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2nd November 2009
Tender Morsels has won the Best Book of the Year Award at the 2009 World Fantasy Awards!
Find out more on Margo’s blog

Tender Morsels is a big, dark, atmospheric tale about the fact that hell and heaven are other people. It's about a young mother, Liga, who, because her life has been so hard, hides away with her daughters in her own personal version of heaven. But she's not allowed to stay there—the magic that helped her get there is broken by an incompetent witch, and both pleasant and unpleasant people leak through from the real world, and throw Liga's peaceful existence into disarray.

Tender Morsels has repeatedly been described as 'not for the faint of heart', so if your heart is strong and you like to look at things with your eyes and mind wide open, you'll enjoy this story. It's full of witches, bears, treasure, dwarves and natural magic that bends the world this way and that. Through its fable-like telling, it asks questions, not all of them comfortable, about the way people look after each other, and the lives we choose or are forced to lead.




Tender Morsels out-takes

1. In an earlier draft of Tender Morsels, I tried to give Liga a happier ending, i.e. I tried to marry her off to Ramstrong. In the end I had to admit that in the terms of the world I'd created, it just wasn't going to work. However, here is the love-scene between Liga and Ramstrong, just to indicate what might have been.

She told me as we walked upon the old castle, looking out across the summer evening over the town. Night was coming up blue and velvety out of the valley deeps, the gleam of the river there bidding the light goodbye.
She were very calm. When I could, I watched her, and she were also very beautiful. She were like a saint or a queen, though in a way neither saintly nor queenly at all, not putting on any manner at all, not for a moment.
The way she told me, also, astounded me, as if what she related had caused her no pain whatever. 'Branza is my father's daughter,' she said, 'my father's daughter and mine, got upon me by force. Urdda is daughter of Blackman Hogback's son, but she might have been of Joseph Woodman, or Lycett Fox, or Thurrow Cleaver, or Ivo Strap, for they all had of me at the same time, by force also, when Branza were a babby, the night that magic happened that Miss Dance told us of, that took me away. That is why I went, I think, for if I'd not I would have taken my child's life and my own—both daughters', in fact, though I did not know Urdda were on the way then, that there were the three of us, only later.'

There were a long silence. Finally I said, 'Look at this village. Look at the peace below us. Yet those five souls reside there, some of them in prosperity.'

'Oh,' she said softly. 'I see them about. They are careful not to see me, though.' She was smiling a little, which astonished me too, how she could, how she could stand so straight and smile so calm.

'They are grown up very lovely and true, the daughters of your worst suffering.' And then I could speak no more for the thought of it, and for the other, the memory of that short time I had had with her in her youth and mine, in the childhoods of her children. I was glad of that magic, that they had been so free, but I was desolated that it were necessary, and how it came about.

From where I leaned, my forearms on the top of the wall, I stepped aside, so that I stood against her, hip to ankle, and I linked my arm over hers and I caught up her hand where it rested—rested slightly open, not clenched!—on the stone. Though I tried to hold it back, a tear of mine fell to the back of her wrist, and the touch of it went through her—I felt it—right down to the ankle.

'Davit!' she said, so soft and surprised, it let go all the rest of them, and I put down my forehead against her fingers, and I held this small part of her and I let them fall.

'Forgive me,' I said when I could. 'For wetting your hand—' I wiped it with my free one. 'And for being of the same make and matter as those men that insulted you so.' And I dropped more tears upon the hand.

She were laughing just a little, and kindly. She patted very tentatively like the girl she was, the girl never properly wooed, the back of my head, just as she'd once touched my bear-face, discovering it, not yet knowing what to make of it. 'I will not forgive you,' she said, 'not for the accident of sex that happened to you. And you may wet my hand all you like; though I don't like to see you distressed, it is a fine feeling to have you so close.'
Oh, the evening vasted, going all the way up to a few stars now around us; it breathed warm and green with late summer, and golden with near-harvest. And here we were two small voices, two bits of flesh and some tears and some soft laughter upon this tiny castle. I could not step way from her; I could not either stand or release her beloved hand, so worn and strong and well-used. 'I loved you when I was Bear,' I said hot against the back of her wrist, pressing her knuckles to my forehead.

'I know it,' she said, and squeezed my hand and my shoulder.
I could not tell whether her words were not a trifle sad, and so I straightened, and turned from her to wipe the worst from my face with my sleeve. 'And I still do,' I said then, full into her eyes, still in possession of her dampened hand. 'You have me, heart and mind and body, if you want me.'

I had bewildered her; she stepped back a little and looked that body up and down, the girt stupid human thing. I wished I were Bear again and could gather her into my fur and growl all soft in her ear, and huff into the silvered hair caught up behind it.

