Book of the Week

The Big Book of the Blue by Yuval Zommer

big book of the blueFollowing The Big Book of Bugs, and The Big Book of Beasts, Zommer dives into underwater territory with The Big Book of the Blue, and I think it’s his best yet. It bears the same format as the others in the series, large format hardbacks with double pages dedicated to a theme, and questions to introduce these – such as ‘How Does An Animal Breathe Underwater?’ And ‘When is a Turtle a Sea Turtle?’ Each question is answered with a simple one or two sentence paragraph.

This is a book more about trivia than in-depth knowledge, so for young readers it works spectacularly. I had no idea that a flying fish was blue on top so a bird flying above can’t spot it against the sea, for example, and these are just the sort of facts that children like to spout at random.

Zommer excels at creating distinctive illustrations too. The book is a wash of blue, gentle lines and shading in the background giving a sense of movement and depth (except for the deep exploration, in which there is a completely black background to represent menace and the unknown – the place where the sunlight doesn’t seep).

But it is the creatures that perform. Zommer gives his fish two eyes, even when they are in profile, which makes them stand out as different, but also gives them a slightly comic feel. His octopuses side-eye from the page, his sharks grin wickedly whilst glancing around them, his penguins look slightly mad as they waddle the shoreline or dive for fish – their heavy bones sinking them to the bottom of the page. Only the whales remain one-eyed for the main – their bodies too large to show both.

These features – the protruding mouths of the puffer fish, the pursed lips of the boxfish – lend a cartoon element to the illustrations, making them playful and imbuing them with personality. And accompanied by the scant text with minimal yet intriguing facts, this feels like an immersion in a strange playful underwater world.

There are numerous small touches that bring a smile to the reader – the magnifying glass to illuminate krill, (although nothing is to scale, this is an imagining of the sea in pictures), the teeth of the leopard seal, and also the pages on ‘how to talk like a sea life expert’. But there is plenty of seriousness too – Zommer points to the plastic polluting the sea, overfishing and global warming. There is information on sea depths, and a page on rock pools.

And there’s even an interactive element, with a ‘Can you Find’ feature throughout.

An index gives the book a proper non-fiction attribute, and with a sea-life expert consulting, this feels like the perfect starter non-fiction. The facts are verified, and although the text appears slight, there is a wealth of information within. By the end, even I could ‘talk like a sea life expert’, understanding words such as habitat, tide, food chain and plankton.

Chatty in tone, serious in information, this is a an exciting way to entice children to find out. You can dive into the deep for your own copy here.

How to Bee by Bren MacDibble

how to beeRecently, I’m seeing a great deal of science fiction that’s set in the very near future (mainly in adult fiction, but also in some children’s novels), as if we’re nearing our own dystopian landscape. But generally, this genre works well. It enables the author to envision a future not that different from the present, but tweaking elements to make a specific point. For the reader, it coaxes belief in this imagined world, in that there is a startling familiarity with specific things, despite the larger world being a little different.

In How to Bee, Bren MacDibble goes with the premise that due to widespread use of pesticides, the bees have died out, and to continue growing produce and farming, pollination must be done by children (leaping from tree to tree with special pollinating wands). Based on real practises in Chinese provinces, where humans do actually hand-pollinate pear blossom, and her real-life experience of growing up on a farm, the book feels authentic and disturbing, yet ultimately hopeful.

What shines most from this dazzlingly yellow book is MacDibble’s use of ‘voice’ to tell Peony’s story. Peony is nine years old, a worker on the farm, although not yet a Bee, because to be a Bee a child must be ten and awfully quick. She’s working towards it, but not quite there yet. Her voice, as she tells her story, feels new, fresh, lively, irrepressible but mainly fast, as if she’s scrabbling over the words as she would scrabble across the trees. The voice feels unschooled, unrestrictive, and matches her immense physicality. The play on words of the title sum up Peony’s whole existence. This is a girl bursting with life. She wants to be as much as she wants to bee.

Of course, like all good novelists, MacDibble must throw obstacles in Peony’s way, and this is where things become dark and difficult. Peony is removed to the city, away from her beloved grandfather and little sister and farm, to work with her mother in one of the big city houses. The episode of her removal from the farm is fairly traumatic, and the two worlds – city and country – could not be more disparate.

