Japan

London Days Out and Origami


Last year there was a flurry of colouring-in books for adults, with the aim of providing relaxation and mental health benefits, (and making some money for the publishing industry). Personally I prefer to just read a book, which in itself has many mental health benefits. However, I’m also going to try my hand at origami, because publisher Nosy Crow has teamed up with The British Museum to produce a new collection of books and they’ve started with something rather special.

As part of my summer series looking at places to visit in London that are children’s book related (see also Defender of the Realm and Hetty Feather), this book inspires another trip. Currently at The British Museum there is an exhibition called Hokusai: Beyond the Great Wave, featuring works from Katsushika Hokusai, one of Japan’s great artists. So, to link with the exhibition, Nosy Crow have published this rather beautiful book about Japanese culture, featuring haikus, pictures and origami.

The book called Origami, Poems and Pictures, is exactly that. It gives instructions for constructing 13 origami models (with 50 sheets of paper for practice), and alongside each set of instructions is a relevant painting from the museum’s exhibition, the Japanese name for the object, and a haiku – so that different elements of Japanese tradition are explored.

I love that the first offering from Nosy Crow and the British Museum isn’t based on Ancient Egypt – which tends to be the ‘go to’ theme when children visit – but instead they have focused on a culture that children may not have been taught about in such depth.

What’s more, the quality of the book is excellent – I found the pieces of paper easy to tear from the book, and each is patterned and coloured uniquely. The instructions are clear to follow, with a difficulty level chart on each page so that you can work your way up the scale, and there is something rather calming and satisfying about achieving the shape. (And I’m certainly not very adept at these sort of things usually). That’s not it though, for then there is the haiku to read and reflect upon, and also the painting to absorb.

The book and paper are bound separately so that even when all the paper is used, this remains a useful little book, with no rips, just a slightly loose cover. There’s even a tech advanced QR code to watch instructional videos if you find that easier. I can’t fault the book – and it is a lovely introduction to a new culture. What’s more, it could entice me to the British Museum to visit the actual exhibition (which runs from May 2017 to 13 August).

I have a feeling though, that I may be doing origami longer than that. Recommended for ages 5-9 years. You can buy it here.

Lots by Marc Martin

Quirky and intriguing, Lots is a book about impressions – what do we notice when we go somewhere? How does one place distinguish itself from another? What would we like to explore? Marc Martin has chosen 15 places to illuminate – and they certainly shine. With handwritten text, illustrations reminiscent of William Grill in their intensity and number, this is a vibrant, bold and wonderful new non-fiction book. One for children who want to find out the little known facts about a place, or see it represented in resplendent colour. Check out, in particular, the illustration of the favelas in Rio, or the bawabs in Cairo, the Salema fish in the Galapagos, or the solitary walker in Times Square, New York. This is a beautifully illustrated book that deserves awards for both its quirkiness and illustrations. I’m delighted to host Marc on the blog today, explaining why he chose the places he did. 

It was really difficult to choose which places to include in LOTS – there are so many fascinating destinations with their own distinct character that I would have loved to include, but with only 32 pages, there are only so many places I could pick!

So, I started with a long list and slowly narrowed it down. I wanted to include a mix of iconic cities, such as New York and Paris, as well as places that not everyone might think of, such as Ulaan Bataar and Reykjavík. I also made sure I chose locations from each continent, and tried to ensure there was a good mix of cities and nature.

In terms of focusing on each place, I tried to identify some of the particularities of each destination – some are more colourful, some are busy, some are full of animals, some are really hot and some are quite cold! I asked myself questions such as: ‘What are some of the things you would notice if you were travelling here?’ or ‘What is it about this place that makes it different from other cities?’.

I’d also visited about half the places in the book, so personal experience helped shape my decisions – for instance, in Delhi I was amazed by how many cows there are roaming the streets (and how colourful they can be) – it’s not something you’d see in other cities outside of India!

If I hadn’t been to the place I was drawing, I relied on research and information from people who had been there. Once I started researching a particular location in more detail, it was usually pretty easy to discover some of the more unique things about it. There’s an amazing amount of information on the internet, and you can usually find travel blogs and other websites that give you insights into what makes a place particularly different.

