Mid Year News

I started 2024 off with some plans for the year. Now that we are at the tail end of June, here is a bit of an update. The weeks have flown, but they haven't been uneventful. 

1) My Diploma and Trophy

In early April we graduated. It's great to tick off study milestones. I received my Graduate Diploma of Creative Writing and Communication, while my husband, Andrew, received his Master of Teaching. As a total surprise, I was presented with one of the special academic awards of the ceremony. It boosted my confidence in ways I can't describe. Since my undergraduate days, so long ago now, I never considered myself much good at formal study. The rigors of that course had knocked my teenage bravado right out of me. I purposely planned this blog to be all about discussing classic and bestselling literature in a down-to-earth, no-frills style.

(Check out this other blog post I wrote, A blog for normies.)

But perhaps I'm not a complete academic slouch after all. I'm taking this lovely trophy as a serendipitous wink to keep on writing. Not surprisingly, however, the assignments that involved storytelling suited me for better than anything requiring referencing and lots of research. 

I'm glad I followed through with my studies at Tabor College. You never know what you're capable of if you don't give a try, and in all honesty, part of my impetus was need. When I'd finished homeschooling my kids, I had to find something to do to help keep a bit of an income rolling in.

2) My Fan Fiction

I've been keeping a lid on this one all year, but can't help letting out a little bit of excitement. After a hiatus from fiction writing of almost a decade, I've caught the bug again. I've been working hard since February on something totally different from anything I've written before, and to mark the change, I've used a pseudonym. 

When I stumbled across the awesome, extensive Archive of Our Own fan fiction site (or AO3) I instantly decided to add writing a fan fiction to my bucket list. Daydreaming further details of other authors' brilliant characters long after I've finished their books has always been second nature to me. So I chose my fictional universe (Louisa May Alcott's Little Women - Jo's Boys series), came up with my main characters (a couple of her 'boys') and started scribbling away. And the project has really ignited my imagination and taken off! 

What's more, I learned an important fact about myself in the process. Writing fiction energises me more than writing non-fiction. During my Diploma, I imagined trying my hand at a non-fiction book. I had good intentions to try adding to the glut of happiness literature with a book entitled, 'Happiness Tips from Fictional Characters.' I meant to draw examples from many of the reviews I've written for this blog. I'd even completed a major assignment about how I envisaged the layout, with a few sample examples. Yet in all honesty, it always felt like a bit of grind when it came to actually working on it.

Once I started my new fan fiction though, my drive was instantaneous. My imagination kept drifting back to it. The contrast was so dramatic, I've accepted once for all time that working on non-fiction will never excite me in the same way as writing stories. 

I still enjoy reading non-fiction though. It's just that now I have even more respect for non-fiction authors than ever before, because they manage to see ideas through to book form, which I could never bother forcing myself to do. 

Hey, if somebody else writes a book of happiness tips from fictional characters, I'll read it. 

3) Social Media

I've been having a bit of a time crisis with the juggling act between my couple of platforms. The vastness of 'bookstagram' has been swamping me most of all. I appreciate the wise souls who have pointed out that the human spirit isn't equipped to cope with the beast we've created. Human beings existed for centuries with social outlets of just twenty to fifty friends and acquaintances. And their places of influence spanned a few miles around their physical dwellings, at least most of the time. Now we've suddenly had our reach exploding! The invention of the internet means we may now consider an unlimited crowd from right around the globe to be personal friends of ours. And they're all potentially available the very second we share something. While our egos may cry out, 'Hell, yeah!' our finite cellular make-up crumbles under the pressure. I'm sure I'm not alone. 

Misplaced guilt has been dogging me. Many online friends I follow publish a steady stream of beautiful, painstaking, well-curated posts. Giving them each the appreciation they deserve would require hours of attention and concentration, rather than the half-hour or so I put aside for scrolling through Instagram and Facebook. Responding as I'd like to would take me at least half a day, so since I'm just one individual with a limited time frame, I often find myself skimming or scrolling past instead. That's the source of my misplaced guilt. I can't help feeling callous, even though logic tells me keeping on top of it all is an impossible dream. In Johann Hari's book, Stolen Focus, he uses the analogy of trying to drink water from a fire hose. We simply can't keep up. 

