{"product_id":"tyger-isbn-9780593887257","title":"Tyger","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES \u003c\/i\u003eBESTSELLER • Two kids and a mystical tyger must save a divided world on the brink of destruction in this thrilling fantasy with the epic sweep and imaginative wonder of Philip Pullman's \u003ci\u003eHis Dark Materials\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWINNER OF THE BRITISH BOOK AWARD FOR CHILDREN’S FICTION BOOK OF THE YEAR\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere are three doors that I may show you. You will find a different kind of power behind each one...\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam has found something incredible in a rubbish dump in London. A mysterious, mythical, magical animal. A \u003ci\u003etyger\u003c\/i\u003e. And the tyger is in danger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam and his friend Zadie are determined to help, but it isn't just the tyger's life at stake. Their whole world is on the verge of destruction. Can they learn to use their powers before it's too late?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSet in an alternate world where the British Empire still exists and brought to life with stunning black-and-white illustrations by award-winning artist Dave McKean, this compelling and thoughtful adventure is one you won’t want to put down!\u003c\/b\u003e\"McKean’s deeply evocative, postmodern illustrations further enhance the reading experience. Said has created an amazing fantasy that will change its readers. A must-buy for all libraries\"—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The story’s strength lies in its evocation of Blake’s imagery and his ideas about imagination and creativity, which offer something for readers to ponder. McKean’s black-and-white illustrations, complex and dramatic, enhance and transform the text’s effectiveness.\"—\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book Magazine\u003c\/i\u003eSF Said (he\/him) is an award-winning, bestselling British children’s author. He was born in Lebanon, but has lived in London since he was two. His first book, \u003ci\u003eVarjak Paw\u003c\/i\u003e, won the Nestlé Smarties Prize for Children’s Literature and was listed by BookTrust as one of the 100 best children’s books of the past 100 years. \u003ci\u003eThe Outlaw Varjak Paw \u003c\/i\u003ewon the BBC Blue Peter Book of the Year Award, while \u003ci\u003ePhoenix \u003c\/i\u003ewas chosen to represent the UK on the IBBY Honour List. His new book, \u003ci\u003eTyger\u003c\/i\u003e, won Children’s Book of the Year at the British Book Awards, Children’s Book of the Year at the Week Junior Book Awards, and the Foyles Children’s Book of the Year. All four books are illustrated by Dave McKean. SF Said has also written about children’s literature for both the Guardian and the Daily Telegraph newspapers, given talks at the British Library and on BBC Radio 4, and is a passionate campaigner for libraries, literacy, and reading for pleasure. Visit him online at sfsaid.com or on X\/Instagram\/Bluesky @whatSFSaid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave McKean (he\/him) is a multi-award-winning illustrator who has designed an incredible number of award-winning and ground-breaking books, collaborating with world-famous names in literature such as Neil Gaiman (\u003ci\u003eCoraline\u003c\/i\u003e), David Almond (\u003ci\u003eMouse Bird Snake Wolf\u003c\/i\u003e), Richard Dawkins, and Ray Bradbury. He has also worked as a concept artist on films such as \u003ci\u003eHarry Potter\u003c\/i\u003e. Visit him on Instagram @davemckeanhourglass.\u003cb\u003eChapter One \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was the week before Midwinter. The rain was lashing down, and the narrow streets of Soho were deep with puddles. Although it was midday, the sky over London was iron gray. Clouds of smoke hung heavy up above, as always.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam Alhambra wasn’t looking at that bleak Midwinter sky. He was looking at the checkpoint up ahead of him, and shivering. He huddled into his coat, but the wind cut through it like a whip. And that wasn’t the only thing that made him feel cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe could see the soldier there, behind the metal bars and railings. He could hear his stern voice, turning people back from the boundary that separated Soho from the rest of London. As Adam watched, biting down on his pencil, a whole family was being marched away at gunpoint, not allowed to leave the Ghetto.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Next!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd now it was his turn. Adam put his pencil behind his ear, and stepped up for inspection, under a row of Union Jacks and a portrait of the Emperor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe soldier was a guardsman in a red coat, with a bristling white mustache. He looked Adam up and down, taking in his skin, his hair, his eyes. The fact that everything about him was just a little different, just a little darker. Then he looked at Adam’s papers, saw his name, and here it\u003cbr\u003e­came . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Alhambra?” \u003c\/i\u003esaid the soldier. “And where are you from, boy?” “Um—­London, sir,” said Adam, trying to sound calm, and failing. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You know what I mean,” said the soldier. “Where are you really from?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam looked down. “My parents came here from the Middle East, sir,” he said, “but I’ve lived in London all my life.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The Middle East.” The soldier frowned. “Isn’t that where camels used to come from?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Camels?” said Adam, mystified. