which was good for them.) Since then, she's been on heart medication (one quarter of a half of a human-sized medication daily!).

I took Bridie back to the vet on the weekend and her blood pressure has returned to normal, which is great. She continues to compensate adequately for her kidneys, and despite being totally deaf and a bit, I fear, demented, she's remarkably well—and agile—for her age.

One day I want to write Bridie's life story, from Balmain Markets kitten to my funny little old lady, but that will, I imagine, feel rather like a eulogy, and I'm not ready for that! (I'll never be ready for that.) I met a couple in the waiting room who had brought their 20 year old Devon Rex cat for a checkup, and they told me they had only just recently lost a black and white moggie at the age of 26. Now, I don't anticipate Bridie has another 7 years in her, but as long as she's got, I hope she remains well and happy and as eccentric and affectionate as she's always been.

Here are some pictures I recently scanned of Bridie as a kitten. She was such a gangly thing, with those huge ears! I will upload the rest to my flickr account soon. Oh, and some more recent photos as well. You will note her coat is a bit untidy looking. She's more or less stopped grooming in the last year. (As Gwilym the vet said, she's letting herself go!) I comb her as much as I can (as much as she'll let me!), but it's not the same as a proper tongue bath. I asked Gwilym about bathing her, but he didn't think it was necessary. She's had such a pretty, and unusual coat (different layers, colours and textures—and she sheds constantly, all year 'round) that I am sad to see it not at its best, but she had to be bathed years ago when she had a stress-related over-grooming thing that had the skin on her belly and spine constantly scabby and weeping, and it wasn't fun. Plus she only weighs 3.06 kilos and I don't think "drowned rat" would even come close to how she'd look wet these days!

Wasn't she the cutest thing! All those pretty spots. She's still got 'em, but they are not as dark as this—she's not as dark as this shows. I think it must have been the light. She's basically a grey tabby with pinkish tortoiseshell streaks (faded now to a sort of beige) with a Burmese shaped face and frame.

She's a bit older here—look at those long legs! And I never thought she was going to grow into her ears. She did, eventually.

Because this is supposed to be a children's lit blog, here is the connection. Years ago, I used to run a weekend literary program for kids for the Children's Book Council at the NSW Writers' Centre, and the most successful of those was a Narnia party. So successful, in fact, that we had to run it twice. (Movie fans and celeb spotters: Hugo Weaving's children came!) My good friend Ros Bastian, who was then president, organised for a friend to make this Aslan cake. We kept the head after the first party and had a new body made for the second. After the second party, my then partner and I (we must have been married by then from where this photo is taken) took the leftovers to a 30th birthday party—and nobody would eat it. "We can't eat Aslan!" I don't remember the many children at the Narnia parties being anything like so squeamish. They got stuck in with gusto.

Anyway, that is a now-grown up but still very young Bridie meeting Aslan** (with lower jaw missing, by the look of this). After that, we buried the damn thing in the backyard. (Aslan, not Bridie.)

Here she is in resplendent middle age. And weighing rather more than her current 3.06 kilos.

And this is how she spent her birthday. Sleeping. On her head.

Happy birthday, baby girl!

And courtesy of Nicola (and I can't remember how to embed videos and Jonathan's not home to help me, so you'll have to follow the link) join me in meowing her a happy little birthday ditty.

Oh, look! There it is! Clever me!

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*She's named Bridie because today, her birthday, is also Evelyn Waugh's birthday. So Bridie is for Brideshead as in Revisited (I saw the new film the other day—it was OK). My dad affectionately calls her Brideshead, which is cool with me.

**I met a girl called Aslan once, at the Darumbal (sp?) Hall on the north coast in 1997.

Tender Morsels, the long-anticipated novel by Margo Lanagan (not her first novel, by the way, for the information of those of you who are mostly familiar with her marvellous spec fic short stories of recent years...), was launched tonight at Berkelouw Books in Leichhardt. It was a low-key, friends-and-family focused event, with Margo reading from the novel, which was in turn launched by Jan Cornall, who leads the "Draft Busters" workshop at which Margo workshopped the book over the past couple of years.

Here's a pic of Margo and my good friend Pamela Freeman at the launch. Pamela is also an Australian writer of fantasy and other books for children and other people.

Yes, Margo, your eyes are open!

This news is a few weeks old, but I was waiting for the obituary to be published in the Sydney Morning Herald—which it was last Friday.

Eleanor Spence was one of the pioneers of Australian stories for Australian readers in the second half of the last century. The one I remember from my childhood (although I don't exactly remember reading it—I believe it belonged to one of my sisters) is The October Child, surely one of the first children's books from anywhere in the world to feature a child with autism (a rich vein in recent years). She was, of course, also the author of A Candle For St Anthony, which, whatever one might think of it today (see comment #8), was nevertheless also ground-breaking in its exploration of an intense friendship between two young men.

Curiously, given her significance and prominence as a writer during my childhood, I better recall reading her when I first became interested in children's literature professionally in my late 20s. This was when books like Deezle Boy, Me and Jeshua*, The Family Book of Mary Claire and her last book, Another Sparrow Singing, were published—published, and were regularly nominated and shortlisted for, and won awards. My memory of these books is that while they had a sensibility reminiscent of the books from my childhood reading in the 60s and 70s, they also spoke to a more modern audience: as the SMH obit puts it, "difficulties rather than conflicts but without sentimentality".

