Tom ‘Becker’ Beckerlegge (b. 1982) is a British children's author.
He studied history at Jesus College, Oxford.
His first novel, Darkside, was published in 2007.
Since that time Becker has published at least four other Darkside novels.
I read 'Darkside' because I had to. I'm scheduled to work woth the book as a classreader for Year 8 (12/13 year old) students.
I did not like the book. It is utterly derivative. Not a single speck of originality.
The wereman is a take on Wolverine from the X-Men. Jonathan Starling is a take on Harry Potter and Philip Pullman's Lyra. The whole concept of the Darkside is a take on the 'worlds' created by Rowling and Phillip Pullman (Northern Lights series).
The book was clearly written with an eye to a spin-off series/film.
It's not even very well written - in terms of language.
I do hope that this is not the future of books for young adults.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Anil's Ghost (2000) by Michael Ondaatje
Well, I finally completed the reading of this book.
I can't say I enjoyed it but I'm glad I read it.
A number of images and characters will haunt me from time to time. It was very evocative. So many things remained unstated or at least understated.
Overall I think it needed clearer editing to be less of a frustrating read and more accessible. But I guess the medium is the message. The frustration of everyday life in a war-torn country. The inaccessibility of love...
I can't say I enjoyed it but I'm glad I read it.
A number of images and characters will haunt me from time to time. It was very evocative. So many things remained unstated or at least understated.
Overall I think it needed clearer editing to be less of a frustrating read and more accessible. But I guess the medium is the message. The frustration of everyday life in a war-torn country. The inaccessibility of love...
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Spilled Salt by Barbara Neely
We Need to Talk About Kevin is a 2003 novel by the FEMALE writer Lionel Shriver concerning a fictional school massacre. It is written from the perspective of the killer's mother, Eva Khatchadourian, and documents her attempt to come to terms with her son Kevin and the murders he committed. Although told in the first person as a series of letters from Eva to her husband, the novel's structure also strongly resembles that of a thriller. The novel, Shriver's seventh, won the 2005 Orange Prize.
I've not yet read the novel but heard it reviewed on BBC Radio 4's A Good Read today.
As I listened to the discussion I thought, 'But that's Spilled Salt by Barbara Neely!' or 'The Outside Dog' by Alan Bennett. I can't wait to read Shriver's book to see if she's actually added anything to the way Neely and Bennett handled such similar themes.
I've not yet read the novel but heard it reviewed on BBC Radio 4's A Good Read today.
As I listened to the discussion I thought, 'But that's Spilled Salt by Barbara Neely!' or 'The Outside Dog' by Alan Bennett. I can't wait to read Shriver's book to see if she's actually added anything to the way Neely and Bennett handled such similar themes.
DICKENS CHARACTERS - a poem by Robert Morgan
DICKENS CHARACTERS
They are restless. Their blood flows with anger
And compulsion. Their stern eyes are dark
With confusion. Their growing bones cry out
Against the boundaries of desks and walls.
They tolerate my voice vibrating with education,
But they find no fault with me,
Only what I do for a living.
And what I do must be done according to the law.
They want to join me on the old road
Of knowledge, but they will only stare at shadows,
Lose themselves among the strange turnings,
And hesitate too long at bare places
Trodden by toughs and killers.
Their imaginations are distorted by violence,
Pre-natal interference, cold homes, and by failure
Created by our system which pigeonholes brains
Into grades A, B, and C. I squeeze harder,
Trying to reach their personalities and beyond
To the corners of imaginations still bright
With silver thoughts and joys of discovery.
I pause. The silences are places where we can meet,
Or retreat, or hear an inner voice,
Or pray for a second chance with success...
'Listen boys… The workhouse was a place
Where Oliver was born, there were such places
All over England not so long ago...
It was a place to go when you were destitute.
Jackson in the front desk leans forward.
He has free dinners, a prostitute sister,
A neurotic mother and his father is a stranger.
I read a passage on the workhouse boys
And show pictures from my old copy.
They leave their desks and examine the pictures.
Questions are asked and answered and we linger
Over the pictures and wonder. The playtime bells
Ring in the corridors and they leave slowly,
Taking with them vague thoughts of England's
Workhouses and a boy without parents.
Jackson stays behind with the book.
He knows Oliver Twist far better than I.
Robert Morgan
They are restless. Their blood flows with anger
And compulsion. Their stern eyes are dark
With confusion. Their growing bones cry out
Against the boundaries of desks and walls.
They tolerate my voice vibrating with education,
But they find no fault with me,
Only what I do for a living.
And what I do must be done according to the law.
They want to join me on the old road
Of knowledge, but they will only stare at shadows,
Lose themselves among the strange turnings,
And hesitate too long at bare places
Trodden by toughs and killers.
Their imaginations are distorted by violence,
Pre-natal interference, cold homes, and by failure
Created by our system which pigeonholes brains
Into grades A, B, and C. I squeeze harder,
Trying to reach their personalities and beyond
To the corners of imaginations still bright
With silver thoughts and joys of discovery.
I pause. The silences are places where we can meet,
Or retreat, or hear an inner voice,
Or pray for a second chance with success...
'Listen boys… The workhouse was a place
Where Oliver was born, there were such places
All over England not so long ago...
It was a place to go when you were destitute.
Jackson in the front desk leans forward.
He has free dinners, a prostitute sister,
A neurotic mother and his father is a stranger.
I read a passage on the workhouse boys
And show pictures from my old copy.
They leave their desks and examine the pictures.
Questions are asked and answered and we linger
Over the pictures and wonder. The playtime bells
Ring in the corridors and they leave slowly,
Taking with them vague thoughts of England's
Workhouses and a boy without parents.
Jackson stays behind with the book.
He knows Oliver Twist far better than I.
Robert Morgan
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