Booker shortlisted Treacle Walker by Alan Garner

‘You, you know the moment and tell the time. But that is the doings, not the travel; not the wonder, not the sight.’ (p 87)

An influencer long before social media 

Alan Garner is one of  our greatest living writers, so a new novel from this 87 year old, is a very important book event indeed. His early works, The Weirdstone of Brisingamen, The Moon of Gomrath and Elidor, combining strong elements of Celtic myth with contemporary adventure in specific locations , are seminal to much subsequent children’s fantasy fiction. Equally influential, and masterly, The Owl Service set a precedent in using myth as an extended metaphor for very real interpersonal conflict and its resolution.  After this, however, his work (with the exception of the masterpiece that is The Stone Book Quartet) has become increasingly geared to an older readership and is far more complex, challenging literarture. Now he has written a book that is somewhat more accessible. 

Concentration

Of course that statement is comparative. Both the ideas and the writing in Treacle Walker are dense, concentrated, in a way that only the thought and writing of a author of great skill and even more experience can be. Its images are sometimes obscure, often enigmatic, but they are always potent. They can communicate on a profound emotional level that does not necessarily require intellectual understanding. Here there are figures and objects from the author’s own past and from all our pasts: a boy with one lazy eye and a patch over the other (sometimes), a travelling rag-and-bone man who may also be a healer, an ancient bog body, an old medicine jar, a bone that can be played musically, a pair of worn pyjamas, a cuckoo, a children’s comic. These elements interact fluidly across time, real and metaphysical, both exploring and negating it - and they fluoresce in our minds and glow long. Alan Garner’s writing is prose poetry of the highest order. As always in his work, from the very first book until now, specific location and its folklore are fundamental. Here, as often, the names of very local Cheshire places are strung with enchanting cadence, always supremely evocative of vistas we know, even when we do not. He shares, too, with David Almond the concept of ‘bone music’, which only affirms the grounded sensitivity of both authors.

Awake

This is the writing of an old white man, drawing deeply on his own life experience, and there may well be some who feel it lacks the ‘woke’ sensibilities required of our times. But that would be to miss the profound universality that addresses all issues where they meet in one. As the author says through his characters ‘What is out is in. What is in is out.’ (p 79). Alan Garner explores deeply the real and the imagined, the now and the not now, that which has always been dreamed and that which is merely ‘doings’. It is a book of healing; of reconciling the complex contradictions that constitute self; of our growing into awareness, acceptance. It is another stunning piece of literature from the wizard of fiction in English.

A book is a book is a book

But is it a children’s book, as well as an adult one? It is certainly a book about children, or about one particular boy, Joe, who is at least in part the author, and who could well represent any child. It will probably be only for the committed and sensitive young reader, perhaps towards the top of the age range. Adults who, like me, are just about old enough to know what a donkey stone was and remember the Knockout comic may need to mediate for those who are not; share pictures of the Lindow bog bodies; conjure the forgotten rag-and-bone cart. But some things cannot be so easily explained - and it is probably best not to try. Just like, Joe, again and again children may not get it. But . . .

‘You are set on flummoxing me!’ (says young Joe)

‘And if I am not?’  (asks Treacle Walker)       (p 103)

I think Alan Garner would give this same response. It is not his role to make things easy. It is his craft to make them true. And there are some who will see, not just with one eye on ‘glamourie’ and one on our ‘real’ world, but with both eyes open together.

‘What’s up with my eyes?’ (said Joe)

‘You have the glamourie,’ said the man. ‘In just the one. And that’s no bad thing. If you have the knowing. She’ll be the governor while you learn the hang of it, and when you’ve got that you’ll be fine as filliloo. But you need both of them. What sees is seen.’  (p 47)

The False Rose by Jakob Wegelius

Not at all bad for a story written by a gorilla 

Do children’s books need to have children as main characters in order to have irresistible appeal? Clearly not - especially, it seems, if they are written by a gorilla.

