We are delighted to welcome Alison Brumwell to the blog in the first of a series of short interviews about this year’s conference, Representations of Place, to talk with us about her experiences of conference and to give some insights into this year’s exciting programme!  Alison has Chaired the Youth Libraries Group through two of the most challenging years in recent history, she is also conference secretary, a role that she has brought great energy and imagination to!  Welcome Alison…

Can you tell us a little about your role with the conference team?

My specific role within the conference team is as Conference Secretary, which is largely an administrative function. This involves, among other things, sending out author agreements and invoices and ensuring accommodation/dietary requirements are adequately noted. I’ve also been involved in organising Chairs and hosts for the programme sessions.

The Theme this year is around place, can you tell us a little about what delegates can expect?

The representations of place theme is broad in scope, so delegates can expect a wide-range of panel discussions, plenaries and breakout sessions which encourage them to explore “new lands and new ways of looking”. It’s also an opportunity to reflect upon the challenges which our profession faces: not just the physical spaces we work in, but how we can support children and young people as they navigate through school and life in general. Underpinning all this is reinvigorating delegates so they can share the value of reading and books, which is at the heart of what we do (regardless of our settings).

Are there any sessions you feel particularly excited by personally?

I am personally excited by the panel discussions which tackle two timely issues: masculinity and body image. The authors involved are known for challenging preconceptions and commonly-held assumptions about behaviour and identity, so I expect some thought-provoking discussion about this and how these feature in their own writing. After a virtual YLG conference in 2020 due to the pandemic, I think the Gala Dinner and CKG Medals presentations will be even more celebratory.

Do you remember your first YLG conference?

The first YLG conference I attended was shortly after I became a CILIP member, at the University of Warwick. It wasn’t as overwhelming as my first London Book Fair, but I was amazed to see so many publishers, authors and illustrators together in one venue. I knew nobody, other than Jane Mellers (then a Development Librarian with Kirklees Libraries), so I stuck to her like glue and she kindly introduced me to a few people. What I remember most is that there was an unfortunate cancellation in the programme on the Saturday evening. The Alzheimer’s Society was also holding its conference at the university that weekend and Sir Terry Pratchett kindly agreed to substitute last minute. He spoke very eloquently to YLG delegates about the adjustments he had to make to the writing process as a result of his illness, and about his career in general.

The YLG conferences I’ve attended (six in total) have provided the best CPD of my career. They are invaluable in terms of networking opportunities and sharing good practice with colleagues. For school librarians, who are often lone working on a daily basis, conference is an antidote to feeling professionally isolated. There’s no other conference or event I can think of which offers high calibre training, updates on current research, a well-organised publishers’ exhibition, bookselling and the chance to annually celebrate authors and illustrators who have won the prestigious CILIP Carnegie and Kate Greenaway Medals.

Do you have any tips for people wanting to make a funding case to their employers wanting to attend?

I’d recommend that anyone interested in attending YLG conference make a clear business case beforehand, rather than automatically assuming it’s a waste of time. Most delegates cannot afford to self-fund (and shouldn’t have to), so operate on the principle that if you don’t ask you won’t get. Evaluate the programme and outline clearly why a conference place will also benefit your library setting and wider organisation. If you’re a school librarian, it may be that there is a particular speaker or session which ties directly into your school development plan; other ideas are to offer to share your conference experience by writing a blog for the school website, delivering a twilight session for staff or a presentation to Governors. Demonstrating the wider benefits may prove convincing, as could a personal conversation with your school’s Bursar/Business Manager. If you can, break down the cost so that your organisation can see YLG offers value for money. If securing a paid full delegate place isn’t possible, ask about day delegate funding and remember that any library worker is eligible to apply for the annual Klaus Flugge Bursary. This is endowed by Andersen Press and provides a fully-funded delegate place to the successful applicant.

Conference wasn’t able to take place physically last year, what steps will be taken to keep delegates safe?

The YLG conference team is working closely with the Imperial Hotel in Torquay to ensure that the 2021 live conference is a safe one for delegates and in compliance with government COVID health and safety guidelines. Social distancing measures will be in place in the exhibition place, bookshop and conference rooms, if needed after the government’s next review on relaxing restrictions. Up-to-date information is available on the hotel’s website.

