In the conclusion to her recent work Teaching a Nation (2006), Dr Clark quotes two reports into the teaching of history in schools: ‘[The reports] confirmed that disagreements over what stories to include in syllabuses and textbooks were complicated by questions of educational and historical approach; the anxiety over the past has been intensified by anxiety over how to teach it.’ Meanwhile, the blurb of her children’s book states:‘Convicted may just change the way kids feel about Australian history!’ The problem is that Clark, in trying to get in with the cool kids (much of the book’s tone is of the sniggering up the back of the class variety) exposes herself as the cool-seeking geek. Dirty undies, people exposing themselves, slop buckets: is this intended to bring history alive? Advice on learning how to talk like a convict, while going light on the historical context of transportation, reads like a bad episode of The Bill. Clark’s absurdity is exposed when she makes a particular point about how many convicts were tattooed and how much it must have hurt. Given the fashionable nature of tattooing today, for both genders, this will just puzzle the younger reader. Her obsession with flogging borders on the excessive, and the text begins to loop and repeat itself as she runs out of truly awful stuff to recount.

Scholastic have gone one better: Grim Crims and Convicts is written by Jackie French and illustrated by Peter Sheehan (Scholastic, $14.95 pb, 198 pp, 1865048712). They have taken the Horrible Histories template and tweaked it with their own imprint, Fair Dinkum Histories. This book succeeds as a rattling good read for ages ten and up. French has a knowledgeable voice and the weight of research behind her. She is in her element as a lecturer and maintains a good pace. There is no sweet-talking or pretending that she is a pre-teen herself. One of her great strengths as a writer is that she communicates the established facts well while also suggesting possible interpretations. There is an excellent note at the start about the difficulties of finding out what actually happened, which makes the point about there always being at least two sides to every story. The narrative reads as a series of diary entries, another popular device in non-fiction for this age group, and it is enjoyable as such. As well as including the obligatory legs-being-reduced-to-jelly by the lash anecdote, French has woven both invader and settler points of view into her text. She has used many historical terms (some of which will be unfamiliar to the reader), but there is no index, glossary or bibliography. Peter Sheehan’s illustrations are good: he has balanced caricature with trying to portray actual events and people. He exploits the art form of the pun in his captions, some of which probably date from 1788.

Allen & Unwin’s ongoing It’s True! series has been designed with the newly confident reader, or eight- to ten-year-old, in mind. Not every child who reads likes fiction, so this series has developed in response to fact-hungry lower-primary children. Each author has been selected to address his or her particular area of specialty or interest and has been teamed with an illustrator who uses a cartoon style to sprinkle enough drawings throughout the text to both break it up and to offer visual clues to the text for the emergent reader. Each book has a preface that provides both a useful snapshot of the author and an introduction to the book’s subject. All have an index and a ‘Where to Find Out More’ page; most have a glossary and acknowledgments. The whole book usually reads as one narrative, with factual sidebars placed throughout; double spreads of solid facts are printed on dark grey paper to stand out from the narrative. One improvement to the series is the printing of the full title on the spine; a sign of how much it has expanded, and of great assistance to long-suffering shelvers everywhere.

Some titles are general and wide-ranging, providing an overview of a popular subject. Space Turns You into Spaghetti, by Heather Catchpole and Vanessa Woods, illustrated by Heath McKenzie (Allen & Unwin, $11.95 pb, 88 pp, 1741146259), covers the vast area of cosmology, astronomy and space aeronautics, with details on how to apply to become an astronaut. Meredith Costain has written Hauntings Happen and Ghosts Get Grumpy, illustrated by Craig Smith (Allen & Unwin, $11.95 pb, 88 pp, 1741146089), in the same manner – moving from poltergeists to UFOs with a quick spin through the Bermuda Triangle on the way home for good measure. These little books do just what they are supposed to: whet the appetite for more information, while entertaining in the short term.

Women Were Warriors, by Carol Jones, illustrated by Elise Hurst (Allen & Unwin, $11.95 pb, 83 pp,1741147344), is a collection of short biographies and includes famous figures such as the real Mulan, Boadicea and Eleanor of Aquitaine. The illustrations in this one are particularly good; Hurst has used cameos and has depicted the scorned and the vengeful particularly well. You Eat Poison Every Day, by Peter Macinnis, illustrated by Bettina Guthridge (Allen & Unwin, $11.95 pb, 88 pp, 1741146267), covers poisons in food and nature, and how substances used for beauty and medicine can be fatal. There is a short piece about Viktor Yushchenko’s altered appearance as a result of his dioxin poisoning, which brings the book’s examples of the use of poison against enemies right up to date. Your Cat Could Be a Spy, by Sue Bursztynski, illustrated by Mitch Vane (Allen & Unwin, $11.95pb, 88 pp, 1741146062), reveals facts old and new about spying; the author’s enthusiasm is evident and she roams freely over the subject. The part played by women as enemy agents in war is highlighted with the true stories not only of Mata Hari and Nancy Wake, but also of decoding washing on lines in the US Civil War. The secret language of spydom will be fascinating to kids who have not had the benefit of growing up watching Get Smart, and cyber-spying gets a few pages.

My favourite is You Can Make Your Own Jokes, by Sharon Holt, illustrated by Ross Kinnaird, (Allen & Unwin, $11.95 pb, 88 pp, 1741147336). As the mother of a budding cartoonist, I am grateful to Holt for her excellent advice on how to write jokes successfully. Joke books are beloved by this age group, and Holt has scattered enough jokes throughout the text to make it entertaining. She analyses why we like jokes, and their physiological and psychological effects; supplies a brief history of clowns and clowning; and breaks up all the facts with workshops that take the would-be joke writer through all of the steps necessary to construct different kinds of jokes. The only weakness of this book is the illustrations: Ross Kinnaird is up against it, given that the text is funny in itself, and his cartoons seem strained.

John Nicholson’s opening statement in his latest book, Australia Locked Up (Allen & Unwin, $29.95 hb, 40 pp, 1741146097), reads: ‘European Australia would always have prisons and prisoners at the centre of its story.’ As is standard with this writer, he ranges freely across his chosen topic, including not only the well-trodden treadmill of convict life, but also the issues of indigenous custody, political prisoners and the detention of refugees. He poses questions and invites us to contemplate them. Like French, he never gives his own answer; unlike her, his tone never verges on the hectoring. He exhibits no anxiety about the past, but his subtext speaks of his fears for the future. The title has been carefully chosen for its double meaning. Nicholson lays the facts as straight as his marvellously architectural illustrations.

On the cover and throughout the book, he has used characteristic grey tones to great effect and has lavished as much care on a cutaway picture of the Quad on Rottnest Island as he has on the statuesque boab trees that were used as remote lock-ups. The boatload of refugees of unidentifiable nationality powering its way through the ocean ends the book on a triumphant note. It does not look like fun, but it lifts the heart.