Vicky Angel [Hardcover]

Every time a new Jacqueline Wilson book arrives, there is always a small part of every reviewer that dreads opening the book in case this time the author has missed the mark. But as yet, Wilson has never disappointed either the critics or her customers, and with Vicky Angel she once again pulls a little magic out of the hat and delivers another stunning novel with her trademark sensitivity and panache.

Jade and Vicky are best friends, but when Vicky is killed in an accident she doesn't let a little old thing like being dead interfere with her life. Instead, she continues as normal, following Jade around, telling her what to do, how to think, how to behave and ruining any chance Jade may have to make new friends. Eventually Jade tires of it all, and although she still loves Vicky deeply, she realises she has to get on with her own life.

Once again, Wilson digs deep and delves into tricky territory with a tenacity that at first shocks; but within a few minutes the shock subsides and the reader is drawn into Jade's world, willing her to come to terms with Vicky's death and praying that she will soon find her own way.

As ever, Wilson's characters are beautifully observed, and the story is filled to the brim with an emotional truth that is awe inspiring and captivating. Jade's response to Vicky's death, her realisation that the pedestal on which Vicky was placed during her short life was not as stable as she first believed and the ultimate release from the burden of guilt and love are dealt with with a sleight of hand that allows the reader to become completely involved with the story without a hint of darkness, captured instead by a lightness of touch that can only serve to make Wilson's peers green with envy.

The Illustrated Mum was the absolute best. Vicky Angel, a sort of Truly, Madly, Deeply for kids, runs an extraordinarily tight second. (Age 8 and over) --Susan Harrison

"* 'A brilliant writer of wit and subtlety whose stories are never patronising and often complex and many-layered' The Times * 'Jacqueline Wilson has a rare gift for writing lightly and amusingly about emotional issues' Bookseller * 'She's so good, it's exhilarating' Guardian --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

A superb story about a girl grieving for her best friend, from the inimitable pen of mega-selling author, Jacqueline Wilson. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Jade is so used to being with and agreeing with Vicky, her best friend, that when a tragic accident occurs, she can hardly believe that Vicky's no longer there. But Vicky is not going to let being dead stop her from enjoying life to the full. Wherever Jade is, Vicky makes her presence felt.

'You look as if you've seen a ghost!'

Jade is so used to being with and agreeing with Vicky, her larger-than-life friend, that when a tragic accident occurs, she can hardly believe that Vicky's no longer there. But Vicky's a sparky girl who's not going to let a small thing like being dead stop her from living life to the full. Whether Jade is in lessons, out running or tentatively trying to make new friends, Vicky is making her presence known.

A moving and entertaining new novel from the author of 'The Illustrated Mum'.

Biography for Jacqueline Wilson

JACQUELINE WILSON is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author. THE ILLUSTRATED MUM was chosen as British Children's Book of the Year in 1999 and was winner of the Guardian Children's Fiction Award 2000. Jacqueline has won the prestigious Smarties Prize and the Children's Book Award for DOUBLE ACT, which was also highly commended for the Carnegie Medal. Jacqueline was awarded an OBE in 2002.

* 'A brilliant young writer of wit and subtlety' THE TIMES

* 'Hugely popular with seven to ten year olds: she should be prescribed for all cases of reading reluctance' INDEPENDENT ON SUNDAY

* 'Has a rare gift for writing lightly and amusingly about emtional issues' BOOKSELLER

Biography for Nick Sharratt

Nick Sharratt has written and illustrated many books for children and won numerous awards for his picture books, including the Sheffield Children's Book Award and the 2001 Children's Book Award. He has also enjoyed great success illustrating Jacqueline Wilson books. Nick lives in Brighton.

--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Vicky’s my best friend. We’re closer than sisters. They call us The Twins at school because we’re so inseparable. We’ve been best friends ever since we were at nursery school together and I crept up to Vicky at the water trough and she pulled a funny face and then tipped her red plastic teapot and started watering me. Vicky got told off for being mean to me but I didn’t mind a bit. I just stood still in the sudden downpour, honoured at her attention. Mum was cross because my gilt hairslides went rusty but I didn’t care. Vicky hadn’t said anything but I knew we were now friends.
We stayed friends all the way through primary school and then we both went on to Downfield. Even Vicky was a bit quiet that first day in Year Seven when we didn’t know anyone else. We know everyone now in Year Nine and they’re all desperate to be Vicky’s friend but we mostly just stick together, the two of us. We’re going to be best friends for ever and ever and ever, through school, through college, through work. It doesn’t matter about falling in love. Vicky’s already had heaps of boyfriends but no-one can ever mean as much to us as each other.
We walk to school together, we sit next to each other all day, and after school I either hang out at Vicky’s or she comes home with me. I hope Vicky asks me round to her place today. I like her home far more than mine.
It’s time to go home now but we’re checking out this big notice on the cloakroom door about after-school clubs. We’ve got a new head teacher who’s fussed because Downfield is considered a bit of a dump and so he’s determined we’re all going to do better in our exams and get involved with all these extra-curricular activities.
‘It’s bad enough having to go to school,’ Vicky says. ‘So who’s sad enough to want to stay after – like,
voluntarily?’
I nod out of habit. I always agree with Vicky. But I’ve just read a piece about a new drama club and I can’t help feeling wistful. Ever since I was little I’ve wanted to be an actress. I know it’s mad. I’m not anyone special. No-one from our estate ever gets to do anything glamorous or famous, and anyway, even the richest, prettiest, most talented kids can’t make a living out of acting. But I just want to act so much. I’ve never been in anything at all, apart from school stuff. I was an angel in the Nativity play way back in Year Two. Vicky got to be Mary.
Miss Gilmore, who’s head of English and Drama, had us all in Toad of Toad Hall when we were in Year Seven. I so wanted to be Toad, but Miss Gilmore chose Fatboy Sam. Typecasting. Though he was good. Very good. But I have this mad, totally secret idea that I could have been better.
Vicky and I were just woodland creatures. Vicky was a very cute squirrel with an extra-fluffy tail. She did little hops everywhere and nibbled nuts very neatly. She got a special cheer and clap at the end. I was a stoat. You can’t be cute if you’re a stoat. I tried to be a very sly sinister stoat, lurking in the shadows, but Miss Gilmore pushed me forward and said, ‘Come on, Jade, no need to be shy.’
I didn’t get a chance to explain I was being sly, not shy. I tried not to mind too much. Even Dame Judi Dench would find it hard to get a special cheer if she had to play a stoat.
I didn’t want to be an animal. I wanted to play a person. When I’m at home on my own – when Vicky’s busy and Mum’s at work and Dad’s asleep – I parade round the living room and act out all the soaps or I’ll do Clare Danes’ lines in Romeo and Juliet or I’ll just make up my own plays. Sometimes I’ll act people I know. I always end up acting Vicky. I close my eyes and think about her voice and when I start saying something I sound just like her. I stay Vicky even when I open my eyes. I can feel her long thick bright hair bouncing about my shoulders and my green eyes are glittering and I’m smiling Vicky’s wicked grin. I dance up and down the room until I catch sight of myself in the big mirror above the fireplace and see my own sad pale skinny self. A ghost girl. I always feel much more alive when I’m being Vicky. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.