Bloomsbury Children's Books

Coraline sighed. ‘You really don’t understand, do you?’ she said. ‘I don’t want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn’t mean anything. What then?’

We moved into our flat in Littlemead, in the tiny Sussex town of Nutley, in the south of England, in 1987. Once upon a time it had been a manor house, built for the physician to the King of England himself, so I was told by the old man who had once owned the house (before he sold it to a pair of local builders). It had been a very grand house then, but it was now converted into flats.
Flat number 4, where we lived, was a good place, if a little odd. Above us, a Greek family. Beneath us, a little old lady, half blind, who would telephone me whenever my little children moved, and tell me that she was not certain what was happening upstairs, but she thought that there were elephants. I was never entirely sure how many flats there were in the house, nor how many of them were occupied.
We had a hallway running the length of the flat, as big as any room. At the end of the hall hung a wardrobe door, as a mirror.
When I started to write a book for Holly, my five-year-old daughter, I set it in the house. It seemed easy. That way I wouldn’t have to explain to her where anything was. I changed a couple of things, of course, swapped the position of Holly’s bedroom and the lounge.
Then I took a closed oak-panelled door that opened on to a brick wall, and a sense of place, from the drawing room in the house I grew up in.
That house was big and old, and it had been split in two just before we moved there.

“You need to think about that,” said Mr. Pendanski. “It’s important to have goals. Otherwise you’re going to end up right back in jail. What do you like to do?”
“I don’t

He figured that in a year and a half he’d be either in great physical condition, or else dead.

"Wretched plant!" I said, rubbing my head with one hand as I pushed the vine away with the other.

It’s love – there’s no logic to it. But there should be. Surely love is the most important thing in life? Who you ended up with couldn’t simply be down to chance.

Then, of course, the more you get to know someone, the more enters into the equation. Like ambition, for instance. He might want to be a brain surgeon, whereas I might just settle for being, say, a parking warden. So the equation would become unbalanced.

Why don’t you let the removal men pack those? They’re being paid to do it.’

the kitchen. The cooker had gone. There was just a gas tap sticking out of the wall where it had been. The electric k

It’s love – there’s no logic to it.