ST201903

THE BORROWERS
BY MARY NORTON
Read by Iona Bower (blog editor) aged seven

Who, when they are small, could fail to
love a story about little people lording it
over big people? I was completely rapt by
this tale of tiny folk who lived beneath
the kitchen f loor, making use of the
everyday items of ‘human beans’ and
repurposing them: cotton reels to sit on,
matchboxes for chests of drawers... to this
day I’d still love a living room decorated
with giant paper made from sheets of
handwritten letters.
The book’s a proper thriller, too; I
devoured the second half in more or less
one go. It’s also a tale that never ages.
Published in 1952. Read it now and you’d
swear it was an allegory for the current
refugee crisis. I’ve read it as an adult, and
what struck me was the very complex
narrative structure for a children’s book.
It has a framed narrative (which I credit

for my later obsession with Wuthering

Heights). It’s told by someone called

‘Kate’ but you’re never sure if that is her

name, and she’s recounting a story by

Mrs May, who is in turn recounting

her brother’s story of meeting the

Borrowers. Still with us? Good. Becau

the story ends halfway through the

book. The rest is mere conjecture.

And that’s what I love about it. You

know nothing. It’s a huge leap of faith

but no one reads The Borrowers (even

the gut-wrenching twist of a last line,

which I won’t reveal) and doesn’t

‘just know’ they are real. My son

read it at the same age. I knew he’d

finished it when he came thundering

downstairs demanding: “Are there m

Borrowers books? It says in the back that

there are. Are the Borrowers real? Are

they OK?” And I said, “I don’t know.

You’d better read the others and decide.”

The Borrowers is a book that makes

readers. Give that Mary Norton a medal.

THE SECRET DIARY OF

ADRIAN MOLE, AGED 13 ¾

BY SUE TOWNSEND

Read by Rebecca Frank

(commissioning editor) aged 11

emember getting this book and

ading it all in one go on one of those

ng, boring Sundays when I would

gularly groan, ‘I’ve got nooothing to

o!’ Growing up in suburban

heffield, an avid diary writer with

a sharp northern tongue (and pen),

I loved the outpourings of angst and

anger from Adrian. He gave me an

insight into the mind of my older

brother and the boys at school, made

me think my parents weren’t that

after all and left me laughing,

cringing and crying. Sue Townsend’s

characters were spot on. Everybody knew

a girl like Pandora with her treacle hair

and pony and had a ‘friend’ like Nigel

who was your mate one minute and going

out with your crush the next. It was a

time in the 80s when mums were

breaking free from the kitchen, divorce

was on the rise and sales in microwaves

and ready meals soared as dads and kids

fumbled their way around the kitchen.

Reading it again recently, as a mum of

three, it made me wonder nervously what

my own kids really think of me. But it

also reassured me how quickly teenage

moods change and giggle at how at that

age you think the whole world is out to

get you and everybody is wrong and

ridiculous (except you). When you’re

growing up, you need books like this to

normalise and bring humour to the issues

that weigh you down. I look at my

teenaged girls and wonder what Adrian

would have made of social media. He’d

have been tweeting the BBC his poems

and secretly pouring over Pandora’s

Instagram account, of course.

“What child could fail

to love a story about

little people lording it

over big people?”

use

h

,

ore

Ire

rea

lon

re

d

S

a

I

a

bada

cring

»

THINK (^) | NOSTALGIA