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“Books transmit values. They explore our common humanity. What is the message when some children are not represented in those books?”

Last weekend Walter Dean Myers, a previous National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature (the US equivalent of the UK’s children’s laureate) wrote a thought-provoking article in the New York Times about the need for books for children’ and young people to truly reflect the world around them. In his piece he was focussing on the lack of black children and young adults in books written for them. But I think much of what he writes is more widely applicable, as was explored and demonstrated at last month’s Inclusive Minds ‘What About Me?’ day at Imagine Children’s Festival. Among many other activities that day there was a discussion of the “concept of normal” in books for children and young adults, and the importance of diversity, of showing all sorts of children, from all sorts of backgrounds, so that all children could read books and see themselves somehow reflected, included and valued.

In a beautiful case of serendipity, with Myers’ words in my head, I picked up The Astonishing Case of the Stolen Stories by Anca Sandu (@anca_sandu).

Across a fairy tale kingdom, all stories have been stolen. The palace bookshelves are empty, the bookshop has no stock, and even cookery books and spell books are missing. A trio of detectives are called upon to crack the case and track down the culprit, but when they do so the explanation given for the thievery is heartbreaking:

“Well, I don’t know who I am,”
replied the thing. “I’ve found everyone
else in a book, but never me –
I thought if I kept looking
I might find a book with
my story in it.”

Children may not always be able to articulate it, but it is tremendously powerful when they find a story in which they recognise something of themselves, or something of what they could be. It’s the same for us grown ups, isn’t it?

Sandu’s gorgeous story ends positively with the detectives not only solving the case, but going further and taking steps to solve the source of the problem. Upbeat, witty, inventive, with compassion and creativity – there’s lots to love here.

The Astonishing Case of the Stolen Stories is tantalisingly ripe for use in literacy lessons, begging for teachers and children to work together to write their own stories. There are even jokes about enriched vocabulary, which will revitalise the drive for kids to use “wow” words or “power” words.

Sandu’s illustrations are shot with spring-like pastel hues and achieve a quite magical balance of clutter free, smooth spreads (enhanced by slightly glossy printing) sprinkled with humorous detail: See how many fairytale characters such as the Gingerbread man and Rapunzel you can find hidden in the illustrations.

Although I love The Astonishing Case of the Stolen Stories and would urge you to read it yourself, I also feel Sandu perhaps missed an opportunity in illustrating her story about the importance of readers seeing themselves somehow reflected in the books they read.

There are few female characters in this book; the humans that feature are all white, and the only inclusion of someone with any sort of disability is a pirate with an eye patch. Now I’m not saying that every book has to feature equal numbers of males and females, and different skin colours and people who use wheelchairs (for example), but I am observing that even in a book where your attention is drawn to the fact that readers like to find themselves in books (and thereby explicitly acknowledges the importance of reflecting society in its beautiful diversity – even in a fairy tale kingdom – in the stories we write and read) perhaps more could have been done to reach out to those kids who find it hard to find themselves in stories.

Inspired by the hunt for stories in Sandu’s book we set up our very own storybook treasure hunt. M and J were designated storybook detectives for the afternoon, after I had hidden books and clues around the house and garden.

The clues were very simple and just asked the girls to work out a location based on a book I knew they knew. So, for example, I asked “Where was Pushka trapped until Lulu rescued him?” (The oven, see Pushka), “What gave Ulysses the squirrel his name?” (A vacuum cleaner, see Flora & Ulysses) and “What are you sorting out when you go DING DONG BANG or BING BONG CLANG?” (the kitchen pans, see All Join In).

They then rushed around finding the books I’d hidden…

And when they had solved the final clue we sat and read a selection of the books they’d found whilst munching on a treat:

These are entirely edible storybooks made from no-cook fudge, coloured to match the pastels in The Astonishing Case of the Stolen Stories

The recipe is super easy and brilliant for kids – just 3 ingredients (not including colouring or sprinkles), and all you need to do is mix everything together. The resulting “fudge” is lovely to play with, a little like edible playdoh. If you put it in the fridge for a little it firms up nicely and makes perfect books!

Whilst making the no-bake-fudge story books we listened to:

Alongside reading The Astonishing Case of the Stolen Stories you could enjoy:

What sort of stories are you currently hunting for?

Disclosure:I received a free review copy of this book from the publisher.

As it happens, I spent much of the weekend being a princess.

M and J too – although, perhaps technically that meant that I was the queen?

Either way we’ve been living it up like only princesses do, testing our sensitivity by sleeping on mattresses and quilts piled almost as high as the ceiling.

In fact we had 4 mattresses, 6 quilts and (because we’re modern princesses) 5 duvets. Oh, and 1 pea.

Our royal highnesses can thoroughly recommend trying out a towering bed like ours. It was the source of much mirth and merriment (you’ll never hear this in the stories, but such beds are very, VERY wobbly), even though we have all ended up black and blue with bruises all over because of that pernicious pea.

You see, (if you wish to believe it) The Princess and the Pea by Hans Christian Andersen and Maja Dusikova tells the truth: You really can tell who is of royal blood, and who is not, by placing one small, green, sweet seed of Pisum sativum under a mountain of mattresses. We scientifically investigated this and Andersen has been proved correct.

Should you not be in a position to carry out rigorous research yourself, then have no fear; this version of The Princess and the Pea, published by Floris Books, has everything, absolutely everything you could wish for.

The well-known story is told eloquently and magically, with no post modern twists, just classical elegance. But it is Maja Dusikova’s illustrations which make this a book sing. Beautiful, graceful, delicate, detailed, soft and luxurious, Dusikova’s illustrations have tip-top fairy tale quality. Imagine a rainbow coloured incarnation of Hans Christian Andersen Award winning Lisbeth Zwerger and you’ll get some sense of Dusikova’s style.

An utterly delightful book, I don’t know of any more charming version of this tale, traditionally told.

Whilst playing at being a princess we listened to: