July 2016, Simon & Schuster Children's, 352 pages, Paperback, Review copy
Summary from Simon & Schuster
Midge loves riddles, his cat, Twitch, and – most of all – stories. Especially because he's grown up being read to by his sister Alice, a brilliant writer.
When Alice goes missing and a talking cat turns up in her bedroom, Midge searches Alice’s stories for a clue. Soon he discovers that her secret book, The Museum of Unfinished Stories, is much more than just a story. In fact, he finds two of its characters wandering around town...
Nayu's thoughts
The Other Alice by Michelle Harrison,
Children's, 11 years +, 10E/10E (This scary seeming story is magically
written!) I mean it. At the moment I prefer lighter reads, but wanted to take
part in this blog tour because I've enjoyed some of Michelle's other book. When
I first started this one, I was quite worried because the prologue seemed dark.
If the book and been at that level of scariness I wouldn't have been able to
read it. I confess to leaving the book a
few days until I was ready for what lay within it.
It didn't take long before I was caught
up in Midge's tale, forgetting he was a boy too. I loved Tabitha, as a cat lover
I'd like one who talks (even have one in a wip that needs finishing), plus liking
the idea of what sounded like a changeling taking the real Alice's place I
wanted to review it. I'm so glad I kept going through the parts I wanted to stop
at, because I got so attached to Gypsy that I was upset at the end. I'm not
saying what happens, I just wanted Gypsy to stay in Alice's world. Gypsy (&
Alice) goes through a lot of hardship, firstly because she lost her voice, a
tale that is revealed later in the book. I felt sorry for her (probably a bit
for Piper) because she was in a strange world that she didn't fully understand.
With all the magic not even Midge fully understood his world. Thankfully oer
people knew snippets of what was going on so Midge was able progress in the hut for Alice. The creep
factor increased when he was able to contact his sister for help, but thankfully
I was able to keep reading.
There are so many unexpected twists that
I didn't have long to worry about creepy parts because something soon intrigued
me. I honestly was going to give this a 9/10E, due to the weirdness of t, but
the end is so spectacular I actually want to reread it, which is a pleasant
surprise. So it got full marks because there's no doubting how engrossed I was
while I read it. I like hoe the way it ends leaves room for another book for
Alice, hopefully that one will be from her point of view. I loved all the ideas about
writing stories, the facts about writing (like getting frustrated over not being able
to get a scene just right), I think writers as well as non-writers will get a
lot out of this book, being able to relate to the issues the real Alice faced.
I'm certainly hoping my cat will speak to me one day-she likes scrambled egg so
liking tea isn't that unusual (Tabitha the cat likes tea).
Find out more on Michelle's website.
Along with the proof copy I got a cute die-cut handmade from Michelle: there are
5 designs, and I'm guessing not that many were made!
5 designs, and I'm guessing not that many were made!
I love it!!! So very me ^o^ Now it's time for Michelle, no, Alice's writing life!
A Day in the Life of
Alice
Dawn
I didn't mean to, but
I've done it again. Stayed up all night writing, that is. I was
wondering why I felt tired when I realised morning was breaking
through the skylight. I say writing – ha. (An unfunny 'ha'.)
I've looked through my notes – again – but I'm still stuck,
stuck, stuck. I just can't figure out what happens next in this
story. I'm starting to think calling it The Museum of Unfinished
Stories was a bad idea. Like an omen, or a curse. I don't need
any more of those. I feel like I could sleep for a week. All I want
to do now is go to bed . . . but I need to get breakfast on and make
sure Midge leaves for school on time. Sleep can wait.
11.00am
Dozed off at the
kitchen table. Not sure how long for but the tea I'd made was stone
cold. I won't bother making more. I think I'll go out for lunch and
try to get some writing done at the coffee shop. A change of scenery
might help me get over this writers' block. The house is too quiet
without Mum and Midge around, anyway. Some days the silence is what I
need. Other days, like today, it feels like a shroud. Hey, that
sounded quite good! If only the words came that easily for important
stuff, like my story, and not just this diary.
12.30pm
Wrote a few sentences
in the coffee shop before all the college kids came in for lunch.
After that it was too noisy, so I left and wandered round town.
They're already building the pyre in the town square for the
Summoning, although it's not for another three days. A few Likenesses
have started popping up in people's gardens and windows, too. It's
such a weird custom of Fiddler's Hollow; making these little dolls of
people in the hope that they'll be Summoned to you so you can ask
them a question. I mean, where did that even come from? Midge is
right – it's pretty creepy.
On the way home I saw a
gorgeous skirt in a shop window – just the sort of thing Gypsy
would wear. There I go again, thinking about my characters. That's
how I know this story is good. I can't stop thinking about it. I have
to finish it. And not just because it's good, but because . . . well.
I saw a black cat on the way home. For a moment it seemed as though
it were watching me.
3.00pm
So the sentences I
wrote earlier are utter rubbish. I've scrapped them. Maybe I should
bin the whole damn story . . . but I can't. Maybe I just need a
break. I could make a Likeness to take my mind off it. The trouble
is, there's only one person I'd want to Summon, and that's J.P. . . .
But I'd been too
scared to ask him the question that matters. Deep down I know the
answer: he's never noticed me. I wonder if he'd ever notice if I got
my story published . . . or about how one of the characters looks
just like him. Even though the name, Johnny Piper is different, it's
still his initials. I can feel my face burning at the thought. No –
if I ever get published I'll use a pen name. Some identities need to
stay a secret . . .
7.45pm
Mum's working late,
again, and Midge is in the shower. I took the fortune cards out from
under Mum's bed. I love looking at them: all the fairy tale pictures
of gingerbread cottages, and Pied Pipers, and spinning wheels. Mum
must have loved them once, too. Why else would she still have them?
Maybe she'll give them to me, one day. I'm the only person who looks
at them now, even if the only futures they predict are my
characters'.
Tonight, even the
cards aren't helping me figure out a way forward. It's been five days
now since I wrote anything new. Maybe that doesn't sound a long time,
but it feels like it when you're staring at a blank page. I feel it
building again, starting the same way it started last year. Seeing
shadows at the edges of my vision, like people moving. People who
shouldn't be there. Next it'll be the voices, and after that . . .
I just checked the
window. The street is quiet now and it's dark out. No one's about, no
neighbours . . . or anyone else.
I'd better get writing
and make sure it stays that way.
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