When we try, with the best of intentions, our attention spans are frizzled. I won't go there now though. That's a subject for another day, and more thorough thinkers than I am have tackled it. 

I've slowed down my own Instagram output without sputtering out completely, although to be completely honest, I've sometimes considered pulling the plug. I'm not really sure what to do about the time-sucking nature of this problem, either spreading us way too thin or loading shovels of guilt on our frail psyches for not keeping up with the stream of feed.  

How do you handle it?

4) For now anyway... 

I'm keeping up with this blog. I consider myself to be providing a low-key but vital service by adding impressions and personal details about books people may want other opinions about. Quite often, a post will receive comments years after I've written it, from readers who are just now enjoying the books I've discussed. 

And of course my fan fiction (it's called 'Longing For Home') is never far from the top of my mind. Many chapters are now up on AO3, but as I'm not finished yet, I'll keep quiet again until later. I'll just say that I wouldn't mind letting you in on the secret if you twist my arm.

 Perhaps now that I've let the cat out of the bag, I'll follow up with more posts about my fan fiction writing process in the future. 

It's been refreshing to step back from the type of personal marketing that used to cause me a fair amount of stress. Rather than trying to sell myself, I'll merely ask you if you'd fancy an immersive story about one of Jo March's nephews, along with one of Laurie's proteges?

 If so, 'Longing for Home' may be just what you're looking for. 

       

'Treasure Island' by Robert Louis Stevenson

Designed to forever kindle a dream of high romance and distant horizons, Treasure Island is, in the words of G. K. Chesterton, 'the realization of an ideal, that which is promised in its provocative and beckoning map; a vision not only of white skeletons but also green palm trees and sapphire seas.' G. S. Fraser terms it 'an utterly original book' and goes on to write: 'There will always be a place for stories like Treasure Island that can keep boys and old men happy.'

MY THOUGHTS:

I never considered myself among the target audience for this classic. Perhaps that's why I've only now got around to reading the Victorian boys' adventure story, because it was part of a beautiful set of William Morris inspired kids' classics I came across. 

Jim Hawkins' father is the inn-keeper of the Admiral Benbow, a small coastal hotel. One day a scruffy old sailor shows up, and gatecrashes for weeks, deterring more refined clientele. He finally dies after guzzling too much rum, leaving behind a battered wooden chest. Inside, young Jim finds a bundle of papers wrapped in oil cloth, including a map of a mysterious island with buried treasure clearly marked.

Mr Trelawney, the talkative local squire, along with the more circumspect Dr Livesey, decide to hire a ship and follow the directions with Jim as cabin boy. Trelawney reveals too much about their top secret mission while hiring a crew for the Hispaniola. A sweet talking, one-legged man named Long John Silver begs for a job as cook, and offers to recommend several other willing crewmen. Sounds legit, hey? 

Not until they're long underway does young Jim accidentally overhear a frightening plot. Turns out he and his mentors have unintentionally surrounded themselves with a ruthless gang of cutthroat pirates. They must begin a dicey game to fake oblivion among these desperadoes who are also playing their own role of innocent sailors. And the good guys know full well time is of the essence. They must figure out what to do quick smart.  

This action adventure yarn probably took off from the outset because Stevenson created an easy hero for his target audience to get behind. Jim Hawkins is supposedly just a normal kid, yet when the crunch comes, he keeps surprising himself with his own amazing strokes of luck and quick-thinking way out of jams. His terrifying predicaments always turn out to be the exact right place and time for life-saving exploits. Stevenson's original boy readers might've liked to imagine they possessed similar reserves of dormant heroism. 

