Half Lost by Sally Green

 

The final part of the Half Bad trilogy is here.

No way are these books for children. They are young adult, possibly with a plus. They are dark, they are violent, they are gruesome, they are harrowing - and they are quite, quite brilliant.

You are given a page and a bit of introduction to this third part, all dialogue. Unattributed. Enigmatic. There are no crude prompts. You can't start here. You need to remember who these people are, where they are, why. You need to understand what they are about.

But you have read the first two books. You do remember. You do understand. What went before is unforgettable. Hard wired now. Burned in. But this is a marker. You will not be spoon fed here. You are part of this story. You must share the work - and the killing.

And now you are straight back. Right inside Nathan's mind. Sharing his every thought. It is where you badly want to be. You have waited a while. It is where you least want to be. You are dreading it. He is disturbed and seriously disturbing. Deranged? He is counting again. He counted at the start of Book One. He often counts, or so it feels. But then he counted to survive. To survive his incarceration. Now he counts his kills. He counts and plans to add another. The big one. And already you want to scream at him. He is still so young. Please no. It is yourself you will kill.

Annalise is your past not your present. Gabriel is now. Gabriel loves you. You know that. You as Nathan, and you as you. His love is so patient, so all pervasive. It too is terrifying.

There are scraps of recap in Nathan's mental rambling. You do not need them. You remember because he remembers. He knows. He feels. You feel. Already you have to struggle to keep yourself separate from Nathan. It is useless. Give in. In almost every other instance, present tense narrative gets right up your wick. Here resistance is useless. You are Nathan. It is your present. Get used to it.

And this is war. In war you kill. You are a killer. Do you live to kill? Kill the enemy? Kill her? It starts to feel like it. Despite yourself and any qualms of your own, the you that is now, that is Nathan, revels in the kill. In the fight. In the victory. In the act of killing itself.

Sometimes talking to Gabriel feels like hearing your own conscience. Maybe he is your conscience and you don't have one of your own. He says the war is killing you. Not your body but your mind, your soul. A lot of the time you just swear at him. You swear at him a lot. Can you do anything but kill? You are mastering your father's gifts. Now they are your gifts. You can use them to kill. You are half black, half white. Are you becoming all black? Or is your white side just as much a killer as the black. Are you your father?

And then that great witch, Van,arrives with her tale of the Vardian Amulet. With her quest to find the mystical, supermagical witch Ledger. With her mission to use the amulet to defeat the arch-evil Soul. And sudenly you could almost be swept back into a world of high fantasy.

But no. For all its cloak of fantasy, of witches, of magic, this is essentially a war story. The witches' 'gifts' are weapons. Of ever increasing power and sophistication. At least potentially so. To be used for good or ill. But what is 'good'? The early books in the sequence shockingly warped the Tolkienesque concepts of good-bad, light-dark, white-black. Here there is good in black, evil in white, ambivalence in both.

Now, though, what is formed is an alliance of black and white. At least nominally so. Formed to defeat the repressive, megalomaniac tyrant. To institute instead a society of inclusion and tolerance. Black and white living together in cooperation and mutual respect. So this is a 'righteous' war then. A 'justifiable' war, despite its horrendous carnage. Perhaps we are back to Tolkien after all. But here the depiction is subtler, more nuanced, more realistic. More now. This Young Adult story is as grown up as it gets. It asks the most profound question. How much killing is justified by the greater good?

It is a universal theme. Potent with resonance. In the present.

The adagio of this war symphony is provided by a visit to the male/female Ledger. He/she is the arch-mage of hippies. The personification of 'make love not war'. A sort of wonderous composite of Carl Jung, Mahatma Gandhi and Mister Miyagi. He/she offers Nathan an alternative to war. To find himself by establishing contact with the earth, the source of all true power. But Nathan cannot stay with Ledger. He may not know if he should kill, but he knows he must. It is what he is for. What he does. He is needed if the war is to be won. And it must be won.

And here is the great heart of the book. It is not simply a universal story. It is simultaneously a deeply individual one. Nathan's story. Now, in the present moment, your story.

It is the fallout of an abandoned and horrendously abused childhood. A boy trying to find out if he can truly be himself or only be what others have made him. Or if the two are now the same. It is a boy trying to find out if he can be both black and white, or whether he must descend for ever into the dark.