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know anything about the Middle East. I’m just doing the deliveries for my family’s shop, Alhambra \u0026amp; Company. They’re depending on me to do them.” He held up his bag, to show the soldier the parcels that were packed so carefully inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Where are the shop’s papers?” said the soldier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh—­right here, sir!” Adam fumbled in his pocket for the documents. But as he pulled them out, a little scrap of paper fell out with them, and fluttered to the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam’s heart thumped. Quick as he could, he scooped it up, and shoved it back into his pocket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Was that a drawing?” said the soldier. “What do you think you ­are—­an artist?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam’s cheeks burned. His mouth went dry. “No, no, sir, of course not,” he said. “Please. Here are the shop’s papers, see?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe soldier gave him a long, hard look. He looked at the documents even longer and harder. But finally he grunted, and waved Adam through. “Go on then, camel boy,” he said. “Don’t start any trouble.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thank you, sir,” Adam made himself say, as he went through the checkpoint, and came out onto Oxford Street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd here, on the other side of the checkpoint, every­­thing was different. People were shopping on the wide open street. Adults were going to work. Children were going to school. No one was stopping them, searching them, asking them questions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a moment, he wished he could be one of them. Just an ordinary British boy, on his way to school. Someone who could go anywhere he wanted, and do anything he dreamed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he was a foreigner, and he had a job to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe began to run. He raced up Oxford Street, past the grand department stores, onto Tottenham Court Road. Some of the people he passed gave him the same look as the soldier. He could feel their eyes on his skin. \u003ci\u003eKeep your head down\u003c\/i\u003e, his father always said. \u003ci\u003eEye contact only makes it worse. Don’t look at anyone, or anything, ­or—\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCRASH!\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Look where you’re going!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh no. Adam looked up to see a lean, ­hungry-­looking man, staring down at him with cold blue eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry, sir,” said ­Adam—­but the man grinned. His white teeth gleamed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Relax!” he said brightly. “Here, I want to show you something.” He put an arm round Adam’s shoulder and steered him off the main road, into a side street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam went with him, grateful that he wasn’t in trouble. But doubts were gnawing at his mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe streets around Tottenham Court Road were grimier and less grand than Oxford Street. There was nothing to see; just thick brick walls, blackened by chimney smoke. No one else was walking here. Something wasn’t right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Now then,” said the man, as thunder rumbled in the sky. “Give me your bag, and all your money, and I might just let you live.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam gasped. The man’s grip on his shoulder was very tight now, and he was blocking the way back to the road.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Help!” Adam shouted. But no one on the main road even turned to look.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who do you think would help a foreigner?” The man’s grin grew wider. “Now give me that bag, you cockroach.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAdam’s heart hammered. Desperately, he twisted. Turned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd tore himself free.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe ran in the only direction he could: down the side street. But it was a dead end, and it ended at the gates of the dump. A big block of common land, filled with stinking rubbish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBehind him, he could hear the man’s footsteps, pounding on the pavement, hunting him down through the rain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo he ran through the iron gates of the dump, through heaps of bin bags and crushed tin cans, shattered glass and torn-­up posters. The man kept coming, closer and closer, chasing him deeper into the dump.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLightning slashed the sky. In its glare, Adam saw a little wooden doorway, hidden behind a mountain of ashes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe plunged through it into darkness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBroken windows flashed past him as he ran through the rooms of an empty, ruined building.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen a wall loomed up before him. There were no doors except the one he’d come in by. There was no way out. He was trapped in here, and all alone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe turned to see the man stalking through the door behind him, something glinting in his hand. A knife.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA metallic taste filled Adam’s mouth. \u003ci\u003e“HELP!” \u003c\/i\u003ehe ­screamed—\u003cbr\u003e­\u003cbr\u003e—­and then something roared above his head, louder than the thunder.","brand":"Penguin Workshop","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305250377957,"sku":"NP9780593887257","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593887257.jpg?v=1767743097","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/tyger-isbn-9780593887257","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}