'But…you are so young,' she said. 'And I will wither and sicken and— Davit, you have already seen one wife to the grave. Are you so keen to do it again?'

'I am,' I said stoutly. 'I am keen as keen. I want nothing better. But not for a while yet,' I added, serious now. I pulled her gently closer with her hand to my heart. 'You must promise you will not go too soon. You must give me time to make you as comfortable and as happy as that magic did, as that moon-babby.'

She searched my eyes, and it were a strange turnaround for me, but I hoped she could see the bear in me now, where before I had so wanted her to see the man.
'Bear?' she said, just as if she had glimpsed him, distant, dark, in my mind-forest moving.

I put my man-mouth around the word: 'Liga.' And then I came forward, very careful for she'd not been kissed before, not in this fashion, and I touched her lips with mine, soft, sweet, passing from one mouth to another what could not be said in words.

She stood tasting it, serious and lost, wondering and suspicious, her face aglow with the last light. 'I am not sure,' she whispered.

'Of course not,' I whispered back, and I smiled, because I was sure myself, and I could wait until she joined me. 'Let us go,' and I released her hand to her. 'I will take you home to Annie and your daughters, and leave you in peace awhile.'

'Thank you,' she said, still dazed I think, and we walked through the dusk to the head of the stone stairs.




2. Here you can see the dwarf Collaby Dought, actually catching and transforming the birds into his treasure-hoard. I really enjoyed writing all the dwarf scenes, and in the end I had to condense several of them into one so that he didn't take over too much of the story. The wren here became a robin in the final version.

Branza and Urdda went out to gather blackberries. It was a fine hot afternoon. Each had a basket she had made, to carry the berries home in.
But as they came near to where the berry bushes were, and the forest thinned out around them, they heard a new sound, low and almost musical, that made them pause.
'Like someone trying to sing,' said Urdda under her breath.
'Creep up,' whispered Branza, 'so that they don't hear or see us.'
They stepped up silently, to a tree beyond which the ground fell away towards rocky ground and eventually a wide slow part of the stream, and on this ground the blackberry bushes grew in a high tangle, with many berries hung throughout like fat insects come to rest and muse. And sunk a little way into the middle of them, lying on his front on his spread coat to protect himself from the thorns, and laughing to himself, was a man.
'I know him,' murmured Branza to Urdda. 'He is that rude littlee-man. I recognise all his hair.'
Dry, the dwarf's hair glowed white in the sunlight. His beard he had tucked mostly underneath him, the end point of it poking out by his knee, but his pate-hair sprang up, spread out, a fine and far-reaching net over the berry bushes, through which were travelling tiny, coloured communities of birds, this kind of wren and then that, flitting in from the forest and taking their daily fill of the insects that fed on and among the berries. And of each of these groups and families, at least one became entangled with the dwarf's hair close enough for him to reach and catch it, whereupon he seemed to squeeze the life out of it before examining it, laughing his quiet laugh, and pocketing the tiny corpse.
'He will not get much of a meal of those,' said Urdda, 'unless he likes to crunch bone like a bear.'
'I think they are not to eat,' whispered Branza.
'Is it just cruelty, to see how many he can trick with his hair?'
'Curse you, aggert!' muttered the dwarf. He threw from the bush, so that it bounced into the grass— not all the way to the girls but close enough for them to see it clearly—a stone, of pale purple, that caught the light. 'Got enough of youse. Give me a fine ruby like before. Where is all the ruby-throats?'
And as they watched, the resting stone turned on the ground, and stood up on twig legs, and shook itself so that it sprouted a beak at one end and a tilting-up tail at the other, and was a wren again, and flew away peeping to join its fellows as they exited the thicket.
'Let us come back later,' said Branza, feeling sick. 'When he has taken enough birds and is gone.'
But Urdda had already stepped out into the open. 'Hie!' she cried. 'How is it you can turn birds to stone and back again?'
Of course all the birds fled from the bush, none of them upward into the net of hair.
'Aargh!' The dwarf turned as far as his hair would let him to see her. 'It's one of you busy-biddies. Run off, why don't you, and let a man go about his business!'
'What business is that?' said Urdda. 'I have never seen a business like it.'
'I don't care what you have seen and never seen, little besom. Now close your noise-hole and leave me in peace.'
Urdda looked at Branza in wonderment.





Branza still stood one hand on the tree where they had concealed themselves. 'I tell you he is not like other people, Urdda. He has harsh ways about him.'
'Here! Girl!' said the dwarf sharply. 'Toss me that basket of yours!'
'Don't, Urdda!' said Branza, but Urdda had already thrown her empty basket to the man. 'Tut-tut! You will never get it back again.'
The man sat up on his coat and dug in his trouser pockets. Some of his hair stayed caught in the blackberry bush; some came loose from it and wafted around him. 'This way I can empty my pockets the better to fill them again. The more I take, the longer it will be before I need to come here again.' And he clinked a handful of stones, purple and green and one bright red, into the basket.

