"It is not always sensible to be sensible".

It would be unwise to start a Katherine Rundell story if you have some pressing business to attend to because once started her books are almost impossible to put down.
Within the first few lines of The Good Thieves we are offered the thought that “it is not always sensible to be sensible” and if that doesn`t conjure up the prospect of deeds of derrin` do with a bit of mischief thrown in, nothing will. The intriguing title in any case suggests a slightly sideways look at the world and perhaps that is as good a way as any to describe Rundell`s writing. From The Girl Savage and Rooftoppers, through The Wolf Wilder, The Explorer and Into The Jungle (the latter also reviewed here), her stories swing along with verve, panache and an assemblage of vibrant characters, all of whom you would like to spend some time with, even if you feel you might not be able to keep up with them.
In The Good Thieves we meet Vita, standing alone on the deck of a ship and nodding towards the approaching city of New York “as a boxer greets an opponent before a fight.” How could you not want to know what has brought her and her mother here? Soon you discover she has come to right a terrible wrong and though she may be “small, and still, and watchful”, with one leg bearing permanent testament to a bout of polio she caught when she was five, we soon learn she is nothing if not determined.
Rundell is an author you can trust: despite any number of setbacks and apparently insurmountable difficulties you know Vita will triumph. It is in the telling of how she does so that the magic happens and the adventure takes off. In the company of three, at first unlikely looking, companions, all on the edge of respectable society in their own ways, a plan to thwart the (properly villainous) criminal who has wronged her family are drawn up. Loyalties are put to the test and prove steadfast, friendships are forged and always great courage is displayed, not simply physical courage, though there is that, but also the courage to go against convention when the situation demands.
The descriptive writing is a joy, conjuring up never-to-be-forgotten images - coffee looking like “angry mud”. There is humour, the usual wit and, as we have come to expect from this author, the occasional acerbic though always understated observation which appears to signal the moral compass by which Rundell`s characters are guided.
Clothes and costumes, disguises – especially disguises – colour, music, performance, tenacity, vagabonds and rapscallions all fizz throughout the story and in the end triumph over snobbery, selfishness and doubt. Heart-stopping and heart-lifting in equal measure this is also a book which for once doesn`t cast a “Susan” in a sensible role (see Swallows and Amazons). For that I send a personal thanks to Katherine Rundell.

“The Power Of Some Needs The Folly Of Others.”

Was ever a book more needed than this one?

Reader, Come Home comes in the wake of Maryanne Wolf`s previous book, Proust and the Squid, in which she charted mankind`s invention of reading and the way in which that invention changed our brains, which in turn “altered the intellectual evolution of our species”.

In Reader, Come Home the author demonstrates that reading in the digital world re-wires our brains and suggests that, with some urgency, we should take a long hard look at the implications of that, especially for young people.

Wolf is a neuroscientist and her explanation of what happens in the brain is properly based on a wide range of research. But this is not a dry, scientific thesis. She uses metaphor and anecdote to communicate complicated processes and addresses the reader in the form of letters, coaxing us to contemplate the somewhat unnerving ramifications of her findings.

Central to an understanding is the perhaps surprising notion that “in the evolution of our brain`s capacity to learn, the act of reading is not natural”. It is the `plasticity` of the brain which has enabled us to develop this wonderful skill: unfortunately it is that very plasticity, the active way in which the brain is reacting to digital media, which may mean we are in danger of losing our ability to read “deeply”.

And that does not mean reading lots of very worthwhile literature. In this context it means reading attentively, as an act of contemplation which helps develop qualities of empathy and skills of critical analysis. Wolf argues that because digital media – the medium is the message – can be demonstrated to significantly alter the brain`s wiring, we are in danger of losing those skills and qualities.

Importantly, though, Reader, Come Home is far from being a Luddite`s charter. The author describes our transition to a digital culture as “the greatest explosion of creativity, invention and discovery in our history.” Rather, her exciting and radical proposition is that we work towards an understanding of the “limits and possibilities of both the literacy based (reading) circuit and digital-based ones”, aiming for the “best possible integration” of both.

And Wolf`s conclusions are perhaps the most arresting. She suggests that if we ignore these warnings it will be a massive abrogation of our responsibility to educate in a way that produces readers who are capable of analytical engagement rather than passive consumerism.

If we fail, she argues, it is a short step to populations who lack empathy, especially if they are denied the time and space to read a wealth of stories and who are unable to “process information vigilantly,” therefore being susceptible to propaganda and demagoguery.

Hence the importance of this book. Everyone should read it: parents and librarians, anyone who thinks they`re less able to concentrate on reading a book than they used to be and most especially teachers. And more important than reading it, is to act on it. A big ask but vital and here is a manifesto and handbook rolled into one.