It was an enjoyable film, but I don’t think I would watch it again in a hurry. For its genre, the acting is good. As good as it needs to be, at least. This isn’t exactly a quiet moment on the beach or a dramatic war film with three kids and a wife to go home to. Conan is much less subtle. Blood, swords and the voice of Morgan Freeman narrating, this film has it all. Perhaps in excess.

See, so much of the film overlooks the very basics of storytelling: characters names need to be memorable (I can only remember Conan’s name, despite the others being said repeatedly), there needs to be a quiet moment when someone isn’t being bludgeoned and/or ripped open with a sword and when you’re using names with a foreign or fantasy element to them, especially place names that seem important, make sure they’re both few and memorable. With the pace so high in Conan, learning the names of anyone and anywhere becomes a chore.

The recipient of both affection and sexism

In saying that, the ridiculously fast pace also allows for the film to keep you on the edge of your seat, waiting for the next villain to get a sword to the gut, or the next typically-barbarian sexist remark that got every man in the audience laughing. There’s a lot of action in the film, making a great and easy thing to watch. Jason Momoa, the brutish lead, does a great job of making slaughter look like fun. But then there comes Conan‘s biggest flaw: the ending.

This creepy villain only gets creepier!

There’s not much that can be done to end a story when the whole thing was filled with blood. I can barely remember the ending – a bad sign after only a few hours having passed – because things slowed down a lot. I spent so much time looking at intense action that when they tried to end the film they made it so comparatively dull I could barely stay awake. Don’t let that stop you going to see the film, though – it’s not an Oscar winner, but it’s a good watch and very enjoyable.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

Director: Marcus Nispel
Release Dates: US – August 19th 2011, UK – August 14th 2011, Irleand – August 26th 2011
Age Certificates:  US – R, UK – 15, Ireland – 15

It was just another school trip… When their ski-coach pulls up at a cafe, and everyone else gets off, new girl Bobby and rebel Smitty stay behind. They hardly know each other but that changes when through the falling snow, they see the others coming back. Something has happened to them. Something bad…

Soon only a pair of double doors stand between those on the bus and their ex-friends the Undead outside. Time to get a life. Author Kirsty McKay is a major new horror/thriller writer for ages 12+.

There, now that’s out of the way, let’s get on with the review.

Let’s face it, we’re all in love with zombies. From Night of the Living Dead to World War Z, we can’t get enough of those ugly, brain-munching monstrosities. Hell, even my own comic series, Gangrene, politely tips its hat to decades of zombie lore.

But what of this latest entry in the zombie stable? Kirsty McKay’s Undead is a young adult horror in which a group of teenagers find themselves caught up in a full-scale Z-Pocalypse. Thrown together, the teens must learn to overcome their differences if they are to have any chance of surviving and finding out who – or what – is responsible for the onslaught of the living dead.

So far, so familiar, and this is the problem with the book in general. We’ve seen it all before.

The teenagers are little more than stereotypes – the bitchy good-looking girl, the computer geek, the handsome rebel with a heart of gold, they’re all here. The protagonist, Bobby, is new to the school. Having moved from the US, she feels like an outsider, but watching your former classmates become zombies turns out to be quite the bonding experience, and soon she is more or less leading the group in their attempts to survive.

The zombie scenes are effective enough – no more, no less. There are scenes you’ll have seen in almost every living dead film ever – the blood-streaked hand at the window, the hordes of zoms shuffling along the moonlit road – but it is all handled reasonably well so that you don’t ever quite become bored.

In fact, I found myself sitting up well into the night reading the book, which is more a testament to McKay’s writing than to the concept itself. Occasionally I found some of the dialogue a bit clunky – particularly Alice, the bitchy blonde – but other than that this is a well-written story and a quick read. That said, the twist at the end of the story is actually a massive coincidence that I don’t remember being foreshadowed at any point prior to it happening, which was disappointing.

I can’t help but wonder how good the story could have been if it had a unique hook, like Charlie Higson’s The Enemy series, for example. As it is, this book almost reads like a checklist of what you’d expect in any other zombie story. Brain-eating monsters? Check. New fangled viruses? Check. Conspiracy theories? Shady corporations? ‘Heroic’ characters meeting a grisly doom? Check, check and check. Without a unique hook it’s a book that will likely only appeal to existing fans of the zombie genre, and they’re going to have seen it all before.