Perhaps more than anything this is a love story. It is Love in the Time of War. In the earlier books Nathan was Heathcliffe, with his childhood friend Cathy. Falling adoringly for her as they both emerged into adolescence, only to be betrayed, cut to the quick. But now he is Achilles to a shimmering Patroclus. The passage between the two youths in the bunker bathroom, where the blood of a slaughtered victim still stains the bath, must surely be amongst the most sensuous, tender and moving ever written, whatever your gender or orientation. This is not so much Tolkien as Wagner. Redemption through love. The witch boy learns to mind that it hurts.

Time moves. The story moves. You find yourself slipping out of Nathan's head and then back into it again. It is such clever, such absorbing writing. Its ambivalence, its frequent morphing of viewpoint, is itself exciting. There is no truth, only perception.

Nathan.

Not Nathen.

Nathan.

Not Nathen.

There are still times, many times when you share his eyes, his thoughts, his every breath. You are still Nathan. At others you allow him to narrate for you, first hand, as events scutter, jostle, hurtle past. Either way it grips, like an iron claw around your heart. Don't forget to breathe.

The Half Bad trilogy is classic tragedy. It may not have unity of time place and action, but Nathan's story is one of hubris, nemesis and catharsis. It explores both the compellingly universal and the tellingly individual. What else is a great book?

Knowing it is the last of the trilogy, Half Lost is one of those rare, precious books you simultaneously do and don't want to finish. Call it masochism. You know it will end badly. It is really no spoiler to say it ends badly. It was always going to end badly. It could end no other way.

It is a book which, when finished, when present is finally past, leaves you stripped, raw, drained. There are enough words to be heart-rendering. Never so many as to be sentimental. You are bereaved. All you can do is cling on to the memories. Plant them. Grow them. But the mouth-to-mouth whispers in the bloody bathroom are still just too poignant. Do not think of them. Count or something. Keep them out of your head. Better to remember the night you sat by the fire in Camp Three and told him about Wales.

. . . When the war is over!

I said after reading the first two parts, Half Bad and Half Wild [see my post from June '15] that this was a fine work which might very possibly be great in the future. It depended on Part Three. Half Lost is here. Sally Green builds searing reality out of fantastical imagination. It demonstrates how great writing for young adults can be great writing, period. It is true literature. It is a great story, a desperately important one, and a deeply affecting one. It may end in the past. But the whole is indeed a great work. Right now. In the present.

 

 

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Wildwitch Wildfire, Wildwitch Oblivion by Lene Kaaberbøl

 

Pushkin Children's Books are doing a wonderful thing in publishing English translations which open the doors for our children to a whole range of high quality stories from different languages and cultures. There is thankfully already much cross-publishing with the USA and other English speaking countries (although not always enough). And one of the ups of Internet book buying is that it has become much easier to access titles from the US particularly, even when they aren't published here.* However books in other languages remain much less accessible to English readers, unless of course they are available in translation, which so few are.** There must be countless amazing stories out there that our readers sadly miss. So a big thank you to Pushkin. Amongst many others they have recently given us access to Tonke Dragt's classic fantasies from the 1960's, The Letter for the King and its sequel. These have deservedly been a great hit; they are a most important (and hugely entertaining) addition to children's literature in English. And now here are some contemporary gems, Lene Kaaberbøl's Wildwitch stories.

The storyline of the first book Wildwitch Wildfire, concerns a young girl, Clara, who gradually discovers she has the inherited magic 'talent'. She is taken for tutoring to her strange aunt who lives in the wilds on the edge of nowhere. All of this is pretty much classic young fantasy material, rather than startlingly original, but none the worse for that.

Clara soon learns that she is a 'Wildwitch' with particular powers of communication with the natural world. She develops a rather interestingly ambivalent relationship with a cat familiar. Later she has to play a lead role in staving off an attack from a rogue witch, Chimera, who wants bring Clara under her evil sway. All of this is in essence familiar material, but here told beautifully afresh for a new young audience (8-10 ish?)

Clara and the other 'good' characters are wonderfully warm and empathetic, whilst the evil element is suitably frightening without descending too far towards adult horror. All the elements of a good children's fantasy story are here, adored animals, a close boy friend who loyally supports from afar, a second girl who starts off as a rival but comes to be more helpful, and of course tinglingly exciting 'trials' which have to be passed to defeat the arch enemy.