Some of my favourite places in the book to visit are New York, Ulaan Bataar and Delhi. I love New York because of how vibrant and fast-paced it can be – there are lots of people from all around the world and you can always find something to do just by wandering the streets. Delhi can be slightly more challenging for visitors, just because it’s very chaotic and there’s a sense of the unexpected, but it’s a very energetic city with lots to discover. Lastly, I like Ulaan Bataar because it’s a little bit hard to get to, and off the beaten track. The people are extremely friendly, and the vastness of the Mongolian landscape is stunning.

With thanks to Marc for the guest post. You can buy it here

Little People in a Big World

Little people have existed in mythology and folklore dating back through history to the American Indians, whose petroglyphs show them horned, as well as in Ancient Greek mythology where pygmies (from the word pygme meaning the length of the forearm), were written about in The Illiad. In one tale the pygmies bind down the sleeping hero Heracles, a story that was later adapted by Swift for Gulliver’s Travels. Ever since Tom Thumb was published in 1621, purported to be the first fairy tale printed in English, there have been a litany of books about ‘the little people’ for children. The Grimm brothers collected a tale about Thumbling, ‘a child no longer than a thumb’, and as far away as Japan there is folklore about a child called ‘Issun-boshi’, translating to ‘Little One Inch’ – a tale about a miniature samurai with a sewing needle for a sword, a soup bowl for a boat, and chopsticks for oars. More familiar to current readers are Thumbelina by Hans Christian Andersen, The Borrowers by Mary Norton – which won the Carnegie medal in 1952, and Old Mrs Pepperpot by Alf Proysen. Little people are a great device for storytellers – they can have crazy adventures in the most mundane landscapes; they can be a mirror into our ‘big society’, or a criticism of it – AN Wilson considered The Borrowers to be an allegory of post-war Britain – weakened people living in a decaying country, using recycled materials.

pocket pirates

A truly delightful addition to the canon of children’s literature about miniature people, Pocket Pirates: The Great Cheese Robbery by Chris Mould shows the author to have an inventive mind and the ability to pack a huge story into a tiny world. From the delightful premise – a story of pocket pirates who live in a ship in a bottle in an old junk shop – to the execution, complete with hugely detailed illustrations on almost every page – this story jumps off the page with excitement and is hugely entertaining. In the first story of the series the ship’s miniature cat is kidnapped and held to ransom by mice. The pocket pirates must steal cheese from the shop’s kitchen fridge to take to the mice and rescue their cat. Chris Mould employs all the traditional tricks of the trade when writing about small people, from the fear of the dog (huge from their tiny perspective), to his adaptation of normal sized objects to work for the pocket pirates – washing up sponges as chairs, shoelaces as ropes, a mustard pot for a bath – as well as magically using the tale of the Trojan Horse and transporting it into his story, replacing the horse with cheese in order to fool the mice. However, Chris’ attention to detail is exceptional – it takes much empathy to write from the position of a tiny person, incorporating practicalities as well as fears and obstacles, and Chris Mould does it with aplomb. This is a fun story – it leaves the reader wanting the next in the series – and is bound to be a huge hit for all small children! Age 6+. You can purchase it here.

blue glass

An old tale, but just translated into English for the first time is The Secret of the Blue Glass by Tomiko Inui, about the little people who depend on the milk of human kindness, literally and metaphorically. The little people, a family of four – Fern and Balbo and their children Robin and Iris, live in a small library in a house in Tokyo. They are originally from England, but have been entrusted to the care of a young boy called Tatsuo in Japan, and then over the years to his family and children, and in particular, his small daughter Yuri. The little people rely on a small amount of milk being placed in the sparkling blue glass goblet for them every day by a human. When the Second World War comes to Japan, who are then at war with England, the humans and the little people become affected by external events, and nothing is the same again. Weaving complicated themes of patriotism, loyalty, cultural and moral identity, Tomiko Inui tells a bittersweet narrative of the impact of war on those behind the battlefields, and the children evacuated during the war effort. There are some wonderful descriptions of life in the Japanese countryside during the war, and much to be extrapolated about loyalty to one’s family, and standing up for what you believe in. There were some interesting similes from this tale written in 1959 about the little people being battered about in their basket in transit, much like migrants on a voyage across the ocean. This book is still relevant in so many ways – although tough to get into for the first chapter or so (which I put down to the translation warming up). The ending comes as rather a shock, but the book works as an eye-opener into another culture, and is an intriguingly different text from the run-of-the-mill contemporary children’s book. For those 8+yrs. Click here to buy a copy.

