Heartstopper Vol 1-3

I'm sick this week. Not super sick. In pre-COVID times I would have gone to work and struggled on, But in these times of modern plague no-one wants to see you, no-one wants you at work coughing and spluttering and spreading viral particles, so I've been at home since Friday, seven days and counting so far. I have the rest of the week off for plans that no longer exist so I thought I'd try and knock over 7 books this week. A big ask for me any week. But what better excuse to finally get to Heartstopper?

I've been aware of Heartstopper for some time, but wasn't aware of the genesis and birth of these books. Nick and Charlie the two main characters of Heartstopper were first side characters in Alice Oseman's first novel, Solitaire, which is the story of Charlie's older sister Tori. I haven't read Solitaire, and it's certainly not necessary. Heartstopper stands alone. Nick and Charlie were born when Alice Oseman herself was in high school, and came to life firstly as a web cartoon  in 2016 on Tumblr and Tapas (never even heard of that one), and then helped over the school fence by Patreon and Kickstarter in 2018, becoming a major success and have since been commercially published. 

Charlie Spring is 14 and in Year 10 at Truham Grammar School for Boys. He is the only openly gay boy at school having been outed the year before, he is in a secret relationship with Ben at the start of the book, but feeling used, and not happy about it when he is assigned to sit next to Nick Nelson in roll call. Charlie is the small, quiet, musical nerdy type while Nick is a rugby player in Year 11. 

Volume 1 tells the story of Charlie and Nick becoming friends and even rugby teammates rather than names on a roll. Volume 2 is the story of their deepening relationship, and my favourite volume. While in Volume 3 there is a school trip to Paris. 

Heartstopper is a lovely tale of nervous early days starting a new relationship, true at any age but especially for teenagers as depicted here. Insecurity, anxiety, self-esteem are issues for pretty much everyone, and regardless of the genders of the people involved. Charlie was bullied badly the year before when he was outed and this is a theme that carries through all the volumes. Identity, self-acceptance and kindness are also very well done.

I hope Heartstopper is widely available in libraries and particularly school libraries in Australia and around the world. 

Volume 3 take a school trip to Paris. Which must be it's own kind of hell. They hit all the tourist hot spots. Monmartre. The Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. Shakespeare and Co. Yes, I was going - tick, tick, tick. Been to all of those. Even graphic novel drawings of Paris make my heart beat a little bit faster. And let me sneak in a post for Paris in July, from which I have been sadly rather absent this year. 

Haven't we all been there?

There's great use of social media and texting as befits a modern book about teenagers. 

Heartstopper had a few major surprises for me. Alice Oseman is English and Heartstopper is set in an English high school. I'd presumed it was American. Not sure why.

So English, how could there have been any doubt?

At the end of the first volume there is a mix tape made by Charlie for Nick! Alice Oseman herself has put this list on Spotify. I listened to it while reading Volumes 2 and 3. I impressed myself by recognising the second song. Then realised it was Fleetwood Mac... the only other song I recognised was The Beatles. My teenager did much eye rolling. 

I was hoping for further mix tapes in Volume 2 and 3, but no such luck. 

Volume 4 is coming early in 2021 I believe, I'll be there. 

The Park Bench

I saw a few people talking about The Park Bench on booktube recently (although now I can't remember who) and was suitably intrigued. I was very happy to find The Park Bench on my first bookshop visit in Melbourne recently. 

Chabouté sounded like a French name which added to the appeal, and indeed it is. Christophe Chabouté is a French author and artist who seems to have had at least three of his books published in English this year. Not that The Park Bench requires all that much in the way of translation. An essentially wordless graphic novel (or rather more excitingly a Bande Dessinée, and it's my first Bande Dessinée), there is very little English- some graffiti, a few newspaper headlines. 

It would be fascinating to find and compare the original French version Un peu de bois et d'acier (oh dear, I actually think the English title is better). Actually there is no translator credited and the words appear in the actual images so perhaps Chabouté himself needed to redraw the particular drawings that contained words. It would be fascinating to know, but I suspect he did. I do wonder what the sad old Barbara Cartland reading lady reads in the French version.