It is good that young readers are introduced to all these central fantasy elements. But what makes this book so special is the quality of its writing, both in terms of its language and of its storytelling. Of course it is always difficult with a translation, where you are unable to access the original directly, to know exactly how much the qualities of the written language are due to the author and how much to the translator. Here I suspect a good deal of each. Certainly the translation is exceptional from an English reader's point of view; it is always completely idiomatic and comfortable to read at word, sentence and text level. If it is true to the original as well, which I guess it will be, it is a skilled piece of work. But I feel the greatest credit is probably the author's. The story is written in relatively short sentences. These make the text readily accessible to young readers, but more importantly carry them straight into the delightful mind of, Clara, the first person narrator. It is totally credible as her own story, told in her own way, with her own words - and this is totally charming. Though the writing is simple, it is never simplistic; it allows readers to share every moment of this exciting story in a way which is at once both touchingly human and delightfully magical. It is scary too of course, but in a good way; all that a young fantasy should be.

Thanks to these translations Lene Kaaberbøl can join the likes of USA's Sage Blackwood and UK's wonderful Abi Elphinstone in providing young, English speaking readers with appropriate and engaging introductions to magical fantasy. The actual world of children's literature and the imaginative world of magical fantasy have much to offer. These titles are most warmly welcome as outstanding examples of both.

And if the splendid character of mentor Wildwitch, Aunt Isa, had not been written in Denmark, then I might have thought her modelled on wonderful Welsh artist/author Jackie Morris!

And now, just published here, we have the second in the series, which confirms, indeed exceeds, the promise of the first. In fact the story grows considerably in this second book, and, although many of the most recognisable features of children's fictions remain, it is perhaps even more original and imaginative than the first. It is certainly very compelling.

As before, it is a little hard to tell if it is a result of the writing or the translation, but the sentences are generally rather more extended and complex than in Wildfire. That means that the original, clear directness of Clara's voice is a little lost. But that now seems right for Clara too is growing, growing with the book, growing with the story. She is continually trying to see and to understand what is really around her, to discover what she really needs to do, to find who she really is. This is a deeper, richer, darker story than the first - but not so dark as to stray outside the sphere of its target age group. It is now a story for children who can take just a little blood and gore with their magic, and, indeed, blood is at the core of its magic. (If I am understanding correctly its title in the original Danish translates as something like 'Wildwitch: Viridian's Blood')

If I say this book get more Harry-Potterish, I do not mean to imply that it is in any way derivative, or even largely similar, but simply that it has that same extremely effective combination of spooky magic and unfolding mystery that is to be found in, say, The Chamber of Secrets.

This author is a real find and I hope that many English-speaking children will now find her.

It seems that fans, of which I am sure there will soon be many, will not have too long to wait for Book 3. They will I'm sure be delighted.

Notes:

*Even so I strongly urge the support of actual bookshops (especially independent local ones) whenever possible. They are a treasure that we will lose if we don't use.

**Tove Jansson and Astrid Lindgren have, of course, always been amongst the notable exceptions. I love both. And the latter's Ronia the Robber's Daughter is high on my list of all time favourite children's books.

 

 

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The Nest (and other books) by Kenneth Oppel

The very recent publication of this latest book from Canadian author Kenneth Oppel provides me with the prompt to record reflections on his work, an important task since he is amongst the world's finest living writers of children's fiction. Not all of his books fall neatly into the category of fantasy, although some do. In fact his books collectively do not fall neatly into any category, and that is probably one of the most remarkable thing about his writing. Unlike some highly popular authors he has scorned the practice of churning out virtually the same book over and over again. He has not even limited himself to any particular genre or style. Yet whatever book he writes is always wonderfully idiomatic. He is a chameleon of a writer, and that is a rare thing. If you were to read certain of his books without knowing their author, I think you would be hard pressed to recognise them as by the same hand at all. And yet there are three things common to all his work, consummate writing skill, gripping storytelling, and a fertile imagination that seems to recognise no bounds.

