Research the Seven Stories collection for your PhD

To further explore the relationship between Seven Stories and Newcastle University (after our excellent blog post by our researcher Megan) our Vital North Partnership Manager, Rachel Smith has written this post about an exciting PhD opportunity. 

If you’re reading this blog, I’m guessing you’re probably interested in children’s books, in archival collections and in Seven Stories. You probably know that we use our collection in our exhibitions and our learning and participation projects. But did you know that you could also research our collections as part of your PhD?

And – right now, there’s a funded opportunity to do just that!

Newcastle University’s Research Excellence Academy PhD Studentships

Newcastle University are offering over £1million in PhD funding through their Research Excellence Academy scheme for students to start a full-time PhD in autumn 2016. Each studentship covers tuition fees and living expenses for the three years of your PhD studies. There are two schemes available:

Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences: This scheme covers a number of academic subjects, including English Literature, Education and Museum Studies, so this would particularly suit cross-disciplinary proposals. The deadline for applications is 30^th April 2016. See: http://www.ncl.ac.uk/postgraduate/funding/sources/allstudents/hrea16.html

School of English Literature, Language and Linguistics: Children’s literature is one of the research strengths of the School of English. The department are also offering extra support to international applicants. The deadline for applications is 5pm on 16^th May 2016. See: http://www.ncl.ac.uk/elll/study/postgraduate/funding/reastudentshipslitandcw.htm

For both of the Research Excellence Academy studentship schemes, Newcastle University’s Children’s Literature Unit would welcome applications to study our collections here at Seven Stories.

Which collections can I research?

It’s totally up to you!

Seven Stories holds archives from 1930 to the present day and our collection includes materials by over 250 authors and illustrators, including Enid Blyton, Philip Pullman and Edward Ardizzone. Seven Stories collects all sorts of material relating to children’s books: rough artwork, draft manuscripts, dummy books, correspondence, editor’s notes and anything else that helps us to explore how books are created.

Here are some examples of some of our larger collections that you could research:

The Peter Dickinson archive: Peter Dickinson is one of only two authors to win the Carnegie Medal twice in a row (can you guess the other?). Our collection, which includes drafts, proofs and correspondence, gives a fascinating insight into the working relationship between Dickinson and his editor, and the publication of children’s books in Britain and America.

Typescript draft of Tulku, Peter Dickinson c. 1978. Photograph © Seven Stories – The National Centre for Children’s Books

The David Fickling archive: We’ve blogged about this collection a lot! David Fickling is a children’s editor and publisher. This large archive shows his role as a contemporary children’s book editor. It includes proof and draft manuscripts for approximately 75 different writers, often with editor’s comments.

Typescripts of Linda Newbery’s Sisterland and Mark Herman’s screenplay of John Boyne’s The Boy in the Striped Pajamas from the David Fickling archive. Photograph © Seven Stories – The National Centre for Children’s Books

The Beverley Naidoo archive Our Learning and Participation team have already used this collection with local schools, and there’s great research potential here too. As well as Beverley’s manuscripts, the archive includes letters from her readers from the late 1980s, showing how attitudes to race and diversity have changed over three decades.

Typescript draft of Beverley Naidoo's 'Journey to Jo'burg' with some correspondence from fans. Photograph © Seven Stories – The National Centre for Children’s Book

The David Wood archive David Wood has been described ‘the national children’s dramatist’. And by looking at this huge collection, which includes material relating to the majority of Wood’s plays and books for children, you can see why. Find out more about the archive in Paula’s blog post, or come and listen to David talk about his work in our event at Newcastle Theatre Royal in May, Goodnight Mister Tom: Seven Stories in conversation with David Wood.

David Wood’s The Gingerbread Man in many shapes! A play manuscript and programme, a published copy and a TV episode list. Photograph © Seven Stories – The National Centre for Children’s Books

Our successful PhD students

Seven Stories and Newcastle University previously worked together to supervise three AHRC collaborative doctoral students exploring our Kaye Webb, Robert Westall and David Almond collections. The research our students did even formed the basis of our Nuffin’ Like a Puffin exhibition!

