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HarperCollins Children's Books has bought a new collection of previously unpublished work and out of print folk tales by Alan Garner for publication this autumn.

Editorial director Nick Lake bought world rights to Complete Folk Tales from Karolina Sutton at Curtis Brown. Published in November 2011, the book comprises stories from Garner's out of print Book of British Folk Tales and The Hamish Hamilton Book of Goblins, as well as never before published stories from Garner's archive.

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I was asked by a fantasy and science fiction survey what I thought were the weaknesses of the two genres. This is a bit like being asked in a job interview to identify your own personal weaknesses – one doesn’t want to admit to anything. But in the end I replied ‘Poor characterisation and an over-reliance on magical and scientific hardware.’ I don’t think this was unfair. As a teenager I gobbled up Isaac Asimov’s ‘Robot’ and ‘Foundation’ books, and Arthur C. Clarke’s many and various space odysseys, but what I loved was the vast sweep of the black canvas they both painted on – prickling with stars and smudged with dusty, embryonic galaxies. Against that background, the human characters in their books were unmemorable. I’m trying right now, and I can’t think of even one of their names.

As for fantasy, the same thing applies. The world is often more important than the characters. I don’t think I would recognise Colin and Susan from Alan Garner’s brilliant early fantasies, if I saw them in the street. Even in ‘Lord of the Rings’, characters are more often conveniently defined by their species (elf, dwarf, hobbit etc) than by personality. Could you pick Legolas from an identity parade of other elves, or Gimli from a line-up of other dwarfs?

You have several wonderfully memorable science-fiction/fantasy characters on the tip of your tongue at this very moment, I can tell, and you are burning to let me know. I can think of a notable exception myself: Mervyn Peake’s cast of eccentrics in the Gormenghast books. I’ll look forward to your comments... But moving swiftly on, I began to think about memorable characters in children’s fiction – which as a genre, like science fiction and fantasy, tends to be strong on narrative. Does children’s fiction in general, I wondered, have characters that walk off the page?

So here, in no particular order, is a partial list. Mr Toad. The Mole and the Water Rat. Winnie the Pooh, Eeyore and Tigger. William. Alice. The Red Queen. Oswald Bastable and Noel Bastable. Arrietty, Homily and Pod. Mrs Oldknowe. Dido Twite. Patrick Pennington. Mary Poppins. Mowgli. Long John Silver. Peter Pan. Ramona. Huck Finn. Jo, Meg, Beth and Amy. Puddleglum. Pa, Ma, Laura and Mary. Stalky. Moomintroll, the Snork Maiden and the Hemulen...

All of these characters, I would argue, are so strongly drawn that once you have met them you will never forget them. I will bet that for each of the above names (so long as you’ve read the books) you knew instantaneously who I meant, and had a picture of them in your head and the ‘flavour’ of them in your mind, just as if they were real people. These characters have a life beyond the page: not only is it possible to imagine them doing other things besides what their authors have described, it’s almost impossible not to believe that in some sense they possess a sort of independent reality.

There are many good books in which characterisation is not very important. Fairytales have always relied on standard ‘types’: the foolish younger son whose good heart triumphs, the princess in rags, the cruel queen, the harsh stepmother, the weak father, the lucky lad whose courage carries him through. This is because fairytales are templates for experience, and they are short: we identify with the hero, and move on with the narrative. Fairytales are not about other people: they are about us.

But the crown of fiction is the creation of new, independent characters. Though Mr Toad may share some characteristics with the boastful, lucky lad of Grimm’s fairytale ‘The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs’, he is nevertheless gloriously and individually himself. Huck Finn is more than a poor peasant boy or a woodcutter’s son. Children’s fiction is a fertile ground in which such characters can flourish.

Visit Katherine's website at www.katherinelangrish.co.uk

Is it possible to convey the particular essence of a writer’s style – its unique flavour? That’s no easy task, but luckily for reviewers and blurb writers in a hurry, there’s a convenient shortcut, which is to suggest that a book be seen as the literary lovechild of two others. Philip Reeves’ Here Lies Arthur, for example, might be described as “Morte D’Arthur crossed with House of Cards”, while Animal Farm would entice new readers under the banner of “Charlotte’s Web meets The Lord of the Flies!” If you don’t like the idea of these Frankensteinian creations, or are simply squeamish at the thought of beloved classics making the beast with two backs, an alternative is draw on the vocabulary of mind-altering drugs, as in “Coraline is like Alice Through the Looking Glass on speed!”