It's important to note these passings: to remember and acknowledge our past, the makers of our cultural heritage. So, here's to Eleanor Spence: as my dad noted when he mentioned Ms Spence's obit to me, 1928 was a very good year.

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*Was Me and Jeshua perhaps the most recent/last mainstream overtly Christian Australian children's books? I can't easily bring to mind another, Clair de Lune and The Black Dress notwithstanding.

A word of advice to the proprietor of the Mittagong Antique Centre/Vintage Collection stand at the Sydney Vintage Clothing, Jewellery and Textiles  Show:

If you want someone to fork out $95 for a very ordinary 1970s terry-towelling beach coat, I suggest you first remove the $3 price tag from the Vinnie's shop you found it in.

(And no, I don't actually blame John Howard for this, it is just that this category is the closest I've got to express consumer outrage.)

They're celebrating Banned Books Week over in the USA—which always seems like a slightly odd idea. Why celebrate such a horrible aspect of American society?—the regular, repeated and, frankly, tedious and uninformed challenges made to books held in school and public libraries. Especially books for children and teenagers.

But of course it's the books they are celebrating—I do get that, of course, but the week always feels a little like drawing attention to one's own character defect to me.

And I don't mean to be smug, but my current Facebook status reads "Judith is glad we don't need a Banned Books Week in Australia".

I didn't add "Yet". Don't want to jinx anything. And of course, we have had our own cause celebres from time to time—just not many, not often, and none, as far as I know, successful (not at least in the past many decades).

Oh—and that list of books Sarah Palin allegedly wanted to have banned? It's a fake, essentially just a list of frequently challenged books, some of which had not even been published when the incident happened. Wish it had never popped up—because the last thing you want to do is draw them to her attention...

Well anyway, that's my excuse. And Facebook does have its uses beyond time wastage: it led me to this lovely tribute to a copy editor. I love this line: She learned her trade on the job; how she turned it into an art is mysterious.

This post is about what I've been reading on line the last few days:

Diablo Cody, who wrote the screenplay to the wonderful film Juno (well, I loved it and I don't care if you didn't), writes about her love of Judy Blume in, of all places, Entertainment Weekly.

Hmmm. That sentence wouldn't have pleased the afore-mentioned copy editor. Of course, I meant that Diablo Cody wrote in Entertainment Weekly about her love of Judy Blume, not that she loved Judy Blume in (of all places) Entertainment Weekly. But you knew that, right? (And I didn't link to the blog that made Cody famous in the first place. We try and keep things PG rated around here. Or maybe M at a pinch. But you know how to find it...)

Speaking of ratings... OK, poor attempt at a segue, but anyway, I was home sick a couple of weeks ago, and free to air TV has just started screening The View and Ellen during the day. And now I'm addicted. I've seen both shows in the US and now I am taping them every day. I am fascinated with Ellen's dancing and I love seeing Whoopie and Joy piss off Republican ninny Elisabeth Hasselbeck.

Anywhere, there is a children's lit link in here. (Or as Ellen would say, My point, and I do have one...) Last week, Ellen had Stephenie Meyer on the show, and I have to say, it was the dullest interview with a writer I have ever heard. Now, Ellen has to shoulder some of the responsibility for that—she's not by any stretch a fabulous interviewer, and she could have been better prepared to speak with a writer (I don't know how many writers she has on the show) and yes, she got lots of (albeit funny) plugs in for her own modest publishing record, which could also be a mark against her. But, nice as she seemed, Stephenie Meyer came across as someone who just doesn't appear to have very much to say for herself. (I originally wrote "boring", but I always metaphorically slapped my students for using that word, and so I am holding myself to the same standards. I have no way of knowing if Ms Meyer is boring. But the interview was.)

Yes, Ellen's questions were bog-standard and prosaic at best, but I really didn't get the sense that there was much to delve into, in terms of Meyer's reflections on her own work. But then, she's also the new kid on the block without, I suspect, and for example, the educational background of that much lauded NKOTB back in the late 90s (who far from being a single mother ingenue, had a degree in French and Classics—you know who I'm talkin' about...). So I should cut her some slack.

But still—Meyer's books have copped so much flack, not because anyone ever really suggested that they were great works of literature, in the way that that the HP books were hailed (yes, you knew I was talkin' about that!), but because of their egregious gender representation. (Which I totally get. I may be an enabler, in that I have bought the books for my nieces (one is Team Edward, the other Team Jacob—Christmas is going to be interesting!) and even solicited some Twilight bling from kindly friends in the US who sent me promotional material for said nieces, but as a feminist and sometime literary critic, I also get that the books are pretty dodgy and overwrought in a number of regards. But I also think that the respective nieces won't be permanently damaged by reading them, any more than I was by completely falling for Heathcliff, who has to rate somewhere high on the Bad Boyfriends Not to Emulate scale... but I digress.)