The Imperial Hotel is a short drive from Greenway, Agatha Christie’s holiday home. It was also the setting for her novel Peril at End House the National Trust is offering an optional guided tour of Greenway for conference delegates on Friday 17 September prior to registration. I am sure that delegates will appreciate this opportunity.

Thank you to Alison for the interview!

Eva Eland grew up in Delft, Netherlands. She studied at the School of Visual Arts in New York as well as at the Cambridge School of Art, where she received a distinction in children’s book illustration. Eva won the 2020 Klaus Flugge Prize with When Sadness Comes to Call, which also won a V&A award, book cover category.  Where Happiness Begins was published in 2020.

With such a broad range of illustrations and all the different approaches to storytelling in the longlist of this year’s Klaus Flugge Prize - the prize for the most exciting newcomer in picture books - it has been very inspiring for me to delve into and analyse the books. The shortlist contains five very distinctive books, that feel fresh, original and demonstrate a high standard of work. Parents, children and book lovers in general are lucky with all the new picture books they can choose from these days.

The fact that the books and illustrations are very different from each other in how they look and what they accomplish, reminds me of just how many functions a book can have. Picture books can be these beautiful and rich objects we can share with each other, talk about, enjoy and be comforted by. They can invite us to reflect on our life, our relationships and put our feelings into words and images, giving us the vocabulary we might need to deal with some of the more complicated issues in life. They can offer an escape and stir our imagination, make us wonder and test our own understanding of the world and our preconceived ideas. Some might even encourage us to be brave, as they remind us of the things that truly matter and that we can always return home.

Illustration, and especially the space between text and image and how they relate to each other, has such a vital importance to bring all these elements out in a book. It can build worlds for the words to live in. For children, a picture book can be their first encounter with art and art, in turn, I think, can help stimulate an appreciation for the beauty that can be found all around us. An appreciation that will enrich our lives and help to cultivate a sense of childlike wonder.

To have a prize that is focused on illustration alone, and that encourages new talent by celebrating their work and giving them more visibility, is hugely important in a time where so many new books get published every year, and new makers might otherwise get lost.

The longlist for the Klaus Flugge Prize is well worth perusing, as each of the books has their own story to tell and there are some exceptional and original new voices in illustration that I’m sure we will see more of in the future.

From these books, five of them stood out in particular, and make up this year's shortlist.

My Red Hat by Rachel Stubbs is a tender tale, full of love, showing the relationship between a grandfather and child. They share stories, adventures and dreams together and we get a sense of all the things that a grandparent might want to pass down to their grandchild, and the encouragement they can offer to go and discover the world on their own. This story unfolds in a very organic way and at a gentle pace, from spread to spread, with the red hat as a visual and thematic thread holding the words and images together. The unusual landscape format and the hand drawn typography fit the story and the illustrations perfectly.

Rachel Stubbs cleverly depicts childhood, with all its ups and downs, and the moments when you might get lost but are found again and return home, ‘to where you belong’. The looseness of the marks and the delicate lines add to the gentle and imaginative atmosphere and the limited colour palette gives it that extra nostalgic flavour, cherishing the innocence of childhood and the special bond that can exist between child and grandparent.

A book that stands out for its very original approach to the illustrations is While You’re Sleeping, illustrated by John Broadley and written by Mick Jackson. The book takes us through a night and its creatures, workers and wanderers. With its absence of a story arch or protagonist, there is a consistency and rhythm to the words and images that could work like the perfect bedtime lullaby.

The bold lines, limited colour palette and collage of patterns are reminiscent of the great English print-makers of the thirties and forties like Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden, yet it feels utterly unique and there is an otherworldly quality to the artwork, with its wonky perspectives and stiff characters, adding a layer of mystery to this whole different world that seems to emerge at night.

The way the light is depicted in this book caught my eye - for the dark nighttime spreads we see beams of yellow light, with the indoor spaces like the hospital using the white of the page to indicate brightly lit spaces. Time passes slowly in this busy night, with clever transitions from the left hand to the right hand page, some compositions framed by walls and lamp posts, and other spreads bleeding off the borders creating a sense of vastness and timelessness. Though this book doesn’t tell a conventional story, it leaves you with a lot of threads of little narratives and a diverse range of characters you could make your own stories for. The illustrations are so rich with detail, that you will have plenty of room to meander through this book, and its night, and wonder about all the different lives that people are living simultaneously, and maybe in doing so, one might slowly drift away to sleep.