Yes, the protagonist is female (Bobby is short for Roberta) but that isn’t enough to make this sufficiently different from virtually every other zombie tale we’ve seen in the past. On the Romero scale, it’s nowhere near as good as Dawn of the Dead, say, but it’s no Land of the Dead, either. It’s Day of the Dead – solid enough, with some memorable scenes, but ultimately not as good as what’s come before.

On the other hand, maybe I’m just old and jaded, and this might turn out to be the perfect introduction to the genre for those who haven’t yet dipped their toes into zombie horror.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Publisher: Chicken House
Published: 1st September 2011
Buy now on Amazon.

Cover for The Warlock

What do you get when you take figures from history, ancient figures from mythology, magic and prophecy and throw them all together? Most of the time, nothing. Michael Scott, however, did just that and got a six-book series entitled The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel. He’s already five books into the series and I can guarantee that things are definitely getting tough for the heroes, twins Sophie and Josh. Scott has managed to pull together all the mystery of history and the folklore of various societies and come out with a series of books that will blow you away.

Book five in the series, The Warlock, hit the shelves in the UK last June, and let me tell you: it’s the best one yet! By this stage in the series, both the readers and the protagonists have pledged their allegiances and things are heating up. The twins are learning about magic, the gods are ready to wage war and the immortals… well, their part in the war was never meant to be as pawns or observers. There are so many ways this can all end, and Scott has kept us wanting answers for a long time.

Trust being a massive part of the series, it’s no wonder questions get raised about the Flamels; Nicholas and his wife, Perenelle (both of whom actually did live full lives in France 600 years ago, for those remembering Harry Potter and thinking Scott a thief of one of JK Rowling’s characters) are down to their last hours, and hardly a soul trusts them. Whether that matters anymore is a decision for the rest of the heroes as they hope to defend San Francisco from some of the greatest dangers the world could ever face – you really can’t afford to doubt the alchemyst and his wife when they’re trying to save your life!

Michael Scott

So what can you expect from this book? For a start, better explanations as to what’s actually going on! Scott has been leaving his readers asking so many questions, and it’s time for some answers. They’re not to be missed if you’ve been wondering about magic, about the twins, about the Flamels and about the greatest mysteries that have been popping up in the series – I don’t dare reveal the hidden secrets!

It’s a fantastic book, following a fantastic series, and with only one more book to go the tension is getting unbearable. If you want excitement and adventure, magic, myth and mayhem, and the most convincing combination of historical figures and gods from global folklore, look no further than The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel. This latest instalment is a hard-hitting novel you don’t want to miss.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

And now I’ve read it, I know why.

The story opens with a human sacrifice. A boy, Luke, is dragged, screaming, from his bed, across a rocky beach to Crowden’s Sorrow. His pyjamas are torn, he is soaked through with rain and shivering with fear, and hooded adults, whose voices he recognises as friends and neighbours, pull back his head and slit his throat.

And that, pretty much, sets the tone for the rest of the book.

Luke was sacrificed, we learn, to ensure that hoards of demons cannot break through the door in the cavern known as Crowden’s Sorrow. Twenty five years later the door is threatening to open once more and an almighty battle breaks out between the guardians of the door, the Hobarron elders, and Crowden’s coven, a band of witches dedicated to the release of the demons. And at the centre of the maelstrom is Jake Harker, a fifteen year old loner and horror comic fanatic.

This is a real page turner. It’s fast paced and full of action and it’s one of the creepiest books I’ve read in a long while: Jake Harker wasn’t the only one having weird dreams, I can tell you! It’s full of well-rounded characters and a cast of evil creatures to make your stomach churn (the exploding poisonous toads that rain down on Hobarron village are truly disgusting). Adults are generally untrustworthy, and some of the children are no better, and Jake is faced with impossible odds if he is going to avoid the inevitable and bloody end.

It has to be a must for all horror fans. And if you want more, there are two more books Gallows at Twilight and The Last Nightfall due out in January and September of next year. In the meantime the website WitchfinderBooks.co.uk is well worth checking out. There’s a reading by the author and a competition to win signed copies (closes 1st July 2010).

Witchfinder: Dawn of the Demontide, out March 2010.

Hush Hush

I have a confession to make. When I picked this book off my pile of review books my heart sunk. First off, I’d scanned the promotional material and knew it was yet another high school teenager falls for inappropriate male story. Then there was the small matter of the black feather that had fallen out of the envelope that accompanied the promotional material. So, there was no doubt about it. I wasn’t going to enjoy this.