Section of the Nuffin' Like a Puffin' exhibition. Photograph © Seven Stories – The National Centre for Children’s Book

- Rachel Smith, Vital North Partnership Manager. 

If you are considering applying for either of Newcastle University’s Research Excellence Academy studentship opportunities in children’s literature, please contact Dr. Lucy Pearson, lucy.pearson@newcastle.ac.uk / +44 (0) 191 208 3894.

If you'd like to find out more about researching the Seven Stories Collection, then email: collections@sevenstories.org.uk or phone: 0191 495 2707 or comment on this blog.

Bringing Seven Stories to the British Conference of Undergraduate Research

At Seven Stories, The National Centre for Children's Books, we have close ties to the Children's Literature department at Newcastle University which means that we hold workshops for their students and support research visits.  Megan Ayres, a final year undergraduate student, has recently been working with our collections.  Megan originally came as a researcher and ended up as a volunteer. As well as researching the Berlie Docherty collection she has listed some of Beverley Naidoo's collection and most recently she has taken her Seven Stories research to Manchester to champion our Collection, the North-East and literary studies. 

This month I was proud to be one of the students representing Newcastle University, in particular the School of English Language and Literature, at the British Conference of Undergraduate Research. This year the conference was held at Manchester Metropolitan University, and over a two day period in March hundreds of undergraduate students from all corners of the UK turned up to present their projects. I was all too glad (and a fair bit nervous) to be presenting my research on Berlie Doherty’s novel Dear Nobody (Hamish Hamilton, 1991) as a focus for my investigation on how the Young Adult novel represents teenage pregnancy. The Seven Stories Berlie Doherty collection was an irrefutable treasure trove for the information I needed, specifically, what goes into writing a book about a topic so culturally pervasive and, admittedly, controversial.

Front of the BCUR pamphlet. 

After walking fifteen minutes in the wrong direction, I made my way to the university to start the conference off by listening to a keynote speech about achieving success, which left me feeling very encouraged (getting lost aside) for my ten minute presentation. I couldn’t believe the range of topics available on the day, from publishing to tree bark. Though, admittedly, whilst there were a lot of business, science, and sociological research, there wasn’t much in the way of literature. So when it came to presenting research based on a close textual analysis of a novel I knew I was potentially doing something unfamiliar, which I hoped would be quite interesting for everyone. After all, looking at the world through the pages of a book is quite different than looking at it through quantitative heavy research.

Dear Nobody is a book that won the Carnegie Medal, has been adapted onto TV, radio, and the stage, and has been used as an educational tool for teaching children about safe sex in places like Germany. It’s undoubtedly a landmark novel for contemporary YA novels that include this issue and through the archive I was able to see just how far its influence stretched. It follows the story of Chris and Helen, two eighteen-year-olds about to leave school for university. These aspirations become jeopardised when Helen discovers she’s pregnant. Both Helen and Chris negotiate their feelings towards the pregnancy and their involvement in it, of which I focus predominantly on the letters Helen writes to ‘Nobody’, her unborn baby. I did this primarily to explore how Doherty validates the teenage mother by redefining ‘good’ mothering.

Front cover of Dear Nobody Puffin 2001 edition. 

One thing that became abundantly clear to me as I traversed through files and folios was the difference in the critical reception the novel received. For example, correspondence between Nicholas Tucker and Berlie Doherty clued me in that there had been a Channel 4 piece about the book, claiming it encouraged teenage pregnancy (Taken from ‘Correspondence 1990-1995’, Berlie Doherty Collection, BD/01/06/12/24). This stems from a long history of believing that children’s and adolescent novels have a didactic duty to encourage socially approved morals in readers. Nicholas Tucker, a renowned children’s literature critic, was exploring primarily how the novel frames the unborn child as an ‘ideal companion’ for the adolescent (Quoted from ‘Publicity & press cuttings’, Berlie Doherty Collection, BD/01/06/15/27).