little girl
The Little Girl and the Tiny Doll by Edward and Aingelda Ardizzone was first published in the 1960’s but wonderfully is still in print and well worth a read. It tells the story of a sad little doll who is accidentally but rather callously dropped into the deep freeze compartment of a small shop. She makes the best of her surroundings, and is helped out by a small girl who shops with her mother and spies her one day between an ice cream tub and a mixed vegetables packet. The book is charming for many reasons. The world that the little doll creates in the freezer is magical – from the packets of food which act as buildings creating a pathway of streets between them, to playing bat and ball with an ice cream scoop and frozen peas (an image which has stayed with me for thirty odd years). The timidity of the little girl who finds the doll (she doesn’t pick her up as she’s been told not to touch things in shops, so merely drops packages of warm clothes into the freezer for her instead), is charming, and contrasts wittily with the sharpness of the shopkeeper, who is adamant that there are no dolls in her shop. The ending, for me, is most touching – the little doll uses her experiences in the deep freeze to tell stories to the other dolls she finally encounters. The story, short and sweet, teaches compassion, kindness and surviving against the odds, as well as, like Chris Mould, using wonderful empathy and inventiveness imagining life as a miniature in a deep freeze. The story was told by Aingelda Ardizzone to her children, and she was persuaded to write it down by her father-in-law, the illustrator Edward Ardizzone who then proceeded to illustrate it in his own magical style. Take particular notice of the illustrations of the haughty shopkeeper – the illustrations convey mood and emotion brilliantly. Age 4+. You can purchase it here.

chillly billy

Lastly, another cold miniature adventure is The Amazing Adventures of Chilly Billy, about the little man who lives in the fridge. Unlike the tiny doll, Chilly Billy’s place of living is no accident. He is the little man who lives inside the fridge and turns the light on when the door is opened, as well as polishing ice cubes, tidying the freezer, and repairing leaks in yogurt containers. The author writes directly to the reader, as if Chilly Billy lives in each and everyone’s fridge. For a small child, this is a magical narrative device and stretches the imagination. During the course of the book, Chilly Billy enters the fridge Olympics, suffers a ‘warm’ instead of a cold, and meets a new friend. Like other authors of little people tales, Peter Mayle has been inventive, imagining the special boots Chilly Billy would need to facilitate travel inside a fridge, as well as a special bike, the chores Billy must undertake, and the sports that can be done inside a fridge. As with the The Little Girl and the Tiny Doll, the images within this book resonate and instill characters that last beyond childhood. The version I have is colour illustrated by Arthur Robins – but I think the edition still in print is only black and white. Age 6+. You can purchase an ebook from Waterstones here or click the Amazon sidebar for the paperback version.

Chris Mould picked out some BIG moments for LITTLE people for the Guardian this week. You can read it here.

 

 

 

 

An Interview with children’s author, Jason Rohan

sword of kuromori shield of kuromori

For the YAshot bloggers tour, I’m delighted to interview Jason Rohan, author of The Kuromori Trilogy. (please click on the title to see my review). Having met Jason last April and had a deliciously bookish discussion in a Waterstones branch, Jason then kindly agreed to answer my questions for MinervaReads.com over the summer. Once again I must also thank Alexia Casale for all her work with YAshot. Please click the link to find out more about this event.

Hi Jason. You used to work for Marvel Comics. Who’s your favourite superhero and why?

