UNDER-FIVES

• The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson: Julia creates magic with every picture book she writes, but The Gruffalo in particular stands out as one of the best loved picture books ever written.
• Lost and Found by Oliver Jeffers: This is a beautifully illustrated and very touching tale of friendship. Last Christmas’s animation has ensured that it will, like The Snowman, be enjoyed by generations to come.
• Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae: A fantastically funny and wonderfully colourful romp of a picture book. All toddlers should grow up reading this or hearing their parents read it aloud to them.

FIVE TO EIGHT-YEAR-OLDS

• Clarice Bean by Lauren Child: Many a child will grow up with Lauren, and not only her wonderful Charlie and Lola picture books. Clarice Bean, for slightly older children, is a classic to rival Milly Molly Mandy.
• Horrid Henry series by Francesca Simon: Hugely popular, anarchically funny and set to be loved by many future generations – even if Henry is every parent’s nightmare.
• My Brother’s Favourite Bottom by Jeremy Strong: The daft, unpredictable antics of a wacky family make this a chaotic and hilarious read with a timeless humour.

NINE TO TWELVE-YEAR-OLDS

• War Horse/Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo: All of the Laureates will contribute to the classics of the future but Morpurgo’s incredibly moving stories of war stand among the very best.
• Inkheart by Cornelia Funke: Funke has captured the magic of reading perfectly in this captivating tale that brings children’s books to vivid life. A world every child wishes they could fall into.
• Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer: Colfer gets the mix of action, suspense and humour just right in this very cool read with a vivid and unique story that will continue to enthral new readers.

Chosen by Sarah Clarke, Waterstone’s children’s buying manager. The Daily Telegraph 29th April 2009 

Photos courtesy of 427 & Christchurch City Libraries

Click on the link to buy The Gruffalo in the Canny Minds shop

The War Horse

The Gruffalo

I was seven when my sister Clover was born. Until then I lived in the indulged solitary bubble of the only child. My stepfather was American, and we had been living in Boston since I was three. My first laboured reading, at the side of my nanny Maureen, was done in a thick Boston accent: Jane drank watah. Mommy pahked the caw”. When I entered the English primary system in Wandsworth, south London, at six, the first book I remember reading on my own was The Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton. I longed to find the faraway tree, and spent hours on Wandsworth Common with Maureen, lurking by oak trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of Moonface.

Because my sister was so much younger than me, and because we had moved to the country, my lifeblood and companions were books. I was thrilled to be diagnosed with shingles at nine because the consolation prize was as many books as I liked from the bookshop on Great Missenden High Street to help me convalesce. I read the entire Ballet Shoes series, and cried until my eyes were raw after an allnighter with Goodnight, Mr Tom.

My grandfather, the writer Roald Dahl, celebrated and encouraged my love of books. We discussed them endlessly and I was thrilled when I was 10 to discover he had read Old Mali and the Boy by DR Sher-man, which I was reading in English.

“Very good book,” he said, as we walked down the lane, his hand resting heavily on his walking stick. He’d drop me off at the library on the high street, then creak off to the butcher’s, or to visit my Uncle Theo in his antique shop.

I loved the sanctity of the library, the still, dry whisper of it. I loved the choice and certainty; the ritual of picking a book. I liked to sit and read in the garden and my penchant was for orphans, preferably time-travelling ones, like the loner Abigail Kirk in Playing Beatie Bow by Cate Milte, or willowy Rose in the Root Cellar by Janet Lunn.

When I moved on to boarding school, an all-girls institution where we had to curt-sey to the headmistress, the place that felt the least alien was the library. Its shelves contained faces and a geography I knew, as traceable as the path to my own front door and the people inside it.

In our jumbled age of instant disposable information, libraries provide a bricks-and-mortar constancy, with an invitation to let the imagination roam. In that spirit, it is with great pleasure that I have accepted a role as a patron of the Roald Dahl Museum and Story Centre in Buckinghamshire.

As one of many ventures, we will be working in conjunction with HeadSpace, a national project run by the Reading Agency, to create places where young people from socially excluded groups can participate in affirming activities, from theatre groups to reading sessions and youth clubs. It’s a fresh take on the library, offering it as a haven to those who may have felt excluded from its former silent incarnation. If your children’s school is not yet registered for the Books for Schools scheme, it’s not too late. See details on how to register at freebooksforschools.co.uk.

The Sunday Times – April 19, 2009

Photo courtesy of sondrew