Paul Gallico wrote two of my favourite books EVER, and one of them is The Man Who was Magic. You’ve probably heard of Paul Gallico, even if you think you haven’t. If you frequent secondhand book stores (and you probably do, if you’re here), you’ll have seen some of his work. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a secondhand…
So this post was supposed to have been finished in time for Halloween, but at the moment I’m about as hopelessly disorganised as Eglantine Price, so it’s a tad late. However, it was Bonfire Night last night, and Mary Norton’s Bedknob and Broomstick is nicely fitting for that too, so I feel like I’ve just about gotten away with it.…
Sadly, I did not read the 1970s children’s book No Flying in the House when I was six. If I had read it when I was six, I would have loved it. Why? Because what what six year old girl doesn’t want a three inch talking dog who can perform 367 tricks? And what six year old girl does not…
I was given Joan Aiken’s The Last Slice of Rainbow when I was probably around eight. I loved it before I even read it. Something about the title, the pictures, the names of the stories – they’re all the exact formula to appeal to an eight year old booklover. I remember almost not wanting to read it, for fear that…