My favourite super-hero has always been Iron Man and that goes back way before the movies. I like the fact that he’s a self-made hero. Tony Stark’s only powers are courage and intellect. He isn’t born with any special gifts; he isn’t an alien; nor is he the result of a freak accident. In the comics he used to carry the Iron Man armour around with him in a briefcase and, when trouble arrived, he’d run away to find somewhere to get changed, whereas everyone else thought he was a coward. There was a nice sense of humour and style that I admired. Also, his playboy lifestyle made for some James Bond-esque settings and witty repartee. But the best thing? Anyone could be Iron Man – all you needed was the suit.

Your trilogy, The Sword of Kuromori, is based on your time teaching in Japan. What is the biggest difference between Tokyo and London life?

How long have you got? Seriously, Japan is an incredible place but the differences are many and deep-rooted. When I first arrived, expecting to see temples and kimonos but instead encountering McDonald’s and KFC, I was disappointed, but over time I realised that those Western aspects were purely superficial and that traditional Japan was very much alive and present. If I had to single out one key difference, I’d say it’s the sense of conformity. People in Japan tend to go with the group for the sake of harmony, whereas in the West we tend to laud the individual who goes against the tide.

In that case, whilst setting the Kuromori trilogy in Japan, did you deliberately make your protagonist, Kenny, a Westerner to highlight the clash of cultural mindset? Or, is he a reflection of a younger you?

The idea with making Kenny a Westerner was a combination of things – the trope of the innocent abroad; the hero’s journey in an exotic land; the fish-out-of-water aspects; having an Everyman focus for the reader to follow as he comes to grips with a new culture – but you do highlight the two key points. One, that Kenny is a proxy for me and has some of the same reactions I had. Two, his special ability – the one thing which sets him apart from everyone around him, particularly his Japanese colleagues, is his unconventional thinking. It’s not intended as a critique of Japanese cultural norms – far from it, and there are many Japanese people who go against the tide – but I remember many times being told that I couldn’t do something because it just wasn’t the done thing. Of course, being a gaijin, they politely forgave me for not knowing better! Two quick illustrations of this come to mind: one, Japanese people will wait patiently for the lights to change before they cross the road, even on a deserted road with no cars coming; two, for what we call common sense, meaning ‘good judgement’, the Japanese equivalent is what we would call ‘received wisdom’. That’s a big difference. Common sense puts the onus on the individual to use their noggin to know if something is a bad idea; received wisdom draws on collective ideas of the norm.

So far in the trilogy, book one is about finding belief in yourself and book two explores the concept of duty. Which three qualities would you say are essential for the next generation?

As a father, teacher, manager and football coach, I am lucky enough to work with young people, and they get a bad rap in general. Many cranky older people seem to forget what they were like at the same age. But let’s face it, the next generation is going to inherit a messed-up world with a whole lot of challenges. If they’re going to start putting things right they’ll need resilience, courage and imagination. Resilience because the only guarantee is that it’s going to be tough and everyone will have to dig in and pull their weight. Courage because the solutions will not be pretty and the temptation will be to blame others, to be fearful and to duck the difficult choices. Imagination because, more than ever, there is going to be a need for new ways of thinking, of approaching issues, and of resolving seemingly intractable problems in order to enact a better future for all. When the old ways no longer work, you have to invent anew.

You infuse your work with an understanding of Japanese mythology. Is it important for you to impart knowledge as well as tell a good story?

Absolutely. I grew up reading the Willard Price Adventure series and I learned so much about the world from those books. As a reader, I’m always looking to learn something new, whether it be cutting-edge science from Michael Crichton or an insight into the human condition from William Golding. If I read a book and take nothing away, I feel slightly cheated. All the great stories teach something, whether they be parable, myth, play, poem or novel.

For me, a trait of modern children’s books is to feature dual protagonists – one male and one female. How important is it for you to portray gender balance when writing?

