On National Poetry Day, it is exciting to welcome Jay Hulme to talk about 'Clouds Cannot Cover Us' an astonishingly direct and powerful collection.  Here Jay discusses his collection and helping to fill the gap that exists for Young Adult poetry.

 

I often say that if I didn’t already love poetry by the time we studied it in secondary school, I’d have hated poetry. The work we studied didn’t reflect our lives or experiences, and the idea that form stood above all else was frustrating to say the least. All of this was exacerbated by the fact that there seems to be a gap in the poetry world; there’s lots of poetry for children, there’s lots of poetry for adults, but there seems to be so little YA poetry to bridge that gap and lead readers further on their literary journey. I was so excited when Troika suggested that I could help fill it.

 

The first thing to think about, when you’re writing a poetry collection, is what you want it to say. In many ways, a collection of poetry is one big poem, and poems (like poets) always have something to say. In writing this collection I thought about what I cared about as a teenager, and what I care about now. I thought about what it is I wanted to say. I was even persuaded (somehow) to dig up some of my old poems, ones I wrote as a teenager in high school and, after giving them a bit of an edit, include one or two of them in the collection.

 

It turns out that what I wanted to say was what I wanted to hear as a teenager - the truth. No “protecting” young people from the issues, no minimising their problems or experiences. No lies. What I wanted to say, what I hope this collection says, is: “The world is terrible. I get it. I see it. I know. But I promise you, there’s still good out there.”

 

This book doesn’t shy away from “issues” it tackles, among other things, domestic violence, general violence, homelessness, class divides, family strife, transphobia, islamophobia, anti-semitism, death, refugees, white supremacy, disability, poverty, and more. It is the world as it is, and will hopefully enable young people to see their lives reflected back at them in a way that is both helpful and affirming.

 

Knowing the industry, I worried that this would be too much for a publisher, but Troika had asked me, specifically, for a poetry book for teenagers. They’d seen me perform. They’d read my work. They had actually met me (big mistake). They knew what they were getting into, or at least, I hoped they did. I sent off the manuscript - it felt like a game of chicken, where I was waiting for one of us to blink. I made lists in my head - which poems I’d be happy to get rid of, which topics might be ‘too much’, and which topics were too personal, or too important, to compromise on.

 

They didn’t blink.

 

We had a meeting, to discuss the order of the poems, the format of the book, how to make it familiar and appealing to as wide a range of readers as possible. They acknowledged the personal nature of many of the poems, and asked if I could make it into a narrative, if it could follow my life in some way. Then they did the unexpected, and instead of asking me to cut poems out, they asked for even more. I went away. I dug through my notebooks. I pinned poem titles on a giant corkboard and tried to see if they could fit in a semi-autobiographical narrative. The day I found an old poem about my own birth felt like a sign - I had an opening. But where next?

 

Being trans means that my life does feel almost like it comes in two halves. I have lived in this world as two people: The person I was before; angry, confused, violent, trying to find out what was wrong, trying to find my place in a world that didn’t want me.  And the person I am now; proud, confident, at peace with myself, trying to forge a future to be proud of. With that in mind, I divided the book into two parts. The first half is filled with problems, anger, and confusion, and the poems in turn are often filled with industrial and urban imagery, dark, and claustrophobic. The second half is filled with hope, change, and growth - the poems here are often filled with natural imagery, they are lighter, softer, quieter - kinder.

 

My hope is that as well as bridging the gap in poetry, into which so many young people fall, this book will also help people. Poetry has a power far greater than any other form of literature, it allows people to see, and feel seen. The intrinsic unknowability of a poem, the way it allows people to take from it what they most need in that moment, is something so often overlooked in the search for the “real” or “correct” interpretation, but it is unbelievably important; especially for a YA audience, who are so often searching for… something.

 

Hopefully this collection will act as a lifeline, and a mirror, and a friendly voice. Hopefully it will offer young people the affirmation and hope they so often need. Hopefully it brings a bit of good into the world. Hopefully it helps people.

