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| Email Josephine Poole or her agent | ||
Josephine Poole started writing when she was six. One of her most popular titles, Moon Eyes, was dramatised for radio and reprinted in 2002. She has written extensively for television, including an adaptation of one of her teenage thrillers. Her picture book retelling of Snow White was shortlisted for the Smarties prize. Her favourite themes are the metaphysical and the supernatural, and she particularly enjoys writing for 11-14 year olds. |
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New Publication! ISBN 0-34-084375-6
Scorched is one of those timeless classics dealing with the complexities of teenage angst, something we've all gone through and maybe still are, even if sometimes we like to pretend otherwise. It focuses on our emotional pains, the things that get all tangled up inside ourselves ... our sense of isolation and uniqueness as puberty arrives, slaps us in the face and turns our world upside-down. Robert and Alice are twins, caught up in the humdrum of everyday life and everyone's expectations of them; tied down to each other by their circumstances yet longing for escape and their own individual identities. If you're Robert‚ and feeling like life's ignoring you, you'll long for the freedom and power Nick represents – or, if you're Alice‚ you'll feel her loneliness and loss, hate and love the responsibility forced upon you. It's that place where we still want to be young and carefree and yet be treated as an adult with our own destiny. If you're someone's mum or dad, rush out and read this book – it will remind you how torn-up inside you yourself felt and may help you to be a bit more supportive if it seems your own brood are beyond your understanding ... |
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Also Available ISBN 0-34-0843748 |
An extract from Scorched
His heart was beating hard, not so much because he'd been running, as with the enormity of what he was about to do. It was as if he was standing poised high up on a diving board, ready to go, knowing that in an instant there'd be no changing his mind. He struck a match – it flared, such a tiny thing – he held it to the hay expecting it to go out. What he didn't at all anticipate was the bang – almost an explosion – as the whole side of the trailer was suddenly a sheet of flame. He turned then and ran – as fast as ever Kit did – scrambled through the barbed wire fence and down to the stream, where he pulled up and looked back, aghast. He had never seen anything like it. It looked as though the trees would go up as well. He stared, mesmerised, for at least a minute – then got himself home as fast as he could. He was trembling as he climbed out over the porch to watch, with trepidation, the blaze.
Some fireworks display! Whenever it seemed to be calming down, it found something more to burn, and shot up again in a shower of sparks. He fancied he could hear it hissing and crackling even at this distance; certainly the smell of burning tarpaulin was horrible. But now it was time to put the rest of his plan into action. First, though, he had the sense to go to the bathroom and wash, and it was lucky that he thought of it, because his hands and face were black – far blacker than those of an innocent observer could be.
Once more he ran down to the stream – not in desperate haste, but anxiously all the same – he was already acting a part. He crossed by the ford, scrambled up the bank and into the field. The smell of burning would alert the Foxes as soon as they got home – there was no time to lose. But still it was difficult to tear himself from the scene of destruction – the hay a black ruin, still intermittently spurting into flame; the overhanging boughs black and smoking; he wooden bed of the trailer had caught last of all and was still blazing merrily – Chariots of Fire! He dragged himself away, and jogged up the track that led to the farm. And he timed it perfectly, because just as he reached the yard, very out of breath and anxious, the old Merc pulled in and the family of Fox piled out.
Robert stopped dead, spread out his arms – a thin pale harbinger of doom. 'There's been a fire!' he shouted. 'The hay's gone up in the bottom field, it's all burnt!'