(Okay, hold tight for a bit of a rant. I've come across many reviewers who criticise modern kids' novels because the main characters are willful and flout authority at every turn. 'Harry had no business to disobey rules and wander around the halls of Hogwarts at night; it gives such wrong messages to kids, yada, yada.' Well, believe me, no young fictional hero could possibly top Jim Hawkins for brazen disobedience and going off on his own merry way, ignoring masters and mentors. And this is a beloved classic from the Victorian era, when children were generally well-behaved. I guess my point is that compliant youngsters who always do as they're told don't always find themselves in riveting story situations. We need to cut modern authors some slack.)

Also quite fascinating is the mutual admiration between young Jim and Long John Silver. These main characters stand for opposing values, yet their behaviour styles are similar. Silver is a charismatic chameleon who makes accurate split-second decisions on the spot, which keeps him from the noose. I suspect the psychological reason young boys enjoy playing pirates, or reading about them, is to flirt with their own shadow selves in a socially acceptable way. If so, then Stevenson really provides for this manner of indulging their intrigue for darkness, while remaining squeaky clean themselves. 

I can't figure out whether my 4-star ranking is for the quality of Stevenson's story or because of how popular culture has jumped onto the fruit of his imagination. He's done for piracy what Dickens did for Christmas. It's all so colourful and reckless. Whether it's Long John Silver bellowing, 'Shiver me timbers,' or Captain Flint, the parrot, squawking, 'Pieces of Eight,' it's become the stuff of legend. Piracy clearly isn't just a job, it's a lifestyle. 

Still, I find it interesting how these Victorian pirates feel uneasily tied in their minds. (They're technically Georgian, since Stevenson set it a century before he wrote it.) Even though they've relinquished their souls to booze and vice, an uneasy Christian worldview hovers over their heads, filling them with dread for the afterlife. I suspect that if the likes of Dick Johnson and Israel Hands existed today, their consciences would have a far easier time, yet on the other hand, 21st century outlaws have surely lost a lot of their romantic mystique. Hopefully young Dick, at least, wouldn't find it so easy to be lured to the dark side, so to speak.  

I learned some interesting facts while reading Treasure Island. There is the barbaric practice of 'keel hauling' in which miscreants are roped up and dragged beneath the ship's keel, having their flesh maimed by barnacles and other sharp marine life. And the meaning behind the jolly roger flag, which stems from the French 'joli rouge' meaning 'pretty red' with its bloodthirsty connotations.  

Of course, running through the whole story is, 'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.' Sort of corny really, but it's unapologetically over-the-top and fun.

I doubt I'll ever be tempted to re-read it, but 4 stars anyway. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟

'Five Little Pigs' by Agatha Christie

It was an open and shut case. All the evidence said Caroline Crale poisoned her philandering husband, a brilliant painter. She was quickly and easily convicted and sentenced to life in prison.
Now, sixteen years later, in a posthumous letter, Mrs. Crale has assured her grown daughter that she was innocent. But instead of setting the young woman's mind at ease, the letter only raises disquieting questions. Did Caroline indeed write the truth? And if she didn't kill her husband, who did?

MY THOUGHTS:

The earnest young woman says, 'I've got to have the best,' to which the private detective replies, 'Rest assured, I am the best.' This is one of my favourite Hercule Poirot mysteries so far.

Amyas Crale, the brilliant artist, was murdered by poison, and his wife, Caroline, was convicted of the crime. Sixteen years later, their daughter, Carla, hires Hercule Poirot to prove her mother's innocence, since she feels her future happiness with her fiance depends on having it all cleared. After such a long time lapse, all tangible evidence is long gone, so Poirot must solve the crime purely by thinking about it. He interviews each of the five main witnesses who were on the spot, and asks for their written testimonies regarding the crime scene. He reasons, 'With the passage of time, the mind retains a hold on essentials and rejects superficial matters.' 

To help keep things straight, Poirot can't help slotting each of these witnesses into the framework of 'This Little Piggy,' the fun rhyme we've all played with our babies' toes. He knows, as do we, that if Caroline Crale didn't kill Amyas, it must surely have been one of them.