 

 

The Youth Libraries Group is delighted to have a new writer or illustrator in residence programme.  Each individual will be in post for a three month tenure and will be selected on the basis of championing an under-represented form of writing or illustration, helping to shine a light upon this, or else because they champion an underrepresented community.  We are delighted that Emma Shevah has agreed to be our first electronic writer in resident.  If you have not come across her books, we can highly recommend these.  This electronic residency will form a part of our Raising Voices initiative more of which will be announced soon.

 

Hello. I’m Emma Shevah and I’m honoured to have been asked to be the YLG’s first electronic Writer-in-Residence. I’m the author of three Chicken House books for 8-12s (Dream on Amber, Dara Palmer’s Major Drama and What Lexie Did), and an early reader with Bloomsbury (Hello Baby Mo!). My fourth MG novel will be published in summer 2020.

 

As a Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME) author writing about BAME characters, the findings of this week’s ‘Reflecting Realities’ CPLE report on Ethnic Representation in Children’s Literature have been interesting. They reveal that only 4% of UK children’s books published in 2018 had BAME main characters—up 1% from 2017 but still unpardonably low. Hopefully, my 2018 offering was included in that percentage, but Lexie is Greek Cypriot and the BAME acronym’s ‘minority ethnic’ definition is unclear (more on that next month).

 

Meanwhile, a PhD student interviewed me recently: her department at the University of Leicester is researching artists, writers and musicians, and how they manage - or don’t - to finance their creative lives. She asked about my writing process, my books, and whether I need to undertake other work. Four of her questions struck me. What percentage of your income is from writing? followed by what percentage of your time is spent writing? (face palm moment). Would you recommend writing as a career? And do you think it’s different for BAME writers?

 

Hmm. Writing about BAME characters can pose financial problems. The UK’s drive for diversity in children’s books is not necessarily shared globally, and contemporary novels about diverse characters and/or family situations can be difficult to sell internationally as they may not reflect the experiences and situations of cultures overseas. The reason there are more animal protagonists than BAME ones is that animals are generic and therefore translatable: a lion learning about his identity is likely to sell in many more territories than one about a mixed-raced child in Luton with same-sex parents. Publishing is an industry, and for authors and publishers, global markets matter.

 

Back home, there are issues, too. UK book buyers for the under 12s are predominantly (white, as that is the demographic) parents. While some are just relieved their children are reading and will buy any book they choose, others cherry-pick ‘literary’ books of ‘quality’ that will further their children’s schooling rather than ones that will widen their cultural and sociological understanding of modern Britain. Writing contemporary novels in the first person doesn’t help: I write in a style and vernacular that mirrors today’s eleven-year-olds, who tend not to talk in lyrical language rich in metaphors and similes. Historical, fantasy and third-person narratives free authors of this limitation.  A very small number of books scoop up the majority of sales, and once they sell well, more resources are put behind them from publishers and retailers so they sell even more, leaving little space and money for the rest. Celebrity authors are the new vogue, too, for the same reason. And while school librarians tweet photos of my dog-eared books, saying there’s a queue for them, which I love, those many readers are reading just one book.

 

These factors affect sales, and low sales negatively affect the ability of BAME writers to earn a living from writing. Of course, most writers share this problem. But without strong UK sales and foreign rights, generic stories about bears will continue to trump BAME characters and their specific experiences. There are further issues: with the BAME acronym, with the immigrant work ethos influencing/ dominating the career choices of first generation children where writing is not a valid career option, and the unconscious (or possibly conscious) collective bias that means books about young British Muslims have more chance of being published and promoted than ones about young British Jews.