The thing is, I really, really wanted to be surprised by Meyer, I wanted to hear her speak and think, oh yeah! She's funny! She's interesting! She's smart! She knows exactly what she's doing! But alas, she was just very nice, not very interesting, and a bit overwhelmed. Which is kinda also fair enough.

So, good for her and her millions of dollars in royalties, say I, gnashing my teeth and not being able to afford the dentist's bill. I'm all for anyone who can earn a decent living in this industry, and why not a soccer mom from the heart of Morman territory? (I'd rather her than than a hockey mom who can see Russia from her house...)

So, speaking, as I kind of was, about writers who speak with some authority and care about their craft, I bring you Michael Rosen, in the best-beloved Guardian, which regularly publishes wonderful and informed reviews and commentary of children's and youth literature. I am not sure what the genesis of this article was—it makes a self-referential (but not reverential) reference, if you will, to a booklet—but it has some of the simplest, sagest and most plainly stated advice about writing for children I have ever come across. I don't need to quote it—read it in its entirety and take from it the wisdom of someone who knows whereof he speaks.

I'll be making copies for my students, with all due acknowledgment. (Ooh, me and Ellen—sisters in self-promotion!)

Oh! Just discovered—the Rosen article is part of a larger series of pieces about writing which, at the moment, features writers for young people. There's a list of them on the sidebar here. (And check out the Lauren Child article while you're there, if you haven't already (it's a few months old now). She's one of my favourite picture book creators and also a really lovely, interesting person who can speak at great length about her creative process. Sorry, not meaning to have another go at Ms M there. Hell, I'm just gonna blame Ellen!)

Can I circle back to The View for a moment? Trust me, it's all related... In looking for suitable links for my comments (above), I came across numerous online references to a major blow-up on the show about Jesse Jackson being caught on-camera (but off air) saying the word "nigger". (As you might appreciate, I have had trouble finding a link to that story that does not further inflame the matter, so I leave it link-free.)

African American co-hosts Whoopie Goldberg and Sherri Shepherd (who also happens to be a conservative born-again Christian, if information from my googling is correct), defended the "take back" of the word by their community, from a visibly upset, conservative, Republican (which might lead one to assume would also be anti-"political correctness"), white woman—the (afore-mentioned Elisabeth Hasselbeck).

[I do not intend to go into the specifics of this language or the debate on The View here, beyond observing that while European Australians took back the word "wog" long ago, I have yet to hear an Aboriginal Australian call themselves by the many racist names attributed to them by Whitey. Perhaps that says something about the state of race relations in our respective countries—and can anyone seriously envisage the day, in our lifetime, that we have an Aboriginal prime minister? We don't even have any indigenous representation in federal politics any more. This, I have to say, not good.]

Anyway, the "cat fight" (speaking of politically-loaded terminology) on The View did bring to mind a recent conversation on the child_lit listserve, about the picture book Five Chinese Brothers. This is a book that is frequently held up as a prime example of cultural insensitivity and stereotyping—yet its staunchest defender on the list is fairrosa (her online name), a Taiwanese-raised Chinese American woman, who loves the book, and shared it with her own growing daughter, and does not find it racially problematic. (See her blog entry on the topic here.) Indeed, if I recall correctly, she suggested that objections to the book from non-Chinese commentators verge on the paternalistic. This, of course, upset the educators and others on the list who objected to the book, who rightly argued that this was not a position they had come to lightly, but one that they had given deep and serious consideration to. None of these people want to think of themselves as censors, of course, so take a decision not to include any given book in their library/classroom/syllabus, whereever, very seriously indeed.

I also know that members of minority groups can be victims of their own colonisation, blahdy-blah, but I have spent a lot of time with fairrosa, both online and in person, and she does not, I believe, remotely come under that category. She is very quick to identify cultural appropriation and inaccuracies in books about her culture—she strongly objects, for example, to Donna Jo Napoli's Bound, a book I wrote my thesis on and adore, but I have to take on board her objections. Similarly, I can't help but think, well, if a Chinese person doesn't object to Five Chinese Brothers, and more than that, actively champions it as a good book for children, who am I to object?

So this is all very challenging, and not remotely straight-forward stuff, for someone who is part of the socially and culturally dominant group, to get her head around.But I love being part of the conversation.

Something's been bugging me a little for a while, and I've attended to it—although I hope that it doesn't bring any problems. A few years ago, the blog was getting besieged by spam comments—hundreds of them every day, and my techy guy had to take it down and update the software. (Alas, he's never been able to restore the old entries—all those years of posting, gone into internet heaven...) Anyway, when I set up this new blog, I made the name "The New Misrule Blog", just to alert people, I guess, to the change.

Anyway, as child_lit readers will know, I have lately (and ridiculously belatedly) explored the world of feed readers recently, and in doing so realised that when you link to my blog or whatever, the name came up as "The New Misrule Blog". And that seems kind of silly now, and anyway, it's just Misrule as far as I am concerned.

