Keep Calm, FitzOsbornes

During the Second World War, the British government was very concerned about keeping up the morale of its poor, beleaguered citizens, so the Ministry of Information produced a number of posters, including this one:

'Keep Calm and Carry On' poster

More than two million copies were printed, but the plan was that they’d only be distributed if Britain was invaded. This didn’t happen (thankfully), so most of the posters were destroyed at the end of the war. However, one was discovered by Stuart and Mary Manley at Barter Books, who displayed a copy in their shop and then began making copies to sell. You can now buy ‘Keep Calm’ postcards, key rings, mugs, tea towels, mouse mats . . . or even design your own personalised ‘Keep Calm’ poster using the handy Keep Calm-o-Matic website.

I decided the FitzOsbornes and their friends deserved their very own posters, so here they are, thanks to Keep Calm-O-Matic. First, Sophie:

'Keep Calm and Update Your Diary' poster

Well, she does tend to neglect her journal when her life gets busy.

Next, Veronica:
'Keep Calm and Fight the Patriarchy' poster

In Suffragette Purple, of course.

Then there’s Toby, who enlisted in the Royal Air Force at the end of The FitzOsbornes in Exile:

'Keep Calm and Fly Fast' poster

Or possibly, knowing Toby:

'Keep Calm and Get Drunk A Lot' poster

More Keep Calm posters:
1. Keep Calm, Sophie, Veronica and Toby
2. Keep Calm, Julia and Rupert
3. Keep Calm, Daniel and the Colonel
4. Keep Calm, Carlos and Henry
5. Keep Calm, Barnes and Aunt Charlotte

Tomorrow: Julia and Rupert keep calm

Posted in The Montmaray Journals, WWII | Leave a comment

How To Buy My Books If You Don’t Live In Australia Or New Zealand

A box full of 'The FitzOsbornes at War'

A few North American readers have asked me how they can buy the Australian editions of my books, so here’s a list of some on-line booksellers who stock my books and deliver to overseas addresses.

A few notes: Due to territorial copyright laws, my Australian e-books aren’t available to readers outside Australia and New Zealand. Also, postage is very expensive in Australia, so ordering books from here isn’t cheap. On the bright side, non-Australian readers don’t have to pay the 10% sales tax that Australians do, so instead of paying the Recommended Retail Price of $18.95, you only have to pay about $17.00 (and most booksellers offer discounted prices as well). All prices below are in Australian dollars, and at the time I wrote this, one Australian dollar was worth about $US1.06. The FitzOsbornes at War goes on sale here on the 2nd of April, so the books probably won’t be in stock yet, but many of the booksellers below welcome pre-orders.

Abbey’s Bookshop charges $15 delivery for one book (and an additional $10 for each extra book) for delivery to North America, with slightly higher charges for deliveries to Europe. I’ve never ordered books from them, but Abbey’s is a reputable, long-established Sydney bookshop.

Gleebooks charges $10 for a parcel of less than 500g, and $18 for a parcel of up to 1kg, for anywhere outside Australia. I actually weighed The FitzOsbornes at War (guys, the things I do for you!)

'The FitzOsbornes at War' weigh-in

and it is slightly less than 400g, so even with packaging, delivery should only cost $10. However, that’s for an untracked parcel – you’ll need to contact Gleebooks for a quote if you want a tracked delivery service. As with Abbey’s, Gleebooks is a reputable and long-established local bookseller, but I haven’t ordered any books from them.

Readings charges “2 x weight (A 400g package will cost $AUS8) with a minimum freight cost of $AU7.95″ for deliveries to North America and Europe, so I guess delivery of one book would cost about $10, similar to Gleebooks. I know nothing about Readings except that they’re in Melbourne and they were “Independent Bookseller of the Year” in 2010.

Fishpond charges a delivery fee of “$11.68 + $3.86 per item” to North America (which I think means that delivery of one book costs $15.54) with slightly higher charges for delivery to Europe. I hadn’t heard of Fishpond until recently, and when I tried to find out more, I came across some unhappy customers. Has anyone else had any experience with Fishpond?