This way of putting things makes life easier for the reviewer, and can be a service to the reader too, to whom it says, in effect, “You liked Author Y, why not give Author X a go?”

Well, that’s fine, but what does it say about the writers themselves? Writers tend to be ambivalent about the whole notion of influence. Of course, all writers have influences, and most will admit to them. I was delighted when reviewers said that some of my books were reminiscent of Alan Garner. Garner was (and is) a hero of mine, and someone whose influence on me has been palpable. What better model could one take? At the same time, I didn’t want to be seen as just an Alan Garner knock-off. I wanted to be recognized for my own voice. So my pleasure in such acts of recognition was never entirely free of chin-jutting rebelliousness. This quasi-Oedipal anxiety is of course exactly what Harold Bloom’s classic, The Anxiety of Influence, is all about.

Besides, we live in an age that fetishizes originality and novelty. Nothing could be more complimentary than to be described as a “A unique talent”, “A fresh voice”, or “A writer who shows as little respect for convention as a hyperactive toddler at a society wedding.” In that sense, to be compared to anyone is a little galling. Thus, J. K. Rowling (remember her?) caused some irritation with her refusal to admit that her work was steeped in the tropes of children’s fantasy literature, presumably because she feared that to do so would diminish her achievement. In fact, much of her work only makes sense in the context of those tropes.

What would I recommend to the hapless blurb writer, torn between praising a book in terms of other books and praising it for being one-of-a-kind? If I had to pick a cliché, I think I would go for “In the tradition of...” It’s a phrase that settles the matter equitably, paying due regard to the fact that writing comes from somewhere, without closing off the possibility that it may be going somewhere else. So, blurb writers of the future, remember the phrase: “This is a highly original book in the general tradition of Alan Garner.”

Alternatively, just go with “The Bible crossed with Shakespeare... on speed!”

I happened to be in the British Library this week, and there's a walk-in exhibition of children's poetry. I'd really recommend a visit if you can spare the time: one highlight for me was a notebook with Christina Rossetti's 'Who has Seen the Wind' in her own writing. There's also a letter by Ted Hughes, but the bulk of the exhibition is of printed books, old and new, open at some utterly wonderful poems, together with illustrations, some charming, others spine-tingling. Among the spine-tingling ones I'd include a version of 'The Highwayman' by Alfred Noyes, illustrated by Charles Keeping in his inimitable scrawly ink and wash. Atmospheric, menacing, and ever so slightly camp, his masked highwayman glitters in the moonlight on a pale ribbon of a road, under bare trees whose branches appear to undulate as if underwater.

As my new book, Dark Angels, comes out this week, it set me thinking about the relationship between art and text: particularly cover art. We set a great deal of store on the perfect cover these days: publishers, authors and booksellers alike worry over the exact impression the cover should make: will it stand out? Will it have 'pick-up-a-bility'?

This seems to be a fairly modern phenomenon; and I'm not sure that children are as fussed as we are about superb covers. The Harry Potter books fared quite well without them. And while some of the classic books I loved best as a child had amazing covers, others did not: some (like my version of The Wind in the Willows, which was a wartime austerity volume passed on to me by my mother), had no artwork on the cover at all, and none inside either, and it didn't put me off. In fact, thinking about it, that's probably where I gained my habit of pulling out the most obscure looking books from second-hand shelves - to see if a dull cover hides some treasure within. To the left here is the 1959 cover of Lucy Boston's The Children of Green Knowe. It wouldn't exactly stand out on the shelf, but I loved and still love its dark mystery.

Perhaps we didn't have great expectation of covers when I was a child, as witness this 1968 Puffin edition of Meindert DeJong's The Wheel on The School. No self-respecting modern publisher would dream of putting out anything so dull. Would they?

Yet really, it does everything necessary: it's got the intriguing title, the author name, and a mildly interesting picture - even if the cartwheel with nesting storks appears to be hovering in mid-air. Compared with my modern cover, above, it could even be regarded as pleasingly uncluttered. At any rate, with such a book one wasted no time in opening it to see what it was about, and so the decision whether to read it or not was prose-based...