The Park Bench uses an ordinary looking park bench in an unnamed  park to share the lives of the many people who use the park- those who quickly walk past on their way to work, those who have the time to sit and read or sit and share a patisserie, those who skateboard over the bench, the dog who likes to raise a leg on it. There is a homeless man who wants to sleep on the bench and a gendarme who chases him away each night, and as someone who has inadvertently transgressed the rules in a French park it is very true that justice is swift. I love that the park maintenance man is never seen without a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

The French use their parks in many different ways, Parisians leave their apartments and enjoy the extra space, the beauty and atmosphere in the parks as an extension of their home (see my glorious Sunday afternoon in the Luxembourg Gardens). I remembered all of this and more as I read The Park Bench. It's a beautiful celebration of community and life in all its forms, and a contemplation on the passage of time and progress. In a beautiful example of art imitating life The Park Bench was given away on some park benches in London. 

Completely drawn in black and white The Park Bench is a very eye catching book. While I was reading I was aware that while it was a super quick read, it must have taken Chabouté quite a time to create the book. There's a French film (and a concert)! This guy has made an animated film of the book it seems, and taken liberties by adding red. 

I'm very pleased to have discovered Chabouté and will be avidly searching out more of his books, in English and in French. 

Dreaming of France is a wonderful Monday meme
from Paulita at An Accidental Blog  

Drama

I want to like graphic novels, I really do. I try them from time to time, but never seem to have much luck. They're ok I guess, but the story always seems a bit disappointing somehow. Why not write prose and write a really good story? What is the advantage of the format? Does it go beyond enticing reluctant readers? El Deafo didn't really hit the mark for me last year (see my review), but I did quite like French Milk a few years ago (see my review) although that's a much more obvious topic for me.

I've seen the covers of Raina Telgemeier's hugely popular graphic novels about the place recently, enough to get me curious about her work. Clearly I'm quite behind the times, Raina has  dominated the New York Times Graphic Novel list for the past few years, and her books tend to stay up there for over a 100 weeks. My library had a copy of Drama sitting on the shelf so I borrowed it recently, and read it in the past day. Graphic novels certainly are quick reads! And that's a good thing, a nice quick read for those times when you need to read something between other meatier reads.

Drama tells the story of Callie and her friends and fellow students at Eucalyptus (!) Middle School. Callie is a 7th grade student, and a keen participant in the drama group at the school- she loves theatre, she loves her role as set designer, and wants to work in theatre as a set designer when she grows up. The school is doing a play called Moon Over Mississippi and as with everything the production has some drama of it's own along the way too. All set amongst a background of first crushes, some dating problems and confusing times in friendships.  Naturally I liked the Les Mis references.

Drama is certainly inclusive, the kids depicted are from all sorts of backgrounds. Sometimes we learn this from their names, other times from the colour of their skin. Although I guess if graphic novels use colourists, then the colourist decides skin colour, not the author? I really do wonder how the colourist/author interaction works. I only learned that colourists existed a few months ago when I read El Deafo (see my review). So who decided that Callie had purple hair? That seems kind of important.

I found a rather fascinating description of Raina's work process on her blog- check it out, it's fascinating. Oh, and here she explains the interactions with her colourists, also fascinating, and an explanation as to why colourists even exist- as Raina says that it would take her an extra 6-9 months to do the colouring herself! Wow, it's clearly a process I have no idea about- I find it incredible that it could take so long. You can hear a great interview with Raina Telgemeier here.

I have Smile in the house, I'll try and read it soon.

El Deafo

I came across El Deafo when it was an 2015 honour book for the Newberry Medal. I read the extraordinary Brown Girl Dreaming (see my review) at the start of the year, and bought El Deafo at the same time. This week I got to read it. I thought it would be the perfect book to read while sitting around on a train for a day, and it was. 