 

His Silverwing sequence (Silverwing, Sunwing, Firewing) from around the turn of the millennium, together with Darkwing, a more recently written prequel of sorts, remains one the very finest example of animal fantasy. As such it is tempting to compare it to Richard Adam's masterpiece and call it Watership Down with bats. However, brilliant and groundbreaking as it is, many children seem to find sections of Watership Down rather dense and difficult reading. Silverwing is far more accessible to children and teens, and overall more excitingly imaginative. What the two do share is the basic approach of retaining their creatures' natural body forms and much of their behaviour. While anthropomophosised in terms of thought and language, both rabbits and bats are presented to the reader as animals rather than people, albeit ones with most engaging characters. Silverwing is no Redwall with cute little animal heroes and villains running around on two legs and fighting with swords (although Brian Jacques' books are enjoyable enough in their own terms.) It is far more serious fantasy, but no less entertainng, and indeed moving, for that. To anyone who has not yet lost themselves in this classic little epic, the Silverwing books come highly recommended.

 

 

Kenneth Oppel's new book for 2014 was very different, but equally special. If I describe The Boundless as something of a 'Boy's Own' story I do not mean to imply any gender bias. I would never wish to do so for any children's book. Books are books and people are people, and all books are for whoever wants to read them. What I am trying to convey is that it is one of those high- adrenaline, action adventures that purport to be set in the real world, but do not actually confine themselves to situations that are altogether feasible - or even, sometimes, remotely possible.

 

 

Kenneth Oppel's story appears to be set in the pioneering days of the Canadian Pacific Riailway. Yet it features a train, the titular Boundless, some nine hundred and eighty-seven carriages, that is several miles, long. It also involves the presence of sasquatch, not as folk legend, but as real creatures indigenous to the snowy heights through which the railway passes. There are other stretches of reality too, including a clockwork dismembered hand that can shutter off and hide, only to later return and grab a living victim. If this is history, it is not, as they say, quite as we know it. But is is the most tremendous fun.

 

In fact The Boundless is perhaps much closer to fantasy than might at first appear. In the train itself, the location of almost all the action, Kenneth Oppel has essentially created a fantasy world. It has its distinctly different 'lands', with barriers making travel through them difficult: pioneer class with its squalor and mountebanks, huge third and second class areas, first class with its lush dining car, observation deck, shooting gallery. And it is all fronted of course by the huge double decker steam loco. Each area has its own characterful inhabitants or passengers too, wonderful creations all. This wondertrain also has its outposts: caboose, break cars, even an incredible funeral car, an actual treasure-laden mausoleum, with tomb, corpse and all; a steam punk fantasy version of Tutenkhamen's tomb on rails. History, like the train itself, is stretched into fantasy. And with such imagination.

 

Then, to crown all, at the centre of the whole train is a travelling circus, packed with the most (sometimes literally) incredible performers, characters, and contraptions. This is a story which caters beautifully for the dreams of every young child (and I was one) who has yearned romantically to run away and join the circus.

 

The narrative is very much a fantasy quest, not so much of the train itself, but of young protagonist Will's long and eventful journey from his 'exile' at the very rear of the train to seek his father in the engine at the front. This includes, of course, a mega villain, who, with his gang of cronies, pursues Will at every stage. And perhaps another, greater evil is misleading the boy too?

 

Thankfully our young hero is not without a companion. His evolving relationship with circus girl Maren is part of the glue which holds this story so perfectly together. Theirs is an early adolescent friendship which just, but only just, begins to touch on sexual attraction. There are many such pairings in children's books, understandably because it gives pre-teen and early teenage readers a choice of protagonist with whom they can identify, and caters to their nascent awareness of the opposite sex, without going too far. But this pairing is particularly involving, touching and amusing; one of the most special in recent children's fiction. Only Tom and Hester in Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines are, I think, close rivals.

 

Kenneth Oppel, like Charles Dickens, knows that creating fictions around history does not prevent him making real social comment. There is also much for the young readers to think about here in terms of such issues as social deprivation and the exploitation of the poor, not to mention the largely white pioneers' 'rape and plunder ' of the lands of the Native Americans.

 

However The Boundless is primarily a hurtling thrill of an adventure, its highs and lows, it terrors and laughter beautifully structured and paced by a master craftsman. This is a writer who can make the tension of painting a portrait top even the wild adrenaline rush of a pitch battle atop a moving train. The whole is a movie born of pure imagination and filmed on paper, then projected onto the most vivid of all screens, the reader's mind. It is as tender as it is terrifying. It is as endearing as it is engrossing. It is a real adventure, a true quest, a little epic, a whole world on rails. It is an absolute joy of a book.

 

And it may just be a little magic.

