Funny girl

The Meaning of LifeI have always “done” funny. Both as a reader, and a writer. As a child, I snorted through every page of every Dr Seuss, laughed until I cried at Russell Hoban’s inspired creation Aunt Fidget Wonkham-Strong in her iron hat cooking mutton sog, and the mere mention of the East Pagwell Canal from Professor Branestawm was enough to render me insensible.

Laughter is a tonic, it’s therapy. Quite literally, as there is no greater closure than the writer’s revenge of turning the adults who belittled you, or the children who taunted you mercilessly for having hair like Leo Sayer and second-hand skirts, into grim-faced moustachioed ladies, or moronic underachievers called Kylie (yes, both of them, and no I won’t name the inspirational bullies behind the characters, but suffice to say I didn’t bother to change one of the surnames).

A few months ago, I was asked by The Guardian to write a piece on my top ten favourite “funny” books for young children. Of course I said yes. a) Because my self-esteem is sufficiently low and my ego sufficiently enormous that I am easily flattered. b) Because I like going through my bookshelves and ensuring they are still in excellent alphabetical order. And c) because I like thinking about funny things.

And so I did, think about them I mean, not just the books themselves (though that was a delight), but about the concept of “funny” and its place in fiction. Because I’ve found that funny is, oddly, frowned upon by certain people, and certain schools of thinking. These are the people who would have you believe that “issues” books – books that make you “feel”, that make you “think” (usually about grim things) are somehow more worthy of your time, and of praise, and prizes, than ones with jokes in.

People like my old O Level teacher who told me I’d never amount to anything when he caught me reading one of my own books under the desk, instead of the syllabus text sat sullenly on top of it. It wasn’t so much the act of disobedience that riled him, I think, than the subject matter – my chosen book was George’s Marvelous Medicine – so much more interesting than the turgid (or so it seemed to me at the time) Silas Marner.

But what these people – and there are many, from teachers to parents to peers – fail to get is that funny books can be just as worthwhile, and just as potentially life-changing. They make you “think”, they make you “feel”. But they make you laugh while you’re doing it. And sometimes, that can make the drama all the greater, the truth all the starker.

Funny books are important – from getting reluctant readers engaged in a story, to keeping the attention of those with short attention spans, to simply making us feel clever when we get the joke. Shakespeare did it; Austen did it; Dahl did it, not just in his children’s books, but throughout his tales for grown-ups too.

I’m not claiming to be in their ball park, I’m not even claiming that the Meaning of Life is life-changing, but I am convinced that, for at least two hundred and something pages, it will make life fun. And that makes life good. And that, surely, is what it’s all about.

(And if you’re interested in just what my top ten funny books for 5-8s were, you can read about them here)

The Meaning of Life is out today, and you can get it from the Guardian bookshop.

About Joanna Nadin

A former broadcast journalist and special adviser to the prime minister, since leaving politics I’ve written more than 70 books, as well as speeches for politicians, and articles for newspapers and magazines like Red and The Amorist. I also lecture in Creative Writing at Bath Spa University, and hold a doctorate in young adult literature. I’m a winner of the Fantastic Book Award and the Surrey Book Award, and have been shortlisted for the Roald Dahl Funny Prize, the Booktrust Best Book award and Queen of Teen among others, and nominated for the Carnegie Medal for Joe All Alone, which is currently being adapted for television. I also work with Sir Chris Hoy on the Flying Fergus series. I like London, New York, Essex, tea, cake, Marmite, mint imperials, prom dresses, pubs, that bit in the West Wing where Donna tells Josh she wouldn’t stop for a red light if he was in an accident, junk shops, crisps, Cornwall, St Custard’s, Portuguese custard tarts, political geeks, pin-up swimsuits, the Regency, high heels, horses, old songs, my Grandma’s fur coat, vinyl, liner notes, the smell of old books, the feel of a velveteen monkey, Guinness, quiffs, putting my hand in a bin of chicken feed, the 1950s, burlesque, automata, fiddles, flaneuring, gigs in fields on warm summer nights, Bath, the bath.
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One Response to Funny girl

  1. I for one always thought your hair was really cool at school. And I’ve still got some of my old English books from the same teacher you mention which I show children when I do author visits! I love your top ten funny books. Captain Najork, The Sneetches and The Twits would absolutely be in mine, too. I keep Captain Najork in my bedroom so I can look at it/read it in bed on a regular basis. Inspired. As a child, Professor Branestawm would have been in mine, too, though I’ve not read it for thirty years now -and I loved Fattipuffs and Thinnifers and The Phantom Tollbooth -though again, I can’t remember them now -just that I loved them at the time. Hope you’ve embraced your Leo Sayer now as I’ve embraced my Neil from The Young Ones that I used to get bullied about (probably by some of the same people). Happy Book Birthday!

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