So I've changed the title (look up) and the sub-line, so now it's just Misrule: Children's and youth literature and other chat. I'm not all that thrilled with the sub-line, so if you can come up with something witty for me, send it on over. And I'll go and trawl through Seven Little Australians and see if there's something appropriate there. I'm thinking of that bit at the beginning about Australian children being naughty—follow the link above and you can read it for yourself in the online text of the novel (Chapter One). I'm thinking something like "miasmas of naughtiness and sunny brilliancy", only if people don't get the reference it will just look a bit, you know, as if I'm big-noting myself. Or what about "a lurking sparkle of of joyousness, rebellion and mischief"? Or "The electric sparkle playing will-o'-the-wisp with the larrikin type"?

She liked her sparkles, Our Ethel—whod've thunk it? I think they might all be a bit obscure (although my eye strays back fondly towards those miasmas). And anyway, I reckon Matilda has the corner on larrikin literature sites. Any thoughts, Perry? (No, not that Perry. This Perry.) Anyone?

Let me know what you think in the comments.

*Also from page one, chapter one, Seven Little Australians.

Well, after the longest Masters degree in history, I finally graduated today! I began my MA in children's literature at Macquarie University, where I also did my undergraduate degree, back in about 1989 or 1990. After the course work, I began my thesis on Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci novels (and time in her books generally—too many eggs in that basket which is why the thing never came together), which I abandoned when life got in the way (aka divorce).

It took me more than ten years to feel settled enough in my life and work to re-enrol in the Masters, by which time the rules had changed and I had to do a few more courses, which I'm very grateful for, because it was such a long time since I'd been involved with academic writing (plus I just really ejoyed them, girly swat that I am). 

When I first re-enrolled, I planned to write my thesis about Cynthia Voigt's "Bad Girls" books, then I toyed with the idea of representations of masculinity in Australian YA (before realising, what am I thinking? I'm not that interested in representations of masculinity in Australian YA), before settling on a great love and interest—fairy tale retellings.

I ended up writing a thesis about second wave feminist criticisms of the fairy tale, and how (mostly female) writers of fairy tale retellings of fairy tales have found feminist possibilities within the narrative framework of the tales. I wrote about two novels by Donna Jo Napoli: Bound (pretty successfully, I think—oh, and follow that link: fantastic teen review of the book) and Beast (not so successfully—maybe it was that masculine perspective that got me undone!). I ended up with a Distinction for the thesis, which I was ridiculously disappointed by, because I'd got HDs for all my course work, but I guess I can live with that now. I actually handed it in more than 12 months ago, but a succession of admin stuffups meant I didn't graduate until today.

Mum and Dad came along with me, as well as my best friend Cathy, who I met on enrollment day in 1982 in the very place I graduated (for the second time) today. The uni has changed so much since we were undergraduates—Cathy hasn't been back since 1986, and she said she found the experience quite an emotional one. I feel very at home there, having been on and off campus (including a stint tutoring undergrad children's lit students a few years ago), and hope that my association will continue, maybe with some more teaching—who knows, maybe with a return trip to get me one of those squishy black velvet hats and purple robes... (OK, that's not going to happen in a hurry!)

My supervisor, John Stephens, was part of the official party at today's graduation. I was seated in the front seat on the aisle, dead in front of the stage, and John saw me when he was walking down the stairs behind the stage with the official procession, and gave me a cheery wave, which was a touch undignified but very, very welcomed by me! John was a wonderful and most fore-bearing supervisor, and it was a great privilege to have the opportunity to work with him. Plus he's someone I am very fond of. He encouraged and pushed me in every way possible, and it was with his help and support that I had the chance to present a paper at the ACLAR conference a few years ago. So thanks, John, if you're reading this. Oh, and I've found a few more of your books I need to return...

And the day turned out to have a nice surprise. One of the young people graduating with a bachelor degree was, how do I put this? My ex niece? Can you have an ex niece? Anyway, she's the niece of the person I used to be married to, and I saw her name in the program, and recognised her on stage (even though I haven't seen her in at least 14 years), and then found her and her parents after the ceremony. It was lovely to see them—no hard feelings there!—and nice to know that the girls (I had four extra nieces back in the day) are growing up and doing so well.

So here's me and John, and me and Mum and Dad. It's a good feeling to be able to officially claim those letters as my own—although here's a question for you. Now I have the MA, do I drop the BA? And what do I do with the Dip Ed? Any thoughts? (Not that I use my degrees in my signature, but you never know when it might be useful...) (Oh, and I'll put the rest of the pics up on my flickr account.)

Ridiculously late, of course, but a job half-finished is a job... well, whatever. Half-finished, I guess. Ooh, but there's links this time!

As I said in my first post, I largely went to Melbourne to see the school days at the writers' festival. I like the way these session are organised—they are themed panels and conversations, not just a standard author talk to a packed auditorium of a captured audience... Which is not to say that this approach guarantees a properly prepared audience, and I'm not just talking about the kids. I was in two sessions where students asked quite bold questions which demonstrated that they had no idea who the author was or what they'd written, but more egregious than that was the woman (I hope to god she wasn't a teacher) who shamelessly put her hand up at the END of the session on blogging with Margo Lanagan and Lili Wilkinson and asked them, "What books have you both published?"

