I read One Day about two summers ago after a fleeting visit to WH Smiths on the way to catch a London-bound train. Since then it has reigned over the book charts, much like David Nicholls' other hit Starter for Ten and it is one book that I would happily read again.


15th July 1988.
That's the date and don't forget.


Although both Emma and Dexter are polar opposites,  their graduation night brings them together for an instantaneous moment that will eternally bond them. Emma at times does seem a bit wet, like a limp lettuce, there's not all that much to her and she can be a little submissive.  Dexter is egotistical and arrogant. As a couple they shouldn't have worked but I found myself really rooting for them and hoping against the odds that they would make it. Each chapter presented the same date, a year on and it was as these years went on that I started to try to guess where each of them would be. I won't spoil it by giving away the ending but I would urge you to read it, it's not overly intellectual or hairline highbrow, but it is entertaining and it does draw you in.

Anyway, here is a Friday list of my favourite children's authors and illustrators, they are in no particular order and they usually change between January and April. For this occurence, I can give no reason, only that the lighter mornings make me extremely happy and seem to cause me to want to read books about splashing through puddles wearing green wellies. Obviously not all of these books were published when I was a wee-nipper but seeing as I'm not all that much taller than I was then, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't still read them.

Cassia Thomas

Korky Paul

Barbara Firth

Jason Cockcroft

If you haven't already read these wonderful books to your children,cousins, brothers, sisters or neighbours, then you really should. And what better way than to head down to your nearest library and borrow them? Afterall, every bit helps and we do need our libraries to stay open!

Yesterday I was thrown head-first into the deep and mesmerising waters that is the Kindle Lagoon. That's right folks, I was given a Kindle. The big question after being thrust into the dark depths of this lagoon, was - would I sink or swim? 


I swam! Hurrah! After I had registered my slim pal to my Amazon account I was ready to float forth. Admittedly, I did resemble more of a shocked beagle who had slipped down the embankment and has become tangled in the reeds. But after half an hour of doggy paddling, I had adjusted my stroke and was happily swimming with a strong front crawl through Amazon's Best-selling Ebooks.


After relaxing under the Fountain of Free Ebooks, which I will no doubt be retuning to, I changed direction and drifted back up the gentle banks and back to my night time read, a printed copy of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke.  


All in all, a good day and if you have managed to catch my thread then it is all the more wonderful.


I shall keep you updated with any more adventures in the Kindle Lagoon.

The book that has held my attention this week has been Black Girl/White Girl written by Joyce Carol Oates. Last year I had to read her short story Where are you going, where have you been? which I found both disturbing and enticing as she decorates everyday American life with a sharp and often threatening edge, placing her characters in dangerous situations. Black Girl/White Girl was to be no different. This book is set in the aftermath of the Civil Rights movement and the Vietnam war in the mid 1970's. Placed in an exceptionally academic and liberal college in North America, Oates carves tension into her literature by gently dropping subtle malice into sentences, placing both of her female characters in  dilemmas beyond their control.

Throughout the book lies the familiar theme of social tensions and expectations, yet Oates shines a new and brighter light on the delicate subject of racial inequalities by forming her first person narrative from the perspective of the privileged protagonist, Generva Meade. However, early assumptions of a wealthy background are instantly dismissed as the confessional lends damaging information to the reader, who soon becomes aware of the darker side the liberal 60's and 70's. In particular Oates not only acknowledges but demonstrates how easily innocence can be snatched from a child exposed to an alternative lifestyle. This of course is a subject close to Oates' heart, who often centers her fiction around the awkward leap from childhood to adulthood, always mourning for the children who are pushed into adulthood before their time.

Minette Swift, the daughter of a Reverend from the deep south, is the roommate of our disturbed protagonist and oh how she begrudges Generva Meade! Swift shuns her enthusiastic roommate not out of a racial prejudice but out of an ignorance - keen to succeed Swift also shuns other students, not only making her extremely unpopular but also adding fuel to the fire, which consequently has disastrous effects on the community of Haven House.

This story is a tragedy, a realistic insight into the complicated grey area that followed the success of the Civil Rights movement. The double edged sword that this novel presents is not just one of racial injustices but is also a reflection of the dangers of assumptions and hysteria, echoing back to the Communist witch-hunts. Oates exposes the fickle nature of juvenile minds and accentuates the real threat this poses to societies throughout the world. I thoroughly recommend this book for anyone who has an interest in teenage psychology and the true danger of gossip.

Today I tried to join my local library but as I have no 'official documentation' of my new address I cannot join until someone writes me a typed letter on headed paper. Apparently letters from Grandma don't count. At least I tried to do my bit for 'Save Our Libraries' day. Fear not friends, I was not about to be denied of books. So being the trooper that I am, I bravely marched forth to the Oxfam bookshop and had a good old Saturday rummage, buying three chunky books to accompany me on my daily journey to work.

IKate Mosse's final installment to her trilogy located in the Southern region of France left me a little bit gutted. I was (and still am) a massive fan of Labyrinth which I honestly thought was beautifully constructed. Having read it whilst visiting the Old Town of Rhodes I found my self slipping under the skin of the book without a backward glance. Sepulchre, however, I found a little bit harder to walk into but after letting it go for a couple of weeks, I did manage to wedge my foot in the door and step into the story. 


Sadly, whilst reading Winter Ghosts I often found myself distracted from the narrative, either by a slight nudge to the shoulder on the tube, or an article in the Metro read by a fellow traveller. I constantly found that I was losing track of the story and either had to re-read passages or flick back to references to remind myself of details. That's not to say that the concept wasn't good - it was, as I have come to expect from Kate Mosse - a tale of lives entwined by the landscape that surrounds them, opening up the cracks in time and discovering the grey areas in-between. 


I felt that the characters were left undeveloped and whispers of relationships didn't satisfy my need to understand the world Mosse had created. I think perhaps I had grown accustomed to her talented detailing of the smallest aspects of her characters' lives and so when I was presented with a story that briskly side-stepped these minute factors, I found it hard to see the picture as a whole.


But the book was too short. In fact when I thought I had at least two chapters left, I was abruptly brought to the conclusion. The pages beyond the end were filled with acknowledgements, reading group pointers, and a stray chapter produced to support the narrative along with suggested reading and a brief history of France. Such a shame. I got so fed up with all the extra text at the back that I huffed loudly and gave up. And it takes a lot to make me huff.


To cap it off I felt a little bit insulted by the photos which accompanied each chapter heading. I thought that was something belonging to the world of children's literature, a guiding hand to help the infant imagination. But in retrospect, perhaps Mosse knew her fans would find it hard to picture the hazy world, as they were rushed through a new landscape and thrust back into the world of the Medieval French Cathars.


Suffice it to say I was pretty disappointed. All hail the Labyrinth, but take away the set up of a novel and Winter Ghosts becomes little more than a camp-side story: intriguing at first, but easily forgotten by the morning.