 

Moving from The Boundless to Kenneth Oppel's latest novel, The Nest, is a true chalk and cheese scenario. This is a book that is easiest to classify as an example of 'contemporary kids with issues' fiction. There are a lot of these around at the moment, with conditions such as autism and dyslexia heading almost towards fiction overkill. Their quality varies from outstanding to tedious, but of course, with this one written by such a master, it is something very special. The immediate 'issue' for Steve, protagonist narrator here, seems to be the very recent birth of a sibling with severe and complex medical problems. However this is not the heart of his problem for Steve suffers from near paranoid insecurity, which he attempts to cope with through obsessive-compulsive routines. It soon becomes apparent that these behaviours actually well predate 'the baby'. In fact the baby is more of an externalisation, a physicalisation, of Steve's belief that there is 'a lot wrong with him'. This author succeeds magnificently in getting right inside his character's head, and hence putting the reader there too. The writing is remarkable, so that you share every moment of Steve's experience, both real and imagined.

The stunning thing about this book, however, is the way that Steve's imaginings and dreams morph into a sort of reality. These imaginings revolve around a nest of wasps whose angelic queen has a plan to make the baby perfect again. At the same time his dreams are haunted by a terrifying knife grinder who seems to wish the opposite. But the world inside and the world outside Steve's head do not remain stable. Dreams become nightmares and the reverse. Cure becomes curse and vice versa. Metaphore leaks into reality. Life for Steve becomes a helter skelter of horror.

The second from last chapter of The Nest is a masterpiece of ever building terror. The book is a page-turner from the start, but from this point to,the end I almost defy anyone to put it down without finishing it.

Parents probably need to be aware that this is a very disturbing story. For those children who can take it, it will be disturbing in a good way, by making them really think. It does not end altogether happily ever after. In fact rather the opposite. That is the point. But this does not prevent the denouement being positive. For all its dreamscape and its metaphor, the core message of Kenneth Oppel's story is very real. This is possibly the most humane, most life affirming book I have come cross in a long time. It will change attitudes towards those with illness and disability, be it physical or mental. It is an inordinately important book.

It has been said by others, but is well worth repeating, that this story is considerably enhanced by Jon Klassen's darkly atmospheric illustrations. The small physical volume, too, has itself a disturbingly beautiful look and feel; altogether a triumph for its publishers as well as for author and artist. If this book doesn't win awards then the system is seriously awry, even though my personal preference rememains for The Boundless.

If you haven't yet read either of these amazing books it is worth trying them back-to-back just to get a feel of just how breathtakingly versatile (and brilliant) this writer is.

 

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Wing & Claw: Forest of Wonders by Linda Sue Park

 

Here is the very fine and delightfully original start to another new fantasy sequence for younger (MG) readers. Linda Sue Park is already a popular and respected author, indeed an award winning one, in the States where she lives. But she is probably less well known and read by children here in the UK , a situation which urgently needs to change - of which more later.

She is probably best known for A Long Walk to Water and A Single Shard. These two, and others of her books, are outstanding examples of that noble tradition of children's literature which uses story to help the young to better understand challenging aspects of life for others in our world. They often explore the experiences of those living through war, under repressive regimes, with unfair disadvantage, serious disability, or experiencing devastating loss. There are thankfully many wonderful examples of such books, including recently Katherine Applegate's Crenshaw, Laura Williamson's A Boy Called Hope, Holly Goldberg Sloan's Counting by 7s, Thanhha Lai's Inside Out and Back Again, and R. J. Palacio's Wonder; great reads all. Such books do an enormously important job in developing empathy and understanding, and thus really do help us grow better people and a better world.

However children also need fantasy. They need to be taken out of themselves as well as into themselves. It is another way of finding who they are. They need to grow their imaginations. They need to learn not only what they can do but what they could do. The best fantasies help in all of this and more. It is really good, therefore, to see a writer of the quality of Linda Sue Park adding further fantasy to her oeuvre. That Wing & Claw: Forest of Wonders is so well pitched for pre-adolescents and 'tweens' is a real bonus.

