![]() I never really liked my name (as you can see I ended up mutilating it), ‘Nicholas’ being too easy for girls in particular to make fun of. ![]() Because the name on the spine was Nicholas, like my own. ![]() Sleep was hard enough to come by in those days.Īnd yet I had a fondness for the book, unread as it was. Maybe the cover didn’t help, as rarely as I risked pulling the book out to take a peek: a boy standing over an old woman on a bed, lying stiff as a board, glowing like a deep-sea squid, and grinning. So nearly Granny, the warmest and most comforting word in a child’s vocabulary, and so nearly grin (surely smiles are nice things?) and yet the two, scrambled together, conjured something horrific. For my eight-year-old self, the spine of it was enough to send a shiver down my own. Even typing it today raises a couple of goosebumps. ![]() Nicholas Fisk – looking back at the futureĪ Nicholas Fisk book lived in my bedroom bookshelf for many months before I dared open it. ![]()
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