1) Philip Blake, a stockbroker and Amyas's best friend. (This little piggy went to market.)

2) Meredith Blake, Philip's brother, the country squire, a homebody who dabbles in herbalism and potions. (This little piggy stayed home.)

3) Miss Elsa Greer, a ravishingly beautiful 20-year-old, who is Amyas's fling and the muse for his most recent masterpiece. (This little piggy had roast beef.)

4) Miss Cecilia Williams, the governess of Caroline's teenage sister, Angela. She now lives in straitened circumstances. (This little piggy had none.)

5) Miss Angela Warren, Caroline's 15-year-old stepsister, who is highly original but somewhat wild and tempestuous. (This little piggy went wee wee wee.)  

Even though both Amyas and Caroline have been dead for years, a compelling composite picture is formed of the pair of them from the collective memories of these five, although they contradict each others' opinions and emphasize different aspects. All 'little pigs' seem genuine and credible, which thickens the plot nicely. Poirot shines at his best here too. Despite his high opinion of himself he comes across as both considerate and compassionate. And his personal musings on the true nature of both happiness and success are worth noting down. 

For example, he compares the struggling, working class Miss Williams with the filthy rich Lady Dittisham, formerly Miss Greer. Elsa, who starts out with every possible advantage, is now empty like a 'flower overtaken by untimely frost.' (This character strikes me as a type of Scarlet O'Hara, high on energy and restless drive, but not so much on imagination or overall contentment.) Miss Williams, on the other hand, sits in her tiny dwelling with perfect satisfaction. 'Miss Williams' life had been interesting to her - she was still interested in people and events. She had her memories, her small pleasures made possible by stringent economies, and sufficient health and vigour to enable her still to be interested in life.' 

The murderer turned out to be the 'little pig' I hoped it was, which leaves a favorable impression. I'm taking off half a star only because the finish seems rather abrupt following the big revelation. I would've liked to have seen how the remaining innocent 'pigs' would have reacted to the big announcement, but the curtain comes down too fast.  

Finally, I wonder whether this particular story was a cathartic exercise for Agatha Christie, exorcising the hurtful bombshell of her own past, when her first husband abandoned her for another woman. (That bit of real-life literary scandal is well known to her fans over the years, and so long ago now, I don't feel gossipy for writing it here.) Amyas Crale has the same initials as her own deserting hubby, Archibald Christie. For any other author I'd be willing to believe that could be purely coincidental, but since Dame Agatha wrote so many plots which hinged on apparent subtleties like this, no way! 

The guy she describes as a 'ruthless, selfish, good tempered, happy egoist,' brimming over with brilliance gets what was coming to him, at least in this story. 

Nicely done. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½  

(Update: I've now also watched the TV version starring David Suchet as Poirot. I was impressed by the casting of characters, accurate presentation of the era, and best of all, sticking to the plot.)

  

'A City of Bells' by Elizabeth Goudge

Jocelyn Irvin has just returned from the Boer War with an incurably lamed leg. He heads for the cathedral town or Torminster, where he recovers his love of life in the invigorating company of his cousin, Hugh Anthony, his grandfather, the Canon and Henrietta.

When Jocelyn moved into the little house where Ferranti once had lived, a dark Byronic spirit haunted its rooms. Was Ferranti alive or dead? Until they knew, Jocelyn and Felicity must reach out to him. Until Ferranti no longer needed them, they must yield slowly to the madness of love. So the ghost of Gabriel Ferranti guided their lives in surprising ways, and more than one bewildered heart was restored to the wonder and magic of living.

MY THOUGHTS:

This is one of my favourite Goudge novels so far. It was published in 1936 but set even earlier, around the turn of the 20th century.

Jocelyn Irvin is a disconsolate young Boer War vet who's been wounded in combat and wonders what he now has to offer the world. When he goes to stay with his grandparents in the Cathedral town of Torminster, big surprises unfold. Jocelyn is coerced to rent an abandoned premise on the High Street and start a bookshop. 