In fact MacDibble’s vision of the future is fairly bleak. Human rights are eroded – the children of the farm are broadcast ‘lessons’ on loudspeakers in the morning while they work – there is no universal right to education. Once in the city, Peony is a servant rather than merely staff – workers’ rights too seem to have been eroded. What’s more, there is unpoliced domestic abuse and cruelty to children. Poverty is widespread and there is no welfare system net in place.

But for many children, they will not read into the bleakness of this. Peony’s move to the city is an adventure, and she swiftly makes friends with the girl of the house – Peony’s kind nature and selflessness shining through. And there is an uplifting ending with Peony’s love for family and nature winning the day. Mainly because Peony’s voice is so lively and uplifting, and her shining adoration for the farm, her immediate family and nature triumphs against everything dark and evil.

The book is well paced – short sharp chapters, with quick forward movement like the bee pollinators themselves, the reader is propelled forwards on Peony’s adventure. The reader feels an enormous amount of empathy for this small child in a frightening world – having a more all-seeing terrain of her story than Peony does herself.

For all its shortness, MacDibble breathes plenty of life into the book. There are complex dynamics between characters – particularly the mother/child bond, and also an unabashed look at inequalities in society.

MacDibble writes with confidence and ease – the book feels different, atypical, which makes it shine brightly in the field of current children’s fiction. It turns out being is a complicated business, but with books such as this, children will buzz with excitement about their ability to influence their own futures. You can buy your copy here. I would suggest as 9+ years, but beware some of the darker episodes. Young teens who are reluctant readers will love the story’s depth whilst appreciating the brevity of the text.

Positively Teenage by Nicola Morgan

positively teenageI often find that nonfiction books about the teenage years are coated in a light film of negativity. From titles such as ‘What’s Happening to My Body?’ as if maybe an alien force has invaded and implanted, or ‘Survival Guides to the Teenage Years’ as if it’s a time of nuclear holocaust. There’s no doubt that one of my favourite things as a teen was to read the ‘problem pages’ in the magazines, but it’s good to finally realise that we shouldn’t be dealing with teenagers as ‘problematic’, but addressing these years with positivity.

Nicola Morgan has been writing about teens for a long time, winning the School Library Association Information Book Award in 2015 for The Teenage Guide to Stress.

But for many parents, especially those parents who have children just approaching the teenage years, they want a book that doesn’t scream ‘stress, bullies, or problems’ on their cover in reference to teens. It would be better to have something that promotes the empowerment that comes from becoming a teenager – the uplifting moments, the maturation, the joyfulness. That’s not to say there aren’t issues – but they can be dealt with in a calm manner, and Nicola Morgan has acknowledged this in her knowledgeable guide, Positively Teenage, which contains some excellent ideas, as well as an assortment of easy-to-comprehend scientific facts and data thrown in – aimed at the kids themselves, but useful for adults to dip into too.

Morgan has based the premise of the book around the principles in the word FLOURISH – Food, Liquid, Oxygen, Use, Relaxation, Interest, Sleep and Happiness. The only slightly ambiguous word here is ‘use’, by which she means using all areas of the brain for a wealth of activities.

The book guides the reader gently through each area, with the book divided into sections such as Positively You, A Positive Attitude, A Positive Mood etc. The headings encompass large ideas, but actually the text itself is broken down well and is easily digestible. In each section there are paragraphs of text, with emboldened headings, some bullet points etc, but also quizzes to answer questions about yourself (you know, the type of thing they used to have in teen magazines, which were always such fun), a host of weblinks and further research, but also lots of good neuroscience explained pitch perfectly.

Morgan traverses the terrain between general things that are applicable to every generation, such as recognising character strengths including gratitude, honesty, forgiveness and so on, with an acute awareness of modern concerns, such as doctored internet pictures, controlling screen use, mindfulness and what neuroscientists have recently discovered about the difference between the teen brain and the adult brain, in terms of need for sleep, taking risks, temptations, emotions and more.

There are sections on building a growth mindset, developing resilience, eating correctly, sleeping well, exercise, and developing interests and hobbies, as well as cultivating a decent personality – in terms of being grateful for what you have, understanding and tolerating others’ differences and opportunities, helping others, trust and friendship. There’s even a section on reading for pleasure!

