Morris Gleitzman - Always

Always stay hopeful. That’s my motto.
You’re probably thinking ... what’s he got to be hopeful about? He’s ten years old and look at his life.

When I sat down to write this final book about Felix I was bursting with enthusiasm, and also with relief. I’d just spent two years as the Australian Children’s Laureate, a great adventure, but one which kept me away from my writing desk for most of that time. Not, though, away from Felix. He accompanied me on many a plane flight, and we did lots of media interviews together, and met thousands of young readers, and repaired our ragged vocal chords with quite a few shared country motel cuppas.

But Felix’s final story, long mulled over, long planned, long dreamed of, the story in which Felix’s life comes full circle in ways that brought tears to my eyes just to contemplate, remained unwritten.

So, finally back at my desk, I was raring to get started. And I did. And in only a few months Always was finished. I printed it out, and it felt good in my hands. But not so good in my heart. Something was missing.

I’d always known that this story would take us back to where we first met Felix, and that we’d be taken there by his own voice, as we were that first time in Once. But in Once Felix was ten years old. In Always he’s eighty-seven. True, the young Felix lives on inside the elderly Felix, but Felix’s voice now is the product of all those extra decades.

How would readers feel about a Felix story without a young voice telling it? As I read through the first version of Always, I started to feel unsure. Fortunately, there is a young character in Always. A crucial one. The story of Felix’s final journey wouldn’t be possible without the presence of ten year old Wassim. And so I started again, writing a second version of the story, told to us this time by Wassim.

The story, while still charting same journey for Felix, grew and evolved through Wassim’s words. I came to know Wassim even more in this second version, and through him to know Felix in new ways too.

After many months, this new and improved Always was finished. I printed it out, and Wassim’s brave, loving, hopeful voice felt good in my heart.

But ...

You can probably guess. Something was missing. Vital though Wassim is to this story, it’s also the climax of Felix’s much longer story. It felt unfair for Felix’s voice to have no part in bringing us this final stage of his journey. Was there a way I could have him tell this story himself and still have a child’s voice present? I spent weeks flinging wild ideas around. Trying to bend the boundaries of time and space with abandon and, increasingly, with desperation.

Until the obvious solution tapped me on the shoulder and told me to calm down. Felix and Wassim could both tell the story. Young voice and old voice, turn and turn about. After what Felix and Wassim had been through together in the first two versions of the story, with the depth of understanding and care they’d developed between them, sharing this task would be child’s play.

Well, not exactly. But the three of us gave it our best shot, and after another nine months or so, the third and final manuscript of Always landed at last on the desks of my very patient publisher and editor.

This final version, I’m relieved to say, is far more than just a cut and paste of the first two. In many ways it’s a new story yet again, but with Felix’s same journey and his same destination. And with even more opportunities for Felix and Wassim to give each other the things they need in their lives.

Throughout my writing career, I’ve experienced countless times how stories benefit from problems, both in the lives of the characters and in the work of the author. But never to the degree that I have in Always.

I hope you feel it was worth the wait. To all of you who cooled your heels longer than probably seemed reasonable before you could embark on Felix’s final journey, thank you for your patience. And to dear Felix and Wassim, thank you for yours.

Copyright © 2022 · Morris Gleitzman