Yeah, well, OK.

Approximately 150 pages in and I had to put it down because the kids were screaming to be fed, and that’s pretty much how it carried on until I had reached the final page.

So what makes Hush Hush worth reading? To start with, there’s the two lead characters. Leaving aside the problem of their names (Nora and Patch! I ask you. Those names might work in the US but in England I have an image of a decrepit and irritable old woman getting down with the dog. But I digress), these two are as well-drawn and attractive as any. Nora is a feisty number. She is self-reliant and not easily spooked and no one could be more surprised than she when she finds herself drawn towards the mysterious new boy at school. Indeed, she refuses to give in to the inevitable, does her utmost to avoid Patch and even starts dating another boy, until she comes to suspect that he may have been involved in the death of another girl. All of which makes the final submission to Patch all the more convincing.

Patch, too is a multi-dimensional creation, no mean feat given he’s the supernatural one. He remains difficult to read, right up to the end. Yes, he’s the fallen angel and yes, he fell, we learn, for all the right reasons. But there are hints a many of the evil he has perpetrated in the past and neither Nora nor the reader can be sure that in the end the evil side of his nature will not triumph.

And then we come to the writing style. This is lean and pacy and dominated by sassy and believable dialogue. Hush Hush is a book you can read quickly, indeed that you want to read quickly. It’s fun and exciting, intriguing and not a little bit sexy; it’s a different twist on the high school romance and a stupendous first novel.

I gather Becca Fitzpatrick is now working on a sequel. I won’t be picking that one up with a sinking heart, but I do hope I don’t get another black feather.

Hush Hush by Becca Fitzpartick, published by Simon & Schuster, October 29th 2009

The Terror Beneath

Now, there’s horror that is scary, and there’s horror that is stomach-churning. This first volume in the Monstrumologist series is both. It deals, by means of supposed nineteenth century journals, with an infestation of anthropophagi in a peaceful nineteenth century New England town.

The journals were written by one Will Henry, who at the time of this first story, is twelve years old and living with, and as apprentice to, the monstrumologist of the series title: Doctor Pellinore Warthrop. The story opens with the arrival at the doctor’s home of a late night caller with a strange delivery: a dead anthropophagus, still attached to the body of the young girl on whom it had been feeding. Strange late night visitors bearing bizarre packages are not uncommon, we are told, but this particular arrival excites more interest than usual and the doctor immediately sets about examining the find, whilst Will takes notes. What follows is the first of many minute descriptions of these beasts, their gore-bespattered rows of teeth, the gut-wrenching odour which exudes from their every pore and the barbed claws ‘as sharp as a hypodermic and as hard as diamonds’. And you know then that this is no book for the faint-hearted.

So this is the story of a reclusive doctor and his young assistant and their battle to rid New England of a pod of anthrophagi. Well, yes. And no. It is also a coming of age tale. Will has come to live with the doctor after his parents were killed in a fire. He is alone, as the doctor is also, and as the quest to discover how the anthrophagi arrived in New England and how to destroy them unfolds, so Will comes to understand who he is and what the doctor means to him.

And the doctor too, has his own personal angle to the quest, and at this point, it seems, the book becomes very much a product of its period. For Pellinore Warthrop is the son of a monstrumologist, and when the anthropophagi turn out to be connected in some way to his father, Warthrop knows that only he can finish the business. Is it fanciful of me to see a reflection here of a war started by one US President and re-opened by his son? I understand that it is all too easy, post 9-11, to read references to the war on terror into fantasy fiction, but whether conscious or not, the similarities here were too marked for this reader to ignore.

A multi-layered book, then? Yes. And perhaps one that is a little too sophisticated for its 13+ target audience. The protagonist may only be twelve, but the writing style and language are true to its nineteenth century journal conceit. The ghastliness of the monsters is described with exquisitely literary quasi-nineteenth century prose. Will that appeal to readers more familiar with, say Darren Shan? I’m not sure. But more sophisticated readers will love having more to get their teeth into!

The Monstrumologist: The Terror Beneath by Rick Yancey, published by Simon & Shuster, October 2009, £6.99

The Zombie Cookbook

I once had a friend tell me that, when evaluating cookbooks, it’s important to not expect every recipe to be of interest to you, and that there can be a cookbook that you love that you ignore half of. As long as there were a few recipes in that cookbook that you would not only use and love, but that you would reuse for years to come, then the whole book was worth getting.

