A Real Princess

From StarMag

THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA
Written, illustrated and constructed by Lauren Child
Captured by Polly Borland
Publisher: Puffin Books
(ISBN: 978-0141381381)

EVERYONE knows the story of The Princess and the Pea. It’s a silly, absurd, snobbish story about a wishy-washy prince, his overbred parents and a dimwit of a girl who should have died of pneumonia but, unfortunately, probably married the said prince and bore many unassertive, indecisive, rather idiotic haemophiliac children.

OK, so you’ve guessed that it’s not one of my favourite fairytales. When I was in primary school, this older girl whom I hero-worshipped won a storytelling contest with it and it made me think less of her. Like, couldn’t she have chosen something less dumb? A real princess? Gimme a break! Boy, it really bothered my blossoming socialist sentiments ...

You see, in most versions of the story, there’s never any explanation as to what is meant by “real” princess. The queen and king are simply determined that their precious (paunchy and balding) son should marry a “real” princess. As opposed to a ... social upstart? A divorced princess-by-marriage? A foreign and not-so-real princess? A pop star whose first name happens to be Princess?

Whatever the case, the king and queen just sound totally, typically royal and stuck-up and fuddy-duddy! And their son seems like a spineless chap, happy to go along with their wishes so long as he can hunt and shoot and play billiards till the cows come home.

In the latest version of the fairytale, by Lauren Child, the prince doesn’t argue either, but at least it’s made clear that he doesn’t actually care about whether or not his wife is a real princess. This prince just agrees because he knows he will never get any peace unless he does. Ahhh! A man who knows how to compromise. He is also, writes Child, handsome (but “not too handsome, just handsome enough”), nice and romantic.

And his parents, the king and queen, are more reasonable than they usually are. This royal couple attempts to explain what it means to be a “real” princess. Above all, a “real” princess must have ? not beauty or wealth or status, but ? manners. “‘No one should ever travel without them,’ said the King.”

Oh, is that what being a real princess is all about? Well, that’s all right then.

Another mark of a true princess, according to the king, is that they never read their post (not so terribly well-mannered then).

Child’s princess lives in a tree house, has beautiful black hair and is fond of moonlight. Her home looks enchanting, a hollowed-out tree, with window all lit up and golden, cut in the bark. In her thank you note, Child mentions finding the piece of wood that serves as the princess’s house. The author/illustrator, whose picture books are usually a mixture of drawings and paintings, photographs and collages, goes 3-D in The Princess and the Pea.

Every picture in the book was painstakingly reconstructed using cereal boxes, paint and dollhouse furniture and accessories, some of which she made herself.

The characters are paper dolls, dressed in layers of paper and posed in the 3-D interiors. Each scene was then photographed by Polly Borland. The results are beautiful and awe-inspiring. And if you have always wanted a dollhouse, you will wish doubly hard for one after reading this book.

So I will be sexist and say that Child’s The Princess and the Pea will appeal especially to little girls – because of the dollhouse look of it, because of the paper doll characters; because it’s about a mesmerising princess. However, if you have raised your sons with open, curious minds, they will enjoy it too. My nine-year-old boy does. He thinks it’s jolly funny and insists that the pea must be enchanted since it manages to cause so much pain even through all those mattresses!

As for me, I am converted. From now on, this is the only version of the fairytale I’m allowing on my bookshelf!

P.S. 2nd August 2008 I have just one thing to add. I lent this book to two talented illustrators, both in their very-early 20s and both of them noticed that it's implied in the book that girls who read are boring. I never noticed, but now I do and I think that this is the one flaw of Lauren Child's version of this classic fairytale.

Saving Time

From StarMag

Review by DAPHNE LEE

THE NEW POLICEMAN
By Kate Thompson
Publisher: The Bodley Head, 409 pages
(ISBN: 0-370-32823-X)

I WISH there were more hours in a day.” I say that at least twice a week, usually while doing an uncannily good impression of a headless chicken – running to and fro, wings (arms) flapping, chest heaving.

Most of us, with jobs, lives, children and hobbies, know what it’s like to run out of time. We face this situation on a daily basis, dashing from day care to the office to the pharmacy and back again.