Shearer’s Bookshop charges $26 for delivery of one book to North America, with an additional $8 for each extra book. As with Abbey’s and Gleebooks, Shearer’s is a reputable local bookseller, but I haven’t ordered any books from them.

Booktopia charges $27.50 delivery for one book (and an additional $7.50 for each extra book) for delivery to North America, with slightly higher charges for deliveries to Europe. I have ordered books from them before and the books arrived promptly, in good condition – however, I live in the same city as their warehouse, so I can’t say how reliable or prompt their overseas service is.

The Book Depository delivers free to pretty much anywhere in the world. However, it’s a UK company and my books are not actually published in the UK, so they have to order my books from Australia, then send them to you, so it might take a while. Still, free delivery! (How do they actually make any money?)

There are lots of other booksellers in Australia, but I haven’t listed them because their delivery charges are so high (for example, Kinokuniya charges FIFTY DOLLARS to send one little book to the US). If anyone has any other bookseller recommendations, please feel free to add them to the comments below.

Of course, if you live in North America, you can buy the paperback edition of The FitzOsbornes in Exile, which comes out this week, simply by walking into a bookshop and handing over a ten dollar bill and a few coins. So easy!

STOP PRESS: The cover of the North American edition of The FitzOsbornes at War has just been revealed.

Posted in books, The Montmaray Journals | 8 Comments

Attention Aspiring Authors

If you’re an aspiring author of children’s or YA books and you live in New South Wales, you might like to check out the Children’s Book Council’s Frustrated Writers’ Mentoring Program, which awards mentorships with a professional editor or published author. There are separate categories for writers who are Juniors (under 15 years), Young Adults (15-20 years old) and Seniors (anyone over 20 years), with entries closing on the 1st of June. Some of the successful Australian authors who’ve entered the program include J.C. Burke, Jacqueline Harvey, Kirsty Eagar, Oliver Phommavanh, Aleesah Darlison, Nathan Luff, Jenny Blackman and er, me. I won a CBCA mentorship in 2003 with Alyssa Brugman, and not only did Alyssa give me a lot of useful advice for improving my manuscript, she also helped me find a publisher and an agent for my first novel. So I think this program is pretty good.

The CBCA and the State Library of NSW are also getting together this year to offer four days of creative writing workshops for teenage writers, led by Anthony Eaton, Michael Pryor, Ursula Dubosarsky, Tony Thompson and the Bell Shakespeare Company. The first Master Class is on the 29th of March and you can find all the details here.

Posted in this writing life, young adult | 2 Comments

Same Book, But Different

There’s an interesting post at The Readventurer about the significant differences between the North American and Australian editions of Cath Crowley’s YA novel, Graffiti Moon*. The reviewer, who has read both editions, concludes that the American version “felt a bit…sanitized, which I didn’t like.”

Interesting. Especially as there didn’t seem to be anything particularly edgy or controversial in the Australian edition of Graffiti Moon, as I recall.

American publishers do tend to change spelling and punctuation when they publish Australian YA books, and they also change any vocabulary that might prove confusing to American teenage readers. I remember reading the American editions of some YA novels by Barry Jonsberg and Melina Marchetta, in which the settings were clearly Darwin or the inner western suburbs of Sydney – yet the characters talked about ‘dimes’ and ‘sidewalks’. Even J.K. Rowling’s first book was subjected to Americanisation, with her American publishers making more than eighty changes to Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, including the title. (And some of the changes seem pretty silly to me – surely American readers could work out that ‘multi-storey car park’ means the same as ‘multilevel parking garage’.)

For the record, the North American edition of A Brief History of Montmaray is very different to the Australian edition. Apart from a much-needed structural edit (for example, I completely re-wrote the final chapter), I spent a lot of time wrangling with my American copy-editor over words such as ‘biscuit’ and ‘jersey’. This was complicated by the fact that my narrator spoke a posh 1930s British version of English. But The FitzOsbornes in Exile and The FitzOsbornes at War are pretty much the same (apart from the spelling), wherever you buy a copy in the world. Maybe my American editors figured that readers who’d made it through the first book in the series would be able to cope with the characters eating ‘biscuits’ rather than ‘cookies’, and using ‘torches’ rather than ‘flashlights’, and so on. Or maybe my editors just got tired of arguing with me.

