A Review of The Kneebone Boy by Ellen Potter

Let me just start by saying I get such a kick out of Potter's style. Here's how her new book begins:

There were three of them. Otto was the oldest, and the oddest. Then there was Lucia, who wished something interesting would happen. Last of all was Max, who always thought he knew better. They lived in a small town in England called Little Tunks. There is no Big Tunks. One Tunks was more than enough for everyone. It was the most uninteresting town imaginable, except for the fact that the Such Fun Chewing Gum factory was on its west end, so that the air almost always smelled of peppermint. When the wind blew just right you could think you had been sucked down a tube of toothpaste.

I was the one voted to tell this story because I read the most novels, so I know how a story should be told. Plus I'm very observant and have a nice way of putting things; that's what my teacher Mr. Dupuis told me. I can't tell you which Hardscrabble I am—Otto, Lucia, or Max—because I've sworn on pain of torture not to. They said it's because the story belongs to all three of us, and I suppose they're right, but it seems unfair since I'm doing all the work. No one can stop you from guessing though.

My instinct is to tell you that this book feels like Coraline meets The Penderwicks, a fair assessment in a lot of ways. Maybe with a little Lemony Snicket thrown in for good measure. The Kneebone Boy is dark and wry and clever and convoluted—which is pretty much what these three kids are like.

Otto hasn't spoken in years; he communicates with an invented sign language that only his siblings understand. Otto always wears a black scarf that his missing mother left him and collects oddities such as a two-headed cornsnake. Lucia (pronounced the Italian way!) uses her imagination to get them in trouble, though the boys seem capable of finding trouble without her help. And Max knows so many things that he gets on people's nerves just a tiny bit even though he isn't actually a show-off. The author cheerily makes all three kids good-looking, but then, they are still social pariahs because they are just plain weird, plus there are some creepy rumors floating around about what happened to their mother.

As for their father, every so often he goes on trips to paint portraits of eccentric deposed royals, leaving his children with an awful woman who makes Max squeeze the oily cyst on her neck. But this time, they are going to stay with their aunt in London. Only—she isn't there. Instead of going back to Little Tunks, the three kids stay in the city. They soon have a scary run-in with a Londoner and decide to make their way to a seaside village in search of their great-aunt, who turns out to be a colorful young woman renting a folly that's a replica of Kneebone Castle for the summer. The folly is only accessible by aerial bicycle. (How else would you cross the moat?)

Which only begins to hint at the over-the-top details in this book, not to mention the shivery gothic mysteries. The biggest one is what happened to the kids' mother. Why did she leave, and where is she now?

The Kneebone Boy simply oozes atmosphere. I mean, look at the cover! Isn't it gorgeous? I was shocked to discover that the book is not a paranormal or a fantasy, after all, although some of the elements are pretty outrageous. Frankly, The Kneebone Boy seems to be crying out for some magical murk. Well, I suppose there is one little bit, but the author tosses it in and basically announces, "Here, I'll bet you want a ghost." Not quite what I had in mind!

As you can tell from the excerpt above, the Lemony Snicket part of the book is the way the "writer" often addresses the reader. You may find this fun, or you may find it derails the story in spots.

Then, after a good many twists and turns, a veritable funhouse experience, the ending feels a little anti-climactic because, well, All Is Explained. And this is the kind of book where you kind of wish it weren't.

And yet, and yet—Potter has created three marvelous characters, and her style alone is worth the ride. (This American author does British quirk better than most Brits, up to and including mocking Americans and their bizarre love of peanut butter and jelly.) Besides, you've gotta love the surreal little version of the real world she has concocted. Hmm. Maybe The Kneebone Boy is magical realism. Or something close to it. In any case, I hope the author writes another book about the unusual Hardscrabble siblings!

Note for Worried Parents: This book is middle grade fiction. There is a threat of violence in London that's kind of intense, a mention of boobies, and a serious plot thread involving the absent mother. The Kneebone Boy should be fine for most 9- to 12-year-olds.

FYI: I requested a copy of this book from the Amazon Vine program. The Kneebone Boy will be available on September 14, 2010.

A Review of Spilling Ink: A Young Writer's Handbook by Anne Mazer and Ellen Potter

I haven't come across a "How to" book for kids about writing that has impressed me—till now. Spilling Ink is a chatty, informed, get-real look at writing by two children's book authors, and it doesn't waste time diagramming sentences and listing common spelling errors. Anne Mazer, author of series like Abby Hayes and Sister Magic, and Ellen Potter, author of books like Olivia Kidney and Slob, lay out what it means to be a writer and tell kids how to get the job done.

