Ladies of Fantasy

Not to brag, but we really do have a great personal library.  Picking books for this blog is sometimes overwhelming because there are just so many great books to pick from.

Ladies of Fantasy

I'm sure this wasn't published as a childrens' book, but it does contain two authors, Joan Aiken, and E. Nesbit who are on our children's bookshelves.

Great selection of stories, all spooky and mysterious, by women writers.  There a nice biographical introduction to each of the stories and of course the Edward Gorey dust jacket (ripped and taped as it is) is splendid.

"Searching for Summer" by Joan Aiken is one of my favorites.  Her story is not disturbing or weird, in fact it's quite sweet, but strange nonetheless.

Other books by Joan Aiken:
The Wolves of Willoughby Chase
The Moon's Revenge

Past Eight O'Clock

Since they share a room often Madeleine will listen to the books I read to Charlotte.  And the other way around.  Last night Madeleine read to us a very funny Edgar Allan Poe story she found called "Loss of Breath".  I had no idea Poe wrote humorous stories and this one was pretty outrageous!  (I don't think Charlotte got much out of it though.)

I'm quite partial to Joan Aiken and I thought this was a perfect bedtime book (it's even called Goodnight Stories).  Starting while we were on vacation in Illinois, we read one every night.  Madeleine listened for a few nights and thought that some were better stories than others.  ("Oh, Can Ye Sew Cushions?" was in my opinion the very best one.)   But each of them has that mixture of magic and  feel of Dickens that is particular to Aiken (Leon Garfield and Roald Dahl as well).  

Past Eight O'Clock

Goodnight Stories

Joan Aiken

pictures by Jan Pienkowski

The fantastic silhouettes of Jan Pienkowski are scattered throughout the book.  Each story is based on a lullaby and includes some rhyming verses. 

There was one thing about their house that they didn't know.  Every year, on a special day in winter, when the sun shone upon one particular spot on the floor in one particular room- if somebody- just at that moment- happened to be singing a special note of a special song- then, something might happen. 

More books by Joan Aiken:

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase

The Moon's Revenge

Other books illustrated by Jan Pienkowski:

Christmas

The Moon's Revenge

We missed the perigee moon.  It was so cloudy on Saturday night that even the largest moon rising couldn't be seen from our yard.  We managed to spot a smaller waning version the next night, still looking almost full to us.

The Moon's Revenge

Joan Aiken

illustrated by Alan Lee 1988

I remembered this story of a cranky and angry moon who has to give a boy a wish but makes him pay for it.  Seppy throws his shoes at the moon but when the moon finally comes down with his face all dented and bruised, he is told that until all the shoes are back in the grandfather clock (where they were stored) his little sister won't talk or make a sound.

As the years pass, Seppy plays his fiddle and nurtures a sweet relationship with his silent sister. Then comes the day that he saves his seaside town from a sea monster and his sister's first words are spoken.

Joan Aiken is a wonderful storyteller. Though we've loved her novels, this is our first picture book of hers, and the pictures by Alan Lee are quite beautiful.

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase

Margaux and I always seem to be inspiring each other to buy books (to both of our husbands’ chagrin). I sometimes wonder if it is an unspoken competition- I’ve seen her library and I can’t tell who’s winning but I did get a 10 year head start on the children‘s books.

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase (The Wolves Chronicles)

Joan Aiken 1962

It was dusk- winter dusk. Snow lay white and shining over the pleated hills, and icicles hung from the forest trees. Snow lay piled on the dark road across Willoughby Wold, but from dawn men had been clearing it with brooms and shovels. There were hundreds of them at work, wrapped in sacking because of the bitter cold, and keeping together in groups for fear of the wolves, grown savage and reckless from hunger.


Last month I spied in the front seat of Margaux’s car Black Hearts in Battersea which led me to The Wolves of Willoughby Chase (The Wolves Chronicles) (which I happily found for a $1 the next day at the used bookstore). I started it on a Friday night and finished it Saturday while sitting outside on my patio with the wind gusting away at my clothesline and four black-caped 12 year old girls running through the yard re-enacting Harry Potter. So a story of Victorian children, wicked governesses and a grand estate with secret passageways seemed a good fit for the afternoon. Madeleine read it the next day and liked it too. I knew it would be her cup of tea.

He spoke with a pleasant country burr.  Sylvia, lying drowsy on her heap of leaves, thought that his voice had a comfortable, brown, furry sound to it.

But Bonnie, with choking utterance, demanded, "Why are you wearing my mother's dress?"