I greatly enjoyed The Murderer’s Ape, one of my Books Of the Year for 2017 (see my review from Dec of that year). It had no pretensions to profundity but was a quite wonderful example of  ‘old-fashioned’ storytelling. I was initially sceptical as to whether a sequel could live up to the original, however I was delighted to find that my misgivings were completely allayed. Exactly the same qualities are to be found in abundance in The False Rose. This is the kind of children’s novel that I associate strongly with European children’s literature: a mixture of whimsy and high adventure with improbable but engaging action between endearing ‘goodies’ and dastardly villains. Sally Jones, is not only the protagonist but also the ostensible writer of the story. She may not be able to speak, but she understands language perfectly and writes superbly well for a gorilla working on a typewriter. (Although I suspect she may have some help from Jakob Wegelius.) Her evocative descriptions of people, places and events allow us plenty of time to be drawn into her world. And then, once she has us hooked, she hurtles us into melodramatic excitement that we thrill to just as if it were happening. She is without doubt the most skilful (and delightful) gorilla storyteller that I have ever encountered.

Another engaging charmer

As well as ghosting Sally Jones’s writing, Jakob Wegelius is also an artist of considerable talent. He again illustrates his own book and his detailed, coloured endpapers are quite ravishing. His idiosyncratic but highly skilled character portraits are both illuminating and hugely entertaining. Often I prefer to envisage a novel’s characters for myself, but here I find they add so wonderfully to the written descriptions that they only intensify the reading involvement. Once again, text and drawings both contribute strongly to another story of captivating charm contained in a ravishing volume. A real gem.

The Monsters of Rookhaven by Padraig Kenny

‘You can thank Piglet,’ said Tom. ‘He showed me things, made me understand how people are afraid of each other without having any reason to be.’ (page 268)

I missed writing up this book when it came out in hardback last year. It has now made a timely appearance in paperback, and I must rectify my serious omission, for it is indeed a marvellous thing.

Monster door

The Monsters of Rookhaven is essentially a ‘portal’ fantasy where children from the real world find a way into a completely different (fantasy) reality through some sort of doorway or tear in the separating fabric. This is the imaginative conceit of C.S.Lewis in The Lion. the Witch and the Wardrobe, and has been used by countless fantasy authors since. Having said that, however, Padraig Kenny’s is very far from ‘just another portal fantasy’; He does more than add a new twist to the concept, he takes it into another sphere and to another level altogether. His creative originality is quite remarkable.

Monstrously different

The human world of this fiction has an immediately post-war setting, where the protagonist children, and other human families in the story, are suffering very real bereavement over loved ones lost in the recent conflict. This gives a genuine feeling of poignancy and tenderness to the ‘actual’ world scenario. In contrast the ‘fantasy’ world, accessed through a tear in the magical barrier, is inhabited by monsters that could comfortably fit into any horror film or comic. These include a man whose true form is that of a a huge bear, another who transforms into a bat, a woman whose body is composed entirely of spiders, a garden of meat-eating flowers, with vicious teeth to match, and an enigmatic creature, strangely called Piglet, so dangerous that it has to be locked away in a dark cellar, to protect even the monsters themselves. Together these beings constitute the Rookhaven ‘family’ whose ancient agreement of strict segregation from the nearby village is jeopardised by the rift in their magical barrier. 

Truly monstrous 

To construct a narrative embracing both these world whilst establishing the total credibility of each - and both together - is quite a trick. But that is exactly what Padraig Kenny pulls off. And he does it magnificently. However, it is virtually impossible to say much more about his complex story without spoiling for the reader its many shocks and revelations. It is clear, though, that the author’s underlying purpose is to provoke his readers into questioning  exactly who are and who aren’t the monsters. This he does potently and powerfully. It is a very sad reflection of our own history and current society that what he ultimately reveals as truly monstrous is all too recognisable in our own reality.