Most of us like to talk, fondly, a little sadly, about the good old days, when we were little and it took forever from one birthday to the next. Now time seems to go quickly for children too. What with school, tuition, music class etc, etc, our kids have less and less time to play, do nothing, and just be kids.

In The New Policeman, the people of the Irish town of Kinvara find that they have no time at all to spare. The old folk say that it’s because there is too much to do. It never used to be like this. The middle-aged Kinvarans, recalling their not-so-distant youth, agree. And the children wonder, “Is this really what life is all about?”

Just how and where does one find more time?

Fifteen-year-old JJ Liddy is tired out, having to juggle school, chores and his social life, which includes fiddling at the dances hosted by that his parents. Music is everything to the Liddys (JJ plays the fiddle beautifully) to the extent that his grandfather, and namesake, is believed (by some) to have murdered a priest who believed that jigging was an evil pastime! As a result, the Liddys have always been treated with reserve, if not suspicion.

Until recently JJ always assumed that it was because his parents weren’t married. Then Helen, his mum, tells him the story of the supposedly murderous JJ Liddy senior (of course, she insists, he didn’t really do it), and throws in the tale of how her own parents never married because her father simply drifted into town one day and then merrily drifted out again, leaving her mum pregnant. It’s then that JJ realises that his fiddle used to belong to his mysterious and absent grandfather.

Helen’s revelations touch a chord in JJ, somehow strengthening the bond between mother and son. Suddenly, it’s terribly important that he do something for her, so when she says that time is all she wants for her birthday, he promises her some. At first, this merely means pitching in a lot more round the house and on their farm, running errands and the like.

Later, JJ is told by a family acquaintance that it may be possible to get his hands on some actual time and he is shown the way to Tír na n’Óg, a parallel world, and a land of eternal youth, inhabited by the Tuatha de Danaan – gods or fairies or just humans with a bit of magical ability, depending on whom you ask.

Tír na n’Óg is, literally, a timeless place – eternally summer, sunny and bright, with no illness and no death. However, in the last 50 years or more (it’s hard to tell since there are no calendars or clocks in this world), the locals have noticed the slow but unmistakable movement of the sun, the passing of minutes, the passage of time.

Is there a leak in the “skin” that separates Tír na n’Óg from the outside world, a leak that is draining all the time from one place to the other? Obviously, having time (or the lack of it) means very different things, depending on which side of the skin you are!

JJ is determined to find the leak and seal it, but he finds himself increasingly distracted by Tír na n’Óg’s music, its people and its ... goats. The latter pop up here and there, in guises alternately hilarious and downright terrifying, and are the most obviously magical things about the place.

I like that about the book. I like that the magic isn’t laid on with a trowel and that there is a distinct lack of strange worlds, apocalyptic prophesies, mysterious sorcerers and rampaging mythological creatures.

Fantasy novels are all the rage these days, and many of them just overdo it. To make things worse, there’s often not a single original thing about these books. Hands up everyone who’s tired of reading about young heroes on whose shoulders rest the fate of the world!

The New Policeman’s hero may ultimately be saving time for all mankind, but his motives are refreshingly selfish and his problem so, so real. Finally, a quest we can all relate to, no matter how mundane and boring our lives are!

I really like this funny, inventive book with its lively, memorable characters, and interesting settings. I especially like JJ, who is a lovely combination of typical moody teen and generous, sensitive artist. Kate Thompson’s descriptions of him playing the fiddle are so vivid, I could almost hear the tunes and see the dancers jigging!

Thompson happens to have a MA in Irish traditional music and her knowledge and love for it has enriched the book and given it authenticity and heart. Each chapter ends with sheet music for an Irish ditty and I’m dying to know what these songs sound like.

According to the Tuatha de Danaan, all Irish tunes come from them and if you think you’ve made one up, you’re actually just playing “fairy” music that you’ve subconsciously absorbed when it “leaked” from their world. Now, that’s what I call truly magical!

P.S Kate Thompson's The New Policeman won 2005's Whitbread children's novel award.