Huddled under the covers, clutching my little torch, reading late into the night is a fond memory of my childhood. Enid Blyton’s Malory Towers series was always a firm favourite of mine, and I simply couldn’t hide my delight in seeing it being adapted into a series by the BBC early last year. Despite an array of university deadlines, a global pandemic hit and I had a whole lot of time on my hands. As such, I found myself rushing downstairs at lunchtime to snuggle on the sofa with my younger sister, reliving my childhood, and cherishing every single episode.
Publishing is competitive, ruthless and inherently flawed. At the same time, rather frustratingly, there is no clear solution. But one thing is clear: although celebrities are convenient scapegoats, it’s not their fault.
by Rachel Day How would you navigate from the Shire to Mordor? Box-shaped mountain ranges and bizarre drainage basins aside, Middle Earth’s topography poses questions about crossing literary landscapes. As a writer, […]
Chloe Harvey Ben and Joe Farmer are brothers, hailing from Kingston-Upon-Thames. They are English and History graduates, respectively. Last Summer, over countless hours, they created a book about a clumsy polar bear […]
Ellie Fells Hanging above my desk is a framed photo of my gappy-teethed, wonky-frindged, ten-year-old-self, proudly stood next to my all-time hero. With her bright white hair and silver jewellery, Jacqueline Wilson […]