3. Here is Teasel Wurledge changing into a bear—from his own point of view, which you never see in the finished novel; he's only ever seen from the outside. You can see in this extract that I hadn't quite decided to make him the nasty piece of work he ended up being.

Masses of darkness. Fear, massing to match them. I didn't remember falling asleep, so how could I be waking? Closed eyes, open eyes—I could not tell them different; both darknesses bloomed and ran with clouds of frightened blood.
I had become huge in my—sleep, if had been sleep. I had bulked up and the bulk, it all worked, all went smoothly into the movements I told it. The costume thank the stars was not rubbing as it did; I couldn't feel any of the stitches that had been making raw places and digging at them before.
The skins had come up onto my face, though, had they? Something had caked there—charcoal and mud? It had built me a new face. Of course I knew it; it was mine old face of course, but—I lifted it and my head was weighted all differently, helmeted but not so clumsily as with the skins. The sounds of my movement—rasp of my feet (what had happened to my feet?) on the ground, brush of my elbows against stone—came into me by a different path, high on my head. Smells streamed in so strongly—that was what was bringing the confusion, all those smells. They were like garlands and necklaces dragged dazzling and painful through my head, so many colours and shapes that scratched and clinked and bumped against the nostril-bones.
I read them without knowing how to. It was morning outside this cave, with dew falling and clinging. There was forest, with many different foods both stalked and legged. My insides were empty and had not dealt with food for—how long? This was nonsense. Where had the town gone? Where were all the people?
I knew this body, how to uncurl these limbs and muscles, even if they were absolutely new. I had borne these masses through a long life already. There were needs and instincts here that I could follow if I just ignored this frightened foreigner crouched behind these eyes, the little nude man whimpering for explanations of things.
I let the fresh air do what it does, the smells and the tickle of dawn coolness reeling me out of the corner, which was fusty and warm from my long lying. Along the rock tunnel, light began, and I reached the tunnel's turn and the sky opened. It was too early for many beasts to be at large yet; if I waited, soon the thrilling scents of meal-animals sprinting, teasing, asking to be caught, would arise. Against the paling sky black trees bulked bigger than any beast, even of my kind which was the biggest kind there was, and within and below it the scents and senses brooded of very many creatures, waking up wild.








...enthralling, at times unsettling but always richly imagined
Books for Keeps

To the lengthening list of young adult novels which some commentators have described as 'controversial' or 'shocking' must now be added Margo Lanagan's Tender Morsels... the novel has already drawn the ire of those who see themselves as the moral literary guardians of the young, the ire being primarily directed at the book's frank depiction of a range of sexual activities. Incest, gang rape and sodomy are all given significant roles in the narrative and at a cursory reading the overall impression may well be of a young adult novel which makes earlier 'controversial' fiction in the genre appear tame.

...In prose which, even when dealing with the sordid aspects...is beautifully fashioned and measured... This is a multi-layered novel which requires and deserves attentive reading, regardless of the reader's age; it is unlikely, though, to have much appeal for the censorious adult or for anyone under 16.
Robert DunbarThe Irish Times

... quite simply an astonishing, startling, rich, strange story for any reader who can cope with its complexity.
Carousel

... a work of genius ...
Dinah HallSeven (Supplement to the Sunday Telegraph)

Tender Morsels ... is funny, tragic, wise, tender and beautifully written. It also left me gasping with shock...It is with a mixture of respect and delight that I greet any book capable of blasting an entire genre out of the water with its audacity and grace. Tender Morsels is such a book.
Meg RosoffThe Guardian

Tender Morsels is a truly unique book, like nothing I’ve ever come across before. It is full of a host of utterly charming characters and I dare anybody to read it and not fall in love with Lanagan’s brilliantly crafted story.
Carly BennettChicklish

With subtle and extraordinary power, Ms Lanagan draws the reader in to feel exactly what the character feels. There is no sugar in this book, no simple answers, and the writer treats all the characters with a deep compassion, the sort of compassion that awakes the most human parts of the reader...when I was a teenager, this is the book I wish I'd had, the book that would have taught me how live in a world that is nothing like your parents tell you it will be.
5-squared

Lanagan could easily be mistaken for on of the Brothers Grimm's contemporaries...Tender Morsels is a fine book, and I hope people wil see past the controversy to see as the high quality piece of writing that it is.
Library Mice

Her prose is rich and powerful and is a character in its own right...it brought to mind a rich tapestry of dark intensity and colour, of dirt and coarseness, ugliness and beauty woven together in intricate detail. This is a book to savour and be repelled by. A book to love and hate. But certainly not a book to be dismissed.
Tall Tales and Short Stories