 

What percentage of my income is from writing? Less than 5%. What percentage of my time is spent doing it? Oh God. 40%? Rising to 70-80% in the school holidays? Would I recommend writing as a career? No. See above. But this is also subjective: I’m a lone parent with four children living in an expensive part of the country. I have a demanding full-time job, and a part-time evening job, and when I should be gathering strength and enjoying my children, I’m exhausting myself by tapping relentlessly on a laptop keyboard. My books haven’t sold in forty territories – eight is the most so far, and this is good, especially as it includes the US and Canada, where—thanks to The Odyssey Honour award and New York Times, Wall Street Journal, People magazine and starred library journal reviews– my profile and sales are higher than they are here. But this still isn’t enough to provide me with more time and space for writing.

 

Are my BAME books getting out there, making a difference, changing the world and its shameful statistics? Who knows. I’m tired. I’d like to stop for a while because I value my health and my family, and need, really, to focus on my reliably-paid jobs. Is this experience shared by other BAME writers? No idea. Our experiences of writing are as personal as our stories.

 

Obviously, I’d love to see more BAME protagonists in UK children’s books. I wrote about the dearth of South East Asian characters in The Bookseller and write them myself to ensure they exist. But parents need to buy them, booksellers and librarians continue to promote, showcase and encourage readership of them, teachers use them in the classroom and add them to reading lists and curriculums, and the ‘canon’ adapt to incorporate them. BAME writers must have money and room if they are to write, and, importantly, to continue writing.

 

Is it different for BAME writers? I think it is. We’re in the peripheral vision, finally. But there’s still such a long way to go.

 

Benedict Blathwayt's picture books have been firm favourites for decades, offering a unique insight into the countryside of the United Kingdom and visually documenting so much about nature and farming practices.  It was a pleasure to speak with Benedict about his latest book, The Sticker Atlas of Scotland.

 

We are delighted to introduce author Savita Kalhan who discusses her new and intensely thought-provoking novel, That Asian Kid.  Part gripping thriller, part ethical dilemma it's an utterly absorbing view into power, control and contemporary teenage life.  Here Savita talks about her influences both as a reader and as a writer.

Growing up as an Asian girl in High Wycombe in the sixties was challenging. My family was poor, my parents were very strict and traditional, and my mother was completely illiterate – in her own language as well as English as she never had the chance to go to school when she was growing up. We couldn’t afford to buy books, but for my parents education  was synonymous with books and reading, so they made every effort to take me and my siblings to the library once a week. Education was the key to achieving success and financial security; it was also the key to overcoming prejudice and racism.

Very quickly, the library became our safe place, our haven. It was where we discovered the many worlds and possibilities outside of the four walls of our home and the strictures and pre-conceptions of Asian children in our schools. We couldn’t change our colour or our background, but we assimilated as fast as possible because not to do so would have consequences. We tried to make ourselves as English as possible.

I read voraciously – my first and abiding love was fantasy. The Narnia books and The Hobbit will always hold a special place in my heart. But I read every book I could lay my hands on in the children's library. In all that time, I never read a story by an Asian author, and I never came across an Asian character. Because there were none. So I never thought I could ever be a writer. How I ended up becoming a writer is another story. But my experiences have inevitably informed what I write, both with The Girl in the Broken Mirror and That Asian Kid.

The Girl in the Broken Mirror explores the themes of identity, culture clash and the patriarchy that exists in Asian communities, where girls are often treated as subservient second class citizens. Through the main character, Jay, the book also deals with the trauma of rape, the feelings of shame and being at fault in some way, and also the long journey to recovery. I wanted to provoke discussions in classrooms about respect, boundaries and consent, which, judging by the horrific figures collated by the NSPCC, both girls and boys need to talk about in a safe environment. The book is not graphic and it is sensitively told because I wanted it to be accessible to teenagers. I am always mindful of who I am writing for, but I strive to be honest.

That Asian Kid is a very different story. It’s the story of Jeevan, a fifteen year old boy growing up in Britain today. He is third generation Indian. His parents and grandparents would have gone through much the same experiences as my parents and me. He’s got great friends, enjoys school, but he is a bit of a smart-aleck, which gets him into trouble with one particular teacher.

