just after midnight

The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do.

A Monster Calls, Patrick Ness. 2011.


I am trying to read my way through this list, for reasons that combine professional interest (I’m now Children’s Subscriptions Coordinator at work, you may acclaim me) with the simple curiosity of the lifelong, but now grown-up, bookworm. The undisputed number one book on the list is A Monster Calls, and it makes sense, doesn’t it, to start with the best?

A monster—a Green Man-type walking yew tree, the earth on two legs—calls on pre-teen Conor O’Malley at 12:07 one night. He isn’t afraid of it. Or rather, he is, but he’s not as afraid of it as he is of the other thing, which is the dream that he keeps having. The dream involves his mum, but he can’t even bring himself to think about it when he’s awake. His mum is dying. Everyone at school knows this, because his best friend has told them all. His father is in America with his new family and seems content to use them as an excuse to stay there; his grandmother, not at all a stereotypical sort, is a hard-nosed estate agent whose attempts to do right by her family are constantly butting up against her own brusqueness and rigidity. Conor is alone, until the monster comes. And the monster wants to tell him a story. Three, actually.

Conor—thank God—reacts like a normal child to this, which is to say that he can’t understand what’s meant to be so scary about that. (It reminded me of a delightfully sarcastic tweet, which I can’t find now, in response to the recently released The Secret Commonwealth: “Mum! Philip Pullman’s at the door! He’s bangin’ on about the power of storytelling again!”) The scarier thing, as far as Conor’s concerned, is the bargain that the monster drives: after three stories, it’ll be Conor’s turn to tell one. If he manages, the monster will leave; if he refuses, or if he can’t, the monster will eat him. There’s only one story he can tell–the story of what happens in his dream every night–and he doesn’t want to tell it. But he has a respite, for now, while the monster goes first.

The stories Conor is told are like fairytales, in that their characters and dynamics are similar: there is a foolish king whose second marriage is to an evil witch, a cruelly slaughtered bride, a misanthropic healer, a proud man humbled by grief. Where the monster, and Ness, differ from familiar tales is that the person we suppose to be good, the protagonist with whom our sympathies are designed to lie, is shown each time to be compromised. What they want to achieve is not necessarily good or right. Nor is this a simplistic flipping of heroes and villains: the “bad” characters don’t turn out to be angels. In the monster’s first story, the murderer of the bride turns out not to be the witchy queen, but the queen is most definitely a witch, and a powerful, dangerous one at that. She’s allowed to escape the violent retribution of the villagers not because she’s a good person, but simply because she isn’t a killer.

I have to confess that I, like Conor, was initially very skeptical of the monster’s stories, but by the end of the first one, the effect was clear: to introduce the idea of grey-area morality. And Conor needs this, because his mother is about to die, and although no one in his life has told him, it will be the moment he enters adulthood, and to enter adulthood is to enter a realm where nothing is any longer definitely good or definitely bad. The story the monster wants him to tell is the acknowledgment of his own loss of innocence: he must confess that a part of him actually wants his mother to die, to put a stop to her pain and his own.

The story is moving, and movingly told, on its own, but it’s Jim Kay’s illustrations that lend a real air of wildness, of uncharted territory both physical and emotional, to the book. He might be better known for his illustrated editions of the Harry Potter books, but his stark, brambly pen-and-ink drawings that encroach on nearly every page of A Monster Calls are exquisitely well suited to the text. This is my favourite spread:


A thoroughly unpatronizing dissection of grief and growing up, and an excellent start to the project. The best children’s book of the last twenty years? Quite possibly.

17 thoughts on “just after midnight

  1. Well put! A wonderful book indeed, I loved it. They brought out an ‘adult’ version – ie: an unillustrated paperback. The pictures take the whole to another level (but the larger format would be a hard sell to the adult market I’m guessing). Not sure I totally agree it’s the best children’s book ever, but it’s certainly up there… going to look at that list.

    1. The list is only of children’s books released in the last 20 years – it was a sort of attempt to determine what a contemporary classic might look like, in response to a best-of list that was mostly full of older children’s books – which I always find an interesting approach! I can see how the pictures might not work well for an adult audience but Kay is so good.

      1. I love illustrations in adult books – shame there aren’t more. It’s an interesting list – loads of great books in there. Glad to see some of my favourite authors in there (Ness, Reeve, Sedgwick, Gardner etc). Surprised there weren’t more YA.

      2. Yes, good point about the YA. I’m especially excited to read both Sedgwick and Gardner, whom I know about but have never read.

  2. Interesting list! I’ve only read 13 of them (and the ones I’ve read are almost all from the early 00s, when I was a teenager). I’m much less good on children’s fiction than on ya, it seems…

    I’ve been avoiding A Monster Calls because it sounds superficially like David Almond’s Skellig, which I hated passionately as a young teenager, but I should give it a go.

  3. I wonder if Max Porter was inspired by this when writing his two novels? I’ve heard a fair bit about Ness and could be tempted to read this as my library system has a copy.

    1. Could have been – the illustrations certainly summon the same feeling of wildness that Lanny does. Give it a go; it’s definitely a children’s book but it’s neither sentimental nor cruel.

    1. Oh, God, when I realized what 12:07 signified and why the monster always turns up then (something I should probably have clocked from the beginning, but didn’t), I was on a bus, and I got that chest-hitching about-to-cry feeling so much. Managed to hold back the tears, but barely.

    1. I can’t WAIT for The Hate U Give. I’m mostly getting these out of the library, and they didn’t have it in the last time I went – my next-ups are Wed Wabbit, The Wolf Wilder, Wonder (which I’ve already read but look forward to revisiting) and The Bad Beginning (likewise)!

  4. This book was so beautiful! I haven’t read many books on the list, since I haven’t read that many children’s books in recent years. I see a lot of good ones on the list. The Poet X is fantastic and so is The Hate U Give. Enjoy!

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