I was immediately drawn to the painterly and colourful illustrations by Charlotte Ager for Child of Galaxies, written by Blake Nuto. I was already familiar with her work, and it was interesting to see how she managed to bring her world and visual vocabulary to this text, and give a lot of abstract and big ideas a sense of place to simmer, allowing them to expand their meaning further. The fluid quality of the textures, marks and sketchy pencil lines, combined with a changing colour palette that help shift moods and meaning, fit the poetic text perfectly. Sometimes the words are paired with bold compositions, using what looks like collage with painted paper, or using the very spacious white of the paper itself, creating a lot of room for interpretation. Other times the text is accompanied by a more sensitive and emotive image, with shades of a limited colour palette and directional painted marks, or, for example, looming tree figures that frame a child. Scale, colours, textures and mark making are used to great effect by Charlotte Ager. The meditation on nature and the beauty all around in the illustrations, even when ‘shadows persist’, will offer the reader a lot of opportunities to reflect on the abstract ideas the text offers.The diverse range of characters makes this book feel inclusive and directed to all of us, just like the text reminds us we’re all made ‘from the stuff of the stars’.

Gustavo, the Shy Ghost is a classic story in its essence, about a shy little ghost wanting to make friends, who overcomes his own fear and reaches out. A story that will be relatable and comforting for those who experience similar shyness and insecurities (though I bet at times we all have a little bit of Gustavo in us and will recognise the universal fear of not being seen and invited to play). It’s hard not to like this character or not identify with the moments of longing and hesitation (oh, just imagine the anguish of missing a good opportunity like getting ‘eye-scream’ because you were too shy! Or wanting to get close to the girl you love but not knowing how to make yourself noticed).

This book is filled with details, textures, references and full of the strangest, yet adorable, creatures, that reappear throughout the book, with a lot to discover on each spread, making this book a joy to read and I imagine one to read again and again, reminding little ones that they are not alone.

The structure of the story and the pairing of text and image are very well crafted, there is not a word too much, and though the images are full of details to be enjoyed, it never feels cluttered or distracting, which is a remarkable feat. There is a strong sense of place, grounded in warm and muted colours, with Mexican influences and many references to The Day of the Dead, classic horror films and monsters. The palette of muted colours contrasted with warm orange and Mexican pink, and clever use of negative space as well, are integral to the storytelling and add to the sense of drama, and calm, where needed. Everything in this book, from cover to the final end papers, appears to be very considered, yet there is a light and playful touch that feels very generous and authentic, and Flavia Z Drago, not unlike Gustavo playing the violin, seems to reach out to us, the reader, by sharing her passion for illustration, storytelling and monsters, uncovering some of our deepest fears and longings with this very universal story.

I’m Sticking with You, illustrated by Steve Small and written by Smriti Halls is a character driven story, exploring friendship and the push and pull we can sometimes experience within relationships, especially with those people that are so very different to ourselves.

Bear and squirrel are very loveable characters, and Steve Small has allowed himself to zoom in on them, using only minimal background elements and props to nudge the story along, on otherwise crisp, white pages. The disparity between text and image is where the story is told and where the deadpan humour lays. The timing, scale and body language of the characters are always spot on, adding to the comedy and betraying Steve Small’s background in animation. There is a lovely twist in the book, emphasised by using a black background, and a change of direction to where the characters are going. Here we finally get to see and read the perspective of squirrel, who, after announcing he needs more space, actually misses his overBEARing friend a lot. An almost empty page shows his sudden understanding, and creates a very effective pause before he rushes back and we near the end of this story.

Looking at all these shortlisted books and seeing the different ways in which they excel and exemplify what illustration can do, reassures me that there are so many ways to tell a story, and so many stories to tell still. But also just how important it is to cultivate your own, unique (visual) storytelling voice as a picture book maker. The essence of the stories might not be new in any way - but the ways they are told feel original and personal, and give the reader the possibility to connect with the story, ideas and characters. I can’t wait to see what Steve Small, Flavia Z Drago, Charlotte Ager, John Broadly and Rachel Stubbs have in store for us in the future.

Find out more about the Klaus Flugge Prize on the website.