In many senses this is a relatively light fantasy - or at least it feels so in the early stages. It does not seem to revolve around a potentially world-shattering conflict between the massed forces of light and some monstrous denizen of the dark. Nor does it seem to involve the quest of some little person to save the world. Its protagonist, Raffa, is the son of apothecaries, dedicated to helping and healing, and although he seems a gifted boy, if he has 'powers' they reside in an instinctive feeling for creating effective herbal concoctions rather than any magic as such. In fact there would be no real 'magic' in the book at all were it not for his discovery of a particularly potent vine whose compounds not only heal rather miraculously but seem to give certain animals some limited ability of human speech.

And yet, Forest of Wonders soon develops as a completely engrossing, indeed exciting, fantasy. This is partly because the author skilfully creates a totally credible fantasy world, of broadly mediaeval/fairytale character, without it feeling tweely 'olde worlde'. Amongst many other aspects of her writing, I much admire the clever way she uses language to help establish the 'otherness' of this world by dropping in words and phrases which are just slightly distinct from our own usage and yet are never difficult to read or to understand. It is most ingeniously done, and her imaginative creation will, I am sure, be a world to which contemporary children can easily relate.

This is further enhanced by a cast of strongly drawn and likeable young characters. Raffa himself makes a delightful protagonist with his mixture of diffidence and precocious skill. His good heart but lack of self-confidence quickly endear him to the reader. His cousin and near contemporary, Garith, is the close companion of his childhood and makes an excellent foil. And, once the 'magic' vine provides Raffa with not only a dear pet but a talking one to boot, the child-animal bond quickly becomes the tender heart of the story. Echo, the little bat he finds and heals, is as amusing, charming and endearing a creature as almost any in children's literature; a rival for Charlotte the spider any day!

The development of this relationship gives the story a captivating, if relatively gentle, lead in. However, once Raffa follows his cousin and uncle away from the security of the forest, the only home he has known, and to his world's central town of Gilden, the tension and excitement very quickly ratchet. On his travels he makes two further friends, a working girl from an struggling family and another girl who has formed a strong bond with a forest bear. I love the way in which the author subtly but clearly ensures that not only both genders but children of different background and skin colour are well represented. Together these new friends make a captivating team of adventurers, soon in veritable heaps of trouble. There is humour as well as action, and the escape of this little tribe from impending, and of course unjust, incarceration in the town's terrifying prison is a delight of slapstick entertainment. There are however, increasingly strong clues that the ruling elite of this settlement, which has slums and a strong military guard as well as the sumptuous buildings of its central 'commons', is not as benevolent as it might wish to appear.

By the end of this first book instances of shocking betrayal and heartwarming loyalty are displayed that are fully worthy of the 'highest' fantasy. Similarly, an 'evil' has emerged which, even if not quite on the Sauron scale, is devastatingly significant to Raffa and his friends. Perhaps it is indeed the tip of an iceberg that threatens their whole way of life. Our young little apothecary and his friends could have a world to save after all.

It is a story very cleverly built. And perhaps it is not as far from this author's earlier non-fantasy books as first seemed. Linda Sue Park subtly blends into this story too a great deal for her young readers to think about. She achieves this not by bludgeoning them with 'issues' but by raising questions and provoking reflection through the story itself. What right have we to use animals to serve our own ends? Don't the abilities we have been given carry responsibilities too? Aren't there wrongs in the world which we just have to try to do something about?

I am sure many children will emerge from this enjoyable reading experience thinking about and questioning aspects of their own world, even as they reluctantly leave Raffa's fantasy one. Fortunately that exile will not have to be for too long. More is clearly to follow and will be anticipated eagerly.

Linda Sue Park is a writer who fully deserves to be better know over here. Our children (and those in other countries too I'm sure) surely have a right more easily to access all she has to offer. Her books needs U.K. publication very soon please. This absorbing and original fantasy, with all its underlying wisdom and humanity, is surely a good place to start?

As a lover of books as objects, as well of course of their content, I have to congratulate and thank the US publishers that the hardback edition of Wing & Claw: Forest of Wonders, with its attractive, tactile cover, strong but not obtrusive illustration, and sensuous deckle edge pages, is such a beautiful thing in itself. Hopefully these high production values will be maintained in future complementary volumes. One very minor point though. Is what is labelled as the 'northern ferry' on the otherwise delightful map (I too just love maps in fantasy novels) not actually the southern ferry? Or am I just being obtuse? It wouldn't be the first time.

 

 

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The Dreamsnatcher, The Shadow Keeper by Abi Elphinstone

 

For some unknown reason I didn't read The Dreamsnatcher when it was published last year, and have only made amends following the recent release of its sequel, The Shadow Keeper. I missed out hugely, but at least I have caught up now with these tremendous titles from a very exciting new writing talent.

