The British Invasion
by Donna R. White

“The British are coming! The British are coming!” Wrong tense, Paul Revere—the Brits are already here. Led by the inimitable Harry Potter, British books have all but taken over the New York Times children’s bestseller list. For the week of October 21, 2001, fully half of the books on the hardcover list were British, the Harry Potter books holding fast to the top four positions and Brian Jacques’s Taggerung coming in seventh. If not for the current popularity of America’s Lemony Snicket, who held four spots on the list with the latest volumes of A Series of Unfortunate Events, the British could easily have claimed all ten positions.
          The phenomenal success of J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series has had a huge impact on the American publishing industry. It prompted the New York Times to establish a separate bestseller list for children’s books, created a new market for children’s fantasy, and increased sales of children’s hardcover books in general, thus enlarging revenues for children’s divisions of publishing companies and giving them more clout in the industry. According to Publishers Weekly, Scholastic, the lucky publisher of the Potter books, saw a twenty-seven percent jump in profits for the fiscal year ending May 31, 2001. Not surprisingly, American publishers are importing British authors and British fantasy by the boatload, hoping to catch a glimmer of the Potter gold.
          In particular, the new appetite for children’s fantasy has sent publishers scurrying to find fantasy authors who are willing to write in series. Within the past year, Irish author Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl, the first book in a series, was snapped up by Talk/Miramax as a book and a planned film; and Kevin Crossley-Holland, an award-winning English writer, contributed The Seeing Stone, listed as Arthur Trilogy Book One. Publishers have also been reprinting older British fantasies. For instance, Greenwillow has reissued five loosely related titles by Diana Wynne Jones, placing them in attractive matching dust jackets and marketing them as a series, The Chronicles of Chrestomanci. Fantasy authors like Eva Ibbotson and Robin Jarvis, who are well known to British children, are finally being introduced to an American audience.
          American writers are also benefiting from the hunger for fantasy. Familiar names like Jane Yolen and Lloyd Alexander are reappearing on bookshelves in new editions. On a recent visit to a local bookstore, I was pleased to note that one of my all-time favorite fantasies, Robert C. O’Brien’s The Silver Crown (New American Library, 1985), is back in print. As we all know, however, the British have a much stronger and much older fantasy tradition than we colonists; they dominate the field the same way Harry Potter dominates the bestseller list. Philip Pullman’s trilogy, His Dark Materials, and Brian Jacques’s Redwall series have made the top ten, whereas American fantasies are underachievers in comparison. Publishers are naturally going for the gold.
          Believe it or not, there are still a few human beings in this galaxy who haven’t heard of Harry Potter, the boy magician of Hogwarts School of Wizardry. Even the big budget movie version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Levine, 1998) (in Britain, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone) has not impinged on the consciousness of some of my faculty colleagues. But for anyone who works with children’s literature, Harry is inescapable. Not only is he the focus of discussion at academic conferences, but scholarly books and articles about him are propagating like rabbits. What some of us are saying and writing is that there are better fantasies than the Potter books—books that are less formulaic, more original and complex, richer and more rewarding. Then again, there is a strong argument for letting children read what they want to read.
          Some British fantasies are more literary than Rowling’s books and some are not, but all offer pleasure to their readers. In the literary category, we find Kevin Crossley- Holland’s The Seeing Stone. Even though he is a Carnegie medalist on his home turf, Crossley- Holland is greatly underrated in the States, perhaps because of his deceptively simple prose. That simplicity results from conscious effort—this is a man whose spoken vocabulary includes words like “lapidary.” (Look it up; I did.) Since Crossley-Holland is also a poet, he works his words lovingly, and as a result, his books are great read-alouds. He often reads them aloud in person in his plummy Oxford voice because he is a publicity department’s dream—an author who is happy to visit conferences and bookstores and schools. He is a first-rate historian as well, a role of great importance for The Seeing Stone. The frame story is a historical novel about a boy living in twelfth-century England, and it is full of authentic details about medieval life. The boy’s name is Arthur, and his story unfolds in tandem with that of the more famous king of that name, through the means of a magic seeing stone Merlin gives the boy. The second book in the trilogy, At the Crossing-Place, was released in the UK in August, so it should arrive here soon.