Do check out the picture gallery below showing:
Cover illustration and spreads for My Red Hat
Cover illustration and spreads for While You Are Sleeping
Cover illustration and spreads for Gustavo the Ghost
Cover illustration and spreads for I'm Sticking with You
Photograph of Eva Eland, copyright Signefotar

A big thank you to Eva Eland for a fantastic blog overview and to the Klaus Flugge Prize for the opportunity.

We are delighted to welcome Laura Mucha to the blog.  Laura is an ex-lawyer turned award-winning poet, writer and advocate for children.  Laura's debut poetry collection, Dear Ugly Sisters, was named as one of the Independent's top ten poetry books for children.  Rita's Rabbit is her first picturebook.  Here Laura reflects on parenthood in and outside of books.

As a child it was hard not to compare myself to people with two parents – EVERYONE else seemed to have them. It wasn't just the people around me, it was the adverts, books, films, TV programs, French classes where, for years, we were asked to describe what our mother and father did. (I lied. Not least because my French wasn’t good enough age 11 to say “Actually I haven’t met my father, so I cannot confirm what his current profession is – or if he is even alive. But I can tell you about my grandfather, who I call Dad?”)

It made me feel like an outsider, inferior, shameful. While that undoubtedly helped me develop empathy for others, it could also be uncomfortable and sad.

I remember one of my teachers telling the entire class that single parent families were inferior to those with two – hers is a common view. But it’s not backed up by evidence. While single parents can fare worse than double parent families, when you account for the impact of poverty, this difference dwindles[1]. Given single parents are far more likely to be poor[2], it’s unsurprising we conflate the two.

In fact, staying single can be a hugely positive choice. I interviewed a father from Sri Lanka who decided to stay single after his wife died in her 40s, leaving him with three children under twelve. “I could have settled with somebody,” Kumar explained, ”but I needed to do something for my children: I had to show fatherly and motherly love because they wouldn’t know their mother’s love. Love contributes a lot in life… it’s what you take on board to your future.”[3]

Swathes of research across multiple disciplines show Kumar was right – it is love that we take with us. And sometimes choosing to stay single is the best way to ensure that children feel that love. In some circumstances, children in step-families are psychologically worse off than children with single parents[4]. And in the Harvard Bereavement Study (which followed parents and children for years following their loss), children whose parents dated in the first year after losing their partner had more emotional or behavioural problems (among other difficulties) than those whose parents stayed single.

So why, then, is single parenthood, or any deviation from the two parent family stigmatised? Why don’t we see single parents more frequently and, crucially, more positively in children’s literature? It’s easier to understand why writers like Judith Kerr featured families with two parents and two children because of the time in which she was writing. But surely we are wiser now?

Maybe not.

As far as I’m aware, there’s no research exploring whether children see their family situation reflected in the books they read. But in 2020, 58,346 children and young people were asked by the National Literacy Trust whether they saw themselves in the books they read. 37.3% of those that received free school meals didn’t. (The number was slightly lower for those who do pay for meals, at 31.9%.)[5]

I’m not surprised. Taking picture books as an example – whenever they include any sort of caregiver, there are two parents, usually white and living in a house with a garden. Yet this doesn’t represent 20% of people in England who live in flats (more likely to be those from ethnic minorities and/or living in poverty)[6], and 14.7% of single parent families in the UK[7].

Given single parent families are significantly more likely to live in poverty[8] and poverty is linked with lower levels of literacy[9], children in these households are precisely the demographic that we need to support. Surely being able to see themselves in the books they’re reading is fundamental to that?

So, as well as ranting in blogposts, I make a point of writing about growing-up in non-traditional family structures. Sometimes that means being explicit and exploring what that felt like as a child (as in my poem, Everyone_[10]), sometimes it means depicting everyday scenes where a mother and/or father aren’t part of the household. In Rita’s Rabbit, for example, the two main (human) characters are Rita and her grandfather.

But when I shared Rita’s Rabbit with a number of brilliant and intelligent people, their feedback was, “Isn’t it weird that her parents aren’t there? What, are they on holiday?”

No. Not everyone grows up with two parents. Some only have one. Some have two but one is highly abusive and it’s not safe to stay in touch. Some have none and live with family members. Some live in foster care or institutions.

We know this. We have robust stats that show this represents a significant percentage of children – both here and around the world. And yet, how often do these children see the two parent family portrayed as the norm, to which they and everyone should aspire? How often do they compare themselves to this norm and find themselves lacking?

