The Eighth Day by Dianne K Salerni

 

This is a remarkable book and a hugely entertaining one. I am a slow reader and it only took me a couple of days to finish. For many I suspect it will be a one sitting, perhaps even an up-half-the-night job. It drew me in and along very powerfully.

The core subject matter of the book, yet another 'tweenage' orphan boy* who discovers on his birthday that he has embryonic magic powers, is so ubiquitous as to have become rather a cliché of children's fantasy fiction. However (and in this case it is a big 'however'), this author brings two highly imaginative and original ingredients to this very basic recipe which lift the results far above the commonplace.

The first is the authorial, and narrative, conjuring of the titular eighth day, an additional twenty four hours between Wedneday and Thursday of which only those few with a particular heritage, and hence particular magical powers, can experience. Plot devices involving abnormalities of time in fiction often become problematic and raise all kinds of logical issues. However , once the basic implausibility is accepted, Dianne Salerni here handles her characters' extra day with at least a fictionally convincing rationale, and exploits its intriguing possibilities well.

Her second imaginative coup lies not simply in linking her 'magical' invention to figures from Arthurian legend - Arthur Pendragon himself, Merlin, the Lady of the Lake and their like - but in making her actual characters the largely degenerate distant descendents of these fabled forebears. This is no Percy Jackson scenario, where ancient gods and heros intervene directly in the modern world, or act through their Demi-God offspring. In Eighth Day, the modern remnants of the Arthurian bloodlines do indeed still inherit some magical and mystical abilities, but they are more inclined to use them to unlawful ends than to fulfilling chivalrous quest. Many of them lead lives that range from petty larceny through mobster criminality to the running of small mercenary armies, complete with modern weaponry.

It is this, in many ways anomalous shift, which makes Eighth Day so fresh feeling. It gives its central battle of goodies v baddies a different and contemporary quality, whilst still rooting it in a fantasy 'magic'. Furthermore, for much of the novel it is not always clear to either the protagonist or the reader who actually is 'good' and who 'bad'. One of the principal ways in which we are drawn so quickly into this narrative is by sharing protagonist Jax's intense curiosity as to exactly who other people are and what they are up to. Clever writing.

Eighth Day is very much an urban fantasy, indeed it is very much a fantasy of urban America. It tells the story from the point of view of an American kid from a socially and economically deprived background, so it is inevitably written in U.S. vernacular, including much slang. As UK born and bred it is impossible to know quite how this reads to its US audience, presumably as very ordinary and everyday. To an English reader it creates a certain 'otherness', although this is balanced by the familiarity of the many US films and TV shows we watch. However, context almost always makes meaning perfectly clear and the end result of its pervasive stateside vocabulary is to set the book very firmly in its time and place. If it is ever published over here, which I most certainly hope it will be, it would be a big mistake to try to Anglicise its language.

 

What all this very authentic feeling American urban context does is ground the story and lend its undoubtedly fanciful elements more fictional credibility than they would otherwise have. They are an essential part of what makes this story so particular and so engrossing.

 

There is one other particularly strong element of the storytelling in this book and that is the rich and sensitive handling of relationships, particularly those between Jax and his so-called carer, Riley and between Jax and the book's other principle protagonist, Evangeline. It is intriguing and absorbing to follow the convoluted but ultimately very touching development of both these pairings. Evangeline is the girl 'imprisoned' both in the house next door and in the eighth day itself, although we, and Jax, gradually discover far more about her than this. There are several points in the story where the narrative perspective splits and we are given Evangeline's view on unfolding events. This helps to highten both understandings and misunderstandings between the two in a most involving way. Again very skillful writing.

In its final quarter the novel becomes much more overtly fanciful. It's setting moves to an ancient ritual site in Mexico and its action develops into something of a cross between a James Bond shoot out and Harry Potter's ultimate battle with the embodiment of evil. However by this time we are well and truly hooked in. Incredible or not, it is very exciting and we really care that Jax, Evangeline and Riley (not to mention the whole human race) come out of it well.

 

A sequel, The Inquisitor's Mark, is already published. I have had to source it from the US, so it is taking a while. However it is due to arrive any day now and I shall pounce on it with pleasure. According to the author's website a third book is also in the pipeline. Further instalments are, at this stage, much to be welcomed, although I do hope that Dianne Salerni can fashion a sequence which moves and develops to fulfil the promise of The Eighth Day. It would be shame to see this degenerate into a repetitive, formulaic series.

 

Meanwhile please may we have this fine book published in the UK.

