The Boy with the Tiger's Heart by Linda Coggin

This is a strange book - but strange in a good way, in fact strange in a rather wonderful way.

The title is a very good one and in many ways captures the strangeness and power of the book. The boy in question, a prominent figure in the story, yet not the actual protagonist, has the heart of a tiger in both a literal and a metaphorical sense. Yet the literal is not actually possible. We are on the verge of fantasy. Reality is ambivalent.

The same quality of ambiguity is evident in the very dramatic and wonderfully apt cover illustration by Levente Szabo. The image is simultaneously of a tiger's head and of a wooded outcrop with figures. It is the trees that form the tiger 's stripes - or possibly vice versa. Perception shifts between the two depending how you look at it, in a way that approaches the old optical illusion of candlesticks and faces. The realities merge. The picture is illusive. So is the book. It has no concrete presence, just shifting images that hover between nature and fantasy.

The protagonist of the story, a girl initially unnamed but later called Nona, has been brought up by dogs, although later adopted by an odd and eccentric 'scientist'. He is an experimenter who has kept specimens of live wild aminals in a world where almost all the rest have been purged to keep the population 'safe'. However, the book does not so much explore the implications of the girl's feral upbringing, to the extent that several other fictions on this subject do. Rather it uses it as a explanation for her empathy with animals and as a symbol of her essential wildness.

When Nona's adoptive Father is hounded by the ruling authoritarian regime, he releases his specimen animals and kills himself. Wrongly accused of his murder the girl flees in search of a free, wild world beyond that in which she now lives. She sets off on a long and difficulty journey-quest, accompanied by an erstwhile dancing bear but pursued by the evil authorities. Later she meets and teams up with an abused boy, as well as the tiger-boy of the title and a number of other escapee beasts.

One of the few words I can come up with for this book is poetic. But I do not want to give a false impression. Its language is not elaborate or fanciful. Rather the reverse. It is extremely clear and straightforward; at times almost clipped, particularly in its dialogue. Rather it is poetic in the sense that its story, its characters, its actions are more image than reality, metaphors; its reality is gently shifting, vague, translucent around the edges.

Both the geographical and human landscape through which the companions travel are a strange mixture, sometimes almost fairy tale, at others dystopian grunge, almost cyber-punk in feel. Many of the incidents on the journey and the characters met are not totally credible in a naturalistic sense. The 'circus' Nona reaches part way through is not quite like any other circus, more perhaps of a freak show, though whether the humans or the aminal are freaks . . . ? The small band of children and beasts who journey on from the circus is not quite a fellowship in the Tolkein sense; all are rather prone to wander off on their own; they have their own motivations as well as a common one. A pit of innumerable snakes bars the way out of the animal-culled, allegedly danger-clear world. It seems to represent the fear of the unknown which cows and contains the inhabitants of this world. But the snakes have eaten themselves by the time the children reach it. Yet the land which they eventually succeed in reaching is no Shangri La. It has always been called and remains The Edge. It is unknown, wild and dangerous. But it is alive.

Another way to describe the world of this book might be as a dreamscape. But this too could potentially mislead. This is not a simplistic then-they-woke-up-and-it-was-all-a-dream story. Rather it is a dream in the sense that odd things happen without them seeming odd. Explanations are not always completely rational, or logical, but do not need to be. This world is engrossing yet distanced; perceived rather than experienced.

One of the features which helps create this pervading strangeness is that the story is written entirely in the historic present tense. This is an authorial device that can often seem rather pretentious and become tiresome to the reader, particularly when sustained over a whole book. Yet here it strangely works. It puts the reader at something of a distance from the action, almost watching from outside, more as you would experience a film rather than a novel, sympathising rather than empathising. Yet it is not as simple as this. The author sometimes slips from an objective narration and let the reader into the thoughts and feelings of a character. It is odd, but effective. Strange.