Next, he discovers some intriguing snippets of verse and marginalia by the former resident, a down-and-out poet named Gabriel Ferranti, who has disappeared. When Jocelyn decides on a whim to fill in the gaps and finish Ferranti's project, he has no idea how it's destined to take shape. 

Meanwhile, Jocelyn is often followed around by two polar opposite kids; his inquisitive cousin Hugh Anthony who is always demanding to know the 'whys' of everything, and the dreamy, contemplative adoptee, Henrietta, who is a bit of a nature mystic. Their childhood antics comprise the second main thread of the book.

I like Jocelyn's predicament, as he embodies the optimistic theme that life may still hold lots in store for someone who is burned-out. Sometimes destiny takes a bit of arm-twisting from others. Felicity, his future love interest, and Henrietta,  who'd both only just met him, shed bitter tears to think that he might refuse to open the bookshop. The sensible part of me says, 'Gee whiz, girls, a bloke doesn't have to open a bookshop if he doesn't want to,' while my romantic, Goudge-inspired soul urges, 'Come on mate, you'd better just cave in and do it.'  

Being an early 20th century novel, we come up close and personal with some outdated attitudes, especially from 'Grandmother.' Here's her attitude when Jocelyn decides to start the shop after all. 

'Farmer Boy Goes West' by Heather Williams

MY THOUGHTS:  

Woohoo, this lovely sequel to Farmer Boy was first published back in 2012 and I only recently found about it. Seeing its cover and blurb pop up on the internet transported me back to a day in my school library when I first discovered the original Farmer Boy. I was about 11 and I'd read the Little House series through to These Happy Golden Years but had no idea Laura had written a book about Almanzo's childhood. All these years later, the delight of discovery was exactly the same. I found an online copy of Farmer Boy Goes West from Internet Archive to borrow and got stuck straight into it.  

This story takes Almanzo through his mid teens. His parents decide to travel west to visit Uncle George and Aunt Martha at Spring Valley, Minnesota, with a view to settling down there. Royal and Eliza Jane agree to stay home at Malone and mind the farm, but Alice and Almanzo are privileged to experience the new vistas. They also have Perley, the surprise baby brother who was born 12 years after Almanzo. 

Williams' portrayal of Almanzo is consistent with the modest, compassionate and courteous boy we already know him to be. His two great passions, horses and food, still take top place, but he also develops his first crush on a girl, the beautiful Catherine, who is a fictional foil to Laura. Catherine highly values her own traditional beauty, isn't intellectually bright, and hates horses. Williams writes in her Afterword that she loves Almanzo, and adds, 'But who doesn't?' Indeed, he's pretty unique in literature. He never shared the writing ambitions of his wife and daughter, yet achieved vicarious fame simply for being his tranquil, hard-working self. 

I love James and Angeline, the Wilder parents, just as I did in Farmer Boy. She's still one of my great role models for running a household with grace and panache. Almanzo's favourite sister, Alice, is her sweet, smart self, sharing a great rapport with him. In this novel, her future husband, Albert Baldwin, is introduced as a fellow, spirited school student. 

Poor Eliza Jane still gets a poor profile, which I can't help wondering at this stage is more traditional than deserved. Whenever Royal is in the picture, he delivers some excellent lines. And we meet the witty cousin Willy Wilder, who lived in India with his parents for a period of time. Holding it all together, of course, is the admirable teenager Almanzo, whose headspace is ideal to view all the others from.

The story begins when he's almost 14, and by the end he's nudging 16, which is getting far closer to that brave19-year-old we meet in De Smet, who decides to dash between the blizzards for the life-saving wheat. Heather Williams has filled in the great time gap which was left by Laura Ingalls Wilder between Farmer Boy and The Long Winter which is a fantastic favour for all of us Little House fans.

She's done all the research and clearly knows Laura's stories well. I like it when James and Angeline discuss whether or not to relocate. She says, 'Better to be safe than sorry,' to which he responds, 'Be sure you're right, then go ahead.' Remember that feed store scene from The Long Winter, when Almanzo and Royal throw those very same lines at each other, drawing from their parents' favourite catchlines? Brilliant, subtle nod to canon.  