 

Footnote

*There are of course many good reasons for the prevalence of orphans in children's fiction and a quick Internet search brings up any number of popular or scholarly explanations. Orphan protagonists clearly attract and engage young readers, who happily embrace their particular potential for turning out to be special. By identifying with orphans, children can enjoy the vicarious freedom from parental constraints for which they themselves are not actually ready. Nevertheless, as someone who reads countless children's fantasies, I do wish more authors would now be bold enough to break this particular mould.

 

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Story Singer by Sheila Rance

 

After a long fallow period in my reading of recent children's fantasy, finds that I considered high quality were starting to feel like hen's teeth. It was therefore a delight to discover the publication of the latest novel in Sheila Rance's quite brilliant 'magical reality' sequence, captivatingly started in Sun Catcher and beautifully followed up with Storm Chaser. Also set in her imagined version of the Bronze Age, this third volume, Story Singer, is no disappointment. In fact quite the contrary, it is an entrancing read and full confirmation that this sequence (which, at least as yet,appears to have been given no portmanteau title) is one of the truly great works of children's fantasy fiction. It scores amazingly highly for the quality of both its imagination and its writing and must surely become a classic alongside the likes of Diana Wynne Jones's Dalemark quartet, a work to which it seems cousin, albeit a distant one. Perhaps it is the hand-loom weaving of a magical story coat, in actuality and as image, that prompts this comparison. Certainly such a garment features prominently in The Spellcoats and quite magically pervades the whole of Sheila Rance's silk-crafted story. However broad comparison is not intended to the detrement of either work, exactly the reverse.

There are elements of Story Singer and it's precursors which seem to put them into the category of high fantasy - and the strap line on the cover referencing Game of Thrones reinforces this. There is certainly a kingdom with an unstable political situation. Despite young protagonist,Maia, having established a claim to the throne by proving herself 'Sun Catcher' she is still without a crucial 'Story Singer'. Her warrior-weaver father too is without the wherewithal to weave the mystical silk which is the fabric of the kingdom's power in every sense. Maia's scheming and malevolent sister is set to re-establish her own power through her thought-stealing daughter, Caspia. With her fierce husband she has enlisted the support of the half-beast Wolf Kin and their vicious Wulfen. Against them are arraying the forces of the noble Eagle Hunters and the Amazon-like Archers. All is set for monumental conflict. This is indeed the stuff of high fantasy.

However this basic 'goodies v baddies' scenario is filled with much that is far more subtle and ambiguous. I hope that the Game of Thrones reference helps to find readers for this wonderful creation but it is really far too crude and superficial a comparator. Whilst large scale conflicts and their consequences do background and drive the story, and come to the fore in its climax, they are in many important ways not what this story is about. It is the story of four young people. It is the story of Maia, who has only very newly found her talent and destiny as the Sun Catcher, of Kodo the boy who used to be a sea lizard rider, of Var the theif-assassin, and of the thought-stealing Caspia, Maia's rival for the queenly role. It is in many ways their personal, almost intimate story. It is a story of personalities and ambivalent relationships; of friendships and rivalries; of their shifting patterns of trust and mistrust in each other. Like other great works of children's fiction, it is about each discovering who they are, what they can and could do; of making choices about who they want and need to be.

It is a beautiful, intimate, often moving story, told in a kaleidoscopically fractured narrative, with constantly shifting viewpoints which illuminate each character with ever new insights. At the same time it is a mesmerisingly beautiful piece of writing which almost miraculously melds everything into an undulating, lyrical flow. This masterly author's language and thoughts continually create provoking images, often poetic in their intensity. She captures a world and vision that shimmers and shifts with the same elusive magical voice as the whispering silk which is one of her stories pervasive motifs.

Through all of these books Sheila Rance has wonderfully evoked her period and setting, drawing on much detailed research, but feeding it organically into her storytelling. Landscape, and her young characters' sensitivity to it, plays a very significant part in all these books. In the earlier ones it was often the sea, the shore and the cliffs. Here it is more the sands and scrubland of desert that are central and to which Maia and others, through the author herself, so sensitively respond. It is really quite magical writing.

By the end of this volume the story has reach a satisfying conclusion, although it is not so much the choices of its most apparent key characters, Maia and Kodo, which in the end precipitate this resolution, but those of the assassin-cum-theif, Var. Fortunately too, though, there are enough loose ends to promise more to come. Amongst others, Caspia's assisted escape and Maia's fascination with the desert rock drawings which tell of either her past or her future leave doors open to potential further tales of this world and its young 'magicians'. I sincerely hope they will be written soon.