The book is easy and quick to read, but lingers long. It is thought-provoking, strong in message, but without haranguing. It is gently disturbing. It is exciting and frightening in parts. It is sometimes beautiful. It is certainly original, unique. It is a strange book - but strange in a good way.

 

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The Iron Trial by Holly Black and Cassandra Clare

There are a number of reasons why I did not think I was going to like this book anywhere as near as much as I actually did.

Firstly it is a collaboration and I cannot easily think of any book authored in this way that I would call truly great. The idea of authorial collaboration often puts me in mind of that oft-quoted quip that goes: a camel is a horse designed by a committee. Now I admit right off that I think this is grossly unfair to the camel, which after all, is quite wonderfully adapted to its life and habitat. But I know what they mean. A number of folk chipping in ideas, especially where they are very creative ones, can lead to an interesting and inventive amalgam. Rarely if ever, though, does it lead to something with the same clarity of concept and design, the same sleekness and integrity of vision as the creation of an inspired individual. Certainly I find this is so with fiction writing. I sometimes love it when creative minds spark ideas off each other - and I know full well that this can be a most enjoyable and stimulating way of working. But it is the individuality and integrity of a particular authorial voice which always thrills me most as a reader. So although we have two fine writers involved here (even if Cassandra Clare's principal work does not come within the sphere of writing that interests me much personally) I did not have too high hopes of this collaboration.

Of far greater concern to me though, as I initially read further and further into The Iron Trial was that so many aspects of its core narrative are Harry Potter derivative. Here is the tale of a young boy who finds himself in his first year at a wizarding 'boarding school' where he quickly establishes firm friendship, with another boy and a very bright girl in the same initial year or grade. It appears certain, too, that this first book, representing the experiences of their first year in the school (here the 'Iron Grade' in the 'Magisterium') will be the first in a series following the experiences of the three trainee magicians through each year (with, predictably, 'Bronze', 'Silver' and 'Gold' stages still to come). In school our protagonist is plagued by the hostile and spiteful attentions of a maliciously jealous fellow pupil. On the wider front, the whole world is threatened by the monstrous evil of an 'Enemy of Death' figure, who it seems was, a former outstanding pupil of the Magesterium, now turned bad.

The book does suffer, too, from what is at times a rather episodic narrative, which possibly relates to my fear that the writing may have been parcelled out between its two writers. Nonetheless is well written and indeed captures many of the strengths of The Potter books as well 'borrowing' many of their key ingredients. It has a very great deal of the same ability to fascinate and absorb, to involve and excite. Particularly, it engenders very strong and easy identifications with its young protagonists which soon develop into something close to an emotional bond. All this means that, despite reservations, it soon develops into a very good read. There are significant differences too of course which add to the distinction and reader absorbtion of this new version. Unlike enthusiastic and wonder-struck Harry, Call, the protagonist here, is a rather unwilling and uneasy student at the wizard academy. The school itself, too, is very different indeed from Hogwarts, both physically (here a maze of underground caverns, rocky passageways and canals) and in its ethos, it's teachers and its approach to magic. All of this is most vividly created and the wonderful imaginations of thes two very experienced fantasy writers very much show through. However, I am never going to be too much impressed by such an obvious clone, well written or not.

BUT THEN (and the capitals are deliberate here) things change in most interesting ways. Around two thirds of the way through, the storyline takes a number of really very shocking and most intriguing jolts that suddenly make it very different in both content and feel from HP. It becomes clear that rather than settle for a lazy semi-pastiche, the authors have very cleverly used familiar features from this very specific fantasy genre in order to set up expectations that they then intend to thwart. And they do so to quite thrilling effect. Suddenly we have a very different book and a see totally different level of authorial skill. It becomes quite a read and, by the end, sets up eager anticipation of the sequel.

Descriptions along the lines of 'the best thing since Harry Potter' are so overused and abused in publishers' hype as to have become, infuriating, hilarious or simply derisible. However this is the only book I have read that so well feeds on the HP tradition, but then subverts it in a shocking but totally enthralling and entertaining way. In doing so it comes close to recapturing the same quality of reading engagement as its illustrious predecessor whilst adding enough difference to be truly special.

