I wish this photo did justice to how exquisite this book really is. It could be the colour scheme (my favourite colour is red) but I think this is the most beautiful Candlewick edition yet. And in 27 days, it will be in bookstores everywhere! There’ll be a blog tour happening that week, involving some of my favourite YA book bloggers. And I’ve also begun planning a launch party in Kingston, so if you’re local, I hope you’ll plan to pop in on Saturday, March 3 for food, festivities, and general frippery.

Finally, here’s the bit of the cover that I always have trouble visualizing, even after seeing an electronic version of the cover: what the spine looks like, lined up with the others.

So, what do you think?

Go on – tell me you’re not haunted by the idea of your own books larking about in the near-dark. Mine certainly waltz, trade bookmarks, and commiserate about the recent purge.

And elsewhere on the internet, a very talented reader, Melyssa, made a painting inspired by Mary Quinn! Check it out at her Tumblr.

What are you up to this week?

I’m one of those parents who squints at a toy and thinks, “Huh. That’ll be a hit for all of eleven minutes,” before clutching my wallet tighter. But I love, love, love buying books for my kids. This year, we chose:

Someday, by Alison McGhee and Peter H. Reynolds

Okay, this is not actually a book for children. This is a gorgeous, shamelessly sentimental book for adults, and I confess that I can’t read it without crying. In fact, I first saw it when doing a bookstore visit in Toronto. There I was, standing beside my publicist, waiting to meet some booksellers, when I picked this up off the shelf. Three minutes later, I was misty-eyed and desperately hunting for a tissue. The book shows a mother imagining her infant daughter’s life and all the things the child might do as she *sniff* grows up. The illustrations are very Quentin Blake, but softer, which means I’m a sucker for them, too.

This New Baby, by Teddy Jam and Virginia Johnson

“This new baby sleeps in my arms

like a moon sleeping on a cloud,

like apples falling through the rain,

like a fish swimming through the sky…”

Teddy Jam might be my favourite pseudonym. (His real identity was a secret until the death of award-winning Canadian novelist Matt Cohen in 1999, when they were revealed to be the same person.) Jam’s poetry is spare and surprising, and the illustrations in this re-issued edition of the book work beautifully with Jam’s free verse. It’s a gorgeous and subtle book.

In the Night Kitchen, by Maurice Sendak

I’d heard of In the Night Kitchen, but never before read it. Crazy, I know! I’m so glad this was prominently displayed in my local indie bookseller’s very small picture-book section; I might never have noticed it otherwise. And it is pure gold. I love that Sendak makes no attempt at logic, no effort to please a particular age bracket. It’s lunatic and brilliant as a result, and we can’t stop chanting, “Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! We make cake, and nothing’s the matter.”

Ruby, by Colin Thompson

Another crazy one! We chose this one for the amazing illustrations, but the story (about a family of tiny, tree-root dwellers who accidentally get caught up in an Austin 7 Ruby) is slowly growing on me. At one point, the mother in the story exclaims of her impetuous son, “He hasn’t even grown his second button yet!” My guess is that there’s a time at which this story will seem completely reasonable, but at the moment I’m still shaking my head at the Green Virus who climbs out of the car’s ashtray. Our resident 3-year-old, however, thinks it makes perfect sense. Delightful nonsense, of the Alice-in-Wonderland variety.

What books did you give and receive this holiday?

In this world, however, we have six bookcases and they are crammed. There are stacks of books on the piano. There are more in the bedroom. There are yet more in the living room, and have I mentioned the study, the bathroom (repository of magazines), and the kids’ room? It’s time to purge.

Happily, books have more lives than cats. A few of mine will go to friends and neighbours. Most will go to my local library’s Neverending Book Sale, which fundraises for the library. But still, it hurts.

I love paper books because they contain powerful memories of when I acquired them (I’ll never part with the first book my husband ever gave me – Middlemarch – although I have 2 other editions of the same book), my priorities at the time (a hideous and battered 1970s paperback copy of The French Lieutenant’s Woman reminds me how tight my budget was as I began my fourth year as an undergrad), and where I read them (a train ticket from Manchester to London is a bookmark that reminds me of what I was reading on our last trip to England).