*Thanks to Bookshelves of Doom for the link to the Graffiti Moon discussion.

Posted in books, this writing life, young adult | 17 Comments

In Which I Take More Photographs

Yesterday, I posted some photographs of a Lion and a Unicorn. Here’s where they live:

Southern entrance to Main Quad

They’re over the southern entrance to the Main Quadrangle of the University of Sydney, which is Australia’s oldest university. On the left side of the photo you can see part of MacLaurin Hall, the original university library. Here’s another view of MacLaurin Hall:

MacLaurin Hall

I sat for exams in that building a couple of decades ago. (I blame the extremely distracting neo-Gothic architectural details for my poor results.)

If you walk through the Lion and the Unicorn entrance, you’ll find yourself in the Main Quadrangle, which features a beautiful jacaranda tree:

Jacaranda tree, Main Quadrangle

The tree is covered in vivid purple flowers in late spring. It’s said that if you haven’t started studying by the time the jacaranda flowers, you’ll fail all your exams. Here’s another view of the Main Quad, showing the Clock Tower and Carillon:

Clock Tower, Main Quadrangle

According to Tess van Sommers, who wrote the text of University of Sydney Sketchbook, “If architect Edmund Blacket had had his way, this tower would have had even more ornate turrets than it has now; some almost deliriously convoluted pinnacles were among his rejected designs.”

At the left side of the photo, you can see a bit of the Great Hall, a “scaled-down version of Westminster Hall in London”. At the moment, most of it is covered in scaffolding, so I didn’t take a photo from the front, but it’s a fairly spectacular edifice. Apparently, its construction in the 1850s and 1860s did not go smoothly, with workmen often abandoning the site to join the latest gold rush, while politicians kept raising doubts about “the need for such frivolities as gargoyles”. Also, “for some years, the frontal majesty of the block was marred by an approach through cow pastures” and what is now Victoria Park featured a dam in which horses bathed and occasionally died.

But what, you may ask, does all this have to do with my current writing project? Good question. I don’t have a very detailed answer yet, but wait and see. It’s possible that something interesting and historical and book-shaped will (eventually) appear.

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In Which I Take Some Photographs

Last month I bought my very first camera, so that I could take some photos of the setting of my next novel. This work-in-progress doesn’t even have a title yet. All I’ve done so far is read a lot of books about the subject, fill a folder with research notes and think up some fairly silly jokes and snippets of dialogue. The next step – organising all of this into some sort of coherent plot – seems so overwhelming that I’ve been avoiding it. However, today I decided to go for a long walk around the place in which the novel is set, in the hope that this would inspire me to do some work. I took my camera along and here are some of the results.

First, the Lion:

The Lion

His ferocity is slightly diminished by the fact that a few of his front teeth have fallen out. Actually, I’m not sure if the Lion is going to make it into my book, but the cute little gargoyle in the top left corner of the picture definitely is.

And then, the Unicorn:

The Unicorn

I’m assuming it is a Unicorn (and not just a horse with a weird lump on its forehead), because it’s helping the Lion hold up a coat of arms. Poor Unicorn has lost most of its horn, but hey, if you were a hundred and fifty years old, bits of you would probably be falling off, too.

Next is Mephistopheles, spitting into a fountain:

Mephistopheles

Unfortunately, he’s missing most of his nose, but he still looks quite evil. He was (supposedly) designed by Australian architect Leslie Wilkinson in 1925, and possibly inspired by Australian artist Norman Lindsay. (I accidentally typed ‘Normal Lindsay’ just then, which I’m sure he would have found highly insulting.)