Tender Morsels is an intelligent book, often heartbreaking, on occasion gentle and always beautifully told.
Fantasy Book Review

Well written, inspirational and a tale... that should be read by all.
Falcata Times

Tender Morsels is a book not to be tackled lightly - it has some of the most beautiful and disturbing imagery I have ever read.
My Favourite Books Blog

The rich array of characters, landscape and language takes the reader on journey through a fictional world of fantasy which can only be described as breathtaking.
Kerrie AnneThe View From here

A genre-smashing novel
Meg RosoffThe Telegraph

A striking retelling of the Grimms' Snow White and Rose Red, told in a rich yet remote prose style, it is, like Lanagan's awardwinning collection of short stories, Red Spikes, likely to appeal to teenage girls with a taste for the original and the sinister.
Amanda CraigThe Times

Excellent - and dark - magical fantasy that gives meaning to the label 'Young Adult.' 5 stars.
Matt KeefeDeathray

...enthralling, at times unsettling but always richly imagined...
Books for KeepsBooks for Keeps

Tender Morsels is...ambitious and difficult with multi-layered prose that will work its way into your very soul. Like all good fairy tales, it confronts good and evil, and the look it takes at evil is both honest and remorseless. Lanagan talks about incest, rape, and betrayal - but she also looks at the redeeming power of love. Many people, and particularly many parents, don't like to look too closely at some of the darker taboos Lanagan explores in Tender Morsels but I applaud her. Violence against women isn't something to be kept from discussion, because if it is, how can we discuss moving on? And if we don't know what evil is, what can we mean when we say redeeming power of love?
Jill MurphyThe Bookbag

Lanagan's novel is often brutal, frightening, and bewildering, a challenging narrative, and as such possibly best suited for older teenage readers. It grips the reader from the outset, and as it is read, layer upon layer of psychological and intertextual meaning can be unpicked and analyzed. It is certainly an immensely powerful contribution to both fairy-tale and fantasy genres.
Bridget CarringtonArmadillo

This is an astonishing and beautifully written novel with very strong cross-over appeal.
The Bookseller

Lanagan is skilled evoking joy, mystery, and profound horror, all within the same narrative voice. And it’s a voice that feels right for telling fairytales (her first-person narrators ring similarly true) — because Tender Morsels is still a fairytale in many ways: magic causes trouble; wishes have drawbacks; those who do wrong are punished; there is a happy ending (though it’s not a neat one), and a strong moral heart.
This Place Here

...Lanagan's twisted and beautiful fairy tale Tender Morsels has already set some writers frothing at the mouth over the content, but to condemn it as merely wilful taboo-breaking is to miss the humanity in what is one of the strangest and most moving works of children's literature I have read in years...Lanagan has concocted a unique prose style, coloured with rustic and medieval inflections and so much part of the fabric of the world she has created that the reader is immersed in it from the beginning. Look beyond the shocking scenes and this is a novel that explores the most profound human emotions with a clear gaze; it made me weep like a child at the end.
Stephanie MarrittThe Observer

... one of the strangest and most moving works of children's literature I have read in years.
Stephanie MerrittReview (supplement to The Observer

This novel has attracted controversy as it's aimed at a young adult market, yet is full of harrowing rape, incest and murder. But it's also an addictive, enchanting piece of mystic fiction that's filled with surprises on every page.
Clare NasirNow

Ms. Lanagan’s prose is lush and evocative, conveying both beauty and pain in equal measure. More than that, Ms. Lanagan writes characters with an acute understanding of their emotions and dreams, crafting a cast that thrums with life...On an intellectual level, on an aesthetic level, Tender Morsels is a beautiful gem of a novel. It’s written well with compelling characters, and with an original take on an old fable.
The Book Smugglers

...it is without doubt a wonderful book for teenagers. Written in some of the most imaginative prose I've ever read it's emotionally complex, immersive and multi-layered. Thank goodness there are books and authors out there who are willing to treat their readership with such respect.
Keith GrayThe Scotsman

It's a rewardingly complex and emotional story told in highly imaginative prose. The worlds Lanagan creates are so rich and multi-layered it's easy to get lost in the book's 500 pages, never wanting to leave.
The Scotsman

I intend to tell as many people as I can about this book and about Margo Lanagan. It is very clever, merits rereading and will hopefully reach and challenge many young people now and in the future. Without question a book for young people if they choose. For anyone hesitating read what Margo herself has to say - or just take the plunge anyway. It is worth it.

The Guardian LOVES Tender Morsels - they have picked as one of their books of the year http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2009/dec/18/books-of-the-decade-2009

I worked on the publicity for Tender Morsels and there has been a lot of debate on whether this is a book for young people or not, most recently in Carousel Magazine. It would be great to hear what you think!