However the jury must remain out on the impending full series until there is more to read. In a sense the big shock has now been sprung. It will be most intriguing to see how its implications are worked through. The question is can these two skilled authors maintain and develop interest through several more years at the Magesterium, in ways that are original and special enough to fulfil the promise of greatness this debut instalment now makes?

 

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Mortal Engines Quartet by a Philip Reeve

 

Some months ago I missed out this wonderful work from my full listing because it did not quite fit my definition of magical fantasy. Now I have tried to free myself from some of these sillier constraints and it just has to be included. It is without doubt one of the greats of children's literature of recent years.

The Mortal Engines quartet, now re-titled Predator Cities, (Mortal Engines, Predator's Gold, Infernal Devices, A Darkling Plain) does not have wizards but is nevertheless a most wonderful and imaginative fantasy. Probably more Sci-Fi than anything, it is, however, totally itself; unique and quite magnificent. Its inventiveness is truly magical and the spells cast by its vast array of incredibly-imagined characters are over the reader if not over each other. Its protagonists are some of the most engagingly and sensitively developed of recent creations (the kind you leave behind with almost a sense of bereavement at the end of a book) and its plot progressions are complex, rich and gripping; always vastly entertaining. It is quite simply a masterwork of contemporary children's literature - terrifying, exciting, jokey, humane, thought- provoking and staggeringly original.

 

 

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Doll Bones by Holly Black

Holly Black's best known work, The Spiderwick Chronicles, is an authorial collaboration (with Tony DiTerlizzi), as is her very recent fantasy, The Iron Trial (this time with Cassandra Clare). These books almost inevitably suffer from some lack of individual distinctiveness of voice. This is not, of course, to say that they do not do what they do exceptionally well. The enormous popularity of the Spiderwick books speaks for itself. They very effectively bring the engrossing thrill of good fantasy into the scope of very young readers. These short, accessible books provide what is probably one of the very best introductions to this genre for children who are ready to make their first moves into independent novel reading. In this sense they do for modern children what the books of Edith Nesbit did for children in the early 20th century, those of Enid Blyton for those of the postwar generations, and Roald Dahl in the later years of the century; they provide accessible reading that is at once both exciting and comforting, highly imaginative adventuring from the safety of the sofa, vicarious escape from the constraint of adults that involves no need to leave home.

For more confident and experienced young readers The Iron Trial builds from established conventions to provides what is one of the very best if-you-enjoyed-Harry-Potter-you-will-love-this reads that I have come across in a long time.

However it is in the quite remarkable, independently authored Doll Bones that I feel the writing of Holly Black really comes into its own. This is a work of truly original voice, stunning imagination, deep sensitivity and enriching humanity.

I would not really call Doll Bones a fantasy novel, yet I have no hesitation in including it here because it is in every aspect a book about fantasy. Despite any impression to the contrary that the titular doll and its accompanying dominant cover illustration might give, this is to me very much a boys' book, or at least a book about a boy. Although two of its three principal characters are girls, feisty Poppy and the somewhat dreamier Alice, we only really know and discover them in so far as the book's real protagonist, Zach, comes to know and discover them. Although not a first person narrative, we see them, and indeed the whole world of the book through his eyes.

The girls are the collaborators in Zach's world of 'play' and they share an elaborate and ongoing game of imaginative world-building and role enactment, supported by their various collections of old toys, dolls and action figures, who represent its cast of heroes and villains. The lives of these three children are rich in story and enriched by make-believe. They clearly read widely and then use their own imaginations to extend and elaborate the worlds they have found in their books, to make them 'real' for themselves and to keep themselves within them. Their sharing in this 'play' bonds them closely together in a very special friendship.

Yet Zach is twelve. He is on the verge of growing past such things, or at least in the eyes of many around him. However he is not yet ready to move on. Although he sometimes feels he should, he does not really want to.

