Cover: Edward Bettison
‘The stone has carved you a door between myth and memory. . .
And Samhain is when it opens. . . ‘ (p 222)
Differently the same
I was greatly taken with Finbar Hawkins’ first YA novel Witch, one of my Books of the Year in 2020. Now, here is an equally outstanding second book, although in many ways quite different from the first. This new, essentially stand-alone story is grounded in contemporary realism as opposed to the historical witchery of the first. It is a very troubled realism at that. Yet, on greater acquaintance, there is a little more synergy between the two books than first appears.There is a sheen of ancient magic over the new narrative, a shimmering at the edge of its disturbing vision, that echos some of the themes and, indeed characters, of the first.
Loss and grief
Essentially Stone is a story of bereavement and grief. There have been any number of novels on this theme, for children, for teens and for adults, but this one is distinguished by an exceptionally deep understanding and a fine sensitivity. It is grounded in the author’s own emotional experience - and, my goodness, it shows. Older teen Sam has just lost his soldier father with whom he was very close, in a violent and tragic incident that happened whilst his father was on a tour in Afghanistan. It is an understatement to say that Sam is not coping well, in fact the trauma is driving him hard towards a breakdown in mental health.
The language which Finbar Hawkins uses to convey all this is quite remarkable. On one level it is powerfully simple, yet it captures an effecting lyricism, especially in emotionally heightened moments when it fractures into short lines that almost constitute a sort of brutalist poetry. In both its linguistic and its narrative ethos the book strongly echos distinguished predecessors like Anthony McGowan’s quartet The Truth of Things and some of the grittier novels of David Almond.
Sam’s journey through mental darkness with its accompanying negative, and sometimes violent, episodes is effectively caught, building to a climax at Hallowe’en (Samhain). His gradual struggle towards acceptance is supported by a number of other characters, his mother, his would-be girlfriend, Oona, his sister, Beth, his best friend, Chad and an old man who also befriends him. However, Sam’s nightmare is, at the same time, exacerbated by a horrendous bully, Dan McGuire, who eventually becomes associated with the figure of Death himself. All of these relationships are vividly drawn and convincingly developed through both dialogue and action.
Witchy ways
Yet, impressive though all this is, it is not the complete picture of Stone. In the wonderful post-Garner tradition, it is richly grounded in both particular location and the folklore of that place. The White Horse of Uffington and the nearby ancient hill fort are places that featured strongly in Sam’s life with his father and prompted many of the stories he heard from him. They continue to act as places of deep connection through his period of traumatic loss. There he find the stone of the title, an object that acts as a conduit to the mystical past of the place. It serves to conjure, amongst others, the shade of Odin, gatherer in of the dead, with his ravens and wolves. Whether these experiences are magical, merely imaginings or the figures of dreams is deliberately never clear. But they hover on the edge of Sam’s reality as an expression of his struggles to deal with the reality of his loss. The same stone can also be used as a weapon in Sam’s tormented hands.
It is on this level of the narrative that the subtle links with the earlier book are to be found: the stone itself is identified as a witch’s ‘scrying stone’; Oona, with her apparent talent for reading tarot and other divinations, believes herself to have inherited ‘witchy ways’; and then, providing the clearest link of all to Witch, Dill and Evey, the ‘real witches’ from the earlier book, and the first owners of the stone, make several ‘ghostly’ appearances, before merging gently with the halloween-costumed ‘white witches’ who are, in reality, Beth and Oona.
I find it an absolute delight when an author’s stand-alone fictions link in such ways. It is a great readerly joy to spot the references, somehow particularly satisfying.
This is a very fine book on many levels. It explores traumatic loss and its gradual semi-healing with profound understanding, but it also celebrates potent connection with place and past, and, indeed, it melds these two themes with richly resonant effect. If Finbar Hawkins can keep up this level of quality writing over an extensive canon (although this is a very big ask for any author) then he seems destined to join the great names in writing for young readers.
‘Whatever happens we’re part of this place for ever . . . Us and the horse, the land and the sky.’ (p 250)
Images that connect
The cover by Edward Bettison is very strong. It also pairs beautifully with Witch and further emphasises the underpinning links between these two remarkable stand-alone books. The interior design is very pleasing too and much enhanced by the author’s own illustrations. The wolves and ravens are particularly impressive.