Monstrously good

Although there are moments of horror, and indeed terror, in the story, it is often more disturbing than frightening. Monsters notwithstanding, Padraig Kenny’s narrative is also rich, thoughtful, sometimes funny, and ultimately compassionate. And he tells his story brilliantly. He never burdens the reader with heavy exposition. Rather, he is one of those skilled writers who builds his scenario gradually, and grows his characters through reactions to events and  developing relationships. By frequently changing his viewpoint between protagonists, he brings different perspectives to a really quite complex and always engrossing storyline. His focus characters are two girls, Jen from the ‘real’ world and Mirabell from the monster ‘family’, but there are also strong and significant boys involved and, with its intimate mixture of sensitivity and horror, thoughtfulness and dramatic, not to say gruesome, action, I would expect this book to have very strong appeal for a wide range of children.

Monster talent

Edward Bettison’s mesmerising illustrations are both beautiful and grotesque, sometimes both at the same time; they are a perfect complement to the text. The arresting design and layout of the whole book adds even further to the overall impact. 

Monster winner 

I did not read The Monsters of Rookhaven in time to include it in my 2020 Books of the Year. But if I had, it would most certainly have been in that list. Hopefully its publication in paperback, together with all the promotion it has recently received, will bring a massive new readership to this marvellously monstrous book. 

When the Sky Falls by Phil Earle

Novel take

There have been many excellent books about UK children in WWII, some already deserved classics. Even so, in a remarkable new novel, Phil Earl has managed  to find an interestingly different take on this subject matter. Inspired by a true story, his book carries important messages for today as well as pertinent reminders of our recent past, of which children still need to be aware. 

Gorilla war

In a sort of reverse evacuation tale, Joseph returns to live in Blitz London and is taken into the reluctant care of a somewhat cantankerous woman, who happens to have responsibility for a closed and largely empty zoo. Many of the horrors and deprivations of wartime are vividly portrayed and, unsurprisingly, the story is harrowing at times, but it is also wise and compassionate. Deepening bonds of love and loyalty between the central characters give the novel emotional depth, balancing its visceral excitement, and the the whole is written with a skill that communicates powerfully. It is certainly a read that will help develop empathy and the fact that the narrative prominently involves a child’s relationship with an endearing, if  challenging, gorilla further increases the likelihood of this moving book joining the list of treasured examples of wartime stories. It would be particularly interesting to compare and contrast it with Sonya Hartnett’s equally excellent The Midnight Zoo from 2012.

The cover by Levente Szabo perfectly captures the power and potency of the story.

Uki and the Ghostburrow (‘The Five Realms’ Series, Book 6) by Kieran Larwood

Cover: Fernando López Juárez

High fantasy for MG

Kieran Larwood has possibly done more than any other contemporary writer to bring ‘serious’ high fantasy successfully, and appropriately, to young readers. Now the undisputed king of small-furry-animal questing, he has built on from the work of his illustrious (and still very enjoyable) predecessor, Brian Jacques. However, whilst retaining just as much excitement over an equally large canvas, this writer has developed a high fantasy world that is more intelligent, more thoughtful and basically, more moral than that of Redwall.

Gentle but still exciting

This Five Realms series very effectively encapsulates many of the tropes of more grown-up fantasy, but Kieran Larwood’s  convincing world of animal characters successfully takes away much of  the more realistic violence and immorality of  the classic genre; it very clearly places the reader in the context of ‘made-up’ story. In this sense it could perhaps be called ‘high fantasy light’. There is also a sense in which it could be called ‘high fantasy soft’, although, in view of its intended audience, I mean this as a compliment. Early in this latest novel, protagonist, Uki, uses his new power to hurt (not kill) other rabbits. He immediately feels terrible remorse about this, vowing that he will never again use his special strengths to harm others. This is typical of the way this writer uses the genre to propitiate positive messages to his young readers. This does not make his stories one jot less gripping, though. Each with a framing narrative, surrounding a principle ‘legend’ told by a bard, Kieran Larwood’s books both celebrate and demonstrate the power of storytelling. His own writing is masterful without being in any way ostentatious or inaccessible to his young audience. 