Correspondence between Nick Tucker and Berlie Docherty, BD/01/06/24-30 Photograph © Seven Stories The National Centre for Children's Books

On the flip side, Doherty has maintained that the novel was never intended to be about ‘safe sex’, but a novel written with the hope of inspiring an emotional reaction in its readers (Quoted from ‘Correspondence 1990-1994, Berlie Doherty Collection, BD/01/06/12/24). This echoed on her Doherty’s website:

‘I simply wanted to write a book which would be interesting to teenagers. I never want to write a message or a moral in my books – I don’t think that’s a novelist’s job. If I can write a strong story that moves my readers, then that is as much as I want to do.’ (Quotation from berliedoherty.com)

Fan mail has also been divided on this account, most praise Doherty for her sensitive depiction of pregnancy, particularly prevalent in a letter from a mother who believes it should be compulsory reading for all parents and plans on giving it to her child when she is ready to read about such topics (Taken from ‘Correspondence 1990-1994’, Berlie Doherty Collection, BD/01/06/12/198). It becomes quite obvious that this book had a massive impact on its audience to the extent that it was considered a tool for the socialisation of young people.

Fan mail, BD/01/06/12/198.  Photograph © Seven Stories The National Centre for Children's Books

These ideas interact more broadly in my dissertation, which is smattered with the research I did in the archive. It fits into my discussion of what ideas are normally associated with the pregnant teenager, specifically that the teenage mother is associated with inadequacy, the father associated with immaturity, and rooted at the core of this issue that the young parent does not fit within the favoured nuclear family framework. Dear Nobody explores all three of these generalisations closely, and uses them to shape the novel’s view of teenage pregnancy as a deeply personal experience – which I believe contributes to its widespread popularity.

In my presentation I was able to look at the evidence for this view, and root it within a critical framework surrounding motherhood: particularly that the ideal of the female as innately nurturing is an inherently damaging ideology, because it implies that the woman’s only role in society is her biological one. Doherty ties the young mother, Helen, to the “ideal” mother to imply that the centrality of the mother role for the female transcends age, and therefore refutes the inadequacy associated with the teenage mother. This contrasts with the male, Chris, who is unprepared for the role of father, which highlights how despite rejecting the stereotypical association of the young mother with insufficiency, the father maintains a secondary position in which he is expected to be ill equipped.

This culminated into Doherty’s discussion of the nuclear family: the nuclear family is normally considered the favoured structure for socialising children. It is socially considered a stable structure, educating children in labour divisions between male and female, and introducing children to power structures operating within society that are integral to maintaining a Western, capitalistic society. But it’s not something the teenager has easy access to, which follows that the nuclear family is expressed as an oppressive force for the female in the novel. Undermining this view is the retention of approved gender roles - in which the female is innately nurturing - normally associated with the nuclear family, where the mother is typically imagined to care for the children. The figure of the pregnant teenager has been used as a theme allowing the discussion of broader issues surrounding gender.

As for me actually speaking, well, I was reassured that the room was still full by the end of it. The audience responded well to what I was saying, in fact everyone was talkative and engaged with the topics on offer throughout the entire day. There’s something to be said for being in an environment where people want to hear you ramble about something you’re now kind of emotionally invested in. It was nice to bring a little bit of the North East to Manchester, and Seven Stories with it. The North East was minority on the day, but then again so was literature research. I would encourage other literature undergraduates to get involved with BCUR, because it is valid research and people do want to hear about it. Public speaking isn’t nearly as scary as it appears, either (I promise).

Passing the BCUR bear onto the host of BCUR2017, Bournemouth University 

If you find yourself interested in looking at how the teenage parent is presented within the Young Adult novel I’d recommend Blue Moon (Puffin, 2003) by Julia Green, The Opposite of Chocolate (Macmillan, 2004) by Julie Bertagna, and Boys Don’t Cry (Corgi Childrens, 2011) by Malorie Blackman. 

- Megan Ayres, Newcastle University undergraduate. 