          Also in the more literary category are the works of Diana Wynne Jones, who has the distinction of being my favorite contemporary writer. Jones has written more than thirty books for children. Critics most admire Fire and Hemlock (Greenwillow, 1985), a young adult fantasy based on the story of Tam Lin, but my personal favorite is Howl’s Moving Castle, a humorous exploration of the fairy tale genre. Among the best are the five Chrestomanci books. Although they are not really a series, they are connected by at least a fleeting appearance from the nine-lived enchanter called Chrestomanci, who oversees the proper use of magic on one of many parallel earths. The books abound in magic and humor, and the handsome but vague Chrestomanci is such a charming character that I suspect his author has developed a crush on him, as female readers may do also.
          The latest volume, Mixed Magics, is a collection of four short stories, three of which have been previously published. The one original story brings together two young protagonists from earlier books, Charmed Life (Bullseye, 1989) and The Magicians of Caprona (Greenwillow,1980). The other Chrestomanci books are Witch Week (Greenwillow, 1982) and The Lives of Christopher Chant (Greenwillow, 1988). Witch Week is the best bet for Harry Potter fans; it takes place in a school, where magic goes awry. The Dalemark Quartet, another loosely connected group of books, is also available in new editions. This series, which is more somber in tone than the Chrestomanci books, consists of Cart and Cwidder (Atheneum, 1977), Drowned Ammet (Beech Tree, 1995), The Spellcoats (Atheneum, 1979), and The Crown of Dalemark (Greenwillow, 1995).
          Philip Pullman’s trilogy is the most literary of all, based as it is on Milton’s Paradise Lost. Even when he is not hanging on to Milton’s coattails, Pullman is an excellent writer in his own right. The Golden Compass (Knopf, 1996), The Subtle Knife (Knopf, 1997), and The Amber Spyglass (Knopf, 2000) are the three volumes of His Dark Materials (in Britain, Northern Lights). These fantasies are amazingly inventive and full of action and adventure, beautifully drawn characters, and deep philosophical and religious import. But don’t expect Christian allegory along the lines of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series; Pullman is a vocal critic of such fantasies. One cautionary note for sensitive readers: just as in his historical series about the young Victorian detective Sally Lockhart, Pullman tends to kill off beloved characters without warning. However, the literary qualities of the books make them well worth reading despite an occasional unpleasant surprise.
          One more name for the literary pile is Eva Ibbotson. So far, Ibbotson has resisted the temptation to write a series; her fantasies are stand-alones. An early novel, Which Witch? (Dutton, 1999), was a Carnegie Honor Book. She seems to have rested on her laurels for a decade or so after that since her next book came out in 1994. Perhaps she was busy raising the four children an author’s blurb describes as “now grown.” The Secret of Platform 13, which was shortlisted for Britain’s Smarties Prize (rather like an M&Ms prize for children’s literature), is witty and entertaining. Platform 13 is an abandoned track in King’s Cross station that hides a secret door to a magic island. The door only opens for nine days once every nine years. The last time it opened, the island’s prince was kidnapped, and now four odd rescuers must search modern London for him. Some of the humor is clearly intended for adults; for instance, a horrible harpy—part vulture, part woman—is described in words so reminiscent of former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher that illustrator Sue Porter drew the harpy as Thatcher. Island of the Aunts (Dutton) followed in 1999; this is a fantasy for the ecologically minded. Dial-A-Ghost is the most recent publication, and Journey to the River Sea is on its way. One aspect of these books I particularly appreciate is that they retain their Englishness. Since Dutton Children’s Books is a division of Penguin Putnam, a British company, Ibbotson’s books have not been Americanized in the awful way that removes all the flavor. A few spellings have been changed and the quotation marks doubled.
          On the less literary end of the spectrum we find Brian Jacques. Redwall (Putnam, 1987), the first book in the series of the same name, has the flavor of a Disney film: cute mice, wicked rats, highly visual scenes with enough dialogue to be part of a screenplay, a touch of mysticism and magic, and the triumph of good over evil. Reading it, I could almost hear an imaginary score by the Sherman brothers or Elton John. I have since learned that the strong sensory appeal of the book is deliberate; Jacques was writing for children at a school for the blind, where he delivered milk when he worked as a truck driver. Although the Redwall series may not qualify as great literature, the books are well written and children find them enthralling and addictive. Publishers Weekly reports that the recent launch of a television show about the noble mice of Redwall Abbey has resulted in an eighty-two percent increase in book sales. These books find places on the New York Times bestseller list. The latest volume in the series is Taggerung, in which a young otter is kidnapped by the wicked rats, who believe he is destined to be their great warrior leader, or Taggerung. The otter eventually escapes and seeks his true home at Redwall Abbey. For fans of the series, there is an official website approved by the author: www.redwall.org.