I don't read all that many graphic novels, it's a category that doesn't always appeal to me, but I've learnt to read and love verse novels, so anything is possible. 

El Deafo, is not just a graphc novel, it's a graphic memoir, and for some reason I have a bit more success with them than graphic novels alone. I'm particularly thinking of French Milk (see my review) I suppose. El Deafo tells us the story of Cece Bell's childhood, which changes for ever when she contracts meningitis aged 4 and is left profoundly deaf, a change which isn't immediately recognised by Cece, her parents or her doctors. A few weeks later the diagnosis is made. Not too many kids books have lumbar punctures.

Picture source

Young Cece is anxious about her difference, self-conscious and worried that people are always staring at her because of her hearing aids- although no-one ever seems to. Cece, like every kid, wants a best friend. Kids (and adults) are always curious about any difference, but usually kids will just get on with things once their curiosity is answered.

Cece Bell is younger than me, and American, but I was surprised how many songs and TV shows we shared as kids. There are 70s references littered throughout El Deafo, very familiar to me of course, but not necessarily to modern kids. Monty Python. Elton John and Kiki Dee's Don't Go Breaking My Heart. The Monkees. The Partridge Family. I was most surprised to see reference a teacher singing "I've got a girl called Boney Maloney." I thought Bony Moronie was a Hush original. Sad to learn that it wasn't.

I was intrigued by the mention of Color by David Lasky. Because of my gross unfamiliarity with the graphic novel world I was not aware of the occupation of colorist (which rightly should be colourist of course). But it's a thing. Here's an interview with professional colorist Ian Hannin. I guess I find it odd that people can draw well enough to create a graphic novel and then need someone else to bring it to life in colour. 

Fascinating, but sad, to see that in this fabulous Guardian article that adult Cece still had those some childhood insecurities, but that they really led to the creation of El Deafo- first as a blog, then as a book. And she ran out of time to colour the book and so used a colourist! I am seeing references to Raina Telgemeier wherever I go today, so I think I know what my next graphic novel will be. 

Diversity on the Shelf 2015

The Boy Who Grew into a Tree

I've wanted to blog about Gary Crew for ages. I should have done it before now, but haven't. I did feature him on my guest post on the fabulous Whisperinggums back in 2011. He is a rather prolific, and  a very well awarded author, but I think not all that well known in the mainstream. Which is a great shame.

Dr Gary Crew is a Associate Professor in Creative Writing at the University of the Sunshine Coast. He was written many books for all ages- from picture books to YA novels, and more recently an adult novel called The Children's Writer. I've still really only read his picture book end of the spectrum really, which have been for school age children rather than preschoolers. Gary Crew often has a strong environmental theme in his writings, his passion for our natural world is clear. Dr Ross Watkins the illustrator is also a lecturer in Creative Writing, but he does an excellent job here as illustrator- The Boy who Grew into a Tree is one of the most beautiful books I've seen in a long time. So beautiful that I bought it without even thinking twice about it, which is I guess the purpose of book design.

I'm not sure if I had heard of this book before I found it in a bookshop, I am always intrigued to see a new Gary Crew title, and this one is such a beautiful object that I had to buy it then and there. That was a few months ago. Today I got around to reading it.

It's a very odd story. Perhaps the strangest story that I've yet read from Gary Crew. So strange that I wondered if I should tell you about another book first, but that would only delay things even further. This isn't a bad story by any stretch, just rather unusual.

An old couple move from an unnamed Old Country "to make a new life". They feel unwelcome in their new land and so forsaking the townspeople they build a stone hut in the mountains. There they eek out a rather marginal but happy existence, the husband gathering ferns for the townsfolk to stuff their pillows, and the wife by gathering herbs and mushrooms which she uses to make potions and ointments. She is suspected of being a witch, but her remedies are still sought after.

The old woman becomes pregnant, and gives birth to a son. A silent son, who does indeed grow into a tree. It's a beguiling exploration of the cycle of life, and the importance of preserving our natural landscapes.

