Last Wednesday, on my 33rd birthday, I had the privilege of sitting in a room with Jacqueline Wilson at a launch event celebrating the release of her first adult novel since the 1970s, Think Again. The hugely anticipated book is an extension of her much loved ‘Girls’ series, catching up with the formerly teenage characters: Ellie, Magda and Nadine, as they celebrate Ellie’s 40th, each grappling with the quiet complexities of mid-life: love, purpose, motherhood, and the blurred line between personal and professional identity. I finished the book in a frenzy within two days of receiving it, and can happily confirm it answers all of the questions us readers have been asking for years. It’s an uplifting, life-affirming and surprisingly spicy book about coming to terms with who we are. About accepting the messy, imperfect parts of ourselves and our lives, and about the sustaining magic of female friendship. It’s a novel that - quite literally - speaks to the child in all of us, the one who dreamed without restraint, wanted to be loved and accepted, and hoped, desperately, that her adored friendships would stand the test of time.
Like many other women my age, I grew up devouring Jacqueline Wilson books. Some of my fondest childhood memories are centred around receiving her latest release: the giddy anticipation I’d feel holding a fresh, delicious-smelling book in my hands; the moment I’d start reading, curled up on the sofa, immediately immersed in another world with characters who felt as real as the classmates I spent my days with. I could even argue that it was Jacqueline Wilson herself who sparked my life-long love of reading. In 1996, when I was five years old, I have a vivid memory of begging my mum to purchase ‘Bad Girls’ for me in the Tesco book aisle, lured in by its colourful cover and Nick Sharratt’s iconic, warm illustrations. It was aimed at children double my age, but I made it my mission to get through it, reading it aloud to my mum in the mornings as she styled my hair. What started as a personal challenge became my first experience of not wanting to put a book down. I fell in love with fiction there and then, and I fell in love with Jacqueline Wilson’s writing.
Just over a decade later, when I was 16, the Daily Mail wrote a defamatory article about Jacqueline Wilson and her books, the general gist of it being that her writing was completely inappropriate. These stories are far too controversial, they wrote, or words to that effect. This awful, selfish woman is profiting off of traumatising young children. Imagine a child being exposed to challenging situations in fiction that they might be experiencing in real life. Imagine them feeling less isolated because of it; a little more prepared to navigate their struggles. Imagine an adult having the compassion and sensitivity to be able to address these topics in such a gently reassuring way. 16 year old me, who by then had read 32 Jacqueline Wilson books (yes, I counted), imagined all of those things and decided she wasn’t having any of it it. I wrote a furious email, and the Daily Mail came to my house to take a photo of me looking slightly smug in a waistcoat. Of course, reading my letter back makes me wince a bit now - 15 years on I realise I wasn’t, and am still not, ready for the outside world - but for the most part, I stand by my sentiment.
I know I’m not the only one who would walk through fire for Jacqueline Wilson. The event last Wednesday was sold out, of course. I can’t recall how many hands shot up during the Q&A, but I do remember one moment that left the room completely still. A woman stood up, not to ask a question, but to thank Jacqueline. She took her opportunity to share that she had grown up in the care system, navigating a childhood rocked by instability and isolation. In Jacqueline’s books, particularly The Story of Tracy Beaker, she found herself represented in children’s literature for the first time. It was more than just a story to her. Those books were a lifeline. She reflected on Tracy’s fierce independence, her resilience, and her capacity to find joy and mischief even in the bleakest moments. Through Tracy, she found a voice for her own struggle -someone who understood the confusion and loneliness she often felt, but who was also so desperate to fit in. To build a life. Jacqueline’s stories helped her articulate feelings she didn’t yet have the words for, and most importantly, gave her hope for the future. If Tracy could eventually find the love and safety she craved, perhaps so could she.
Another woman echoed this sentiment, speaking about The Illustrated Mum. She had grown up with a mother who struggled with severe mental health issues, and it wasn’t until she read about Dolphin and Marigold’s relationship that she understood her own life with such clarity. Through the book, she found comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only little girl navigating such a complicated family bond. It helped her understand her mother’s bipolar in a way she never had before; helped her realise the nights she went to bed hungry, listening to her mother’s inconsolable sobbing, had nothing to do with who she was as a daughter. In Jacqueline’s unflinching but sensitive writing, she discovered, finally, a sense of belonging. A space where her own pain and anxieties were acknowledged. It gave her the courage to confide in a teacher. Later, when she moved in to a more stable home with her Aunt, she found strength in the same pages, the story helping her accept that space and love can co-exist. That sometimes space is the greatest act of love a parent can offer.
I imagine similar stories could have been told a hundred times over in that room. There was a sense of huge collective empathy: of togetherness, of enormous respect for this woman’s work and the power of her writing. We had all been touched by these books. The event was a poignant reminder of the way words can provide solace and foster understanding. The way words can heal us. Inspire us to move forward. And if we’re lucky enough not to be directly impacted by some of the issues addressed in the novels we pick up, fiction invites us into the minds and lives of others, giving us the chance to walk in their shoes; to see the world from perspectives we might never otherwise encounter. The bookish people I meet at these kind of events are - genuinely - the loveliest, most welcoming strangers I come across, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
For me, books have always been a joyous escape, too. During my three decades of reading, I’ve fallen in love a thousand times over, in so many different ways. I’ve celebrated first kisses; explored wild, beautiful landscapes; pursued thrilling dreams that never belonged to me; learnt profound lessons from people who don’t exist in the real world. I’ve time-travelled. Witnessed the kind of heroism and courage that will stay with me for decades. I’ve been nowhere, really, but everywhere in my own mind, which is to say that reading really is quite something, isn’t it?
For many of us, as we started our reading journey, Jacqueline Wilson’s books were a lifeboat, keeping us safe and afloat during the inevitable challenges of growing up. They held a softly-lit mirror to the messy, complicated realities of life and told us it was okay to feel lost; to be imperfect; to not have all the answers. In her warm and witty stories, we were taught to believe - that even in the hardest of circumstances - there is always room for friendship, laughter and love.
I felt it back then, as a kid, whilst reading, but as an adult, and particularly on experiencing the incredible energy at her book launch; on reading the latest instalment of Ellie, Nadine and Magda’s lives, I’m even more of a Jacqueline Wilson fangirl than I already was. That woman played a role in raising us, I think. A distant, literary caregiver, guiding us through childhood and adolescence, offering her endless wisdom, and comfort. Always there to make us laugh, and to make sure we knew we belonged.
And now we’ve grown, she’s kindly come back to help us navigate the next chapter of our lives, reminding us that even in adulthood, our current circumstances don’t have to define us. Things are only a certain way until they’re not.
Just like Ellie, Nadine and Magda, if we think life’s done surprising us, we’d better Think Again.