          Similar to the Redwall books but in a slightly darker vein is the Deptford Mice trilogy by Robin Jarvis, a newcomer to the American market. The first and second books in the trilogy, The Dark Portal and The Crystal Prison (Seastar, 2001), have recently been released over here. The Deptford Mice are family-oriented creatures who accidentally get mixed up with the dark underworld (literally a sewer) of the evil rats and their equally nasty god. The last volume of the trilogy will follow soon, and so, no doubt, will Jarvis’s other fantasy/horror trilogies. Book one of the Wyrd Museum trilogy, The Woven Path (Troll Communications,2001), is already on the shelves in bookstores. Jarvis maintains his own homepage on the web—an impressive, though slightly spooky, site: www.robinjarvis.com.      
          Eoin Colfer is a newcomer to children’s literature on both sides of the Atlantic. His first fantasy, Artemis Fowl, is not the kind of book I would normally recommend. I don’t even know if children actually like it. A weird blend of techno-thriller and fairy fantasy, the book features kids who talk like gangsters and a specialized fighting force of fairy people. Artemis Fowl is a young criminal mastermind who wants the fairies to cough up their gold to restore the fortunes of his crime family; his plan is to kidnap a fairy for ransom. Despite my misgivings about the book, however, I’m sure there is a readership for action-adventure fairy tales, or at least, there soon will be one. Talk/Miramax is putting a lot of money behind Artemis Fowl and working on a film version. That kind of publicity affects a book’s reception and sales. Since Colfer is planning a series about Artemis and the fairy police, these characters may be with us for a long time.
          No discussion of British fantasy would be complete without at least a  mention of the eight hundred pound gorilla, The Lord of the Rings. The new live-action movie of part one of the trilogy is the only film giving Harry Potter competition for fantasy fans. J.R.R. Tolkien did not write The Lord of the Rings for children, but many twelve and thirteen-year-olds are mesmerized by this classic. In the months leading up to the film’s release, Tolkien’s works have been reissued in many formats. The Hobbit, a prequel to the trilogy, is readily available and entirely suitable for younger readers. In The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, the sedentary title character, is reluctantly roped into helping a band of dwarves reclaim their lost treasure. There are elves, a dragon, a magic ring, a great wizard, and heroic deeds. The new film version of The Lord of the Rings owes nothing to Harry Potter; the movie was being planned when the first Potter book was just a few paragraphs scribbled on a napkin. Nevertheless, the fantasy fad that began with Harry will enrich the film’s producers.
          Beneath the current feeding frenzy for fantasy, however, lies the well-established historical fact that Americans have always imported British books. The early colonists landed with copies of the King James Bible, Pilgrim’s Progress, and Fox’s Book of Martyrs tucked into their satchels; and the first generations of American children grew up reading about David and Goliath and Christian’s adventures at Vanity Fair. Soon they were also visiting Lilliput with Gulliver and finding an alarming footprint with the shipwrecked Robinson Crusoe. Although these books were not written specifically for children, they represented the best literature available for younger readers at the time. Later, in the heyday of Victorian fantasy, American children shared Alice’s adventures in Wonderland and lived underwater with the Water Babies; and no Edwardian children enjoyed The Jungle Book (Doubleday, 1946) or The Wind in the Willows (Heritage Press, 1940) more than their American cousins. British children’s literature has always received a warm welcome on American shores, even when events interfere, as they did in the case of Mary Poppins Opens the Door (Harcourt, Brace, 1943); World War II prevented the arrival of some of Mary Shepard’s illustrations, and American artist Agnes Sims filled in the gaps.
          This British invasion has been a part of American culture since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. The only major change is that American publishers can no longer get away with pirating British books, thanks to an international copyright law. During the past three centuries, British imports have been featured on most publishers’ lists. Not all of these books are fantasy novels either, although British fantasy is a staple of the import trade. Picture books, family stories, and young adult problem novels also travel overseas.
          British picture books represent a small but noticeable fraction of American publishers’ spring and fall releases. Rather than dominating the lists, these imports flow across the Atlantic in a slow but steady drip. Certain authors and illustrators are internationally known, so their work is automatically published in the U.S. One such author/illustrator is Anthony Browne, whose illustrations often contain fascinating psychological subtexts. His latest offering is a paean to fatherhood, My Dad.
          Quentin Blake is another well-known name in illustration. When Britain recently established a Children’s Laureate, Blake was the first recipient of the honor. Famous for illustrating Roald Dahl’s children’s books, Blake has continued to produce humorous line drawings for other authors. He has even written a few picture books of his own, including Zagazoo, a funny allegory about the stages of childhood.