I'm sorry. We might assume that this kind of lack of preparation and awareness from the younger members of the audience is part of the lot of doing such a gig, but this woman, this ADULT, needed to be blogged and shamed, and I'm here to do it. I was totally astonished not just that an adult who chose to attend a session (I assume—even if she were a teacher surely she had some reason, akin to an interest in books and reading, that led her to put her hand up to be part of the excursion?) couldn't even be bothered to read the program to get the most cursory information about who she'd be listening to, but also that she had no shame in outing herself as someone who couldn't be bothered to read said program.

I have to wonder, conspiracy theories that we childrens' and youth lit folk are so fond of aside, if anyone would dare go to a session in the main program with a writer for adults and get up at the end and say, effectively, who the eff are you that I've just been listening to for the past hour.

Margo and Lili were, of course, the soul of decency and decorum and instead of mocking and pointing, or expressing wounded, outraged ego, very graciously gave a little potted version of their respective CVs. Oh, but two weeks later, I'm still so CROSS!

But it's a good lesson to have been reminded of as I am about to embark on my first major pilot project for the Western Sydney project. I have built into the project (which I need to blog about over at westword soon) a session where I go into the school before the program begins and prepare the students both for the author's work and for the genre he'll be working with. And while I won't be able to do this for every program and session I develop, I fully intend to include resources for the teachers and others involved to make sure the participants have had some introduction to the person they're going to be working with. I'm not being smug—I know this is in no way a fool-proof solution, but I am determined to do my best to have it covered.

Anyway, apart from those small teeth-grinding moments, the trip to Melbourne was a fantastic experience and definitely worth my time going. In addition to the blogging session with Margo and Lili (who kindly gave me a bit of a shoutout as a fellow blogger at one stage), I also went to schools sessions with John Flanagan, Joseph Delaney (who seemed lovely and was interesting, particularly about the sources of his work, but whose thick Lancashire accent, I fear, meant many of the young audience missed a lot of what he said), a session on writing historical fiction with the de-lovely David Metzenthen (been a big fan since Lee Spain) and Elizabeth Fensham, an "ArtPlay" workshop with Sally Rippin, and one with Margo, Lili and John Marsden speaking about favourite childhood books (although John didn't actually speak about his) and being a writer who reads. Plus one fabulous "in conversation" with Rachel Cohn, with one teenage girl in the audience expressing that Rachel was her new best girlfriend for her willingness to swear in her books (and life) and, I guess, Rachel's general utter coolness.

And there were endless cups of coffee and meals with friends old and new. It was especially cool to meet online pal Kirsty Murray and to find out she is exactly as fabulous as I expected her to be. Ditto Simmone Howell, as I said in the first MWF post, and look out for the first YA novel from a very funky mum-to-be, Amra Pajalic.

And then there was the real business end of the trip, which was meeting with publishers about the Western Sydney project. Very productive (and supportive) time spent talking with the good folk from Black Dog Books and HarperCollins' childrens' team and being laden up with exciting new books to bring home. And a meeting with the Anns from Books Illustrated, about their new venture into managing childrens' book illustration exhibitions, and then a visit to a wonderful exhibition of German childrens' book illustrations. Illustrator/writer Karoline Kehr spoke about her work, which was a real bonus! She makes models of the "sets" for her books, and then paints the characters on to them. Incredibly intricate work—it can take her months to make a single model, so as she said, there's not a lot of money in this approach... The exhibition will be in Sydney soon, so follow the link above and get there if you can. You won't get to hear Karoline speak, but the exhibition is just fantastic. The work is quite different to Australian illustration—you'll know what I mean if you go and see it—and very wonderful.

I treated myself to three other sessions at the writers' festival—Kate Atkinson, whose writing I adore, especially the Jackson Brodie books (I use a passage from Case Histories in my Creative Writing Stage 2 class)—and Andrew Davies, the man behind the TV adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, etc. (And, I discover, from the much-maligned Wikipedia, Marmalade Atkins series, with the late and deeply lamented Charlotte Coleman.) And also a session dedicated to sharing what you're reading, hosted by my friend and colleague from the State Library of Victoria, Paula Kelly, and recorded for Radio National's The Book Show's new online venture Pool (although I don't think we made it onto the site—too much ambient noise, I suspect).

And I went to see Wicked with my friend Meredith, and it was beyond wonderful. (Thank you, dearest Micki.) And ate a grand meal (while compulsively reading the new Jackson Brodie) at Society (I couldn't get into Gingerboy—damn those Good Food awards!). And lunch at the very enticing Recorded Music Salon. And drinks with Anita to celebrate the Melbourne launch of Avoiding Mr Right. Books were bought in various fabulous independent book stores—like I need any more. I went to see the Art Deco exhibition—beyond highly recommended. Spent money on clothes and had a lovely chat about books and reading at The Cat's Meow. Saw where Ned Kelly (and so many others) was hanged from the neck until dead, and his armour. I rode the City Circle tram all the way around. (And I bravely did NOT go into Minotaur—enough money had been expended...)

Yes, there was a lot of eating done—(a girl has to eat!) but I have to confess my favourite (if bitter-sweet) Melbourne food story involved hot chips, cheese and the gravy from Lord of the Fries...