If you'd like to find out more about the Seven Stories Collection, then 

email: collections@sevenstories.org.uk or phone: 0191 495 2707 or comment on this blog.

Looking at radical children's literature, no. 3: H. G. Wells 'Little Wars'

In the last of our guest blog posts by English Literature students at Newcastle University we look at H. G. Wells' Little Wars (1913). In this book Wells offered a set of rules for playing with toy soldiers whilst also providing philosophical commentary on the nature of war. Here Newcastle student, Catherine Parkinson, looks at Wells' intentions for offering a simulation of war:

"H. G. Wells’ Little Wars (1913) elaborates a miniature war game played between two opponents according to a complex set of rules. Britain was enraptured by military glory, and boyish enthusiasm in the form of a table top game, was not an inappropriate sentiment to bring to the contemplation of war. Wells, famous for his conception of the science fiction genre, created the handbook, which was aesthetically innovative in the world of war gaming and children’s literature. It took Kriegsspiel’s core concept of war simulation and stripped it of its sterile rule set, offering a “homeopathic remedy for the imaginative strategist”.

Wells shifted his focus from young boys and girls in Floor Games (1911) to “boys of every age from twelve to one hundred and fifty”. He used his celebrity to correspond with politicians and military figures, and recognised the danger facing young boys in 1913. He felt it necessary to educate them on the realities of war, “smashed […] sanguinary bodies, […] shattered fine buildings […] devastated country sides” before they were sent to the frontline. In the spirit of the age, Little Wars was offered a wide audience. Cheap metals, such as tin and inexpensive production, were readily available in continental Europe, making it possible for boys across the socioeconomic spectrum to equip themselves with the materials to play, “the game of kings- for players in an inferior social position.”

Within the rules, the notion of a fantasy world is suspended and the reality of war is accentuated by macabre vocabulary, “murder” “death” and “slaughtered”, transcending the child player into an adult reality. These rules, illustrated through a detailed retelling of a conflict orchestrated by Wells, “Blue then pounds Red's right with his gun to the right of the farm and kills three men” informs and instructs on the destructive power of twentieth century artillery. This notion of aggressive militarism, embodied by the bombastic General, is undermined because all toy soldiers in the game are equal, “We decided that every man should be as brave and skilful as every other man… they would inevitably kill each other.” Hence, no army is better than their leader.  

The marginal illustrations depict toy soldiers being decapitated and some being lassoed by their superiors, representing the gap between the innocent world, usually depicted by toys, and the truth. This truth is revealed in the chapter entitled “Ending With a Sort of Challenge”. It adopts a more didactic voice in its prophetic warnings and preaches Wells’ 1913 manifesto on war, “you only have to play at Little Wars three or four times to realise just what a blundering thing Great War must be.” Thus, Little Wars was not a practice for war, it was an interpretation of it, “saner by reason of its size”. 

The book worked as a catharsis, recreationally quenching the war lust entrenched into youth by contemporary jingoistic literature. It sharpened visions on warfare and militarisation, and created a shared play space, for adults and children, in a simultaneously nihilistic and joyous world."

To find out about Seven Stories extensive library of children's books and related literature, then 
email: collections@sevenstories.org.uk or phone: 01914952707.

Looking at radical children's literature, no. 2: 'The Magic of Coal'

Our second post on radical children’s literature looks at the Puffin picturebook, The Magic of Coal (1945). The first books ever produced under the Puffin imprint, the Puffin picture book series began at the beginning of the Second World War with War on Land (immediately followed by War at Sea and War in the Air). The series was devised by Noel Carrington – then editor of Country Life – who approached the founder of Penguin books, Allen Lane, with the idea in 1939.  An educational and mostly non-fiction series, the Puffin picture books were largely inspired by Soviet mass-produced educational books for children. This Soviet inspiration is clearly apparent in The Magic of Coal – the 49th book in the Puffin series. Here Newcastle University English students, Lucy Campbell Woodward and Clara Heathcock look at the Soviet inspiration behind The Magic of Coal and the book’s Socialist message.