And then there’s Gilgamesh, who is either hugging or strangling a lion:

Gilgamesh

I have to admit that I don’t yet know much about Gilgamesh, except that he was the king of Uruk (now Iraq and Kuwait) in about 2500 BC and was regarded as a demigod in Mesopotamian mythology. He also went on a ‘quest to seek immortality’, which is very useful for my purposes. I’m choosing to believe he is embracing the lion, even though the lion doesn’t look very happy, because Gilgamesh also found ‘compassion, friendship, courage, love and peace’ on his quest. That’s nice, isn’t it?

Tomorrow: More photographs from my expedition, and I’ll explain where you can find Gilgamesh and his friends. (Shh, Sydneysiders, I know you’ve already worked out where the photographs were taken! But I’m trying to create some suspense here!)

Posted in this writing life | 2 Comments

FitzOsbornes at War Excerpt And Other Exciting Things

'The FitzOsbornes at War' Australian paperbackI’ve just done a bit of work on my author website – given it a fresh coat of paint, swept the floors, polished the windows, that sort of thing. Oh, and I’ve also added a new annexe and arranged some shiny new articles on the shelves. There’s a photograph of the cover of my new book. There’s an excerpt from the book. There’s a bit of historical background information for readers who’d like to know more about England during the Second World War. There’s even a set of free downloadable Teaching Notes for the novel, if you happen to be a teacher, although the Teaching Notes won’t be available until the book is released in April.

Gosh, two blog posts in twenty-four hours. I don’t know what’s come over me. It must be all the excitement of having a new book out in seven weeks.

Posted in books, The Montmaray Journals | 15 Comments

‘Dated’ Books, Part Five: Emil and the Detectives

‘Dated’ doesn’t have to mean ‘painful to read’ – sometimes it can mean ‘charming and sweet and nostalgic’. Emil and the Detectives, written by Erich Kästner in 1929, is an example of a children’s adventure story that is old-fashioned in the best sense of the word. Young Emil (age unknown, but he seems to be about ten or eleven) encounters a suspicious bowler-hatted man during a journey to Berlin. While Emil is asleep in the train carriage, the man steals a large sum of money that Emil is meant to deliver to his grandmother. Emil doesn’t feel he can report it to the police – he’s already afraid that he’s going to be arrested because he chalked a red nose and black moustache on an important statue in his home town. No, Emil must track down the missing money himself in Berlin. It’s a daunting task for a country boy – but luckily he encounters Gustav and his gang of friends, who are eager to be part of the adventure.

'Emil and the Detectives' by Erich KästnerAh, the good old days – when rural mothers sent their young sons off on unaccompanied, four-hour train trips to an unfamiliar city, and city parents allowed their boys to roam the streets of Berlin in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, they were also the days when girls weren’t allowed to have adventures. Emil’s female cousin, Pony, would love to help, but all she can do is bring refreshments to the boy detectives. On the few occasions she gets to speak, she says things like “I wish I could stay! I’d make you some coffee. But I can’t, of course. Nice girls like me have to be in bed in good time” and “I’m just doing the washing up. Women’s work is never done”. I’d love to have seen Pony run down the thief on her bicycle or something. Still, the boys – Gustav with his motor horn, the bespectacled Professor, little Tuesday and the rest – are so full of energy, fun and ingenious plans that the story skips along. It’s also nice to see a boy character who cares for his mother in lots of practical ways and isn’t afraid to discuss this with his new friends (although Emil does threaten to punch anyone who calls him a mummy’s boy).

I do wonder what today’s young readers, accustomed to fast-paced modern adventure stories, would make of a book that begins with Mrs Wirth, the baker’s wife, having her hair shampooed by Emil’s mother. It takes a few chapters before anything remotely suspenseful or adventurous happens, although the action speeds up once Emil reaches Berlin. Young readers may also struggle with some of the dialogue, unless they’re familiar with Enid Blyton. The edition I borrowed from my library was a 1959 English translation (see photograph above – although I must emphasise that Sydney City Library does stock other, more recent, children’s books). Gustav says things like “Cheerio, Emil. Gosh, I’m looking forward to this. It’s going to be smashing!” and the stolen 120 marks is translated into “seven pounds” (which still won’t mean much to young readers). I think a modern translator might have done a better job of conveying the original German text, although I suppose it’s always difficult to translate slang.