I love hot chips. My mum used to say I could smell them a mile away. Forget your chocolatey delights—give me fried carbohydrates any day. (I try to not have them too many days!) I'm usually a purist—hot chips and salt is my perfect meal—but the Lord's cheesey, gravy delight suited my mood for my last meal on a cold, overcast Melbourne day.

So I took myself down to the river, carbs in hand, to munch on the adorned chips and suck down more chapters of the latest Kate Atkinson. It was damp underfoot (and bum), but quiet—just what I was looking for. And then one of those touristy river boats came in, disgorged its passengers, including a largish family that decided to stay right where they were to have their lunch.

I'm not usually a grump about kids and yoghurt and families in public, but this was my little farewell ritual to Melbourne—book and hot chips—and these kids were noisy. I didn't want to be that grump, so I kept my head down, kept waving a hand to fend off the ever-hungry seagulls, and focused on licking cheesy gravy off my fingers while turning the pages (trying not to muddy them) of my newly signed copy of When Will There Be Good News?

And then the lad of the family, about twelve, took up a post on the embankment behind me, and started sending loud whistles across the river. As a lad of about twelve should do. But I was trying to READ! (And gorge myself without anyone looking.) Without even realising, I sent a short, sharp look up that embankment, to the lad, who caught the look, who—get this—said "Sorry!" with a genuine recognition that he'd disturbed me.

Woah. I felt bad. But we'd both looked away, and I couldn't catch his eye to say—thanks, mate, for that. So, the parents continued with their entirely reasonable efforts to encourage small children to finish their tub of dairy, and I tried to pretend I wasn't really there reading and eating disgusting but delicious fat lady chips.

And then I heard it. The family was on the move. And whistling lad—god love him!—said to his tiny, yoghurty sister (and the family in general), "Come on—let's go. Let's leave the lady to read in peace."

Oh, thoughtful boy! Oh, kindred spirit! Oh churlish, middle-aged, gravy-cheesy-chip-eating lady, who failed again to catch your eye, to say with a nod—thank you, whistling boy, for recognising One Who Wanted Just to Read. And eat.

I wanted to chase that boy and his family and say, hey, Whistling Boy, what are you reading? But they disappeared down the river's banks. So I binned by empty chip packet and made my way back to my hotel to wait for the shuttle to the airport and home. And I was glad to go home, after a long and tiring but wonderful week (although I could have done without the dreadful head cold that I took home with me.)

I have no way of knowing if they were a local family, or tourists, like me (except with yoghurt). But if nothing else, this brief encounter was in its own small way a perfect encapsulation of why Melbourne, of all our nation's cities, has been named UNESCO's second City of Literature.

Thanks for the hospitality, sister city down south. I'll be back!

Ooh, I love an awards night, and tonight I got to be the one to give out the gongs!

I was a judge for the creative writing entries for this year's Play Now, Act Now creative competition—a competition for young people from 16-25. The competition is an initiative of Metroscreen and NSW Health, and encourages young artists to explore the theme—"Party Smart"—through graphic design, film and creative writing, and the presentation night was held tonight at the Tom Mann theatre in Sydney.

From the Play Now, Act Now website:

Play Now Act Now recognises that young people do and will drink alcohol and possibly use other drugs, and sets out to minimise the harms associated with this.
Play Now Act Now is a health education initiative that invites young people to produce creative resources focussing on issues associated with the usage of alcohol and other drugs eg. health, social, moral or ethical issues.

My fellow judges and I (can you see the royal wave?!) had to come up with just five finalists, which was a challenge, and then two award winners, which was even tougher—especially as the entries included fiction, poetry, scripts and essays. Still, we picked five excellent pieces, and two very deserving stories took out the top (very generous!) prizes.

So, congratulations to Olivia Hambrett for "The Short Cut" and Jessica Ison for "Hours. Minutes." Both were extremely accomplished pieces of narrative prose fiction that put character, voice and narrator technique first, and allowed the "Party Smart" theme to emerge from, rather than dominate, the story.

The other fnalists were poet and lyricist Jace Ross ("Emesis"), Ashleigh Synnott for her powerful story "Rockabye Baby", told in a sequence of monologues, and Genevieve Clay's character study "Francis". All fantastic talents.

Genevieve is a bit of a Renaissance woman, it would seem—as well as being a finalist in the creative writing, Genevieve took out second prize in the film/video category. Her film "Post Its" was incredibly accomplished—all the films (and the graphic design entries—they had to design a coaster carrying the Party Smart message) were really impressive, but Genevieve's particularly impressed me with a maturity of experience, expressed through her main character (a middle-aged man) that on the face of it belied her (relative) youth.

Having said that, the winning film, "Some Random", by Sally Struthers, was a kicker—brilliantly written and performed, and very clever in its blend of character and form.

Play Now Act Now have produced a showcase DVD of the competition finalists and educational resources on a CD-ROM, and published the five creative writing finalists—I reckon if you contacted them, you might be able to get hold of a copy.

Two such very different sites for a book launch! Last night I wrote about the launch of Bronwyn Bancroft's new book at an actual bookshop: today I unexpectedly attended a virtual launch of Tohby Riddle's new picture book, Nobody Owns the Moon. Yes, just before lunch, the launch landed wholly unannounced into my gmail inbox—just as well I didn't have a previous engagement, or I'd have missed out on the pretzels and Neenish tarts!