If I say that these books provide entry level access to the genre of high fantasy, I do not intend to demean them in the least. Quite the reverse. Although there are shelf upon shelf of fantasty titles for older readers, adults, teens, and even 'tweens', there is relatively little of this quality of fantasy writing so well geared for pre-adolescent children. In a situation where their particular market seems too often dominated (at least in the UK) by zany comedy and gaming spin offs, such accessible yet absorbing fantasy is to be welcomed with open arms. Of course this is an age group which often revels in somewhat irreverent, at times scatalogical humour, and there is nothing at all wrong with catering to it; it turns countless children into avid readers and that is a glorious thing. But children also need books which will develop and stretch their imaginations, take them beyond the world they know. There is nothing better than fantasy for doing this and Abi Elphinstone's books are pure story in the very best sense. Like the early J K Rowlings they are outstanding examples of how the genre can be made captivating for young readers.

The world of The Dreamsnatcher is very firmly built around classic high fantasy conventions, and this is, of course, exactly what it needs to be if it is to introduce young children to this genre. Its core scenario is the Tolkinesque good v evil, light v dark. It has at its centre the child (cf hobbit) who is selected as the one who can defeat the dark, and, despite youth and considerable vulnerability, proves to have the character and courage to meet this task. This is in itself such an important central image for children. Their lives are rightly restricted and controlled, they are at an age where they must be kept safe and secure. Yet they need in their fantasies to explore being special, important, and, at least vicariously, to be the one who saves the world.

Yet Abi Elphinstone builds around this core scenario a world that is more than original enough to give it vibrant life and freshness. The home base of Moll, her twelve year old protagonist, is a small encampment of gypsies. This works well and gives the characters strong identity and rich heritage, not least in the areas of superstition and 'magic'. It also very poignantly creates a core community which, in its simple, largely-outdoor living, its consequent strong connection to the earth, and animistic beliefs, could well represent any of a huge range of cultures and lifestyles across human history. It therefore has considerable resonance. Such fresh, clever imagining combines with strong writing to very powerful effect.

Against this the author pits evil characters based on traditions of voodoo-style witchdoctors, shamans or medicine men. These contrast well with the gypsies whilst being fully believable as belonging to the same world. They certainly fulfil most convincingly their iconic status as representatives of all that is evil. Although it has its lighter moments, and many touches of good humour, there are times when this book is actually quite dark, darker, indeed, than its rather picture-book cover would suggest. But this is a good thing too. A certain amount of 'behind the sofa' fear-tingle is another ingredient of fantasy that needs to be introduced and experienced. The eventual triumph of light over dark does not carry its full potency if the dark is not experienced as black and threatening enough. In fact Abi Elphinstone is fully to be trusted as a writer for this age group. She cleverly and rightly eschews the worst horrors of her protagonists actual killing without sacrificing the necessary shivers of horror engendered by their monstrous adversaries.

On the 'good' team, she successfully assembles a cast of likeable chracters with whom young readers will readily identify. Moll is feisty and rebellious enough to engender ready admiration, but is also touchingly naive and vulnerable. There is great charm in the way she takes on monstrous evil with a catapult. There are warm smiles too for her friend Siddy's devotion to his pet earthworm, especially as Porridge the Second is a replacement for a sadly deceased predecessor. After defecting from 'the dark side,' a third friend, Alfie, completes a trio of vivid young characters, to whom Moll's wildcat soulmate, Gryff, also adds an animal dimension. All in all, it is a 'tribe' of protagonist to rival the best young fantasy has to offer.

Nor are adults neglected in the world Abi Elphinstone creates. Moll's gypsy family offers a range of interesting figures too. Even though the writer plays the classic 'orphan' card with Moll, her adopted father, Oak, lives up to his name. It is good to see that the care and protection of 'responsible adults' is valued alongside the qualities of youthful bravery and friendship.

Like the cast of characters, the topography of the world of The Dreamsnatcher is limited, which keeps everything within the easy grasp of young readers. Yet Abi Elphinstone skilfully uses such iconic locations as the ancient woodland, the dark and dangerous forest, the dividing river, and the blasted heath to establish landscapes of either security or menace, fitting for high fantasy.

