Told through the irreverent eyes and potty-mouthed words of young narrator Tibb, a vagabond orphan, this is a pacily entertaining and richly moving slice of Tudor life, muddy with the grime of poverty. You'll love your time with Tibb, as she lives off her wits to survive and thrive, building her ragtag band of outcasts, attempting to evade the judgements of a brutally orthodox and punitive Church. Sweary, funny and with a massive heart.
The sun has dropped out the sky and I have walked to this village from my hollow like a wading bird. Like these legs of mine are made of twigs. Oblivion, Tibb. Well oblivion is something I am after too, Ma, and the bottle worked for you in times like these. I am on my way to oblivion already, and these hiccoughs are turning to belches. I tried four churches on my way and I did drink the dregs of a bottle, half of another and a whole jug of sweet wine in the last one. I have been pissing like a horse and I am enjoying this feeling inside of my head, like all the thoughts are gone to bed, and I have a great thirst for more of this stuff to knock me out cold so I might never wake up and face this non-Ivo life. Can you see the pretty colours, Tibb? O I see them now, Ma.
