Hello everyone!

I jumped into bed at 20 seconds to midnight on New Year’s Eve and opened the very fat novel I was reading and loving, to make sure—as Malcolm and I clinked wine glasses to welcome in the New Year—that I’d be starting off 2007 as I mean to continue: reading, reading, reading. Reading is heaven unless the book is bad, when it’s hell. The book I was reading at midnight was The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox. It’s an English novel, so it may have a different title in the USA and elsewhere. It was so good I occasionally found myself reading it mid-mornings. I went back to bed at 10:30 one morning to read a few more chapters. Reading in the mornings seems sinful somehow, even for me, but then I remember that it’s the summer holidays where no sin exists! Since then I have read A Spot of Bother, also an English novel, by Mark Haddon (author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) which I finished last night. Although its underlying theme was rather sad it was wildly funny. I roared often, hooted even, and was once hysterical enough to have put the book down and wipe my eyes because I literally couldn’t see the words through my tears of laughter.

I moan and complain about all the travel and security irritation I have to suffer in relation to my work, but the bonus is that I can keep up with most of the novels that receive a lot of attention, so much so that I sometimes stand in good bookshops in airports and think to myself: “Oh God, I’ve read everything.” The great thing about reading so much on planes is that I can leave bad novels unfinished in the seat pocket in front of me, thereby lightening my luggage. If a novel is so bad it’s an affront to any reader, I take it off the plane and search for the nearest rubbish bin to dump it in. If it’s really good novel, however, I’ll leave it in a public place with a note inside saying: “If you’ve found this book, it’s yours. I loved it, finished it, and would like you to have the same pleasure.” The only reason I don’t take every book home with me is the weight of them since I always have to have three with me, just in case. Having no book on a plane makes me panic, almost physically: not about flying, about not being able to read. So there we are: right now I’m reading at home. It must be summer!

As an author I receive only six free books on publication. Some publishers stretch that to twelve. People think I have a whole warehouse in my back garden and that free books are available to anyone who asks. Sadly, no. But I do get a 40% discount on my own books and I buy a lot of them to give away to deserving causes and people. Recently I bought copies of a small edition (Australian only) of Time for Bed. I signed them all and we keep them in the car to give to people we happen to see with babies or young children. I figure it’s a great way (not free to me, but worth the cost since there’s no postage) to introduce the read aloud message to families who might not have cottoned on to it yet. I’ve accosted many astonished strangers on the street and in my neighbourhood shopping area, all of whom could have rung the local police reporting a nutter on the loose. So far, thank heaven they’ve all been delighted and delightful in their response. A few of them haven’t realised that I’m the author of the book I’m giving away. It’s been heaps of fun.

In mid-December Laura Harris, my lovely publisher at Penguin, Australia, sent news that Where Is The Green Sheep? had reached the 100,000 sales mark, without counting the board book edition which is also flying off the shelves. Who needs Christmas after that?!

Three Gorgeous Readers

Thanks to the Adelaide ‘Advertiser’ 2006

Related to Christmas and its real meaning, it was massively exciting to have had Wombat Divine chosen to be the featured Christmas windows at Myer (a major department store) in both Melbourne and Brisbane. I saw the windows at the Melbourne store and stood there weirdly listening to my own voice telling the story and, unknown as the author to the others standing in the line, hearing adorable comments from both children and adults. The windows were such a magnificent rendition of the story and such a hit with the public (it took over an hour standing in the queue before we got to the windows themselves) that once again, as with Possum Magic and its magic status, I felt as if it were nothing to do with me and stood there gawping like everyone else, mesmerised.

Prior to Christmas I spent two very happy weeks in the USA and Canada. In Edmonton —yes, we stayed at the West Edmonton Mall, shoppers’ heaven, where I didn’t shop at all!—the weather was the coldest that we’d ever been in: 23 degrees Centigrade. Look that up on the net for Fahrenheit: it’s way below freezing. Malcolm was with me (bliss) and he took photos of the television weather report because we knew no one at home would believe us. We came home to forty degrees Centigrade which is way over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It was astounding and for us, and thrilling. Oh, those hardy Canadians! My work in Canada was terrific: I was subversive about literacy education and then left the country.

In the USA I was first in Oklahoma where I began my speech by singing “Oh, what a beautiful morning…” Not sure that it was a beautiful rendition but it seemed right at the time. I was then in Chicago for five days, working for the Chicago library system, the best I have ever experienced. They are wonderfully kind to me (thank you Mary Demspey and Bernie Nowakowski!) and the work is fascinating. It all finished with a grand day: the second Mayor Daley Reading Round Table. I met the Mayor himself, a dynamic, inspiring leader, and a passionate advocate of early literacy. I made him cry which could have been a worry except it was during my reading of Koala Lou when many of the rest of the audience was crying along with him, so it was OK. I will be sad if Chicago has a huge read-aloud campaign before we have a similar national campaign in Australia, but some people listen and other leaders don’t.

Malcolm and Chloe and Leon are fine. We four had a divine Christmas together: small, but at least everyone liked each other which doesn’t always happen at Christmas dinners! Chloe and Leon love being politicians. In Chloe’s case perhaps it’s in the genes. Her great-grandmother, Amy Morgan-Brock, was the only woman in the photo of the South Australian State Labor (Democrat) convention in 1911. We have always been active in politics. My second “book” which filled an entire exercise book and which I wrote when I was 17, was a fictional treatise against racism in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe.

Which brings me back to David Hicks. When I speak at rallies and write pieces for newspapers on matters such as David Hicks, the Adelaide man and the only Australian who has been in Guantanamo for five years without having a single charge laid against him, etc., etc., I do feel nervous. Part of me is anxious and cowardly. What if people misinterpret me, I ask myself. What if they think I support terrorists? Which I don’t. What if they dislike my views so much they say bad things about me and refuse to buy my books? What if? What if? What if? And then I realise that’s what is important is how I will feel about myself if I don’t stand up to be counted, no matter what the cost. I would feel terrible. I am not the daughter of radical left-wing activist Christian missionaries for nothing. The David Hicks piece can be read on my website in the Peace File.

On a lighter note to finish, friends have filled my days since before Christmas, when I haven’t been reading. I gorge myself on adored friends at this time of the year. What matters in the end but justice, friendship and families? Two friends from Texas came to stay which was divine of them considering the distance. And my beloved literary agent, Jenny Darling, is coming to stay tomorrow for a few days which will provide added happiness to the week. I have even gorged myself on friends from my college days and childhood through long e-mails and phone calls. My best friend from high school, Barbara Bacon (now Moore), and I had a divine phone call a few night ago. She lives in Scotland and I haven’t seen her for over 30 years but her laugh is the same and I could have wept with nostalgia. There’s a hilarious photo of the two of us, probably taken in about 1962, on the website of the National Library of Australia You have to scroll down a bit to find it. She is the beautiful one.

On that note, beautiful people, so long till next time.

Much love, with a PS: I haven’t mentioned writing at all. Clearly it’s going to be a very good year!

Mem Fox xxx