One of the aspects I like best is how Morgan suggests the many areas over which teens have control, and suggests taking responsibility for them, (which helps to reduce stress and conflict). We’d all do well to take the advice.

The only slight negatives I could find are that the diet suggestions feel very Western in content, and there’s always a worry that web links printed in books go out of date – whereas lots of the text advice doesn’t date. Morgan also suggests visiting a library to find out about community classes etc, but sadly, many teens will now find a library hard to access.

There are no swishy graphics here – which the book doesn’t need. It’s a handy paperback size for slipping into a large pocket or small bag, and the information feels compact, and yet full.

This is generally a really positive book that I’m happy to push into the hand of any pre-teen in expectation for the great years that they have ahead of them. As Morgan herself says: “The more we know of how we work, the better we can make ourselves work.” With this book, teens will have the knowledge and tools to be the best person they can be. You can pre-order it here. The book publishes on 24 May 2018.

What Lexie Did by Emma Shevah

what lexie didEmma Shevah’s previous novels, Dara Palmer’s Major Drama and Dream On, Amber have been hugely popular in the library, so it was no surprise to hear that my first tester readers of Shevah’s newest book, What Lexie Did, had been queuing to read it after me. Answering my question, what did you like about it, they were thrilled to tell me: “there are absolutely no boring bits at all”. High praise indeed from Year Six pupils.

Lexie is part of a large Greek-Cypriot family living in London. She has a very close relationship with her first cousin, Eleni, until a new friend arrives, Anastasia, and simmering jealousy rises to the surface at a family picnic. Lexie’s subsequent brush with telling the truth and being labelled a snitch makes her re-evaluate her loyalties, and also when to tell the truth and when not, so the next time an opportunity arrives to lie, she knows just what to do…

Shevah’s prose is immensely easy to read. What Lexie Did is written in first person from Lexie’s point of view, and accompanied by extensive doodles framing the text on every page, as if it were a pre-teen diary. (Ilustrations by Helen Crawford-White). This establishes an intimacy with the reader, so that although the reader sees the narrative unfold from Lexie’s point of view, they can understand where she’s going wrong, and see further than Lexie herself.

It’s a clever strategy, and neatly evokes a strong camaraderie between the reader and the protagonist, helped hugely by the fact that Lexie’s narrative is bouncy and vivacious, just like the character herself. She is quirky, interesting, and completely honest with the reader, and so the reader feels immediately immersed within the story.

Although ostensibly a story about a loss in the family and a subsequent argument, the plot unfolds to address two very current issues – the fracturing of society through loss of a sense of community and family, and our ability to know when to tell the truth and when to lie, and how we know what is fake and what is real.

Lexie is part of a large Greek-Cypriot community that spreads beyond her immediate family to encompass cousins and grandparents, but also friends and neighbours. When her grandmother dies, it affects more than just her immediate family. Shevah portrays the positive aspects of the feelings of belonging the community promotes. There’s food of course – delicious descriptions of the sensuous nature of food and the memories and emotions it arouses. There’s also a vast support network, shared passions and behaviours, and the strong moral ground the community gives. The argument fractures this community temporarily, and through its absence Shevah explores the power it had when it was in place.

The portrayal of a Greek-Cypriot community also affords Shevah the space to explore the special memories of childhood that it is giving Lexie – the days out, family gatherings, routines, Sunday school, and intimacy and love. Shevah isn’t Greek-Cypriot herself, but this doesn’t matter. Her extensive research gives form and passion to the community she describes.

The other aspect – the truth telling – is integral to the plot. Lexie’s lie leads to a heap of trouble for herself and her family, but also provides her with the opportunity to grow as a person. Shevah explores how a warm and loving childhood provides us with the space to make mistakes and learn from them. And it is more than just one large lie. Lexie looks at the confusing nuances of truth-telling – when it is right to lie and when not, when secrets are justified and when not. And funnily enough, her grandfather’s resolution creates confusion of its own, satisfying the issue the family has, but masking the original version.

