Golden Pen goes to Bette Westera

Third award for ‘Dead Simple’

7 October 2015

The Golden Pen (Gouden Griffel) has been awarded to Bette Westera at the opening ceremony of the Dutch Children’s Book Week. It is the first time since 20 years that this prestigious prize for children’s literature goes to a poetry book. For Dead Simple (Doodgewoon, Gottmer Publishers), written by Westera and illustrated by Sylvia Weve, it is is the third award this year. It also received the Woutertje Pieterse Prize 2015, and a ‘Zilveren Griffel’ and ‘Vlag & Wimpel’.

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Laura Watkinson and Donald Gardner awarded

Vondel Translation Prize 2015

1 October 2015

The jury of the Vondel Translation Prize 2015 has awarded the prize jointly to Laura Watkinson for The Letter for the King, her translation into English of De brief voor de koning by Tonke Dragt, and to Donald Gardner for In Those Days, his translation into English of a selection of poetry by Remco Campert. The jury was made up of British critic Paul Binding and translators David Colmer (Australia) and David McKay (US).

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10 Books from Holland, Autumn 2015
Frankfurt 2016
Quality Non-Fiction from Holland
Children's Books - Spring 2015


Anna Woltz

A Hundred Hours of Night

(Querido Kinderboeken, 2014)

Tension and psychology are perfectly balanced in this cinematic young-adult novel.…

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Jan Brokken

Die Vergeltung

(Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 2015)

The Reprisal is an unforgettable examina­tion in microcosm of the Second World War and…

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Edward van de Vendel

Then Came Sam

(Querido Kinderboeken, 2011)

‘Seeing him was always a surprise, because he was so beautiful and white, and a little…

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Rumble on the Nile

Jamal Mahjoub

10 August 2015

The first house we lived in after moving to Khartoum had an air of danger to it. There was something there that never felt right. A small rock garden by the entrance held over a dozen types of cactus. Some had big flat leaves, others furry yellow spines that stuck to your fingers and were impossible to remove. We were warned not to play there for fear of scorpions. It could have been a scorpion that killed the duck we kept in the back garden. We liked to think it was a snake after having discovered a sloughed off skin, dessicated and translucent, sitting on top of some dusty packing cases in the disused garage. Our cat staggered in one morning foaming at the mouth with rabies. There were dark corners in that house and it was overshadowed by the ghost of the previous occupant, a man who had managed to electrocute himself by carrying a standing lamp out onto the damp lawn one evening to read by.

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