He is walking home from school, taking the shortcut through the woods, when he sees two teachers. He ducks and hides when he sees that it’s his favourite teacher and his least favourite teacher, the one he feels has been unfairly marking him down. They’re talking about him, so without pausing to think, he presses record on his phone. And then the teachers get it on, and the camera is still recording.

Jeevan now has a radio-active video on his phone that feels like a ticking time-bomb. He’s caught in a moral dilemma. As tempted as he is to upload the video on social media, Jeevan knows that it would be wrong to do so. He knows that two wrongs don’t make a right. But as the situation between him and his teacher escalates and with expulsion looming on the horizon, Jeevan’s struggle to do the right thing becomes compromised when matters get taken out of his hands.

Ultimately, That Asian Kid is about one boy’s struggle against the abuse of power by a figure in authority – hard enough for an adult to deal with, much harder when you’re a kid.

We are delighted to welcome author Chloe Daykin who talks here about her new novel, 'Fire Girl Forest Boy' and launches an exciting competition for National Libraries week supported by Faber Children's Books.

I’ve been lucky enough to go on a couple of amazing trips for writing research. The first was thanks to the inaugural Julia Darling travel fellowship (after the much loved and missed wonderful person and author/poet/playwright Julia Darling). On that trip I travelled up to the arctic circle and beyond, to the Lofoten Islands on a sleeper train, staying in log cabins, swimming in fjords and eating cinnamon buns and salmon and hot potato cakes and seeing what emerged into my second book The Boy Who Hit Play.

Last year I was lucky enough to be awarded an arts council grant to travel to Peru to research my third, Fire Girl Forest Boy.  I travelled to shiny white volcanic towns, high altitude lakes, canyons, in rickshaws, buses (so many buses), reed canoes, up through the forest mists to Machu Picchu, the water filled streets of Ollaytaytambo stayed in houses with hot water bottles made from old Inca Cola cartons, soaked in hot springs and drank herbal altitude remedies up high, so high your lungs shrink so small you feel like you’re walking on the moon. 

A key thing to me when writing set in different places is people. As much as I like seeing landscapes and places it’s really people for me that matter and it’s them, their food, their culture and honest way of being that I need to soak up. It feels important to be genuine. And personalities for me need to come from a really real place. So, as much I loved it all it was really the people I went for. The people and the food!

I ate rice pudding from carts, hot dripping charcoal roast chicken with sweet purple chicca morada, alpaca, a little bit of guinea pig, alfadores (cookies sandwiched with caramel), passionfruit three milk cake with thick whipped white icing and red tea, and quinoa. Loads of quinoa. My favourite was quinoa porridge from a family up in the mountains. Delicious! 

On coming home and getting on with the writing it’s hard to know what’s going to make it in or out. 
What I hope that’s made it through into the book is the people’s soulfulness. Their honesty. Integrity. Openness and kindness.  I love their belief in magic. And if you belief in something enough you see it around you. I hope I’ve been able to capture some of that.

As a kid I thought the most exciting place to explore was the jungle. Flying over the amazon while eating my inflight dinner is something I’ll never forget.  So I hope that’s in there too.  A love of the jungle, told at a pace that feels like running through it..  A wild environmental journey through the cloud forests, lawless towns, crisp cities and up into the otherworldly Lima Cathedral - with its art of decapitated martyrs, monsters exploding out of bellies and guinea pig last supper! 

Some of the landscapes are remembered. Some imagined. The environmental aspect came later from home based research. I guess if you love a place you want to protect it. So raising awareness of the illegal logging that’s going on (largely un-reported) - that’s effecting Peru so badly right now felt really important. 

Just after finishing the novel I read of a man was burned alive in Iquitos (where a chunk of the book is set) for standing up for indigenous communities, against mining and logging. His braveness and courage is humbling. I hope this books brings awareness of this cause in whatever small way it can. Without people standing up for each other we’re sunk.  And the people of Peru need standing up for and alongside.