Expectations
Frances Hardinge is one of the most original and imaginative writers for young (and older) people around. I have delighted in her work every since the first hiss of her Fly by Night goose. Her books are always quite wonderfully weird, idiosyncratic, and gripping in both style and content. Mostly fantasy, but sometimes with a historical context, they can be delightfully amusing, although often with a dark, disturbing edge too. Her recent The Unraveller is another triumph and I am sure it will thrill even more readers now that it is out as a (particularly ravishing) paperback.
Those who know her work are unlikely, then, to be misled by the superficial appearance of this new book, although others just might be. At first glance, the format, layout and overall style of Island of Whispers gives the feeling that it is one of those lovely books of beautifully illustrated Fairy Tales. And so, perhaps it is, certainly if you remember that the world of genuine Fairy Tale was often rather dark and disturbing, before so much of it was sanitised as bedtime stories for young children. But this new book is certainly not sleepy time fare for tinies - unless, that is, they are possessed of remarkably mature and robust emotional and imaginative intelligence.
Emily Gravett’s powerful pictures too - strong, print-like images in simple black and white, supplemented with just two shades of blue - seem to have a feel of Fairy Tale. However, enchanting although they undoubtedly are, looking at them carefully, reveals that they echo the text closely with a good many touches of the darkly gothic. Indeed they become positively ghoulish with the introduction, part way through, of the headless birds.
Dark brilliance
However many older children (and many teens and adults too) will revel in this macabre weirdness and appreciate it for the superbly imaginative, and subtly nuanced, verbal and visual treasure that it is. Although Frances Hardinge is never anything but her own writer, for the sake of comparison I might initially be tempted to shelve this book alongside Neil Gaiman’s The Sleeper and the Spindle, itself a stunning but rather scary book, enhanced throughout by some of Chris Riddell’s finest illustrations - and that’s saying something.
Unlike Neil Gaiman’s story however, Frances Hardinge’s is not even loosely based on well known Fairy Tale but rather grounded in even more ancient-feeling legends and beliefs about the Ferryman of Souls and the shoes of the dead. On second thoughts, Island of Whispers is perhaps more of a distant cousin to Sophie Anderson’s unmissable The House With Chicken Legs, and, like that story, it is actually more thoughtful than nightmarish; ultimately more comforting than the impression its rather morbid content initially gives.
The ferryman
Independent of any specifically religious connotations, Island of Whispers is certainly about death, and the passage of remnant ‘ghosts’ on to whatever comes next for them. After the murder of his ferryman father and kidnap of his older brother, more sensitive younger son Milo is left with the task of ferrying the dead across real and ethereal seas to the island where they can pass on. However Frances Hardinge’s story ultimate develops to be much like the figurehead of the ‘Evening Mare’, the ferry boat that Milo unwillingly inherits:
‘Not a nightmare. Nor yet a daydream. In between and half awake. A dusk-slider. A twilight voyager, sailing the seam between worlds.’ (p 29)
Both Frances Hardinge’s storyline and her writing are full of surprising felicities, cleverness of thought and skilfulness of wordcraft. It frequently send thrills of delight though this reader, and I suspect will similarly impress countless others too.
‘Falter-moths, grief winged. Things of doubt and confusion that feed on loss. If you touch them they will feed on you.’ (p 56)
A matter of life and death
For all its dark images and grim context the overall story is a warm and reassuring one. It courageously confronts mortality and, within its Fairy Tale frame, does not shy away from associated fear and anguish. But it also speaks sympathetically of grief and bereavement, very movingly at times. Milo’s feelings for his lost father are particularly affecting, albeit briefly caught.
‘The worst thing about losing somebody is that, even after you survive a difficult day, the next morning the person you miss is still gone, and you have to get through another day without them.’ (p 108)
However, it also celebrates many positives in life, poems and stories, treasured memories, the release of honest confession. It exudes empathy together with that gift that Frances Hardinge both has and gives in spades, imagination. And, above all, it speaks of simple kindness.
‘Kindness is not weakness. To be kind in this unkind world is walking through a battlefield without armour or sword. It takes courage and strength to be kind.’ (p 82)
In the end, there are metaphysics too, for any who want them, speculations on eternity and the sands of time. But for those who prefer, there is the eternal ending of story, the reminder that love and kindness will always triumph over the blackest of magic. And when the dead take up their shoes and move towards whatever release awaits them, for this reader at least, it is the stringed acorns of the shoeless pauper that provoked an inner tear.
The final exhortation of the story is to make memories whilst you can - and that is a wonderful thought to be left with by a truly wonderful book. Slim it may be, but it is anything but slight. It is heading straight onto my list for Books of the Year.
Jacketless
Finally, a minor gripe to the publishers. As someone who likes to collect the best children’s books, as well as read them, I am always disappointed when something very special is produced without a dust jacket. This lovely volume will in the future always feature on collectable listings with ‘no jacket, as issued’, which is sad. Nevertheless, this is a most treasurable book, otherwise outstanding in production quality.