Others were better. Here's my much-read 1965 copy of Alan Garner's The Weirdstone of Brisingamen. I don't know what the first edition cover looked like, but this picture has stuck with me for life. I love the brooding gaze of the dwarf and the rich, magical colours. All the same, it's quite clearly an 'old' look. You wouldn't get that framing effect today: the separation of artwork from title and author name. And here's the 1961 cover of Rosemary Sutcliff's classic Dawn Wind: it looks more modern, perhaps because Charles Keeping, who illustrated nearly all her books, was such an strong and innovative artist. In fact, the art here is almost more important than the title, and the author's own name all but fades into the dark shadows at the children's feet. Today we'd be wailing for gilt or silver foil to 'lift' the cover. And yet I'd hate to see this changed. You could recognise 'a Rosemary Sutcliff' at a glance, precisely because Keeping's style twinned with her historical genius made such a fantastic pairing.

Back then, of course, books even for older children were full of wonderful illustrations, and nobody thought it babyish. (Even today I can't see that anything by Charles Keeping could be regarded that way.) My Dark Angels, in common with many modern books for the 9+ 'market', has no illustrations at all, which is a shame, really. Edward Ardizzone was another artist whose work was instantly identifiable: here's a cover he did for one of my favourite books by the much-neglected Nicholas Stuart Gray: Down In the Cellar (1961).
Here again, the artist is as important as the author and shares the credit on the cover. His work wonderfully expressed the spooky, yet homely world that Gray conjured up (a bunch of E Nesbit-style children come across a wounded man in an old quarry, and discover he has escaped from a nearby fairy mound.)

I do love the cover HarperCollins has provided for my Dark Angels, but it will have to make its way in the world without a friendly artist to interpret some of its scenes between the pages. I can't help feeling a bit wistful - but I'm sure that one thing hasn't changed over the years: what matters most is what is under the cover, not what is on it.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t writing. My mother wrote; my grandmother wrote: it always seemed an occupation as natural as breathing. Back in my early schooldays, the emphasis was always on reading and writing. (Arithmatic fell on stony ground.) Fairytales, poems and Bible stories went in, and poems, descriptions and stories flowed out.

I still have an exercise book from when I was about seven. Remember those lined exercise books, with their bendy paper covers in dusty blues, greens or greys, two staples in the spine? The teachers cut them in half to make two smaller books with one staple each. On each page we wrote what were termed stories, but really they were only a couple of lines long:

I have a litel dog her name is Lassie wen she liks to sleep in frunt of the gas fir she lies down flat.

I see the moon floting jently up lik a silver ball.

“Floating gently up like a silver ball…” I was the same writer then as I am now.

When I was nine I began writing poetry. I’d heard that Shakespeare was the greatest English poet, but he’d lived hundreds of years ago. Nobody had written better poetry since then? Look out world, I thought, here I come! I’d need to practise, of course, I knew that: but I reckoned that by the time I was grown up, I would probably be at least as good as Shakespeare. I spent my time reading, writing, and riding ponies. My schoolfriends admired my stories, especially if they were about horses – or later, about ethereal love affairs between lords and ladies ‘as beauteous as the stars’. I was rubbish at all subjects except English and Art, but in those I knew I was good.

My verse drama career kicked off with an adaptation – don’t laugh too hard – of ‘Lord of The Rings’, in pantomime couplets. I took this very seriously. My group of friends were going to act it out in the apple loft of our barn (we lived in the country); and we spent ages making costumes out of curtains. The script has long since vanished, but I can still remember two lines from the play. Frodo and Sam are struggling across Mordor, and Frodo pauses to exclaim:

“The Dark Tower seems – ah! – just as far away.
We’ll reach it not tomorrow, ne’er mind today!”

Pretty good, huh? See that neat poetical inversion, and the apostrophe? I can’t remember now if the play was ever put on, but we got some fun out of the rehearsals. And meantime I was writing a book of short stories about magic: it was springtime: I used to sit outside scribbling, and the sunshine and the celandines somehow found their way into the stories.

“Once there was a golden land, full-filled with mirth and joy
And in that land a lady lived, more beauteous than the stars,
And she took joy in simple things
Like butterflies with coloured wings
And little flowers, and green green grass,
And crickets’ chirp, and birdsong…”

Oh, it’s bad, I know it’s bad! But I didn’t know that then. All I knew then was that I was writing my absolute best: and to this day I don’t know a better feeling.

Soon after that I began a series of discoveries. I discovered Alan Garner, and started writing a long story based on ‘Celtic’ mythology. I discovered Rupert Brooke, and threw myself into sonnets beginning, Dream-like on the broad river drifting slow… I discovered Mary Renault and tried my hand at historical fiction. And, somewhere along the line, I discovered how to be self-critical…and the gates of the Garden of Eden shut behind me.