We are delighted to welcome Rachel Ip, author of The Last Garden to the blog to talk about the horticultural inspirations behind the book.

I wrote The Last Garden after reading about real gardens made in wartime and conflict. By their very nature, these gardens are not always documented or recorded, and I hope The Last Garden can shine a light on the incredible true stories behind them.

The Last Garden follows the story of a little girl who tends the last garden in a war-torn city. As the city breaks, everyone is forced to leave and soon the girl must leave her beautiful garden behind. Though the garden is empty and alone, its seeds scatter throughout the city and roots begin to take hold.

Slowly, as people return, the city begins to bloom again, and the girl comes home to her garden.

The research

War gardens (or conflict gardens as they’re sometimes called) have existed all over the world, some created by individuals, some bringing whole communities together. Initially inspired by news articles about gardens in Syria, I started researching historical and contemporary conflict gardens.

I contacted the Imperial War Museum and spoke to their photography archivists. I searched their online catalogues for historical photos and trawled written records of photos that were yet to be digitised. I also contacted the Royal Horticultural Society, and searched their incredible photography archive in London. 

I found gardens on rooftops and windowsills, in school grounds and in bomb craters. From camp and prison gardens in Singapore to peacebuilding gardens in Sudan, from the gardens in Polish and Lithuanian ghettos of WWII to victory gardens across the UK, US and Canada, these gardens each have their own unique story.

In Hong Kong, where I live, prisoners in WWII planted gardens on the rooftop of Stanley prison, smuggling seeds from their food rations. In the UK, “Open spaces everywhere were transformed into allotments, from domestic gardens to public parks – even the lawns outside the Tower of London were turned into vegetable patches.”^[1] 

The Great Escape

In a prison camp in Germany in WWII, prisoners dug tunnels to escape the camp and concealed the tunnel dirt by working it into the soil of the garden. “While providing a long-term source of food and activity for prisoners, gardening also ironically cultivated the hope of escape by providing a cover for those intent on tunnelling out.”^[2] This may sound like a familiar story, as it was later made into the film: The Great Escape.

Hope and optimism

Gardens are uniquely hopeful. The very act of planting is hopeful. There is hope that something will grow, that someone will be there to see it, to enjoy it, or to harvest it.

Gardens in conflict zones can have many layers of meaning to those involved. They can provide food security, where access to food may be limited. They can provide refuge and solace; hope and optimism; a little bit of beauty.

The Last Garden, beautifully illustrated by Anneli Bray, commemorates the many war gardens and gardens for peace-building around the world.  Anneli Bray was recently longlisted for the Klaus Flugge Prize for her illustrations for The Last Garden: https://www.klausfluggeprize.co.uk/longlist-2021/

In the words of Audrey Hepburn: “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.”

Find out more about the real gardens behind the story in the classroom resources and in the blog about war gardens on Rachel’s website.

Paul Jennings was born in Heston, England.  When he was six he emigrated to Australia with his parents and sister Ruth.  After leaving school, Paul decided to become a teacher and studied at Frankston Teachers College. Paul’s collection of short stories Unreal! Was published in 1985 and he became a full-time writer in 1989.

Paul chose the title Unreal for his first collection of short stories as it was a word his own children often used.  After this, he realised how many ‘UN’ words there are and decided to use these for almost all of his collections of short stories.  Alongside his collections of short stories, which became the base for the cult children’s television series, Round the Twist, Paul has also written a popular series about Rascal the Dragon.  In addition to his Gizmo and Singenpoo series, Paul has co-authored two novels with Morris Gleitzman, Deadly and Wicked.  He has written two novels, How Hedley Hopkins did a Dare and The Nest and has also authored The Reading Bug… and how you can help your child to catch it.  Paul is the author of a trilogy of novellas, A Different Dog, A Different Boy and A Different Land.

Paul’s memoirs Untwisted will publish in the UK with Old Barn Books this Summer.  Humble, humorous and incredibly honest, Untwisted is an extraordinarily poignant treasure trove of life, astute observation and thought all told with Paul’s trademark pared back prose.  We are delighted to offer members the opportunity to read the electronic proof of Untwisted here https://www.calameo.com/read/00631837456f955206d4f

Thank you to Old Barn Books for this opportunity!  Copies of Untwisted can be preordered here  Cover illustration is by Geoff Kelly and has been designed by Sandra Nobes and Mike Jolley.