If this isn't making a whit of sense, let me explain. Tohby sent out a charming and witty (as one would expect) email to announce the launch of the new book, including a portrait of the book's protagonist, a fox called Clive Prendergast (which sounds like an Anglican vicar to me, but I digress...), and pics of the treats we launch attendees enjoyed as we clinked our virtual glasses and toasted to the book's great good health.

I can't wait to see the book (beyond the opening few pages, available on the Penguin site if you follow the link in the book's title above) and read the entire adventure of Clive and his donkey pal Humphrey. Because a new book from Tohby is always a total treat—Neenish tarts or no.

I know, I've got last week in Melbourne to catch up on. Forgive me (I am always saying that, yes?!)—I had an incredibly busy week, and then I came home with a filthy cold. And so when I haven't been running around like a headless chook catching up on having been away from work, I have been collapsing into bed exhausted with a stuffed-up head and attractively peeling, red nose.

I did have a fantastic week, though, and might even do that catchup tonight, but in case I don't quite get there, I nevertheless want to make mention of today, which was Indigenous Literacy Day.

Tonight I went to the launch of Bronwyn Bancroft's beautiful new picture book, Possum and Wattle: My Big Book of Australian Words at Gleebooks. The book is, as you would expect if you know Bronwyn's work, quite stunning. The images are striking and vibrant, and the colour reproduction remarkable. And a great celebration of indigenous Australian language.

Possum and Wattle was launched by Linda Burney, who spoke of of the terrible loss of Aboriginal languages (which she rightly said are, of course, Australian languages) while reminding us that all Australians are in fact speakers of Aboriginal Language. Each time we speak certain place names, or of native flora and fauna, even certain idioms, we are speaking Aboriginal Language.

Bronwyn spoke of the importance of education and literacy, especially for Aboriginal Australians. Her own father was excluded from formal education because of his Aboriginality. Now her children are school and university students and graduates, and she is about to embark on her PhD—just one generation away from that exclusion. And there is no education without literacy.

The Australian book trade has more or less entirely got behind the day, with 5% of all sales going towards the Indigenous Literacy Project. The launch was also a fundraiser for the project. Bronwyn's original artwork from the book was up for silent auction, with all proceeds going to the ILP.

I also have to mention Bronwyn's son, Jack Manning Bancroft, who spoke at the launch about the organisation he heads up, AIME Mentoring (Australian Indigenous Mentoring Experience). AIME pairs Aboriginal university student volunteers with Aboriginal high school students in a one-to-one mentoring project that aims to support young Aboriginal students in education. It was the first I'd heard of the program, and it's something I want to learn more about. Jack was strong and heartfelt as he spoke about the value of the program, which hinges on the dedication of the current generation of young Aboriginal people to get out there and do something practical to support each other. As it says in the "About" section of their website, AIME is action. Fantastic. (And I am really curious—must ask Bronwyn about this—my grandfather's middle name was also Manning, after the river/region where he was born. I guess that means Bronwyn's people come from there, as mine do, although so much more recently.)

I am not sure if this was deliberately connected to Indigenous Literacy Day, but I also was so fortunate to have a wonderful opportunity this morning to meet with and learn from some Aboriginal women from a small and remote area of the Northern Territory, who were at the Macquarie University Art Gallery (Macquarie is my alma mater, but the gallery is new to me) for a weaving exhibition and demonstration. This was something I heard about at the last minute, so I actually don't know all that much about where the women came from (I think they are Yolngu, and I am so sorry I do not know their names), or what was behind this exhibition, but even going in "cold", so to speak, it was such a lovely experience. The women were so generous and patient and thoughtful, showing us how to split pandanus leaves to make the fibre for the weaving; the plants they used for dyes; the weaving techniques. I spent a good half hour effectively using blanket stitch to contribute to making a pandanus leaf basket. My own mother taught me blanket stitch—how extraordinary and wonderful to be re-taught it by women from a culture and place so very far from my (and my mother's) own, and to help make something so beautiful.

And then a young Aboriginal woman from a western Sydney high school asked me to show her how to stitch the basket together, so I showed her the blanket stitch, how to sew that incredibly strong fibre into such a simple, but exquisite object.

Amazing—all that women's knowledge, woven in and passed down the years and across cultures. What a privilege.

So, here's to this important and lovely day. And here's a photo of my young friends Lina and Raffy with Bronwyn at her book launch. Cheers.

I’m in Melbourne this week for the Melbourne Writers’ Festival (MWF). Specifically, I’m here for the three schools’ days of the Festival, but I am staying on for the full week for appointments with publishers and others, plus I am hoping to see some of the general program of the Festival—I am booked in to hear Kate Atkinson on Saturday morning, which I am really looking forward to.

(I am, by the way, writing this in Word, whereas I usually write my blog entries directly into the Serendipity blogware, making links as I go. This is to save on the .55c per minute/max. $27 per day hotel internet access fees—not exorbitant particularly, but I am here for a week, and it all adds up… so if this is missing the usual links, you’ll know why—I’ll try and add them in later.)