I love everything about this book, but I think my favourite chapters are about the basket social, highlighting Almanzo's gentlemanly nature. What awkward fun. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟   

'Pollyanna's Protege' by Margaret Piper Chalmers

MY THOUGHTS: 

This novel was published in 1944 and it shows. My old edition has a double e at the end of protĕgĕ. We are in the thick of WW2 and the story includes spies, espionage and worlds being upturned everywhere. 

Jimmy now uses his engineering expertise in the Middle East. He's donned his soldier's uniform again after 25 years. Jim Junior is utilizing his photography skills by flying over the South Pacific and taking sneaky aerial snaps of enemy bases. Judy employs her dancing talent not on swanky stages but by rallying troops as part of a mobile entertainment unit. Junior and Judy both come strongly into the latter part this story, although their dad doesn't appear within these pages at all. 

At the start, Pollyanna and 16-year-old Ruth are holding the home front together. Pollyanna has picked up the busy hospital and Red Cross work she was doing at the end of Pollyanna of the Orange Blossoms. When this mother and daughter duo visit a local estate sale together, they purchase a compelling watercolour painting by an artist whose calling apparently destroyed him. That same afternoon, they rescue Rosemary Lane, a destitute and homeless girl who'd been wronged by her most recent employer. Although taking a total stranger home on a whim to live with them sounds very reckless, it works in this instance because it's a weird era, and heck, because it's Pollyanna. 

Under their roof, Rosemary deals with her past, becomes embroiled in some espionage, and falls in love. (I won't give outright spoilers, but no prizes for guessing the identity of the young man who finally steals her heart. Wink wink.)

Okay, this is not quality literature. In fact I facepalmed several times. 

1) The narrator, along with Pollyanna's inner voice, instructs us on how to feel about various characters rather than letting us make up our own minds. We're too often told upfront that this guy is sadly bitter or this woman is shamefully selfish. 

2) Chalmers draws from sad old tropes. For example, Rosemary's guardian, Cousin Sophia, was urgently trying to communicate something vital on her deathbed. That scenario should be limited to once per series if at all, and it's already happened early on with young Jimmy's father. Come on Chalmers, let Eleanor H Porter have the monopoly on that one.

3) There are far too many information dumps by characters who get carried away, then suddenly say, 'Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said all that.' 

4) Rosemary is a faultless heroine who needs no character development. Even when she learns how certain people ruined her life, her default reaction is immediate forgiveness and compassion. She's just like the too-good-to-be-true heroines of the animated Barbie movies my daughter was enamoured with when she was small. Sure, Rosemary is Pollyanna's protĕgĕ, but even Pollyanna herself isn't quite so pure and angelic as that. And we keep having dudes falling in love with Rosemary about five minutes after they meet her. My eyes were worn out from rolling. 

5) I found myself quite confused at times, wondering if I'd missed something. Chalmers introduces an entire community, the village of Brixton. She seemed to assume our familiarity with two particular families; the Greens and the Graves, yet when I consulted my list of Glad Books, I hadn't missed a single one.   

6) Holey Moley, there are enough back story subplots here to fill several extra novels all by themselves! Margaret Piper Chalmers has crammed this novel to bursting point.

Okay, other than all that, there are also a few inevitable instances where our 21st century sensibilities might get chafed by sentiments expressed in this mid-20th century novel. I'm never surprised or upset by heated racism expressed by characters who were written during war times, because what else can we expect from authors who were actually living through the conflict? We need to cut them some slack. However, having read The Grapes of Wrath I did feel my hackles rise when certain main characters casually refer to transient workers as 'lazy Okies.' 

Then there's the matter of Rosemary's best friend, Sally, who is louder than life, both in her personality and the bright and garish way she dresses. Her friends and fiance all claim to adore Sally for who she is, yet everyone still wants to change her and make her tone herself down. Go figure! I feel that at least in our era, Sally would have more freedom to dress as flamboyantly as she likes.  