The catalyst of both the action and the development in the story is Zach's father who particularly desperately wants his son to 'get real' and 'man up'. He almost succeeds in destroying the boy's imaginary world when one day he removes and destroys the action figures which are Zach's story props.

Devastated, Zach feels he can no longer 'play' with the girls. His characters have been killed off and therefore the whole game terminated. But Poppy soon succeeds in reeling him back in by taking one of their existing characters, an antique doll from a cabinet in her home, and building around it a new and 'spooky' story about a girl wo was killed and whose bones were subsequently ground down to create the china from which the doll is made. This doll now wishes to be taken home and buried there so that she can find 'closure' and rest.

Both of the girls in the story introduce a confusion between imagination and reality, although in very different ways. Poppy wants so much to keep him sharing her story life that she gets him to play out in actuality a fantasy adventure, the quest to quiet the 'ghost' of the titular doll. Alice, on the other hand, although ambivolently still attached to the imaginative world of their 'play', wants to pull Zach back with her to the real world because of embryonic romantic feelings for him.

Whether or not this is a real ghost story remains ambiguous; it is the tale of the doll and the way in which Zach is drawn in to acting it out which is far more important.

In this book Holly Black has stepped aside from writing in the fantasy tradition itself, although it is that very tradition which so influences her characters. It is clear that Zach, Poppy and Alice are avid readers and the books of Tolkein, Rowling, Riorden, Paver and their like are what feed their imaginations. In contrast, her own book, for me, sits in that wonderful tradition of American children's fiction where the very real issues of its its young protagonists are played out through exploration of their imaganitive lives. I suppose the classic of the genre is Katherine Patterson's The Bridge to Terabithia, although there are other wonderful,examples from the likes of Betsy Byers, Lowis Lowry, and more recently Anne Ursu's Breadcrumbs.

Yet Holly Black's creation is not in the least derivative. It takes an imaginative, sensitive boy's issues in beginning to face adolescence and the emerging demands of 'being a man' and explores them through his interactions with two girl friends, each going through their own growing. It is both an exciting adventure and an intriguingly spooky story. Superficially it is a reckless road trip, inwardly it is a magical, mystical quest.

The book's greatest triumph of all is that its resolution is quite wonderfully affirmative. At its end Zach, together with Poppy and Alice, faces a real future which is uncertain and very probably difficult. But he has learned that it is possible to live out and, indeed, fulfil a quest; stories can and will continue, imagination will still play a huge part in his life. The corollary is that stories can play a part in all our lives too. We need never grow out of them. And this is a wonderful message.

It is a book for which fully deserves the accolades and awards it has achieved. It is a small masterpiece and a must for imaginative boys everywhere. It should become another classic of the canon.

 

 

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The Witch's Boy by Kelly Barnhill

 

Here is another gem of a book from an American author, although it is totally different from some of the others I have found most recently; this one is much more of an actual children's book (broadly 8-12?) rather than a young adult read. It was a delightful change, too, to come across fiction for this age group that isn't trying to be trendy or jokey. Not that there isn't a place for the cross-dressing, wimpy schoolboy Dracula and his cyber bathroom adventures with a grimy grandmother. There certainly is. But, sometimes . . .

 

Although not published here in the UK, The Witch's Boy can easily and quickly be sourced on line. Normally I strongly advocate supporting local bookshops, particularly independent ones. If we don't then we are in danger of losing a wonderfully enriching community resource. However, I have to say that it is a strong plus for our internet world that we can so readily discover and access books published elsewhere. It would be a great pity to miss reading delights like this one.

 

Whilst most definitely sited in an imagined world, this book does not inhabit the realms of 'high fantasy'; its core elements of setting, character and storyline are much closer to those of Fairy Tale, as is much of its style. Here are a mother who sews the soul of her dead son into the chest of her surviving one, giants who have been turned into stone and a stache of dangerous magic kept in a pot, There is even a deep, dark forest with a wolf, although in this case the creature in question is not particularly big and certainly not bad. This is a not a retelling of an existing tale, nor is it a pastiche; it is a highly original and entertaining story in its own right.