The edition I read also included a rather poignant introduction by Walter de la Mare which says, “There is nothing in it that might not happen (in pretty much the same way as it does happen in the book) in London or Manchester or Glasgow tomorrow afternoon.” This may have been true when he wrote it in 1931, but it certainly wasn’t ten years later. By that time, Britain and Germany were at war; the cities of Berlin, London, Manchester and Glasgow were being bombed; and young Emil and his friends were of age and probably conscripted into the Nazi war machine. Meanwhile, the author, a pacifist, had been interrogated by the Gestapo and had his books burnt by the Nazis. His home in Berlin was destroyed by bombs, but he survived the war to write more books for children and adults, including an autobiography called When I Was A Little Boy. Emil and the Detectives was made into several films, the most recent in 2001 (in which, apparently, Pony had a bigger role to play, hooray!).

Thank you, Alex, for drawing my attention to this book in one of your comments a few months ago. I think I might have read it as a child, but I had forgotten almost everything about it, so I thoroughly enjoyed all the plot twists and jokes.

More ‘dated’ books:

1. Wigs on the Green by Nancy Mitford
2. The Charioteer by Mary Renault
3. The Friendly Young Ladies by Mary Renault
4. Police at the Funeral by Margery Allingham
5. Emil and the Detectives by Erich Kästner

Posted in 1930s, books, film and tv, WWII | 7 Comments

Careful, He Might Hear You by Sumner Locke Elliott

There’s always a bit of trepidation when you re-read an old favourite from your teenage years. Will the book turn out to be No Good At All? Will it be obvious and sentimental and vacuous? Will it reveal that you used to have appalling taste in literature? Thankfully, Careful, He Might Hear You proved to be just as good as I remembered – perhaps even better, because I can now see the immense skill that went into the construction of its apparently effortless prose.

Careful, He Might Hear You was Sumner Locke Elliott’s first novel. It was published in 1963, but he’d been writing plays, radio serials and television scripts for decades before that, and it really shows in his writing. He knew all about plot and pacing, how to balance action with introspection and how to reveal character through dialogue. But writing a novel also allowed him to write beautiful descriptions of a setting he knew very well, that of Sydney during the Depression. The novel is based on his own childhood, in which he was the focus of a bitter custody battle between several aunts. His mother, a popular Australian writer, had died giving birth to him and his father, an irresponsible alcoholic, played no part in his upbringing. On one side of the battle was his anxious, motherly Aunt Lillian (named ‘Lila’ in the book), the wife of a hard-working but poor Labor politician; on the other was rich Aunt Jessie (‘Vanessa’), recently returned from England and determined to transform her nephew into a proper little gentleman. The situation was complicated by his odd Aunt Agnes, disciple of a bizarre American cult, and his bohemian Aunt Blanche (‘Vere’). The author does a superb job of narrating events from the perspective of six-year-old PS, who is by turns amused, baffled and angered by the grown-ups running his life. It’s a pleasure to watch him slowly gain some control over the adults, although the author also manages to evoke some sympathy for them. There is poor, over-worked Lila; her long-suffering husband, George; emotionally-repressed Vanessa; even exuberant Vere is revealed to have hidden sorrows. There are also gorgeous descriptions of Sydney in the 1930s – a cruise liner steaming into Sydney Harbour, a train trip to dusty Woronora Cemetery, Lila’s suburban backyard and Vanessa’s Point Piper mansion and Vere’s chaotic flat in King’s Cross:

“Vere poured the golden-coloured bubbles into two peanut butter glasses and handed one to Opal. They immediately forgot him and began talking about their friends who were all in a mess, thwarted, broke, maddened or suicidal, my dear. They had wonderful names like Dodo, Ukelele, Widget and Gussy. When they came to visit Vere, they brought her old shoe buckles, brooches, half-used pots of cold cream, combs and long, cool bottles because they were always dying of thirst, just dying of thirst, my dear, and their voices would grow brighter as the daylight faded, would fly around the small room like birds let out of cages telling about gay-sounding things, about parties and dancing, full of mysterious words that had to be spelled out in Lila’s house and which made his heart jump for the time when he would understand and be a part of the things they told about with such laughter.”