As it builds to its climax The Dreamsnatcher achieves tremenous power, the power of wonderful story. It is gripping and thrilling, moving and terrifying in spades; truly awesome as only the very best stories can be. It is also a deeply moral book and one bursting with humane understanding. It is a celebration of the glorious struggle of all children to be someone special, and of their magical triumph of achieving it. Young readers will be captivated and enthralled.

One small thing. In reading this book, as indeed in a good many others, I do find myself wishing that the magical forces which engender prophesies and the like didn't do so in quite such dreadful doggerel. If their verses at least scanned acceptably their mystical utterances would make for a much more comfortable read as well as conveying far more awesome resonance. But this is tiny quibble in the context of a triumphant writing debut.

The Shadow Keeper is everything a sequel should be. It offers more of the same, just as readers desperately want, but without being in any way tediously repetitive. Abi Elphinstone cleverly shifts the base locale from the forest to the coast. This sacrifices something of the tightness of the first novel but opens up engaging new possibilities with smugglers, sea caves, kayaking and the like extending and invigorating the narrative.

There is a level on which this story continues the noble tradition of children's adventures. It has a classic gang of four children and an animal (two animals, I suppose, if you count the hermit crab) following coded clues and boldly seeking treasure, a second amulet. They even have dandelion-and-burdock cordial to refresh them when they need it (instead of lashings of ginger beer). It has no less charm, no less vicarious excitement than the best of its precursors, but it also adds a whole new dimension wih its fantasy elements and particularly with the ever threatening presence of evil magic. It is Enid Blyton for the post-Potter generation. However it is infinitely better written both in its language and in its story-telling than the work of that earlier children's icon. Its writing is unostentateous but always powerfully effective. It bursts with imagination too. It is indicative that its aminal 'companion' is a wild cat rather than a shaggy dog. This tale has edge; it's protagonist and her 'pet' are both semi ferral. Yet they remain endearing and the telling still has the capacity to wrap its readers in a warm blanket. It provides cozy insecurity. It helps children to become aware of the 'broken beauty of the world'. It weaves many threads from older tales into a new tapestry. It is consummate storytelling for this age group.

However it is its protagonists who carry this book's real power. Even more than their quest for the amulets, it is the children's journey to discover who they are, what they are made of, that is at its heart. Most of all, in this second instalment, it is the desire to restore the 'real' Alfie that provides the true emotional thrust of the narrative. It is this story's people who matter to us most of all. And that is a large part of what makes this, like its predecessor, a great book.

In crafting this sequence Abi Elphinstone is achieving something very special. She has taken the potent core conventions of fantasy and not messed about with them too much. Yet she has totally refreshed them and made then accessible and hugely exciting for a new generation of young readers. These books are already picking up fans daily. Very soon they will be BIG. They need international publication and will I am sure get it. They will be read and enjoyed by numerous children, now and in years to come. (Come on US publishers. These are certainly ones for you. Please can we have beautiful hardbacks with deckle edged pages? These are books which deserve editions as special as their content.)

Now,of course comes the wait for the third of the trilogy. The tantalising ending sets up thrillingly high expectations which the evidence of these first two books indicate will be wondrously fulfilled.

Meanwhile, here's a 'Jinx' link (Jinx is the name of Moll's cob in the Shadowmasks books).

Readers who are looking for something equally special to keep them going in the meantime are strongly recommended to seek out the Jinx (The Wizard's Apprentice) series by US author Sage Blabkwood (Jinx, Jinx's Magic, Jinx's Fire). Here is more 'high fantasy' pitched well at younger children. The Jinx books have a slightly different feel but are just as strong on imagination and storytelling. And they too have the frisson of fighting off malign forces but within a wholesome (and in this case admirably green) compass.

 

 

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Blue Peter Book Awards 2016

Delighted to see this excellent title winning a Blue Peter Award. I always thought it was good. (See my post from May '15.)

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Nigel McDowell

It was devastating to hear the news of the very recent death from cancer of extraordinarily talented young writer Nigel McDowell. You can see how highly I regard his books in my posts from July and October of 2014. Literature and human kind are much poorer for his loss but inordinately richer for his legacy. Our best tribute now is to read (or re-read) his books and to try to make sure that as many young people as possible enjoy the enormous pleasure of doing the same.

Our thoughts go out to those privileged to love and be loved by him.

 

 

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