Jamie Oliver’s publishing scandal proves Britain’s obsession with celebrity-penned children’s books has gone too far
Jamie Oliver has written a children’s book. Well, I say written—I assume a ghostwriter is working behind the scenes, somewhere—but this isn’t just any children’s book. No, renowned UK TV chef Jamie Oliver has written a 400-page middle-grade fantasy book titled Billy and the Epic Escape about a young First Nations girl “living in foster care in an Indigenous community near Alice Springs who gets stolen by the novel’s villain,” as explained by The Guardian.
Now, this might have raised some questions for you. Why has Jamie Oliver written a children’s book in the first place? Why has Penguin Random House published a 400-page fantasy novel for elementary school children? (Generally, middle-grade books contain roughly 30,000-50,000 words. A 400-page book is closer to 100k words). And most importantly, why in the world does Jamie Oliver—and his team, by extension—believe that a white, British, male TV chef should be writing about a young First Nations girl in Australia at all? Especially when, as brazenly admitted by PRH, no one thought to hire an “authenticity” reader before it was sent to the printers?
That baffling yet unfortunately unsurprising decision has now rightfully come back to haunt them, as The National Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Education Corporation (Natsiec) has stated that the book’s depiction of these cultures was “irresponsible and damaging, reflecting a profound lack of understanding and respect.” Sharon Davis, Natsiec’s chief executive, has called upon PRH and Jamie Oliver to pull the book from circulation and remove all cultural references involving First Nations characters. While Penguin Random House and Jamie Oliver have each made separate apologetic statements, there has been no word on whether they plan to recall the novel.
Davis isn’t the only one to have criticized Oliver’s second foray into children’s publishing. First Nations author Cheryl Leavy said, “It’s fair to expect that authors who wish to delve into any sensitive subject matter adhere to some basic industry standards, such as working with advisers with expertise in that area.” Dr. Anita Heiss, a First Nations author and publisher at Bundyi Publishing, Simon & Schuster’s First Nation imprint, said “There is no space in Australian publishing (or elsewhere) for our stories to be told through a colonial lens, by authors who have little if any connection to the people and place they are writing about.”
British readers, writers, and other in-the-know publishing people have commented on the debacle, too. Tom Holland—no, not Spider-Man—an award-winning historian and author, wrote on X (formerly Twitter): “It’s simply baffling this could have happened, Jamie Oliver being well known for his interest in Australian history and all.”
Likewise, Sam Missingham, an outspoken advocate for minorities in the publishing industry and founder of Meet The Booktokers, posted: “Is Jamie Oliver such a big author to PRH that the editor is disempowered to do their job as they normally would?”
Gaia Vince, an author and broadcaster, simply wrote: “The latest excruciating yikes in the world of kids books ‘written by’ slebs.”
This backlash is thoroughly deserved—hiring a sensitivity reader is genuinely the least PRH could have done—but as these comments indicate, there’s another issue at play here, too. Why is a celebrity TV chef writing a children’s book at all? And why are so many other British celebs getting in on this business, too?
Recently, it was announced that actress Keira Knightley’s debut children’s book, I Love You Just the Same, will be published in October 2025. In the U.K., plenty of other celebrities, including musicians—McFly’s Tom Fletcher springs to mind—film and TV stars, and clearly, celebrity chefs, have been dominating the children’s book sales charts, pushing out lesser-known authors and cutting into their earnings and shelf space.
It seems that any celebrity can become a bona fide children’s author as long as their name is big enough. British publishers seem to believe that the bigger the name, the more likely parents are to buy those books for their kids, but what about the quality of the works itself? If Jamie Oliver’s hold on Penguin Random House is so strong not a single editor dared to say “Hey, maybe this book could use another set of eyes,” how are any other up-and-coming authors supposed to compete?
Non-household names have a tough enough time breaking into the industry as it is. The “query trenches” are a scary place to be—I should know, I’m currently in them myself. You send your heart and soul out into the world, hoping that one agent, publisher, editor, or writing competition judge will see some merit in your work and give you the push you need to build your career. Most hopeful debut authors are rejected well over 100 times if they’re ever picked up at all. But if celebrity books are being sent to the front of the line, how many places are left for those authors who actually wrote the books themselves?
Of course, I’m not saying that every single celebrity children’s book ever published has been bad or a cheap cash grab. Footballer Marcus Rashford’s books have been genuinely well-received because they offer representation for kids who normally can’t find themselves on book covers and do so in a fun, educational, and respectful manner. Comedian David Walliams’ children’s books, on the other hand, have come under fire more than once for stereotypical and harmful depictions of certain characters and cultures.
There’s still something sinister about all of this, though, and author Katherine Rundell explained it best when she spoke to The Guardian earlier this year:
“My particular exhaustion is with those celebrities who put their names to ghost-written children’s novels. We would be shocked if you put your name to a concerto you hadn’t composed; we would find it supremely embarrassing if you signed a painting you hadn’t painted. It poisons the water. It makes it harder for parents and teachers to find great children’s fiction, and it makes children’s fiction look like something cheap and thin, instead of what it is – a literature with its own strangenesses, its own rigours, its own power.”
Children deserve good stories too, and they certainly deserve to read stories created with care and respect for the people and cultures that influenced them.
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