I was pretty awestruck to see a comment by Alan Garner over at the Fidra blog, which I read regularly. Vanessa was talking about book banding in the UK, and Garner contributed his thoughts. My mental image of Garner is so tied his physical place--his home in Cheshire next to Alderley Edge,--that it's hard for me to imagine him as an online presence. Garner is the author of some truly excellent books for children, my favorite of which is The Owl Service.

So that led me to a google search, to see if a new book was forthcoming (no mention of one), and then on to the unofficial Alan Garner website, which has links galore to articles, interviews, and much more. Including a link to a newspaper article about a real life Owl Service event, headlined "Neighbor Killed by Owl, Not Husband."

Wandering around the Garner website, I found the perfect birthday present for my husband, who is a Garner devotee to the highest degree (the type who thinks Red Shift is a masterpiece, as opposed to those of us who think it is too depressing to even have in the same room as us let alone read), and who should now stop reading this if in fact he is.

Back in 1969, a television series was made of the Owl Service. It was filmed on location, in color, with Garner's active participation throughout the process. Here's a fascinating article about it's production. Even though it was filmed in color, it was broadcast in black and white, but in February it was released as a dvd in color. With bonus features.

There are, of course, lots of movie adaptations of children's books flowing forth like, um, floodwaters or whatever, and most of them I have no particular interest in seeing. But the Owl Service, made with the creative involvement of the book's author, is one I look forward to watching.

And perhaps I shall also buy my husband another book for his Garner collection:

It's been announced that Philip Pullman's Northern Lights has won the Carnegie of Carnegies (about which I posted in April). I confess, I voted for Alan Garner's The Owl Service, simply because it had such a huge impact on me as a child reader.




(I confess that I heard this news late yesterday but I was trying to work on both my current fiction tales (simultaneously more or less), so I didn't post it !)

The Guardian has an interview with Alan Garner in their "Why I Write" series. As I've mentioned here before I read his The Owl Service at school and it scared me so much it took me over 25 years to go back and re-read it, and then I couldn't stop reading his books (you'll find reviews of nearly all his books somewhere or other on this Blog). I also went to hear him speak at the Cheltenham Festival of Literature last October, which was a fascinating treat. Anyway this brief interview is interesting. I particularly liked the following two exchanges:

What advice would you give to new writers?
AG: Get on with it and don't ask for any advice. If you are going to write, nothing will stop you and if you are not going to write, nothing will make you.

What do you need to write?
AG: Dedication, without compromise.

I've had friends comment on the amount of time I devote to my writing (both non-fiction and fiction) - and my response has always been along similar lines to Garner's - if you want to do a thing well you have to practice and practice and practice - and that means dedicating yourself to it (be it writing, playing the sax, painting or whatever) 110% as far as I'm concerned.

I really like the Guardian's "Why I Write" series--it's short, sweet and they always choose interesting writers to interview. This month Sarah Kinson talks to Alan Garner about why (and how) he writes. I love this exchange:

• "How do you survive being alone in your work so much of the time? It's the other way around--how on earth do I put up with all the interruptions?"

I first read Alan Garner's The Owl Service as a child and I remember that it scared me silly, so it was with some trepidation that I picked it up this morning to re-read it. However, I need not have worried - there's no doubt it's a peculiar story - but I didn't find it scary. Perhaps because I've read more mythological works since I originally read it aged about 9 or 10.

Garner takes a tale from the Welsh Mabinogion, that of Bloduwedd, and re-works it into a more modern setting (the book is actually set in the 1960s). Bloduwedd was a woman made from flowers by Gwydion to marry his nephew Lleu. She later betrayed her husband with a lover and for that was punished by being turned into an owl. This "love triangle" is played out relentlessly in the valley in which Garner's characters are currently holidaying. I'm not going to try to explain the ins and outs of the story as it's quite complicated, instead I'll just point you in the direction of Kimberly Bates' Greeen Man Review of the book.

If you're interested in Alan Garner, there are articles and interviews on Robert Mapson's comprehensive The Unofficial Alan Garner site. I've got The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and The Moon of Gomrath, plus The Stone Book Quartet and The Voice Than Thunders to read yet, so I shall definitely be reading more of Robert Mapson's site.