Fireweed

This book grew on me the way the way the title flower grows on the bombed-out ruins of London the Blitz in 1940. It took hold and refused to let go, so much so that what began as a casual beginning in the morning became an almost physical need to finish it before doing anything else. I had to find out what happened.

The story of how a teenage boy and girl meet and stick together to survive in the city without their parents has a steady rolling power that picks you up and carries you along with it, all the way to the sad, bittersweet ending. As it proceeds, there are descriptions so vivid – the blast wave from a bomb striking Hungerford Bridge, the stench of packed Underground shelters, the discovery of dead bodies in deserted ruins – you can almost feel, smell and touch them. The book has a power and impact that totally belies its modest size.

Strange then, to read in Lucy Mangan’s brief introduction, that Jill Paton Walsh grew to dislike her creation, even going so far to dismiss it as juvenilia. I’d say it’s a memorable example of how ‘mere’ children’s fiction can shine a light on the world and human relationships as striking and insightful as any big gun in the adult literature canon. And probably explains why it's still in print 50 years after it was first published.