This book is written in a thoroughly reader-friendly style, with the two authors taking turns giving advice in a manner reminiscent of blog posts. Hayes and Potter know their stuff, and it shows: as a writer, I was pleased to see such good ideas expressed so simply, not to mention humorously. For instance, the chapter and section titles are often entertaining: "More Crawling Lizards, Please," "Truth or Dare," "The Robo-Narrator," and "Belly Buttons" are a few of my favorites.

Here's an example of the book's tone, from Ellen Potter:

Before I started writing seriously, I was under the delusion that "real" writers sit down and write out the entire story in one nearly perfect, spectacularly clever draft. Oh, sure, maybe they would change a word or two, or rename one of their characters "Nathan" because his original name, "Jake," reminds them too much of their cousin Jake who belches the theme music to retro TV shows. But that's about it.
Wrong!
Hugely, profoundly, utterly wrong.

This book offers up instructive analogies, such as comparing a story's setting to a mood ring, and useful techniques, such as "the chicken-nugget circle." The authors provide short writing samples to illustrate their points here and there, which is so much more helpful than mere explanations. A writing activity at the end of each chapter is called "I Dare You," e.g., "Write a scene about a circus, but make the mood dark and grim." These activities are so spot-on that they're practically a shock—I've seen far too many writing practice assignments in literature textbooks and workbooks at schools that weren't nearly as relevant as they hoped to be. (This could be because they were written by teachers, not professional writers out in the trenches. Sorry, teachers!)

A little of the advice in Spilling Ink reminds me quite happily of Anne Lamott's classic book of riffs on writing, Bird by Bird, particularly the Chapter 2 title, "Ugly First Drafts." That's an excellent adjective choice, as I'm sure those of you who are familiar with Lamott's famous chapter titled "Shitty First Drafts" would agree!

As is usually the case with nonfiction, the stories are the best part of the book. I would have liked to see even more of them, but then, I'm a story glutton. There are some good ones here, such as Mazer's account of her enchantment with those calendar kiosks that pop up in malls right before Christmas--illustrating how everyday observation can enrich a writer's work:

...[I] would stop to look at them, even if I was in a rush. There were calendars about outhouses, movie stars, barns, mountain ranges, duct tape, sunsets, puzzles, race cars, words, pigs, mushrooms, rivers, cows, knitting, clouds, state parks, and every type of dog in existence. Since each chapter in an Abby book begins with a quote from a fictitious calendar, the mall calendars inspired me into wild fits of imagination. I had great fun inventing calendars for Abby wtih names like the "Marshmallow" calendar or the "Daily Eyeglass" calendar or the "Supermarkets of New Jersey" calendar.

Other concepts are also explained charmingly, and, more important, clearly. The idea of letting your characters do their own thing and not over-managing them is tricky for many grown-up writers to understand, but Potter uses the idea of "Don't Be a Bully" to explain it. In fact, earlier in the book, she makes a brilliant point about character:

You need to know your characters' deep, dark secrets too, in order to convince your characters that they are alive. I know that sounds weird. I know you're supposed to convince your readers that your characters are alive, not the characters themselves. But if you take the time to get to know your characters well, they will start to think and act for themselves. You'll know this is happening when ideas unexpectedly pop into your head as you write. You'll suddenly know exactly what your character would do and how they would react to something. On the other hand, if you try and make the character do something they really wouldn't do, you might feel like your story is taking a wrong turn (see "Don't Be a Bully" in Section 7 on page 56).

Mazer and Potter share their writing process with us, as well, e.g., by showing how they brainstormed to choose the title for this book. What's more, they think of problems to address that other books about writing don't always pinpoint, such as "Avoiding the Mad Dash," that tendency to slap on an ending that young writers—and some older ones—are prone to. Spilling Ink even covers topics like journaling and working with a writing partner.

Matt Phelan's illustrations further add to the cheerful tone of the book, showing us sturdy young writers in spot art sprinkled throughout the pages.

Respecting their readers, Mazer and Potter make a point of saying that a young writer needs to find what works for her; the ideas in the book are intended as potentially useful strategies, not rules. This is an important distinction to make, and not all adults would have bothered to make it.

One of the book's best treats is the Appendix. Just when you think it's over, you find out that Anne and Ellen have interviewed each other in a section called "Spilling Secrets," which is full of fun biographical tidbits and a bonus slant on what it means to be a writer.

I've seen a number of boring books about how to write interesting books, which naturally struck me as ironic. But Spilling Ink takes its own advice: it's funny, specific, fascinating, and useful. I don't just recommend it to young writers, I recommend it to aspiring (and even published) writers who are in their 20's, 30's, 40's, and beyond.