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Cold comforts: the best children’s books of 2015

Get hold of these, and your holidays will be peaceful and merry.

Christmas is crucial to the book trade but, in the case of children’s books, it has every­thing to do with a sense of wonder at the heart of winter. Some of the best classics ever written, from Raymond Briggs’s The Snowman to Russell Hoban’s The Mouse and His Child, stem from this.

Matt Haig’s A Boy Called Christmas (Canongate, £12.99) is such a book for readers over nine. It is about the boyhood of Father Christmas – and what a miserable, lonely, hungry, chilly childhood it is. Haig’s black humour and insights into depression have made him a national treasure for both children and adults; this story, however, is about how the 11-year-old Nikolas travels north in search of his woodcutter father, accompanied by a mouse and a reindeer called Blitzen. It explains along the way how reindeer fly, why we put presents in stockings and how crackers can save lives. Brilliantly told and imagined, it is about the importance of hope and kindness and it should be in every stocking.

Younger children (seven-plus) will lap up Pugs of the Frozen North, another comic caper from the dream team of Philip Reeve and Sarah McIntyre (Oxford University Press, £8.99). In a race to the frozen north, Sika and Shen compete on a sled drawn by 66 pop-eyed pugs, evading snow trolls, yetis, krakens and rivals who include Sir Basil Sprout-Dumpling. The lively text and bonkers illustrations will enchant and amuse – but for a more poetic and profound story, Horatio Clare’s Aubrey and the Terrible Yoot (Firefly, £7.99) is the one. Again, it is about rescuing parents – in this case, the madcap Aubrey’s dad, Jim, who has fallen under the spell of despair. With captivating drawings by Jane Matthews, it is a magical wintery adventure told with a unique mix of robust humour and imaginative insight. Highly recommended for children aged eight-plus.

Katherine Rundell’s The Wolf Wilder (Bloomsbury, £12.99, ten-plus) is set in pre-revolutionary Russia and is about “a dark and stormy girl” who re-wilds pet wolves denatured by aristocrats. When her beloved mother is captured, Feodora and her wolves must journey to St Petersburg’s prisons to save her. Crackling with ice and intelligence, the story moves from warm fires to freezing steppes with fierce conviction and a voice that promises tremendous things.

Virago has reprinted P L Travers’s little tale The Fox at the Manger (£9.99, seven-plus), an uncomfortable yet touching tale about the nativity and generosity that is appropriate for politicians’ stockings. Another fox is at the heart of my picture book of the year, in Coralie Bickford-Smith’s The Fox and the Star (Particular Books, £14.99). The lonely Fox searches for his only friend, the Star, through intricate, exquisite, William Morris-inspired woods. An outstanding gift for five-plus readers.

Emma Chichester Clark’s Love Is My Favourite Thing (Jonathan Cape, £11.99) is about an irresistible dog that can’t help being naughty. If you do have a dog (or don’t yet but plan to), it will reinforce the appeal. Meanwhile, the equally irresistible Day-Glo graphics of Christopher Corr’s Deep in the Woods (Frances Lincoln, £11.99) light up a lively folk tale. A lonely bear tries to make friends with a houseful of smaller animals and generosity saves them from homelessness. Both are for three-plus. Charming and simple, Robin's Winter Song by Suzanne Barton (Bloomsbury, £10.99, two-plus) is about a young robin fearing his first winter.

Animal-lovers aged nine and above also have a treat: Lauren St John’s lion-hearted heroine Martine is back in Operation Rhino (Orion, £10.99), in which poachers leave an orphaned baby rhino that must be brought to safety through natural magic, friendship and courage. I love this South Africa-based series and its warm, direct style.

Older children can take a much more jaundiced view of Christmas. For these, Andy Mulligan’s Liquidator (David Fickling, £12.99, 11-plus) is simply brilliant. Narrated by a group of kids sent on work experience, it is a thrilling, funny, wholly original adventure about a popular fizzy drink being deadly. Mulligan is a radical, readable, risk-taking writer with a message we need to hear, especially after Jamie Oliver’s campaign against sugar.

Hell and High Water (Walker Books, £12.99) by the Carnegie Medal winner Tanya Landman is a historical adventure about trust. Set in north Devon in the 18th century, its mixed-race hero must somehow prevent his adored puppeteer father from being transported for a crime he didn’t commit. He encounters not only racism but strange coldness from his white aunt. Heart-stoppingly good, romantic, passionate storytelling for a 12-plus audience.

Emerald Fennell’s Monsters (Hot Key, £7.99) will delight 12-plus fans of Edward Gorey, Lemony Snicket and Bret Easton Ellis: it is a hideously funny account by a cynical 13-year-old girl of a series of murders in the Cornish town of Fowey. Sophisticated and suspenseful, it has a view of adults that parents would be wise to avoid reading.

Much more wholesome for those over 11 is Sally Nicholls’s An Island of Our Own (Scholastic, £6.99), about children engaged on a treasure hunt. Its Blyton-esque quality is underscored by bereavement, issues around social services and a narrative voice to fall in love with. In contrast to all the dystopian young-adult fiction, it is a memorable and refreshing read.

Philip Reeve’s Railhead (Oxford University Press, £9.99) is a fabulously inventive sci-fi adventure about Zen, a petty thief on Ambersai, a big moon connected to the interstellar “Great Network”. Zen’s dangerous mission is driven by characters as much as by concepts such as insects that coalesce into monks, androids and intelligent trains. Reeve’s Mortal Engines series has a great following but this is a must-have for 11-plus.

My children’s book of the year is Cressida Cowell’s How to Fight a Dragon’s Fury (Hodder, £12.99), the 12th and last of her How to Train Your Dragon books. Most series run out of steam but this has kept a consistent flow of brilliant characters, jokes, stylish writing, illustrations and ideas – and the finale is tremendous. Her geeky, once-despised Viking hero, Hiccup, saves humanity (and dragons) from certain doom in an unpredictable, satisfying way. This series, far better than the films, is one of the greatest ever written for those between eight and 12. Buy them all and your holidays will be blessed with perfect peace.

Amanda Craig’s most recent novel is Hearts And Minds (Abacus)

This article first appeared in the 03 December 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Syria and the impossible war

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Katy Perry just saved the Brits with a parody of Donald Trump and Theresa May

Our sincerest thanks to the pop star for bringing one fleeting moment of edge to a very boring awards show.

Now, your mole cannot claim to be an expert on the cutting edge of culture, but if there’s one thing we can all agree on in 2017, it’s that the Brit Awards are more old hat than my press cap. 

Repeatedly excluding the genres and artists that make British music genuinely innovative, the Brits instead likes to spend its time rewarding such dangerous up-and-coming acts as Robbie Williams. And it’s hosted by Dermot O’Leary.

Which is why the regular audience must have been genuinely baffled to see a hint of political edge entering the ceremony this year. Following an extremely #makeuthink music video released earlier this week, Katy Perry took to the stage to perform her single “Chained to the Rhythm” amongst a sea of suburban houses. Your mole, for one, doesn’t think there are enough model villages at popular award ceremonies these days.

But while Katy sang of “stumbling around like a wasted zombie”, and her house-clad dancers fell off the edge of the stage, two enormous skeleton puppets entered the performance in... familiar outfits.

As our Prime Minister likes to ask, remind you of anyone?

How about now?

Wow. Satire.

The mole would like to extend its sincerest lukewarm thanks to Katy Perry for bringing one fleeting moment of edge to one of the most vanilla, status-quo-preserving awards ceremonies in existence. 

I'm a mole, innit.