'Careful, He Might Hear You' by Sumner Locke Elliott and 'Sumner Locke Elliott: Writing Life' by Sharon Clarke

'Careful, He Might Hear You' by Sumner Locke Elliott and 'Sumner Locke Elliott: Writing Life' by Sharon Clarke

Careful, He Might Hear You was a huge success in the United States, Britain and Germany, but didn’t sell very well in Australia, as Sumner Locke Elliott explained:

“I distinctly remember that [his agent] told me 50,000 copies had already been sold in Germany, where there had been three editions in six months, and naturally I was elated. Then I asked about Australia and she said, ‘Seven.’ And I said, with some delight, ‘Well, 7,000, that’s not bad at all – it’s only a small country.’ But she said, ‘Not 7,000, just seven – seven copies.’ And you know, I just couldn’t believe it – my own country and only seven copies!”

Actually, it wasn’t his own country by then, because he’d moved to the United States in 1948, escaping a country that had banned his plays and had little tolerance for gay men. He lived in Los Angeles, and then New York, where he died in 1991. Several of his novels (Waiting for Childhood, Eden’s Lost and Water Under the Bridge) revisit the autobiographical themes of Careful, He Might Hear You, but it is his final novel, Fairyland, that’s probably the closest to his real life. Fairyland is the depressing tale of a young man growing up in Australia, desperately ashamed of his desires for other men but longing to find true love. It includes scenes taken from the author’s life, such as when he was bashed nearly to death in Wynyard railway station, and it shows the conservatism, violence and hypocrisy of the country where he grew up. Sharon Clarke wrote a good biography called Sumner Locke Elliott: Writing Life, which I recommend for anyone wanting to know more about the story behind Careful, He Might Hear You. There’s also an excellent film version starring Robyn Nevin and Wendy Hughes, which came out in 1983. (At least, I remember liking it when I saw it, but that was a very long time ago. It is possible I had terrible taste in movies then.)

Anyway, I was very pleased to see that Text is bringing out a new edition of Careful He Might Hear You as part of its Australian Classics series. This book deserves to find lots of new readers.

Posted in 1930s, books, film and tv, my favourite books | Leave a comment

In Which I Acquire Two Shiny New Things

Last week, I acquired two shiny new things. The first was a shiny new camera. I’ve never owned a camera before (no, not even one in a mobile phone, because I’ve never owned a mobile phone, either), so this has been a very exciting and time-consuming experience for me (hence the lack of blogging). Oh, the wonders of modern technology. This camera can do anything – it even has a MAGIC shooting mode. Unfortunately, I am a Muggle, so most of the magic has eluded me. This is particularly disappointing because one of the MAGIC modes can cause objects to sparkle. This immediately made me want to go around taking pictures of people, then showing them the photos and saying, ‘LOOK! You’re a sparkly vampire!’, but so far, the only thing I’ve managed to turn into sparkles is a picture frame. However, I will persist. I actually bought the camera so I could take photos of the setting of my next book (which is set in Sydney, where I live), so those photos may appear on this blog in the near future. Or not, depending on how my photography skills develop.

The other shiny new thing I acquired was the Uncorrected Bound Proof (or ARC, if you’re American) of my new book, The FitzOsbornes at War, which looks like this:

'The FitzOsbornes at War' Australian ARC cover

Click on the image to see the cover more clearly

Pretty, huh? I tried to make it sparkle, but all that happened was that a red splodge with an uncanny resemblance to a lobster claw appeared on Sophie’s frock. (Oh, camera, sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.) Here’s a photo of the spines of all three Montmaray books, so you can see how enormous the third book is:

'The Montmaray Journals' Australian covers

Click on the image to see the covers more clearly

Actually, it doesn’t look much bigger than the second book, but it really is – it’s more than five hundred pages. Massive. My next book’s going to be a lot shorter.

Here, have a photo of a rainbow lorikeet:

Rainbow lorikeet

Posted in books, The Montmaray Journals, this writing life | 18 Comments