As a parent of both boys and girls, I see first-hand the damage that gender stereotyping can do, even from an early age, and I cringe at things like body-shaming. I’m a firm believer in equality of opportunity and I try to ensure that my own children aspire to achieve their ambitions, regardless of what society might say. That carries over into my writing and is why I refuse to write a simpering female character whose only purpose in a story is to cheer lead for the male hero or to be rescued by him. I’ve been surrounded by strong women all my life so for me it’s natural to portray female protagonists who can more than match their male counterparts and I think it’s important for girls, too, to see these role models in fiction as well as in real life.

YAshot celebrates libraries. In what way are libraries important to you?

Libraries are so much more than just places where you can borrow books. To me, they are the repositories of all human wisdom. Without delving too far into it, you could make the case that Europe entered the Dark Ages following the loss of classical learning and only emerged with the fall of Constantinople and the resulting dissemination of knowledge as scholars fled with salvaged texts. Of course, this is a gross oversimplification, but the idea of libraries safeguarding the cultural and intellectual wealth of a nation isn’t far off the mark. I read a recent thought experiment in which people were asked whether erasing history and starting afresh would be a good thing, as we wouldn’t have our grievances and enmities. The conclusion was that people would end up finding new reasons to squabble and that history is there to prevent us making the same mistakes repeatedly. Libraries house knowledge; without them you dumb down the world.

What are you reading at the moment?

I’m currently reading Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood and The Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright. Before that, I read Kingdom Come, a Superman graphic novel. I like to mix things up!

Do you have the next idea simmering for when the trilogy comes to an end? And can you share it with me?

Kuromori was the first book I sold but not the first one I wrote, so I have a couple of earlier, finished novels already, which I’m dusting down. One is a MG all-action adventure which I describe as Thunderbirds meets Die Hard. The other is a YA supernatural horror which draws on Milton’s Paradise Lost. I’m currently working on a MG scfi-fi novel which is about space exploration.

You can purchase Jason’s The Sword of Kuromori and The Shield of Kuromori from Waterstones by clicking on the titles for the link, or you can click on the Amazon sidebar (from a PC).

The Sword of Kuromori by Jason Rohan

sword of kuromori shield of kuromori

My mum once told me one of the things she really liked about reading fiction was learning something new. Not just in terms of historical fiction, but in any fiction when the author lets slip insights about a place or a hobby or even something you just didn’t realise existed.
The Sword of Kuromori is not only an Alex Rider-style highly visual adventure with pace and passion and wit, but also a subtle lesson in Japanese language and culture. Teen Kenny Blackwood arrives in Tokyo expecting to spend some time during the school holidays with his father, who is residing there. However, even on the plane to Japan some peculiar events occur, and when he is taken aside at the airport and interrogated, things get even stranger. Before long he finds out that he can see mythical creatures that other people can’t, and that he’s been secretly signed up to a life-changing mission that will save America from catastrophic tragedy.
Jason Rohan’s knowledge of Japan sings from the pages of the book. He paints each scene so vividly, be it the expansive transport terminals, the lush landscapes and temples, or the colourful shopping areas – each setting is pitched so that the reader feels they know Japan despite not having been themselves. Moreover, the action never stops – Kenny seems to attract the attention of more than one type of mythical monster, all of which are strikingly hostile, and he has to use his wits and skills to bat them off. He is accompanied on his adventure by a feisty and attractive female sidekick – who becomes more and more central to his journey. She happily reminded me of Bixa from Phoenix by S F Said.
With strong allusions to other tales of masters and apprentices, from The Karate Kid to Star Wars – this book resonated with me by being familiar and yet totally unfamiliar at the same time; familiar in tone to other adventures of self-discovery and awareness, yet unfamiliar with its Japanese language and mythology. The mixture produces the perfect package. And despite the many monsters, this is also a grounded tale of family and friendship, of good versus evil and our ability to master our minds and conquer our fears.
I was particularly glad of the glossary of Japanese words at the back, the subliminal teaching of Japanese numerals, and being immersed in the food and culture of another region. I’m moving swiftly on to reading the just published book two, The Shield of Kuromori.
A highly recommended read. For age 9+. You can buy both books here or on the Amazon sidebar.