I think that the same logic can be applied, to an extent, to short story collections. The short story, as a format, has undergone a bit of a fall from grace in the past few decades, which is unfortunate, because it’s a unique type of story that allows for a lot of variety and experimentalism that you won’t necessarily get from novels. I think that, if people approached short story collections the same way they approach cookbooks, they’d enjoy them significantly more.

All that brings us to The Zombie Cookbook, a new short story collection from Damnation Books. As the title might suggest, it’s not the most serious of story collections; a lot of the stories here walk the line between horror and comedy. There’s a long tradition of that within zombie literature, stretching back to movies like Return of the Living Dead (which was the origin of the “bbbrrraaaaaiiiinnsss” zombie meme) and Dead Alive. For someone who’s a long-time fan of zombie literature in print or film, this collection doesn’t necessarily break any new ground, but it does provide a solid entry in that tradition.

The theme of the collection, crossing zombie stories with food, is a logical connection, and one that you would think would be fairly restrictive, but there’s a surprising amount of variety among the eleven stories and poems included in the collection. I hadn’t heard of any of the authors in the collection prior to reading it, but I’ll definitely be checking some off these authors out in the future, as there are some who really manage to take the concept and make it their own.

As I said with the recipe book analogy, I didn’t enjoy every single story in this collection, but that’s okay; not everything in the cookbook has to be to everyone’s taste, and even the ones that I didn’t particularly enjoy were well-written. I’m sure they’ll have a lot of fans in their own right. When the collection hits its hight points, though, in stories like The Right Recipe and My Big Fat Zombie Wedding, you end up discovering some short stories that have a lot of depth and world-building done to them in addition to the puns and slapstick humour that pepper the book.

In addition to the stories, the Zombie Cookbook is also really nicely packaged. The cover and interior artwork are beautiful, and nicely accent the stories that they’re interspersed with. A few of the stories even include recipes for zombie cooks, which helps sell the concept of the book as well. If you’re a fan of zombie books or horror comedy, it’s definitely worth checking out at ZombieCookbook.net. Both e-book and print versions are available.

Leviathan

As ‘what-ifs’ go for the starting point of a novel sequence, this one’s a doosie.

Assume that Darwin not only came up with natural selection but that he also pre-empted Crick and Watson, discovered DNA, or ‘life-threads’ as they are called here, and then set about fabricating all kinds of species to help mankind. Then assume that the new ‘technology’ is only accepted by Britain and her allies, whilst Germany pursues a more historically accurate technological development, albeit, unwittingly influenced by the ‘Darwinist’ fabrications.

Now place all that in the historical setting of 1914, add a couple of kids who are not quite what they seem, snap your fingers, and voilà, Leviathan! Well, not quite.

Leviathan is the first in a new series by Scott Westerfeld, he of Uglies fame, and you can tell it’s the first in a series because it ends on one of those cliff-hangers that have you turning the page desperate to find out what happens next.

It opens with the night-time escape of young Prince Aleksandar, Alek for short, in the company of Count Volger and Otto Klopp, master of mechaniks. Alek’s parents have just been murdered in Sarajevo, and the Count knows that the true assassins (not the Serbian scapegoats) will be after Alek next as the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. So, under cover of darkness, they take a Cyklop Stormwalker, stuffed to the gills, with gold bars and the family insignia, and make their escape, trudging across central Europe in disguise and desperately trying to keep one step ahead of their ‘Clanker’ (ie German) pursuers.

Now, the Stormwalker is one of those traditionally powered vehicles that have been subliminally influenced by Darwin. It’s very much a tank or armoured vehicle, but instead of running on tracks (Alek has a little joke about how daft this would be) it uses huge mechanical legs. This provides the reader with no end of fun as Alek learns how to guide the walker at night without tripping over, stop safely from a run and walk on bended ‘knees’ to duck under low archways or keep under cover of trees.

Meanwhile, the other kid, Deryn, is about to apply to enter the British Air Service. Which would be fine, of course, if it weren’t for the minor fact that Deryn is a girl. Of course, she isn’t any girl. She’s the daughter of an aeronaut and has virtually been brought up in the air. She is tough, feisty, clever, and resourceful and she has an endearingly boyish turn of phrase, all of which is aptly demonstrated on her very first day in the service when she successfully pilots a Huxley through a storm.