Cover from The Magic of Coal (© Penguin Books)

The Magic of Coal as a ‘production book’ (Clara Heathcock):

"Following the 1917 Bolshevik revolution, soviet Russia identified the field of children’s literature as a highly charged political milieu in which the potential lay to educate the populace about communist ideology. The production book genre developed as an attempt to do just this.

Production books detailed the production process of economically essential resources such as coal or steel. Emphasis was placed on the difference between the capitalist and communist machinery used to create these resources; where capitalist machinery was shown to feed greed and overproduction, communist machinery provided a helping hand in creating a prosperous future everyone could enjoy. Thus production books clearly directed the child reader’s attention to a wider political narrative beyond the specificities of the text.

Production books were aesthetically modernist, combining ideas from abstract painting with typography to create a visual language strikingly different from what had gone before. Pictures held a machine-like appearance, using straight lines and elementary forms. By championing newness, it was conveyed to the child reader that they had the potential to be aesthetically innovative. Rather than simply encouraging them to learn to copy what was already seen as beautiful, aesthetic modernism puts more at stake for the child; if whatever they create has the potential to be considered beautiful, there is more incentive for them to attempt to create. Similarly, if a transformed communist society is shown to be a plausible alternative to today’s society, there is a greater incentive for the child to become an activist to help bring this society about. 

The Magic of Coal was published in Great Britain in 1945 and contains all of the features of a production book here discussed. Reference is made to, ‘our gas works’ and ‘our community, implying collective ownership, and all images are aesthetically modernist. Thus it is an example of the attempts of a popular front of left-wing publishers to bring the production book genre and its associated radicalism to Britain in the interwar period."

Internal spread from The Magic of Coal (© Penguin Books)

The Magic of Coal and Socialist ideology (Lucy Campbell-Woodward):

"The Magic of Coal introduces readers to the admirably technical and industrious world of coal mining. Taking the child on a journey, it tells not only of the production of coal but also elevates the miner as an important and  respectable member of society. In doing so, the text and its illustrations point towards a political goal.

The text focusses on the production process rather than around any one character. Each role within the mine is shown through illustrations and accompanying text, implying that there is something for everybody. Every individual has a skill set to offer in the production of coal and is a valuable cog in the machinery of the mine. A sense of a community at work is created and when combined with impressionist illustrations of tiny black figures and miners whose faces are blurred or have their backs to the reader, this sense of community solidifies into the socialist theory of collectivism.

The text informs the reader that the miners can attend the ‘pitbaths’ before or after work, challenging class boundaries as it suggests that before he enters the mine, a working-class man looks like, and therefore is like, any other man going about any other business. The text also tells us of the miner’s life outside of work, mentioning societies, theatre visits and higher education, indicating that the miners are not only important members of coal-fueled, modern society, but also respectable citizens with good standards of living and a thirst for culture.

The Magic of Coal presents the world of the working-class man as being not only respectable but also desirable. It implies that coal mining is important to a progressive society, thus the miners are as important as the ‘treasure’ they dig up. For many middle-class children this would have been a radically different literary theme in itself, however its advocation of  left-wing ideology further bolsters The Magic of Coal’s radical message."

Internal spread from The Magic of Coal (© Penguin Books)

Seven Stories Collections Department has a large collection of original Puffin picturebooks (including The Magic of Coal) as well as other Puffin-related material such as the Kaye Webb archive. If you'd like to find out more about these collections or others that we hold you can
email: collections@sevenstories.org.uk or phone: 01914952707.

Looking at radical children's literature, no. 1: Olive Dehn's 'Come In'

Earlier this year a group of undergraduate students studying at Newcastle University's English department visited Seven Stories to find inspiration for a project looking at radical children's literature. The students looked at a range of material from the collection including: material from the archive of the anarchist poet and children's writer, Olive Dehn; items from the collection of the prolific left-wing children's writer, Geoffrey Trease; and some of the very earliest Puffin picturebooks, inspired by Soviet educational books for children. We'll be posting extracts from some of the studies over the next two weeks.