Back to the festival. Today I attended three schools’ day sessions:

Session 1
Carole Wilkinson* and Time Pegler, who both have books about Ned Kelly on this year’s CBCA Notable Books list, spoke on the topic “Ned Kelly: Myth, Man or Legend?” (For international readers, Ned Kelly is one of our best-known historical figures, an outlaw from the late 19th century, an anti-authoritarian hero of sorts, but one not without controversy: he did, after all, rob banks and kill three policemen… but yes, it’s also more complicated than that. Go forth and google…)

Kelly’s story obviously has huge resonance in Victoria, where he lived and died, perhaps more so than any other part of Australia. His armour and other artefacts are on display at the State Library of Victoria; the gaol where he died just around the corner from the library. I plan to visit both while I’m here this week. (Actually, I was at the library today for a teleconference—I’ll go back to see the exhibition.) I found the session really interesting, and I look forward to reading Carole and Tim’s books.

Session 2
Margo Lanagan and Penni Russon on “Myths with a Twist”. Questions of writing fantasy: is it “avoiding” reality? How does a writer keep control of magical elements and characters? Is fantasy merely superficial “play”, or does it pursue deeper themes and serious ideas? Really good session: both Margo and Penni were thoughtful and even a bit philosophical on the subject, and also pragmatic and very entertaining.

Session 3
I was very excited about this one: Rachel Cohn and Simmone Howell on “Invisible Cities: Writing about Home”. As session chair Lili Wilkinson pointed out, there are many Australian YA (and children’s) books set in the country, and yet more than 90% of us live in cities and suburbs. Simmone and Rachel have written some of my favourite books of recent years, and I was so pleased to first of all hear them speak and secondly to meet them. (More on that second one in a bit.)

I’ve been a city girl most of my life—Sydney, of course—and like Lili, I appreciate a great urban novel. And Rachel and Simmone have (respectively) written about two of the world’s great cities: New York and Melbourne.

I love New York, and I love Rachel’s books about that amazing city, but I have to say I am pretty deeply enamoured with Melbourne right at the moment! I’m staying in a part of town I am finding really fascinating: I don’t know if Melbourne has “quarters”, but I do like this little bit tucked away behind Chinatown. It’s not too glitzy; rather more bohemian, maybe. Two fantastic bookshops—Melbourne icon Hill of Content and The Paperback, which I have yet to explore (for fear I may never emerge again…). A laneway around the corner from my hotel (The Crossley) with fascinating-looking bars and boutiques; moody restaurants and corner coffee bars and intriguing looking wine bars up steep stairways. They are so incredibly inviting: if I lived here, I think, I would want to eat or drink somewhere different every day. (No doubt I wouldn’t, of course, but it’s a lovely, Sex and the City-ish idea!)

I mean, I love that louche harbour city of mine, but Melbourne is just so damn classy.

And the advantage of being a visitor, especially one here for a festival with lots of people I know or am lucky enough to meet, is that even today, day 1, I have eaten and drunk in several fine venues with a number of great people—writers, publishers etc—already! Lunch at Chocolate Buddha, coffee at some café at Federation Square (where I was served a cappuccino sans chocolate on top—European style, I’m told [can you see my eyes rolling? But as Simmone kindly pointed out to the waitress—I’m from Sydney!]) and then tonight dinner with Rachel, Lili and Mike from the Centre for Youth Literature, and the lovely Sarah and Susannah from Allen and Unwin at this fantastic restaurant called Cookie. Fabulous food, wild décor, and they present your bill to you inside a Little Golden Book. And totally packed, on a chilly winter’s Monday night.

And now to bed—I have, courtesy of Lili, the page proofs of Simmone’s forth-coming novel, which I am beyond excited about, so I hope to read a few chapters before sleep, and another big day tomorrow. With maybe less food…


*Carole was also shortlisted twice this year, and won the Book of the Year: Younger Readers award for Dragon Moon. The other shortlisted title was her edited version of Ned Kelly’s remarkable Jerilderie Letter.

I'm late in mentioning this—I've been ill—but I couldn't let the death of Pauline Baynes, illustrator of Narnia (and Middle Earth and so many other places and books), go unmentioned.

For me, as for many thousands of readers, I'm sure, Baynes's illustrations of Narnia are the perfect representation of CS Lewis's world—both worlds, in fact: both Narnia and post-Britain are perfectly evoked by Baynes's beautifully drafted, wonderfully imagined representations of place and character. A glimpse of one of Baynes's illustrations are enough to transport me immediately into Narnia—and I'm not a particularly visual person/reader.

Brian Sibley, whose guides to Narnia have graced my bookshelves for many years, has written a wonderful illustrated tribute to Pauline Baynes on his blog (I had no idea she did the paperback cover illustration for Watership Down!)—read it here, it's all you really need to read to take a moment to remember this wonderful artist. Having said that, there's obits here (this one also by Sibley), here and here. (Look at the marvellous photo of Baynes on the Telegraph obit—what a wonderfully expressive face! You can just tell what a warm, amazing woman she must have been.)

Final word, though, has to go to the person named Scott who made this observation in a comment on Subley's blog: "Once a Queen in Narnia, always a Queen..." A life well lived, with so much given and left behind for the pleasure of so many.