One of the endorsements on its back cover is from Anne Ursu, and it does not surprise me that the publishers chose this particular writer to offer comment. Although no clone, there is certainly a fairly close affinity between the tone of The Witch's Boy and Breadcrumbs, or perhaps especially her truly wonderful The Real Boy. Kelly Barnhill's book also put me in mind several times of Astrid Lindgren's classic Ronia the Robber's Daughter, first published in English in 1983, and not only because this one has a bandit's daughter too. In my mind, this is certainly not an invidious comparison, quite the opposite. Ronia is a book that in my long-past days of class teaching I read several times to different children, always to my own great pleasure and their evident delight. I would count it as one of my twentieth century greats.

There is much that is very skillful about the writing and construction of the 'Fairy Tale' that is The Witch's Boy. Whilst fully acknowledging the potency of traditional Fairy Tales, Philip Pullman points out in his introduction to his own retelling of the Grimm Tales (Penguin Books, 2012) that they are typically fast paced narratives with stock elements and little in the way of detailed description or characterisation. And this is essentially how Kelly Barnhill's book starts. However she quickly but subtly eases the reader into sharing the thoughts and feelings of her characters, particularly those of the story's two young protagonists, the witch's son and the bandit's daughter. Even though these characters are never realistic, they do soon become very real in the reader's mind. Indeed they are truly lovable, despite, or perhaps because of their undoubted flaws. They may essentially be there to represent love and friendship and real courage, but they do so most endearingly. So Kelly Barnhill's story quickly develops into into an expansion and considerable enrichment of the original genre, without altogether losing its fairy tale feel. She also pointedly, and very properly, avoids some of the gender (and animal) stereotyping associated with the traditional tales. In her story you will find that the good, wise monarch is a queen, not a king, that neither the witch nor the wolf are evil, and that some councillors, soldiers, bandits and indeed woodcutters are, quite naturally, female. The story expands considerably too from the limits of traditional Fairy Tale, not only In length and complexity, but in scope and scale. Indeed its theme of a king and his army invading a neighbour to reclaim lost territory almost approaches the world of 'high fantasy' which is so far from its starting point.

Yet despite its length and authorial sophistication, its split narratives and its rich and diverse cast of characters The Witch's Boy has a logic and integrity which enables all its threads to be comfortably brought together in an ending which coheres everything into a satisfying whole. There are elements of the story's denouement that perhaps verge on sentimentality, though certainly no more so than, say, those of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. However, they are also strong, positive and life-affirming and that is no bad thing in a book for children. Indeed there are times when those of us much older appreciate such affirmations too. And amongst the self-sacrifice, the celebration of family and friendship, of goodness and of love, there are moments of touching poignancy too, and lightness and humour. Perhaps more than anything there are moments of wonderful lyricism, for scattered throughout this beautifully written and crafted tale are frequent felicities of wording and phrasing that are truly poetic, in a way that truly enriches the flow of language rather than over embellishing it. This is unobtrusively stylish writing and most effective storytelling.

All in all, The Witch's Boy is not quite the excitingly ground breaking work that some of my other recent finds have been. However it is one of the most unashamedly enjoyable reads I have had for quite a while. It provoked a nostalgia for childhood like nothing else recently and I take that to be a very good indicator. It is a bedtime book in the best sense. Even when it is frightening or saddening it has somehow cosy undertones. And it is constantly engaging; you would want to continue reading it with a torch under the bedclothes long after lights-out. Much of this is because it is so skilfully written, both in the structure and pacing of what is a fairly long story, and in its language, which is all the more effective for being unpretentious. Although relatively complex, its narrative has a logic and cohesion which slowly reveals itself as the tale unfolds. It is, at heart, a completely refreshed and reimagined version of a core classic (possibly the core classic) of children's fiction. A boy and a girl each in their own way grow up and discover the joys and tragedies of life, learn to be themselves, and ultimately leave their comfortable homes to face a future that is unknown but exciting. The Witch's Boy is made of the very stuff of a great children's book. It will be a much loved and, I suspect, a long enduring one. UK readers don't miss out - and don't let your children or grandchildren miss out. Books like this feed and grow the imagination and indeed the 'soul'. They are the perfect antidote to too much time thumbing a tiny keypad.

