A funny philosophical romp about a group of kids who use the power of critical thinking to take on a  wicked headmaster. Milo is thrilled to be starting at the country’s most prestigious school. But it soon becomes clear that something sinister is going on. The headmaster, Dr Pummelcrush, is bent on brainwashing the students and turning them into mindless, unthinking human robots. When Milo stumbles across a bright and colourful secret garden and meets its joyous gardener, he and his friends begin to open their minds to a whole new way of thinking: philosophy. Can the Philosophy Resistance Squad use their new questioning skills to resist Pummelcrush’s evil project and save their classmates from being zombified? "A dramatic adventure, with an engaging side of philosophy on the side." Sara Keating The Irish Times Robert Grant was born in Waterford, Ireland. He has a PhD in philosophy from Trinity College Dublin, where he was an Irish Research Scholar. He has taught philosophy both at Trinity and in several other institutions. Rob is founder of the Philosophy in the Community project and a member of Philosophy Ireland, and has taught philosophy in schools, prisons, community centres and many other places.  When one with honeyed words but evil mind Persuades the mob, great woes befall the state. – Euripides Milo Moloney tumbled out of the back seat of the car the instant his dad squealed it to a halt. The Moloneys were cutting it close and were in danger of being late for the opening ceremony. That was the last thing they wanted. Milo’s mam, flustered and red-faced, jumped out after him as the three headed for the campus gates. Unmistakable sounds of celebration could be heard bubbling in the distance. As they reached the gates, they were greeted by a flying drone-ball. Like a tiny spherical helicopter, it whizzed down and floated in mid-air beside them, announcing: ‘Welcome, Moloney family. Orientation begins in three minutes. Do not delay.’ ‘Wow!’ said Milo’s dad. ‘Brilliant.’ They scurried up the tree-lined avenue, as if they wished to run but did not dare. ‘For heaven’s sake, Milo,’ said his mam, catching up to him. Milo was tucking in his shirt with one hand as he jogged and fixing his tie with the other. His school bag hung off his shoulder, and his brand-new blazer trailed along behind him like some limp animal tail. ‘You’re in an absolute state! Come here and I’ll fix you!’ ‘I’m grand!’ said Milo, hiking up his trousers. His mam licked her thumb to flatten his shaggy brown hair. ‘And put on your blazer!’ The school they were headed for was the most famous, the most highly ranked and the wealthiest school in all of Ireland: the Secondary Training Institute for Lifelong Employment, known simply as ‘the Institute’. It was the pride and joy of the nation, renowned across the globe for its futuristic, hi-tech campus and the unparalleled excellence of its graduates. Its status was near mythical. Tourists would snap selfies in front of the iconic logo. Visiting world leaders would hold meetings in the board room. Famous film directors would shoot scenes there. Regular folk would take Sunday drives just to see the grounds and to purchase a keepsake from the school’s shop. And somehow, the young, messy, easily distracted Milo Moloney had been accepted here. He was a smart kid – he and his parents knew that – but they were still amazed that he’d managed to focus enough to get in. The family broke into a full run as they neared the top of the avenue. There were expansive green lawns on either side, the grass as smooth as carpet, like each blade was individually cut with a tiny pair of scissors. ‘Put on your blazer!’ Milo’s mam insisted. It’s roasting,’ Milo protested. ‘Milo, not now, please. Just do as you are told.’ She hoisted his jacket up around his shoulders. ‘I don’t want another argument.’ That morning they’d already argued about what to have for breakfast, daily showering and whether you could be sure the world still existed when you shut your eyes. Just then, the world-famous campus appeared before them like a vision from the distant future. Set into the undulating hills of west Waterford, the campus was made up of a complex of five large white rectangular buildings connected by sleek curved-glass tunnels to a central towerblock. It looked more like an inter-galactic space station than an Irish secondary school. Every detail was smooth and new. And yet it looked like it had always been there. Like the hills were made afterwards as a backdrop for it. Milo looked up at the coloured laser lights that shone from the rooftops, as if searching for extra-terrestrial life. Several drone-balls whizzed overhead like a swarm of robot bees, carrying signs reading Welcome First-Years! Every so often, one would buzz down and snap a photo of a family underneath the famous sign. And there it was, briefly stopping the Moloneys in their tracks, the school’s name and motto in bright-blue letters: Secondary Traini