Second trio, part three

This new volume constitutes the concluding part of a second trilogy in the series, the ‘Tale of Uki’, related to, but distinct from, the earlier ‘Podkin One Ear’ books. 

In another departure from much classic fantasy, this author is thankfully aware on the need to avoid gender stereotypes; a captain of guard, a poet-bard, an evil warlord or a reluctant hero is just as likely to be a ‘she’ as a ‘he’. However, is it perhaps time for the next eponymous protagonist to be female?

Stunning illustrations 

David Wyatt is one of our finest contemporary illustrators and his stunning, super-detailed, double-spread pencil drawings are one of the great joys of this series, in this latest volume no less than any of the others. 

Different but the same 

Of course, despite excitingly different storylines, there are many ways in which each new Five Realms book feels like ‘more of the same’. But there are times when this is a good thing - and this is one of them, I am a great admirer of originality, yet there are undoubtedly periods in a child’s reading journey (and mine), when the comfort of a return to the familiar is exactly what is required. And when subsequent books are just as thrillingly engrossing as the ones that came before, what’s not to like? For me, and for many, Kieran Larwood provides the perfect escapist read. Long may he continue to do so. 

Locked Out Lily by Nick Lake

MFSP is back!

After a break, I now feel ready to return to recording some of  my most exciting recent finds amongst children’s fiction. I will shortly catch up on the very best of those I have missed in my Books of the Year 2021. Meanwhile here is a very attractive, new arrival on my overflowing shelves.

Alone but not home

Locked Out Lily combines elements of Coraline with a sort of reverse Home Alone - and with talking animals thrown in to boot. Protagonist Lily’s perception is of being shut out from her familiar family life by her own recently diagnosed serious illness, exacerbated by her mother expecting a new baby, which is already preventing  Lily getting the attention she needs, and seems about to get worse. When her parents go off to hospital for the birth, Lily’s insecurity is acted out, both metaphorically and literally, through being locked out of her own home, now taken over by a chilling ‘replacement’ family. Fortunately, in attempting to reclaim the house, Lily is not completely alone but has the help of a crow, a mole, a mouse and a snake. However, their intentions are sometimes more constructive that their actual actions. 

Potent metaphor 

A relatively easy, accessible read, the book is nevertheless skilfully and often beautifully written. The text is littered with evocative imagery and succeeds wonderfully in pulling off the difficult trick of intimately mixing humour, terror and pathos. The character of Lily and her situation are authentically and vividly caught, the dialogue between her and the different creatures is often a delight, the presence of the ‘replacements’ in the house can be truly chilling, and aspects of Lily’s journey through the night towards a brighter morning are deeply touching. More than anything, the book is a simple but potent example of a narrative metaphor that will communicate emotionally to children  even it they don’t fully appreciate it intellectually.

Words and pictures

It is impossible to consider Nick Lake’s story outside the context of Emily Gavett’s copious and powerful illustrations, which are undoubtedly an integral and key element of the whole book. Combined in outstanding design, the complementary text and images not only make for a truly lovely volume to have and to hold, but also for a most affecting one. 

Although I did find aspects of it somewhat derivative, this is a fine novel in its own right. It needs to be introduced into many homes and schools and be borrowed extensively from libraries. It is a real boon to have such an attractive, accessible book which nevertheless contains considerable emotional richness, intellectual depth and fundamental humanity.

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T J Klune

This is not a recommendation for children, but rather for teachers and any others concerned with the care and nurturing of children. It is an easy, feel-good read, unsophisticated, amusing, wildly romantic, optimistic, sometimes rather silly, somewhat sentimental. But its core message about the intrinsic worth and potential of every single child, regardless of any other consideration whatsoever, is of fundamental importance to our world and to any concept of true education. This makes it so important a book, as well as a hugely enjoyable one.

Those who aspire to be great teachers should take it to heart. Those who already have, already are.