This book is not Kelly Barnhill's debut. I most seek out her earlier works and add them to my reading pile.

 

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A little reading magic

 

A short while ago a writer was kind enough to contact me and say that my thoughts as a reader made her feel that her book had become more than it was. This is exactly as it should be. A writer grows a book and then a reader grows it more. Writers sometimes have a little help in producing finished books and often humbly express gratitude for this in their acknowledgements. But generally a book is, in essence, the work of one person. It involves one person's imagination. When it is read it it involves two peoples' imaginations, the writer's and the reader's. Whether explicitly or not, a good writer puts much of their own experience and understanding of life into their book. A good reader adds their own experience and understanding of life too. And they are not the same. They never can be. Writers do a truly wonderful thing. In giving a book to the world they generously relinquish ownership of it. They give their own imaginings and experiences to their readers. And their readers grow from it. But the writers' characters, their worlds, their stories are not as fixed by words as some people might think. In a reader's mind they will become different because the reader's imagination and experiences are different. However the writer's experiences and the reader's are no longer separate. They are magically brought together, joined by the book. And the book grows as a result. Readers cannot give back so directly to the writer, but they do contribute enormously to the creation that is the book. The book read is more than the book written.

 

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The Glass Sentence by S.E.Grove

 

 

Here is a mystery. One of the the most remarkable and original children's fantasy books I have come across in a vey long time has been released to fully deserved critical acclaim in the US but not yet published here in the UK. Fortunately the American hardback of The Glass Sentence can be obtained online. This in itself is no bad thing because the actual volume, just like its contents, is a remarkable and wonderous delight; its dust jacket is a translucent layer over a strong cover illustration, echoing the glass overlay in the story which carries the titular sentence. Nevertheless, some potential UK publisher is seriously missing out and sadly denying countless young British readers - and almost certainly a good many older ones too - the joy of discovering early a book that may well become a classic.

Many epic fantasy novels for children and young adults, like their counterparts in adult fiction, inhabit what is usually called the 'high fantasy' world. Conventionally this has a broadly mediaeval setting peopled by a selection of good and evil characters from groups such as kings, warriors, wizards and their apprentices, probably alongside creatures like dragons and trolls. One of the most ubiquitous features of such fantasies is the presence at the start of a wonderful hand-drawn map showing the lands of the story and, quite possibly, the journey its protagonists will take.

Less strong offerings often repetitively churn out the features of this genre in a tired and formulaic way. Delightfully there are many other authors who rework the standard conventions of high fantasy with energy and imagination or add novel twists and features to bring the genre back to exciting life. From time to time even more adventurous writers transpose the fantasy genre to some hitherto largely unexplored place or time and give it an even stronger new lease of life. This is what the wonderful Michelle Paver did when she set her splendid historical fantasy sequence The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness in the far recesses of humankind's history.

Even more rarely, however, a fantasy author imagines a world so startlingly original and inventive that it pushes the boundaries of the genre in mind-expanding, and often for the reader life-enriching, ways. This is what the enormously exciting Nigel McDowell recently did in setting his superb The Black North in a fantasy Ireland with gun-toting rebels. It is what Philip Pullman did when, in His Dark Materials, he took the artistically bold step of reimagining elements of John Milton and placing them in a children's fantasy of complex parallel worlds. It is what, in a more Sci Fi orientated fantasy, Philip Reeve did in taking the superficially ridiculous idea of cities that move about and predate one another and built around it the fully believable, absorbing and complex world of his Mortal Engines quartet. In another amazingly imaginative and original coup, it is also what S.E.Grove has done here in this first of her Mapmakers trilogy.