Lexie also learns the value of friendship and loyalty, in a novel that reaches for honesty, identity and integrity. Shevah has succeeded in all three – this is a warm and accessible novel, and leaves the reader desperate to make their own cinnamon cake and galaktoboureka (recipes at the back), to experience a smidgen of the life Lexie leads. You can buy it here.

The Great Big Book of Friends by Mary Hoffman and Ros Asquith

great big book of friendsIf you have a child in primary school, on at least one occasion you will have had a child return home from school with a ‘friends’ issue.

This book follows on the success of The Great Big Book of Family, and The Great Big Book of Feelings, both of which aim to show that there’s no right way to be a family, and no ‘right’ way to feel. The Great Big Book of Friends shows the reader that there is a multitude of ways in which you can be a friend, and have friends, but that the number of them isn’t important.

It’s always hard for a child to understand how some people act, why friends fall out, when they behave strangely, or are jealous. It can be difficult to see previous friends seek new friends, old friendships die out, and friendship groups switch and change – as they frequently do at this age.

Hoffman very simply explains some of this behaviour, and gives a reassuring guide to what’s okay. From defining who might be a friend, to expressing that one needs to be a bit brave in seeking friendship, the book is overwhelmingly encouraging and comforting. Some people find it easier to make friends, some don’t have best friends, and Hoffman explores how friendship changes over the ages from being something about sharing playdough perhaps to sharing opinions.

The book covers a range of psychographics, exploring what happens when friends don’t share our interests or think like us – very topical indeed. No one wants to be surrounded by an echo chamber all the time.

The cartoon-like illustrations all assist Hoffman in making her points, as well as showing the reader a wide range of people – both in demographics and diversity. The colours are bright and inviting; and there’s a humorous cat on each page, also struggling with the concept of friendship, which lightens the subject considerably. Each page is active – there are speech bubbles and thought bubbles, and a range of borders from stick figures holding hands to emotions shown when friends are ‘lost’.

There’s nothing ground-breaking here of course; some of this will seem like truism or platitude, but the concepts and ideas are expressed excellently, and it’s an informative back-up tool for exploring an upsetting or new situation. In the end, this aims to show what is normal and acceptable – and it turns out that everything is – even solitude.

The Great Big Book of Friends will be a core title in helping to support a child’s well being and emotional and social development, but it’s also fun. A positive, heartening book, which may serve as a good reminder to those adults sharing the book with their child – the best friendships develop from the smallest kindnesses. You can buy a copy for a friend here.

The Infinite Lives of Maisie Day by Christopher Edge

maisie dayAre you real? It was a question sparked by the picture book There’s a Tiger in the Garden by Lizzy Stewart that started our primary school library club thinking about their own existence. And then Steven Hawking died, and it was time to revisit questioning the universe and the role we play within it.

So Christopher Edge’s latest book seemed ideal as the next book to watch out for. Coming after Albie Bright and Jamie Drake, Maisie Day is the newest addition to Edge’s range of books that deal with complex scientific questions and weave them into a children’s story. And perhaps, not just the newest, but the most sciencey and yet mystifying of the three so far.

Maisie wakes on her tenth birthday busting with excitement and anticipation. But this child genius finds herself in an empty house. Not only have her family vanished, but outside the window what should be a sunny garden soon turns into an all-consuming blackness that is gradually expanding, and even entering into the house, swallowing the materials around it as it does so. Nightmarish doesn’t do justice to the sheer terror of this.

And yet, alongside this horror story (in alternating chapters) is the somewhat happy story of what does happen on Maisie’s birthday – the food preparations for the party, a normal family life revolving around her.

Luckily, Maisie is not only insightful, but a scientific whizz, and so she must use her knowledge of the laws of science to outwit the blackness, and return her state of being to the Maisie in the ‘happy birthday’ chapters.

This is an intelligent and challenging book with oodles of science written into Maisie’s thought process. For some, perhaps even a little too much, and this is hard science. Luckily, Christopher Edge has a good handle on it, and manages to convey most of it in an easy to understand and genial way.

There’s a terrific plot twist near the end that tries to explain, or rather question, the reality of all that we see around us. What it means to be human, to be real, and what our lives really are all about. Involving virtual reality, and the means by which we understand our universe and place within it, this book holds difficult concepts, but within short bitesize chapters, and an easy-to-understand narrative.

