Much of children's literature is infested with beasts. Some years ago, a Canadian academic paper posited that, contrary to their wholesome image, animal stories actually reinforce racism, androcentrism and heteronormativity. It doesn't seem to have stemmed the tide of furry fiction. From Peter Rabbit via Black Beauty, Charlotte's Web to the anthropomorphic undermice of Julia Donaldson, animals remain of special delight to small fry. Perhaps it's because children and animals do have much in common. Both are at a stark disadvantage in a world run by human adults, who have often lost their playfulness along with their moral compasses. "Who will speak for the bears?" wonders Tam, the 12-year-old narrator of Gill Lewis's Moon Bear.
The answer is… those children who love animals and grow up to be writers of children's books about animals. Generalising loosely, you could group these books for the 8-12 age group into three species: the coochie-coo tendency, the exotic wing and those books where animals slot into a wider human story. As far as literature goes, the coochie-coo tendency is probably the least enduring.
Take Magnificat by established cat person Marilyn Edwards (Catnip £6.99). It is rich in feline detail, plot twists and contemporary ills. It all starts when Ben gets in trouble for using his mum's credit card to buy a cyber-pet. A plucky, stray maine coon cross proves a much better pal, even if she does bring in decapitated frogs. The plot is sound and the cattiness is pungent but Edwards overwrites, labouring every nuance, overexplaining every emotion and introducing a cat-angel who beggars belief.
Ironically, two books where the animals are bit players, or avatars for their child, are more deserving of shelf space. Kimberly Newton Fusco's The Daring Escape of Beatrice and Peabody (Faber £6.99) whisks you away to a hot-dog stall at a travelling fair in America during the war. Beatrice, an orphan with a blemished cheek, chops onions and tries to hide. A small dog turns up just in time to help Bee escape the venal carnival owner, Ellis, who wants her for a freak.
There is a supernatural element here, too, and an awkward attempt to jam local historical figures into a story that is engrossing enough in itself. But this third novel by Newton Fusco is a real keeper.
We all know about girls and horses. And, indeed, the cover of Lauren St John's Race the Wind (Orion £9.99) – the second in a trilogy – advertises pure equine eye candy. Inside, though, is a thriller in which Casey – a Badminton horse trial champion from a Hackney tower block – wrestles with a blackmail plot and a sore heart. No child from Hackney talks like Casey. In the first book she rescues her prize horse, Storm, from a knacker's yard. If a pre-teen can believe all that, then they can probably buy into an outlandish international match-fixing scam that finds Casey in mortal danger. It all works because St John fills the book with deep knowledge of horse trialling, fitness regimes and human nature.
Best in breed, though, are two books whose storytelling carries their agendas without a squeak. I picked up The Lion Who Stole My Arm (Walker £4.99) immediately, as did a certain eight-year-old I know. It's an irresistible title and doesn't disappoint.
Set in Mozambique, this concise, pacey novel by the prolific Nicola Davies finds young Pedru with his arm torn off, vowing to kill the beast that did it. Parents, be assured: it doesn't quite turn out that way, thanks to an exercise book full of sketches, a tracking collar and a lot of hastily acquired maturity. This is seat-edge stuff, though, full of bush lore. I'm getting more of her.
More hard-hitting is Gill Lewis's Moon Bear (OUP £8.99), in which a young Laotian boy, Tam, battles rotten odds, vowing to return a bear cub to the wild. He's already been through so much. Forcibly displaced from his mountain village by the construction of a dam, losing his father to unexploded ordnance, Tam is indentured by a corrupt general to a cruel bear-farm where the suffering beasts' bile is extracted for Chinese medicine.
Lewis piles horror on loss in a matter-of-fact way suitable for this age group, never losing sight of her tremendous plot. It packs in adventure, love, loyalty, betrayal and an education in south-east Asian history. This is a cracking read, and Gill Lewis's moral compass points to true north.