Of course, as with all of the wonderful creations just mentioned, The Glass Sentence utilises some of the conventional features of the children's fantasy genre. Its protagonist, Sophia, is effectively an orphan in that her parents have been long missing. This is exacerbated when the uncle who is her carer also disappears. It is her quest to find him that is the main plot line of the story. She is accompanied on most of this quest by a new close friend, Theo, another 'waif and stray', of similar age but from a very different culture. These two and their other supporters, including a crew of friendly pirates, are opposed in their mission by a mysterious and powerful adversary, Blanca. She in turn is aided by her terrifying henchmen, and all are haunted by a number of seemingly inhuman spectral figures. Many of these characters are wonderfully creations in their own right, imaginately conceived and vividly drawn, not least the hideous grappling-hook-wielding 'Sandmen' and the insidiously wailing 'Lachrima'.

However all of these elements are essentially drawn from the stock components of fantasy and children's literature. It is the world in which S.E.Grove places them that is so startlingly, staggeringly original. The milieu of The Glass Sentence is geographically based, centering on the Americas and initially located in 1890s Boston. However, in the book, the entire world has previously been shattered by a cataclysmic and unexplained 'disruption' resulting in its being sundered into multiple diverse time zones or 'Ages'. Their earth, though, is not simply a mash-up of known historical periods. In some places two or more times have become mixed or integrated resulting in bizarre and intriguing imaginative cultures.

On top of this, the author takes the concept of the map, so often just a decorative frontispiece to high fantasy volumes, expanding and exploding it with stunning imaginative force, and making it central to her whole world. For this is a 'Mapmakers' story and in it the intricate creations of esoterically educated, specialist cartographers go way beyond the conventional two dimensional representations. They go beyond even three and, indeed, stretch the concept of dimensions itself. Here maps exist in many materials, metal, sand, the titular glass and even water. Not only this but they map much more than simple place. Most remarkably of all they can map time by capturing and holding sequences of human memory across long periods.

In all of this The Glass Sentence becomes a fantasy of ideas as well as of character and action, in much the same way as does His Dark Materials. It quite simply makes you think, ponder, reflect, imagine and even re conceptualise. It treats very much matters of place and time, but it also deals with socio-political ideas, for example by opposing the creation and closing of borders with the right of free movement and a love of exploration. It uses such oppositions both as a physical realities and as a metaphors. Even when its creations move beyond the historical and geographical into the world of pure fantasy, as with the mutations of the inhabitants of the 'Baldlands' into antagonistic communities carrying the 'Mark of Iron' or the 'Mark of the Vine', it raises very real questions about genetic inheritance and prejudiced thinking.

I do not want to give the impression that this book lacks action and excitement. It has both aplenty. Its writing achieves these with great effectiveness too, most particularly in later stages where its climax is viscerally thrilling, edge of seat stuff! However it is good to have a book which also gives cause for reflection, and allows time for it.

This is the first book of a trilogy, with its second part not yet published and its third, I understand, still in the writing. It is necessary, therefore, to reserve judgement on its greatness and its possible place in the canon until the whole is completed. There are many ideas in this first volume not yet fully worked through, as well as characters not yet fully explored. The fruition of these is hopefully yet to come. Meanwhile we have to enjoy a truly wonderful story of remarkable originality.

I just wonder if UK publishers are shying away from this book because of its clearly transatlantic settings or perhaps because of its sometimes more cerebral concepts. If so, either reservation is ridiculous. This is not a short, simple read, but neither are many of the greatest children's books. The Boston of The Glass Sentence is no less universally accessible as an imaginative creation than is Lyra's Oxford. The worlds of ideas and action visited from the one need to be just as openly accessible as those from the other. No closed borders please.

 

 

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