I was a bit perplexed on finishing The Boy Who Grew into a Tree, but happily found the Teacher's Notes provided by Penguin.

Gary’s writing has been greatly influenced by the Australian Nobel Prize winning novelist Patrick White. In several of his novels—The Tree of Man (1955) and Voss (1957)—White uses the metaphor of the Australian landscape to represent character traits of his fictional personae. In The Boy Who Grew into a Tree Gary has used the rugged Australian bush to portray the characters of Arbour and his human parents, although the bush itself is Arbour’s metaphorical parentage.

Ahhh.  That makes a vast amount more sense. Although it is thankfully blindingly more accessible than White. 

The Boy Who Grew into a Tree is such a lovely book to hold and ponder too. Hardback, which is a bit of a novelty for a start. The cover has been antiqued, made to look like an old cloth bound book that has been lurking in a second hand bookshop for years. The paper is not white, but has that tea stained look of an ageing book. The illustrator added to this feel as Ross Watkins choose to use reproductions of 19th century naturalist illustrations, and  public domain sixteenth century images of printing press technologies from fromoldbooks.org. He thought about books as artefacts while creating it, and the book you hold in your hand is "a celebration of the book as a meaningful object".

The format is interesting too. A small book, it is obviously illustrated, but clearly not aimed at young picture book readers. The Teacher's Notes tell us that the creators view The Boy Who Grew into a Tree as a graphic novel rather than a picture book. Many recent books blur these distinctions of course. I guess it doesn't fit my notion of a graphic novel, which I think of as more graphic rather than novel (although I must admit that I haven't read all that many of them), whereas here text is dominant.

French Milk

French Milk is a lightning fast read as it is a comic memoir, a new format for me. Lucky Knisley was 21 at the end of 2006 when she was lucky enough to go to Paris for a month. She shared an apartment with her mother on a trip to celebrate two birthdays. Her mother was turning 50, and Lucy herself would turn 22 while she was away. Lucy had already been to Paris when backpacking as a 17 year old with friends. What an amazing thing to have your second trip to Paris and only be 21.

Lucy is coming towards a bit of a crossroads in her young life. She will be finishing college in a few months and embarking on her adult life. She seems rather distressed about all this and caught up with anxiety about these upcoming changes. So much so that they get in the way of her enjoyment of Paris, and my enjoyment of her month in Paris. Too much near teenage angst for this reader at times. I suspect that many readers looking for a nice Paris memoir don't want this much angst and self loathing.

Paris does win her over at times, but she is still quite self-absorbed. The book is at it's best when Lucy describes her wanderings in words and pictures. I've never been to the Grand Mosquee, and didn't know that you could have lunch there, but it sounds a rather fascinating thing to do. She is somewhat obsessed with Oscar Wilde (as am I), and visits his very famous grave, and then has a drink at the hotel where he died.

Being an art student Lucy is keen to immerse herself in the myriad art and cultural activities available to the visitor to Paris. I was surprised at the length of the queues that she struck visiting Parisian monuments in the dead of winter. Lucy and her mother also watched movies with a Paris flavour, including Funny Face. They were very brave and went to the cinema in Paris, again something I'd never thought of doing. Perhaps it is possible?

I liked French Milk most when Lucy was describing and drawing her meals and excursions into Paris. A tagine at the Grande Mosquee, the hot chocolate at Angelina's (surely the best hot chocolate in the world), simple meals of cheese and wine in the aparment, or bistro fare. Although she did drive me a bit crazy by constantly referring to macarons as cookies.

The French Milk of the title comes indeed from Lucy's love of actual French milk. She gushes over it several times. I don't believe I've ever tried it myself, although I have done my best with other French milk products- yoghurt, cheese and butter. All are magnificent, but ooooh, the butter, the glorious, glorious butter. Pale. Sweet. Heavenly. Perhaps I can call my "I travelled to France and ate a lot of butter" memoir French Butter?

Paris in July is cohosted by Karen at BookBath 

and Tamara at Thyme for Tea