Gratifyingly, the book features not just a female lead in Maisie, but also an older sister who is crucial to the plot, and so fits well into the current ambition to pull more girls into science and computer related subjects.

This is an unusual book, very different to other novels for this age group (8+ years), and is short and accessible. This helps the reader to absorb the science whilst not getting lost in the plot, and this is some achievement. From black holes to expanding universes, sibling rivalry and electric endings – this is an intriguing and accomplished book.You can buy it here.

Charlie and Me by Mark Lowery

charlie and meAt first glance a simple tale of brothers who take a train journey back to the destination they holidayed at the year before, this wonderfully nuanced novel turns into something much more profound and moving.

Thirteen-year-old Martin, and his younger brother Charlie, are travelling 421 miles from Preston to the tip of Cornwall to recapture the wonder and delight they experienced when they watched a dolphin the previous summer.

But travelling unaccompanied has its hazards and pitfalls, and Martin almost stumbles just purchasing the ticket. And Charlie is not a normal child; he was born too early and needs extra care and attention.

There is so much to like about this novel. The detailed compartmentalised journey – each section of the novel separated into the segments of the journey, be they train times or just sitting on a bench on a platform waiting, work brilliantly, because they pace the novel, and set the tone. Each minute is accounted for: visiting the toilets on the platform, taking a train in the wrong direction, and by doing this Lowery captures a child’s anticipation and excitement of a journey, as well as the small details children notice, such as the other people, the atmosphere, the passing landscapes.

Martin takes his notebook along, and encouraged by a teacher at school, he jots down poems as a way to remember what he’s doing, and express his emotions. The physical book reproduces Martin’s poems on lined paper, in between the journey narrative, which is a nice production touch. But the poems also indicate to the reader the journey of Martin’s mind, as his thoughts become more intense and his emotions confused.

There are occasional flashbacks too, to the summer before, when Martin and Charlie first observed the dolphin from the Cornish harbour, and these capture the wonder of nature, the excitement of the dolphin’s leap from the water, and also the local community who track the dolphin’s whereabouts.

Through the present tense journey, and the flashbacks, Lowery cleverly delineates the sibling relationship, expressing Martin’s pride in his responsibility, yet also impatience and frustration, particularly with Charlie, who is unique and vulnerable. There is also plenty of humour wrapped up in the shades of their relationship; the authenticity of sibling kindnesses and annoyance shines through.

This is particularly apparent in the dialogue between the brothers, and in Martin’s thought-process as he spells out his worries and his protective nature. But mainly, the book feels chatty and warm – these characters make you want to journey with them.

Lowery drops clues throughout the story that this journey isn’t all it seems. Four hundred and twenty one miles is a long way to go to revisit a dolphin, and astute readers will work out that something else is awry too. The final denouement is quite devastating, and will be upsetting for many, because in the end this is not a tale of adventure but a story that deals with mental health and loss.

Despite this shattering turn at the end, the story does feel uplifting – exemplified by the care and support around Martin, and kindness of strangers throughout the book. And what’s more the clues and strands tie together neatly at the end, and will provoke thought and discussion.

The style is easy to read, the plot paced beautifully, and yet the book is also emotionally sophisticated. In turns, light and deep, this is an inspiring read. You can buy it here.

How Does a Lighthouse Work? By Roman Belyaev

how does a lighthouse workDo all children have a fascination with lighthouses? Is it the Rapunzel-esque structure – that tall cylindrical height forging above the wild whipping waves? Or perhaps the power of the light beam, stretching for miles across a wide expansive sea? Or the image of the lighthouse keeper him or herself, spending long lonely hours tramping up and down the spiralling stairs, polishing the glass and ensuring safety for all who travel near? From the picturebook series The Lighthouse Keeper by Ronda and David Armitage, to Emma Carroll’s Letters from the Lighthouse, to more grown up fiction by Sarah Moss (Signs for Lost Children and its protagonist, the wonderfully contained Tom Cavendish) to The Light Between the Oceans by ME Stedman, the romanticism of the lighthouse has never been far from fiction.