          A name that may not be so instantly familiar to Americans is Mick Inkpen, who is one of the top-selling picture book artists and writers in the world. With a name like Inkpen, his destiny was foreordained. His books have been translated into more than twenty languages, and they have sold over four million copies. In 1999, when Nickelodeon began airing a television series about Kipper the dog, sales of Inkpen’s Kipper books rose two hundred percent. Inkpen writes for very young children, so he keeps his text and illustrations simple. His most popular title is a pop-up book entitled Where, Oh Where, Is Kipper’s Bear?
          Like picture books, British family stories have a relatively low profile in American publishing. Anne Fine, the undisputed doyenne of the English family story, has published ten times as many books as her American audience has ever seen. A multiple winner of every major British children’s book award, Fine is Britain’s reigning Children’s Laureate, the second person to be so honored. In the States, she is best known as the author of Madame Doubtfire, on which a popular Robin Williams movie was based. Fine writes for all ages of children; she writes picture books, books for middle readers, and young adult novels. American publishers generally import only her young adult books, but the most recent title available in the U.S. is Bad Dreams, which is recommended for readers ages nine to twelve. One reason for recruiting this novel may be that it is a fantasy—one of the few fantasies Fine has written.
          Aside from fantasy, the most significant trend among British imports has been an increasing number of realistic young adult novels. Twenty years ago, American authors owned the genre, but the British are now challenging that ownership. In fact, they may soon own the shop; two years ago, when the American Library Association created the Michael L. Printz Award for young adult literature, one of the first Honor Books was a British novel, Skellig (Delacorte, 1999). Last year, both the winner and one of the Honor Books came from Britain (respectively, Kit’s Wilderness and Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging). Three names stand out in recent fiction: Louise Rennison, Melvin Burgess, and David Almond.
          Louise Rennison is a comedy writer who has turned her talents to creating the hilarious diaries of fourteen-year-old Georgia Nicolson, who is cursed with the usual teenage problems: bad hair and skin, clueless parents, and an obnoxious younger sibling. Additionally, she is owned by a killer cat, the neighborhood thug. Angus, Thongs and Full- Frontal Snogging is the first volume of Georgia’s diaries. The sequel, On the Bright Side, I’m Now the Girlfriend of a Sex God, is too recent a publication to have garnered literary awards like its predecessor, but they will doubtless be forthcoming.
          Melvin Burgess’s first American publication was Smack (in Britain, Junk), which won both the Carnegie Medal and the Guardian Award. Smack is a dark tale about two runaway teens whose lives are destroyed by heroin. His latest book, and the second to come out in the States, is Bloodtide, which is so dark that some reviewers question whether it is really a young adult novel. Bloodtide is set in a ravaged London in the near future, where two families of ganglords struggle for control of the city. The story is based on the Icelandic Volsunga saga and is every bit as violent as that epic. Since the book came out under a science fiction imprint, bookstores are shelving it in the science fiction section rather than with young adult books.
          The British master of the young adult novel is undoubtedly David Almond, whose work defies classification. Almond burst on the scene with Skellig, a book that is part fantasy (perhaps) and part realistic fiction. Although marketed for young adults, the book is devoured by much younger readers as well. As well as being a Printz Honor Book, Skellig won Britain’s Carnegie Medal and Whitbread Award. On the surface, the story is about a boy who finds a peculiar creature in the garage. The book is eerie, elegant, life-affirming, and powerful, and Almond’s other books have followed suit. Kit’s Wilderness, winner of the 2001 Printz Award, honors family heritage. It tells the story of Kit Watson, who moves to the old coal-mining village of his ancestors. He discovers the grave of an ancestor who shared his name and died at his age. Another boy draws Kit and other young people into a game of death based on their ancestry. Almond’s most recent title is Heaven Eyes, in which three young orphans run away on a raft. When the raft founders, they are rescued by a mysterious girl named Heaven Eyes, who lives with an equally mysterious old man in a world of abandoned warehouses at the river’s edge.
          David Almond’s books would have found their way to America even without the Harry Potter craze. Many American citizens are immigrants and the descendants of immigrants, so we have always welcomed the best from the old countries. American publishers generally find a place on their lists for award-winning British books and internationally known authors. British picture books and young adult novels would still be on our bookshelves if J. K. Rowling had never picked up her pen. Fantasy, however, is a dragon of a different color, and Harry Potter gets full credit for opening the door wide enough for it to fly in. I hope Harry’s success continues through his seven years of schooling, then into college and a post graduate degree.

Donna R. White teaches English at Arkansas Technical University.