The first of our posts looks at Come In (1946) written by Olive Dehn and illustrated by Kathleen Gell. Very obviously based on Dehn's own experiences (the name of the family in the book is even Markham - Dehn's own married name), Come In is the story of a day in the life of a suburban housewife. In its depiction of the dull and monotonous routine of the housewife (in contrast to her husband's exciting work as an actor), the book shares an explicitly feminist message and pokes fun at traditional family 'roles'. Here Newcastle students Isabel Ashton and Olivia Bland look at how the book challenges the traditional role of the housewife and the idea of the nuclear family.

Come In and the idea of the nuclear family (Isabel Ashton):

"Come In exposes the serious hard work that life as a housewife entails.  Dehn is urging her child readers to appreciate the difficulties that their own mothers face in daily life.  Come In lends a voice to women in society who were expected to fulfil their duties of domesticity and motherhood gladly and without complaint. Written and illustrated by two women, the book focuses on the home as a principally female domain, and Mr Markham is notably absent for most of the story.  His job as an actor is depicted as self-indulgent and frivolous in comparison to the stress of Mrs Markham’s day. Her endless list of menial tasks and the illustrations of her black and white outfit, complete with apron, infer that there is little differentiation between being a housewife and being a maid.  Dehn is creating an authentic representation of family roles by rebelling against the idealisation of the mother figure.

Come In criticises the “nuclear family” as an imposed ideal on society. Following the devastating effect of World War 2 on so many households, the institution of the family was promoted as more significant than ever. However, the Markhams undermine this romanticized image of the “nuclear family”, and Mrs Markham’s fallibility relieves the pressure that women were under to create a perfect home life.  Dehn’s radicalism is evident as she is unafraid to articulate ideas that other, more conventional writers would not. Come In reveals what really goes on behind closed doors in the apparently conformist family home."

Internal spread from Come In (illustrations © Kathleen Gell estate)

'The housewife speaks out’ (Olivia Bland):

"At the start of the book, after complaining about how dull her life is, Mrs Markham (the mother) is asked by her husband to write an account of her day, so that he ‘could read exactly how dull it was’; this she undertakes without objection. Throughout the day the reader bears witness to the unending list of chores and challenges that Mrs Markham undertakes. She is the cook, cleaner and nanny, and appropriately is illustrated to be wearing an apron, and the black and white of a maid’s outfit. The whole text is punctuated by illustrations of, and references to, clocks, drawn by an artist who is requested to portray the day’s events. These show how regulated Mrs Markham’s day is, implying a machine-like routine, though without the expected order of a mechanised environment. Kathleen Gell’s modernist images serve to complement Dehn’s words and add to the radical theme running through the book.

Final page from Come In (illustration © Kathleen Gell estate)

Whilst implying to the child reader that a deeper appreciation for their mother’s work is necessary, there is also a slightly satirical tone, which perhaps only the adult reader would detect. References such as: ‘it’s time somebody began to think about getting dinner ready’, seem to be a wink to the mother reader, as if to say, ‘I wonder who that might be?’ Being that this text was written and illustrated by two women, Dehn and Gell, this outlook is to be expected, thus making it all the more radical.

Dehn challenges the expectation that being a 1940s housewife was a happy and rewarding role, and encourages her readers, whether children or adults, to see that this job alone does not allow for a life of sufficient fulfilment. Although people were conscious that life in the typical suburban home was not necessarily as perfect as it seemed, Dehn’s perspective would have been considered controversial, as, unlike other writers for children, she expresses its realities, thus making this a particularly radical text."

Inscription by Olive Dehn in the cover of the copy of Come In at Seven Stories Collections Department

Olive Dehn's original manuscript of Come In at the Seven Stories archive

The Olive Dehn collection is available to consult by appointment at Seven Stories Collections Department. If you'd like to find out more about this collection or others that we hold you can
email: collections@sevenstories.org.uk or phone: 01914952707.