And this is the point where the reader is first introduced to a ‘hydrogen breather’, for a Huxley is a sort of organic air balloon, a fabrication made from the life-chains of assorted medusae (jelly fish and other poisonous sea creatures) whose belly is full of hydrogen exhaling bugs and bacteria. Therefore, as the medusa feeds it produces hydrogen which fill gas bags in its belly and enable it to rise. (So hydrogen breathers are actually hydrogen exhalers but that just doesn’t trip off the tongue so well.)

Sadly, Huxleys are also rather primitive beasties, as Deryn calls them, which are easily spooked by high winds. Thus Deryn’s feat is considerable even if she does end up having to be rescued by the Leviathan.

The Leviathan. This is the blue whale sized version: a massive ecosystem, part airship and part weapons carrier. But because it is a ‘fab’, because it is organic, it seems to have something resembling a personality, such that when it lies, deflated and famished on a Swiss glacier later in the story, you feel real pity not only for the humans aboard but also for the ship itself.

Westerfeld’s prose, superb as it is, is only partly responsible. For Leviathan isn’t just a written book. It’s an illustrated one and Keith Thompson’s monochrome drawings and their tender depiction of the fabs, all smooth, sinuous lines, and misty depths, cannot but entice the reader into this mindset. I love these drawings. They have a delightfully early-twentieth century feel to them at the same time as being undeniably modern. The attenuated figures and impish faces are reminiscent of Chris Riddell’s Edge Chronicles characters, and some of the battle scenes are pure steampunk, but then you get illustrations like that of the Captain’s cabin which would not be out of place in a Sherlock Holmes story.

Of course Deryn and Alek meet eventually and Westerfeld has no end of fun with roles, allowing, for example, Deryn, the pretend boy, to take Alek, the pretend Swiss villager, hostage. By the end of this novel Deryn has discovered Alek’s true identity, but hers remains hidden, although not for long one suspects given her burgeoning romantic inclinations.

I will reveal no more.

Leviathan, the book, is as superb and captivating a fabrication as Leviathan, the hydrogen breather. It has action, mystery, deception, and even the first stirrings of love. It also raises some fascinating questions about man’s relationship to beasts, should you want to get philosophical, and provides a spin on early twentieth century which makes your mouth water.

It was published only a few days ago. So there should still be some copies left. But move fast as this one is bound to become a bestseller quickly.

Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld, illustrated by Keith Thompson, published by Simon & Schuster, £12.99 hardback.

Dark Visions

Dark Visions by L.J.Smith comprises three novels, The Strange Power, The Possessed and The Passion, all of which were originally published back in the mid 1990s. Now they have been repackaged into a single 730 page paper-back volume and released back to a public whose taste for this kind of urban fantasy has been rekindled by the ubiquitous Twilight books.

And here comes the apology. I know you’re all sick of references to La Meyer and her magnum opus but in the case of Dark Visions I really must draw the analogies. Why? Because reading these three novels you cannot help but be struck by the similarities and as this volume has only just been published (September 3rd) you may fall into the misapprehension that Smith had been influenced by Meyer. The truth, however, given the original publication dates, would seem to be the opposite.

But let me tell you a little more about the novels themselves.

The Strange Power introduces the main characters. Kaitlin is an artist, whose drawings have the uncanny habit of coming true. She is invited by the mysterious Dr Zetes to join his group of psychically talented teenagers in a purple building in California. (The significance of the building’s colour is never explained but it’s such a super detail, I thought I’d mention it!) There she meets the two other major characters in the three novels: golden boy, Rob, the healer, and brooding but gorgeous Gabriel, the telepath.

By the end of The Strange Power the three teenagers, along with the two other psychic teen residents of the purple house, Anna and Lewis, have discovered that Dr Zetes isn’t quite the philanthropist they thought, fought him off and in doing so created a psychic bond between group members that cannot be broken.

The Possessed opens with the group on the run. They have escaped Dr Zetes and are desperately working their way up the west coast of America looking for the beach that Kaitlin believes houses their salvation. As they hide out together they grow closer and Kaitlin finally discovers Gabriel’s secret: he’s not just a telepath, but a psychic vampire who has to drain others of their psychic energy to survive. Now, ordinarily you might run from this. But not Kaitlin. No, she decides that she’s strong enough to control Gabriel and offers herself up as a source. And at this point I can hear you all screaming Bella and Edward at me. So I shall say no more.

