Books by Ian Burns

A new compendium of words by a little-known but infinitely-self-important, self-proclaimed aficianado, on why English is the greatest language.

An anthology of stories, written between 1984 and 2017. Where do they come from? They must come from somewhere, and these certainly do. From outback Australia, from England, from France, Malaya, Singapore, Thailand... From the past...drama and farce; fantasy and stark reality; the deeply personal and the absolutely frivolous. Childhood escapades. ...and more...

Lissie Pendle is about trouble. But not trouble with a capital T. It's trouble which just...well, it just happens. Usually with the help of her little brother, or Scratcher and his friends, or just....things.Lissie is busy, pre-occupied, if you like, coping with events and trying to sort out and put in their proper place (ie beside and slightly in awe of her) the various eligible boys of the town. In these endeavours she succeeds quite gloriously, although she's actually the only person who understands this.In the course of telling us about a number of pretty unusual events, such as the case of the killer koala, or what happened in old-fashioned trains' toilets, or when she met a lady who inserted capital letters into her conversation, or when there was blood instead of ink in the inkwell, or....well, a pile of other things, we discover an Australia of another time.When things were clear, including the air, and life was simpler and, yes, funnier.

Quong was a creature of the olden olden days, even before grandmother. He was a short fellow, or, at least, that's what they said, with long, thin legs and an even longer, thinner tail. His face was fat and wrinkly, and big bushy eyebrows kept out the sun and flies. At least that's what I think he looked like, though no-one has actually seen him that I'd believe. Which, of course, was the trouble. Some people say that there are no such things as quongs, that it's a stupid name, and that if there were any there'd be pink elephants, too. But those people don't think Father Christmas comes every year, either. Of course this is all nonsense. There must be quongs and we must find them. And, if this story's any good, we will. So let's begin the search!

It's Jess's thirteenth birthday. She's been in bed for nearly a year, the result of a car accident that killed her father. Surprisingly, she finds a birthday present from him, an unusual gift for a girl and one which she, her mother, and her grandfather, puzzle over. In the course of playing with it, Jess discovers that it has some highly-unexpected properties. But then, purely by accident, she discovers its most amazing feature.