But what about non-fiction? This book, which I predict to sweep awards, sits perfectly with its fine balance of teaching the science behind the lighthouse, and appealing to the romanticism at the core. Full-colour illustrations, (with a nod to William Grill in the small differentiated drawings of different kinds of lighthouses, lamps and sounds), lend a narrative arc to the information. The reader is part of a group of children on a school trip being taught about lighthouses. The illustrations, in coloured tones of lighthouse red, sea blue and oilskin yellow traverse the lighthouse scene, giving the reader different perspectives – at a distance, a cross-section, from the top deck (complete with girl steaming up the glass with her breath), and from out at sea.

Inspiring both emerging architects and budding scientists, the narrative aims to decipher the beating heart of the lighthouse, from the way it works on the most basic scientific level, to the question of why there are different types of lighthouses, to the role of the keeper.

Impressed and intrigued, I learnt as much about a lighthouse as if I had been on a tour to a real one (I’m still waiting to experience that). Each spread poses a question (as if from a child on tour), and it is answered astutely, clearly, succinctly. The text is easy to understand, accessible and fascinating. I learnt about the Fresnel lens, the distance light can travel, the strategic positioning of lighthouses, their history (even the Roman coin on which the lighthouse at ancient Alexandria is shown), structure, and what happens in fog. Impressively, Roman Belyaev seems to have covered every angle (no pun intended), from what people did before lighthouses to a lighthouse keeper’s log book, and the colours with which lighthouses are painted.

At the end, Roman Belyaev invites the reader to design their own, presumably based on everything they’ve learnt, but with terrific guidelines. Like a magazine quiz, the reader has to consider where they are building it, its height and shape, its design and pattern.

This is a book that profiles STEM and engineering with a real-world application. But not only that, it does it clearly and precisely with a particular kind of beauty and lustre to the illustrations. Far more accessible than most lighthouses, and brilliantly translated from the Russian with the help of Masha Kulikova, this book’s beam of knowledge should stretch across the widest seas.

You can buy it here.

The Mystery of the Golden Wonderflower by Benjamin Flouw

golden wonderflowerI’m constantly bamboozled when I read a great English novel and discover that the author has named the plants that the protagonist brushes past in her garden, or the genus of trees that the antagonist climbs to launch his ambush. At my primary school we occasionally went on a ‘nature’ walk, but I gathered little more than conkers and pine cones. Now, my children can’t identify different leaves or wildflowers, they falter at nature – and this is despite having a house rich in books and traversing a field every morning to get to school (we do live in urban London though). The Lost Words helped enormously with this last year, but now, in British Science Week, (9th to 18th March), a simple picture book has caught my eye, published in Germany, translated from the French, and now on our own shores.

The Golden Wonderflower introduces Fox, a botanist, who realises that there’s a picture missing in one of his botany books. No one has yet drawn this rare precious plant called the Wonderflower, so Fox sets off on a long journey to find it.

Not only does Fox experience the most delightful journey, wandering through woodland – illustrated with light and dark, tall trees and a faint mist that feels so real that the reader can almost breathe the sweet air themselves, but also he recognises the plants along the way, and demonstrates his knowledge to the reader. Hence, every few pages of the story, Fox shows us the names and details of the plants – a pine leaf, tree and cone, all illustrated and labelled. A spruce, a beech, an oak and so on.

golden wonderflower inside

There are friends too, a bear fishing (with a rod), cousin Wolf who likes his food, and a marmot who points the Fox in the right direction up the mountain. Here, Flouw illustrates the different levels of the mountainside, in a landscape that highlights the different fields of crops, and the array of trees, which subtly change shape as he traverses up the mountain.

When the reader, and Fox, finally encounter the flower, the production team behind the book have done a beautiful job, for it is truly gaspworthy (using more than a little foiling – it shines). Fox knows not to pick it, for it is rare, so he sketches it instead, showing the reader the names of the different sections of a flower.

The illustrations are reminiscent of Jon Klassen in tone, although slightly more angular, and the colours reflective of the landscape – yellow, brown, green and orange hues in the woodland, blues and purples higher up the mountain, and of course, an abundance of green, particularly at Fox’s lush and verdant house.