The novel ends with an apocalyptic battle between the Fellowship (the good guys) and Dr Zetes and his bunch of psychic freaks (you guessed it, the bad guys), the outcome of which proves to be not entirely satisfactory for either side. And Kaitlin is not happy either, torn as she is between good old Rob and scary but sexy Gabriel!

The third novel, The Passion, brings both the love story and the battle between good and evil to an end. This is the one where Kaitlin grabs hold of her life, takes risks and emerges triumphant. She also gets the boy, but I won’t reveal which one.

So, what did I make of the books? Well, they’re a lot shorter than the Twilight opus and the read far more quickly. The style is leaner and the pages turn rapidly. Watching the relationship between Kaitlyn and Gabriel ebb and wane is a joy and those readers who criticised Bella for being too sappy, will find for more meat on the bone in Kaitlyn.

The minor characters in the group, Anna and Lewis are less clearly defined. This is only natural given the sheer dominance of the romantic triangle, but, for my money, I could have done with a bit more colour. Still, that criticism aside, if you liked Twilight, then you will like Dark Visions and it is amazingly good value at only £7.99 for all three books.

As to me, I’m off to read Scott Westerfeld’s latest. I’ve read too many books about American teenagers recently and I really can’t face them again for a while!

Dark Visions by L.J.Smith, published by Simon and Schuster, September 2009

Invisible Fiends: Mr Mumbles

I read Invisible Fiends: Mr Mumbles on the train to a children’s writers’ event in London and then on the way back again, and so engrossed was I that I had to carry on whilst walking in the dark from the station to my house. It wasn’t an easy task, trying to catch the light from the sparsely arranged streetlamps and, as you will realise when you read on, it wasn’t an entirely sensible thing to do either.

Mr Mumbles is the first of what will become a series of Invisible Fiends books. And it is not for the faint-hearted. It is 250 pages of fast-paced, spine-tingling fun with a dystopian vision that is truly horrifying. Shall I tell you more?

The eponymous, Mr Mumbles, (hero, he is not) was Kyle’s childhood imaginary friend. He was a skinny little man with friendly eyes who made up for his lack of intelligible speech by a wide range of slapstick and mime. He wore a high-collared overcoat and a hat pulled down too far and he had big ears and bushy eyebrows.

But that was then. The new Mr Mumbles isn’t friendly at all. He looks like he has been through Hell and he wants to bring it back with him. Here’s a flavour:

‘The lips were grotesque: thick, bloated, and sewn tightly together with grimy lengths of thread. Each stitch crossed over its neighbour, forming a series of little Xs from one side of his mouth to the other, sealing it shut. The holes the threads passed through were black and infected, the flesh rotting away from within.’

Perhaps I should have mentioned this is not a book for the squeamish either?

Mr Mumbles blames Kyle for what has happened to him and he is out for revenge. In the chase that ensues, Kyle is helped by the mysterious and resourceful Ameena and discovers powers he never knew he had. He also finds himself thrust into The Darkest Corners, the dystopia from which Mr Mumbles has come, and where he find an even more mysterious, and, it turns out, significant, figure.

Invisible Fiends is part good old-fashioned quest. There are some great fight scenes and a real sense of danger as Mr Mumbles comes back from everything that Kyle and Ameena throw at him. Kyle’s quest, therefore is to find a way to overcome and destroy him.

This is all fairly straightforward, if exciting stuff. The horror, however, lies in what feels like the sub-plot for this novel, but is more likely the story that underpins the series as a whole. Kyle has never met his father and his mother will not tell him anything about him. Nan might, but she’s long since lost her marbles. By the end of this novel, Kyle has some idea who his father is, and that brings me back to the reason why it wasn’t a very good idea to finish this novel walking down a dark road. The denouement is truly, spine-tinglingly creepy. I’m not sure if a ten year old would get it, but it left this grown-up with some very disturbing thoughts on which to go to bed.

And maybe that’s the point. Little boys will love it: fast action, sassy dialogue, gruesome imagery and a scary ending. Just don’t read it to them at bed-time. You may have trouble getting to sleep afterwards.

Invisible Fiends: Mr Mumbles by Barry Hutchison, published by Harper Collins on 7 January 2010