Contains scenes that may . . .
This is very much a book for teens+, about, but not solely for, those in the chrysalis stage of male development, neither still child nor quite yet adult. I predict it will very quickly become a must-read for fans of Patrick Ness, Marcus Sedgwick, or indeed the many admirers of Luke Palmer’s own deservedly acclaimed first novel Grow.
It is a hard-hitting story about four boys as they move through their years of secondary school. Despite very different social backgrounds, and indeed personalities, they have remained a group of close friends since primary school. They entertain themselves by inventing and playing a variety of ‘games’, many of which would not really be recognised as games at all by some people. This is a realistic, gut-punching narrative about boys whose high-spirited behaviour is often ‘anti-social’, at times what some might call ‘delinquent’. But every page of it rings true and these characters and their dialogue are brilliantly evoked with real depth and insight. Narration is divided between them and the distinct voice of each is caught tellingly. It is not long into the book before you can see and hear each as a vivid presence in their world - and ours.
Not one thing. Nor yet . . .
Rugby-playing Luc, is bullied into almost toxic masculinity by his overbearing father: Matt is artistic, intelligent, gay and supported by liberal, if distant, parents; Mark from the most deprived home of the four, has little support at all and is lured into criminal ‘business’ way over his head; and affluent, but neglected, mad-cap Johnny, well, he is . . . Johnny.
The novel covers issues of developing sexuality, of alcohol and drug abuse, as well as the easy road these bring for some youngsters into serious criminalisation. It is a book of which I think some parents will disapprove, and very probably some teachers too, but that is exactly why they should read it. It is also a big part of what makes it great. Together with cleverly layered, multi-perspective narration and its compelling storytelling, its graphic honesty is the very reason its intended audience will appreciate it so enthusiastically. Many young people will recognise this as real life. They will identify with one or other of its characters and those who don’t will know kids who are very like them.
Playing . . .
Yet there is far more to Luke Palmer’s ultimately remarkable book than this. The narrative is replete with potent, even poetic, images, many disturbing, yet quietly infiltrated by a little optimism. There are dens elaborately constructed and then deliberately brought down around their builders’ heads; the heathland of the boys’ escapades is encroached by noxious landfill; a tin of childish treasure turns to maggoty decay; yet the detritus from youthful play is transformed into embryonic art.
And as the cataclysmic climax rushes towards us through the accelerating pace of ‘chapters’ that become shorter and shorter, the narrative suddenly falls into a metaphysical vision that is the book’s real heart. All its street-wise, school-wise, adolescent grit tumbles into spirituality. This is no mere story of athlete, artist, entrepreneur and . . . Who? What? Angel? Daredevil? Fool? The ultimate gamer? The one who makes (or breaks) the rules? The one who pulls the whole construction down on top of himself?
In Play life is game. Story is play. Play is not play. Reality and fiction are one, and neither. It is fate and circumstance, happenstance and predetermination , nothing possible and everything possible. It is the infinitesimal gap between ‘nowhere’ and ‘now here’.
It is a great read and a fine piece of literature (and would make a stunning film too).
The cover by Anne Glenn is not only a brilliant, striking image, but also a very clever one. She really understands this book. Which one is jumping? No brainier once you’ve read it.
(Having read as many of his poems as I can find in the net, I look forward enormously to Luke Palmer’s first full collection of poetry to be published in 2024.)