Some books are easier to shed: literary theory that I held on to, because I couldn’t quite believe I’d escaped the academy; books I haven’t thought about in years; books I know I’ve read but whose content has leaked from my brain. But for the most part, getting rid of books feels like an eviction. I hope the little darlings (even the ones I disliked and disrespected) don’t take it personally. And I hope they find new homes soon. But they’ve got to go.

How do you manage your book collections? And how do you feel about getting rid of books?

Yes, these are ARCs of The Traitor in the Tunnel (publishing February ’12). That gorgeous cover is even better in real life (mitigated only by the knowledge that the finished copies will be even more stunning). As for its contents…

It’s a curious feeling, holding the book in my hands. You might expect that after having written, rewritten, and edited it, and having been edited, line-edited, copy-edited, and proofread, that it might feel, um, somewhat familiar (resorting to understatement). And it’s true: there are parts of it I’ve unintentionally commited to memory.

But seeing it bound is astonishing because it also distances me from the production of the book. After all, this is the part I know nothing about. It becomes less my book, and more like a strange and staggering miracle. The cover is lovely and intriguing and slightly nostalgic (because I have, after all, seen it before). And then I flip open the pages and the experience becomes terrifying because it feels like looking into part of my brain. From the outside.

It’s at this moment that the panic sets in. I’m about to send this out into the world? Without anyone to protect it? Or even an explanatory preface?

This is far from rational, of course. I know, at some level, that this is a strong book. Actually, I think it’s the best of the three Agency novels so far. But still. Still. This is the curious push-pull of the almost-published moment, for me.

Is it like this for you, fellow authors? And how about you, aspiring writers and fellow bloggers and readers? How do you feel when you’re about to send something Out There?

Shadows on the Moon, by Zoë Marriott

I flicked this one open quite casually, thinking that I might just browse a little before saving it it for a while. Then I read the first paragraph: “On my fourteenth birthday when the sakura was in full bloom, the men came to kill us. We saw them come, Aimi and me. We were excited, because we did not know how to be frightened. We had never seen soldiers before.” But it’s not just a tense, fast-paced adventure story. Zoë re-tells the Cinderella story in a way that makes Suzume, the main character, a real heroine: determined, resourceful, intelligent, and brave. She folds into the story cultural details about a country that resembles, but is not, feudal Japan. And she plays with the idea of what it means to be exotic with witty, thoughtful results.

Jane Austen: A Life, by Claire Tomalin

I’ve raved about Claire Tomalin here before, so I’ll keep this brief. I cannot imagine a more sensitive, satisfying exploration of Jane Austen’s elusive life story. Tomalin fills in the gaps gently, suggests enticing possibilities, and offers a thoroughly convincing theory for Austen’s quiet period. She also reads the novels with authority and her argument about Sense and Sensibility (until now my least-favourite Austen novel; Tomalin claims it’s a conflicted debate about propriety and Romanticism, which intrigues me) makes me want to re-read it more attentively.

Plain Kate, by Erin Bow

This book just won – and entirely deserved to win – the TD Canadian Children’s Literature Award! It’s a stunner of a novel about an orphaned carver girl, the Plain Kate of the title. The novel is a fairy tale, a ghost story, a coming-of-age tale, and a meditation on family, all told in beautifully precise and elegant prose. And did I mention the talking cat? I cried myself to a  pulp reading this and the world is a better place for its existence.

Faith Fox, by Jane Gardam

I love Jane Gardam’s work. She’s a ruthless observer of human weakness, yet affectionate towards the ridiculousness of her characters’ behaviour. She creates absurd situations with outrageous levels of coincidence, yet they feel absolutely realistic at the same time. Faith Fox is a baby whose mother dies in childbirth, setting off a series of actions and reactions – Faith is just the catalyst. As always with Gardam, it’s not about the plot at all; instead, I revel in her language, her astoundingly precise and surprising characterization, and her gift of being able to see into so many different times and places and minds with such clarity.