Flouw also uses colour to delineate the time of day, and it’s the sunset at the top of the mountain that’s particularly magnificent, with colour sweeping across the page giving an atmospheric peace to the spread, and using the play of shadow to enormous effect.

The book aims to indicate the pleasure of a nature walk, the beauty of observing the natural world, but also points to conservation, as Fox realises how wrong it would be to pick this wonder flower. Instead he leaves it where and how it was – this is where it is most beautiful.

This book, conversely, should be picked up and leafed through, time and time again. It’s a wonder itself.

You can buy it here. Please note the book may be called The Golden Glow in the US.

Brightstorm by Vashti Hardy

brightstormThe great era of exploration is over. Much of our world has been seen and documented, but humans haven’t lost their drive to be the first, to make their mark, and certainly haven’t let go of the idea of heroism. But so often the marks humans make, the braveries people display, are small acts of heroism in a known world. So, we turn to fiction to replicate that experience of exploring the unknown, of seeking out a new world and experiencing new adventure within it.

Brightstorm by Vashti Hardy is doubly exciting, because it is not just the reader who is doing the exploring, but the protagonists too.

Twelve-year-old twins, Maudie and Arthur Brightstorm hear that their explorer father has died in an attempt to reach South Polaris – the very southernmost point in their world. Not only that, but he broke the moral code of explorers, stealing fuel from his competitors on his way. The daring twins are intent upon not only clearing their father’s name, believing he would never do such a thing, but also exploring the region for themselves – after all they are Brightstorms.

What could be a run-of-the-mill adventure story, Hardy turns into a fresh, insightful and clever novel of exploration with her clear-eyed writing, and her host of memorable characters.

Maudie possesses exemplary engineering skills, using her analytical mind to solve problems and provide technical solutions. She may be sited in a fantasy landscape, but she approaches technical tasks with a modern outlook – pragmatic and able – there is no gender discrimination here. She forges a prosthetic iron arm for her brother, but has the foresight to see that when they are lost, with the addition of a pool of water, it could act as a compass.

Indeed, Arthur is almost the only male in this female dominated cast, and it is he who shows his sensitive side – painfully aware of the feelings of others, sensing shifts in body language, danger in the air. But he too is an explorer – brave and intrepid.

Maudie and Arthur join Harriet Culpepper’s expedition to track back to South Polaris, on her ingenious sky-ship that uses water as fuel in a new environmentally friendly development, much to the admiration and envy of her peer explorers. What’s more, her ship has a canny disguise, to avoid saboteurs, and even I was envious of this quirk.

The environment is touched upon further with mentions of whale huntings, and humans’ domination of the landscape, all cleverly woven into the story without being preachy or self-congratulatory.

But as well as being aware of our modern leanings towards gender equality, saving the environment and STEM solutions, Hardy also shows us a mirror of our own world in the inequalities of hers. There are the slums of Lontown, the drudgery and hard work. There is the indignation of those of the Third Continent, who do not like to be called by such a derogatory name. And there is also, of course, a villainous explorer who will stop at nothing to sate her ambition.

But among the cogs and compasses, there is humour too: the cook Felicity and her penchant for endless cups of tea, Harriet and her dashing ways of pushing through the darkest moments.

Small flickers of other inspirational books light the path for readers too – I sensed a glimmer of Pullman in the ‘sapient’ animals of the Brightstorm world, who are less present than the daemons of Northern Lights, but also crucial to the plot, as well as the helpfulness of wolves from Piers Torday’s The Last Wild, and many more besides.

But mainly, Brightstorm feels fresh and modern – because although Hardy has veered into fantasy by creating her own world for the Brightstorm twins, she shows us its beauty through its simplicity. None of the landscapes are hard to envisage, none of the ships’ whirrings hard to grasp. This is a beautifully written children’s novel, matched by exquisite production with foil on the cover and a map on the gatefold.

It is testament to the accessibility of Hardy’s novel that it makes the reader think at the end, in the same way that the talking wolves ask the question to the twins – why is it that humans have the need to explore? When it is not for food or shelter – is it to seek the truth? Or to discover the beauty and complexity of the world? Like fiction, it is both and more. To discover a bit of ourselves, and a taste of the possibilities that are out there. Brightstorm is a triumph – it’s time to take the adventure. You can buy it here.