On the whole, the heart of this story, and its snapshot of the time it presents, covers over all the gripes I've just aired. We get to rub shoulders with young men who have no idea whether or not they'll even be alive in another month, and young women who are prepared to roll up their sleeves and perform work they've never done before. In many ways, this book deserves to be up there with the likes of Rilla of Ingleside as an engaging artefact from a specific era. Chalmers evokes the time when Winston Churchill's encouragement to 'Keep Calm and Carry On' was surely a catch cry everywhere. Yet sadly, this one has fallen out of print. 

🌟🌟🌟

Next up will be Pollyanna of Magic Valley by yet another author, Virginia May Moffitt. It's become a real baton handing enterprise now, but we're not far from the finish. 

'The Family from One End Street' by Eve Garnett

MY THOUGHTS:

This kids' book was first published in 1937 and won the Carnegie Medal in 1938. The author, Eve Garnett, also drew all her own excellent illustrations. I found an old vintage copy in a secondhand bookshop which instantly swept me back decades to the time I tackled it while I was still a fraction too young for the long chapters, and the innuendoes about split social classes tended to soar over my head.  

 Josiah and Rosie Ruggles barely make a living cleaning up after others. She's a washer-woman and he's a dustman. Yet they have seven children to bring up and must make ends meet however they can. There's stout and helpful Lily Rose; smart and skinny Kate; the adventurous twins, James and John, young Jo, little Peg, and baby William.

The Ruggles kids tend to not let poverty bother them, because it's all they've ever known. And they learn first hand in a way wealthier children don't, that sometimes when you're short of cash and left to your own resources, you may come up with Wonderful Ideas. While these sometimes flop in the short term, they're always character building. And as kind Mrs Beaseley tells Lily Rose, 'Even if your ideas aren't always a success, it's a good thing to have them.' 

Each family member faces a challenging issue or adventure. Poor Lily Rose accidentally shrinks the petticoat of one her mother's paying customers. Kate is clever enough to win a scholarship to the local High School, yet her parents can't figure out how they'll pay the steep uniform fees. Jim gets more than he bargains for when he attempts to hide in a pipe by the dockyards, and young Jo earns money to see his beloved Mickey Mouse films by opening doors for teahouse customers. But my favourite incident is when John gets to attend the birthday party of a wealthy kid named Peter quite by accident, and finds the afternoon far more of a novelty than do the youngsters brought up free from financial worries.  

Small details about having to make do pop up frequently. For example, Mrs Ruggles rubs Jim's sore head with margarine, because butter is too expensive. And the twins' jerseys are 'lovely' shades of pastel which only come from much washing. John's is pinkish and Jim's a strange blue.  

In another revealing chapter, it dawns on Mr Short, the struggling literary author (Short by name and perpetually short of funds), that a subtle hierarchy of deprivation exists and the Ruggles' are far lower down on it than he is. Yet he can't figure out whether to pity or envy them, since they've taught themselves to curtail their ambitions to such an extent that a simple day out is a major celebratory event for them. When was the last time he had so much fun with so little?

My opinion is divided about books such as this, in which poor families have fun times. The idea that several early to mid twentieth-century stories were written to whitewash or romanticize poverty bothers me a bit, since in actual fact poverty is limiting, frustrating and demoralising with nothing to recommend it. Yet on the other hand, authors such as Eve Garnett considered themselves to be providing a voice for the unheard majority of their time, and their unfolding plots reveal mental benefits such as freedom from entitlement, greater initiative and being easier to impress. But since these positive attributes definitely aren't shared by all underprivileged families across the board, is it really an accurate picture or brushed with a tinge of sentimentality?    

As I say, the jury is still out on that one for me. 

I still think the chapters may be a little on the long side to hold the attention of young readers. Mine drifted back in the 1970s, and with the prevalence of the internet, concentration spans have only got shorter. I'd be interested to see how today's young kids handle this book.   

🌟🌟🌟½