Whew. So. What have you been reading?

P. S. I bought Shadows on the Moon and Plain Kate with my own money; Jane Austen and Faith Fox were gifts from my husband, who is also clearly on a hot streak.

What’s up with me?

As a reader:

My husband just gave me a copy of this book.

If you know how I feel about Claire Tomalin and Jane Austen, you will know that I am over the moon and can’t wait to rip into it (figuratively, figuratively). But he outdid himself this time, because he gave me this edition:

Did you hear my scream of delight? I’m torn between sleeping with it under my pillow, locking it away under archival conditions, and reading it in one sitting while children scream and my life crumbles around me. Ahem.

As a writer:

Tomorrow, I’m appearing at Kingston WritersFest with YA author Adwoa Badoe. We’ll be reading and talking to memoirist Susan Olding on the subject of “Life Lessons”. This is my first literary festival as an author, rather than as reader and fan, and I’ve been looking forward to this for ages!

I’ll also be skyping in to Lethbridge, AB’s Word on the Street festival this Sunday. I’m very excited for this, too, and glad that I’ll never know how big my head looks on a projection screen. If you happen to see it, don’t tell me, okay?

As a human being:

My three-year-old’s been singing his favourite fall song, Hawksley Workman‘s “Autumn’s Here”, without consideration for parental feelings of musical satiety. The child is merciless, so I’ve decided to inflict it on you, too. This link takes you to a superlong live rendition.

How are you all? What are you up to? What did I miss, while I was not really here over the summer?

First, A Spy in the House has been nominated for the Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s brand-new John Spray Mystery Award! Can I possibly hold my breath from now until the winners are announced in October?

Second, I’ll be reading, signing, and talking about the Victorians at the Mississauga Public Library on August 27, as their Teen Summer Reading program concludes. I’ll post more details here closer to the event.

And finally, I’m absolutely overjoyed to announce that there will be a fourth and final Agency novel. Its working title is Rivals in the City. There’s no publication date yet (I have to finish the book first!), but I’m so thrilled to be immersed in Mary Quinn’s world, one last time. I hope you’ll agree.

Happy long weekend, Canadian and American readers!

Basically, I’m suspicious of the medium. Dedicated e-readers look frumpy, cumbersome, fragile. When I look at them, I think, “Landfill.” Smartphones are sleeker and newer iPads have some green credentials, but they’re still not that sustainable. Analyses vary, but the number I hear most is that you have to read at least 40 ebooks a year to outweigh the environmental cost of the same number of new paper books. (That’s if you believe the most-quoted figure.) For how many years? More than it takes to get the next generation e-reader, for sure.

I already spend my days on a laptop, drive a car, fly long distances to visit family, and eat for pleasure rather than sustenance. Sometimes, I slip carrot peelings into the garbage instead of the composter. And without going all Willy Loman on you, I’m putting off buying a dishwasher because new ones are designed to last only 6-8 years. I think I’m turning into a cranky hippie but basically, I dislike stuff.

So today, I’m thinking of things that need to happen before I’d want an e-reader or smartphone. My first device should:

- last more than 5 years

- be made without sweatshop labour

- be recyclable (and not just in theory)

- cost less energy to produce than, say, 25 paper books (roughly the number I bought new last year)

- be beautiful

And that’s excluding all the readerly functions I’d want: huge range of titles, full-text searchability, linked index, ability to turn more than one page at a time, proper illustrations.

What about you? What are your criteria for getting an e-reader? If you already have one, what persuaded you it was worthwhile?

The audiobook editions of A Spy in the House and The Body at the Tower are now on sale! They’re performed by Justine Eyre, who has an absolutely beautiful voice.

And finally! The French edition of the second Mary Quinn novel, The Agency: Le meurtre de l’horloge, will also be published in February. I was wondering what they’d call it.

I think The Clock Murder works very nicely indeed. And I thoroughly approve of the orange. What do you think?