Once again this book is greatly enhanced by quite thrilling art work from the highly talented Geoff Taylor. Some chapter headers are clearly new, whilst others character drawings establish continuity from the previous stories in the sequence. Too often I find that illustrations, particularly those of key characters, spoil works of this kind by failing to meet my imagined expectations. Not so here. Geoff Taylor's drawings, evocative but not over delineated, really do add greatly to both the atmosphere and aesthetic of the book, without impinging at all on my own mental picturing.

As a avid collector as well as a voracious reader of children's books, I have only one gripe. It is a tragedy that the usually excellent publisher, Orion,has not produced a hardback of this book, even though they did for the previous two. Please can we have a completion of the set. As a contemporary classic of the genre this sequence really needs preserving in durable first edition.

 

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The Nowhere Emporium by Ross MacKenzie

This is a delightful book, a joy of a book, a veritable feast for the imagination.

As with the one in my previous post, this is very much a children's book, but this time a very accessible one too. It would indeed provide a wonderful way into fantasy for any coming new to the genre as well as a treat for young readers seeking further escape into a magical world. Even though the novel has two narrative strands, with key incidents from the earlier life of magician Lucien Silver interspersed through the main tale, this important back story is always well signposted. Its inclusion would make a good introduction to the added challenge, and excitement, of a slightly more complex structure.

The story revolves around benevolent Silver's creation of a magical time-and-place-travelling emporium, whose 'customers' are treated to a panoply of wonders. Even though they do not remember these after their visit, the experience nonetheless enrichs their lives. The young protagonist, orphan Daniel, is taken on as Silver's apprentice but, together with the magician's mysterious and spikey daughter, is left to try to rescue the situation when his master disappears and the emporium begins to crumble around them.

To young readers coming new to the story it will, I'm sure, provide a fresh, engaging and exciting escape into what is itself a world of imagination and wonder. To a far older reader like me, who has been around all the roundabouts of children's magical fantasy many times, it feels like a mashup of many precedents, whether conscious of unconscious. In here I find echos of numerous other works: there are elements of Doctor Who, of Dahl's Chocolate Factory, of the Sorcerer's Apprentice, of Harris's Chocolat, and even something of Blyton's Faraway Tree, along with many others. However this feeling of déjà vu is not a negative, for what author Ross MacKenzie does is take many classic elements of magical fantasy and skilfully rework them into a delightful new tale of his own.

Part of what makes The Nowhere Emporium so successful is the strength of its writing. In common with The Box and the Dragonfly, which I recently reviewed, its prose is so skilfully composed that it always falls comfortably on the reader's inward ear. Its simplicity belies its art and it communicates directly and powerfully, propelling the narrative most effectively. Its characters are most engaging too. Although orphan Daniel, his aprentice master Silver, and the malevolent Vindictus Sharpe are all essentially stock characters, they are effectively drawn. Young Daniel particularly is captivating in his mixture of naïvety and determination; his growth into his own magical potential captures every child's hopes and fears as it always does in the best work of this genre. There is additional interest too in the particulaly strongly conceived character of the magician's chippy but touchingly loyal daughter, Ellie. The narrative rattles ahead apace, with short telling chapters, which lead quickly from one page-turner to another. Consequently the reader is securely led through an increasing threat of disaster to a warm and satisfying denouement. No surprises here, but sometimes feelgood suits best. In the end, and true to the genre, an exciting if uncertain future lies ahead for the young protagonists - and perhaps a sequel for the reader? Who knows.

There is one more massive difference however between the core nature of this book and that of The Box and the Dragonfly. In that work the author was at pains to explore explanations for all its supernatural elements, leading the reader into complex reflections on what might or might not be possible and what the consequences might be if it were. Here there is no such depth.Many things happen without any rational explanation. However in this instance it does not matter at all. It is enough for the characters in the story, and ultimately for the reader, that things happen by magic. This book is nowhere close to rational. It is pure whimsy. It is something approaching a children's equivalent of Erin Morgenstern's Night Circus. The whole book is a flight of fancy. It is a celebration of imagination: the characters', the author's and, of course, the reader's. As such it is a wonderful thing in its own right. It is well worth a place on any child's shelves and the deserved successor of many older classics of the genre.

 

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The Box and the Dragonfly by Ted Sanders

 

My last review was of The Mark of the Dragonfly. Now here is The Box and the Dragonfly. It would seem to be dragonfly season.

This is another wonderful book. It is the first volume of a intended sequence, The Keepers. Final judgments need to be reserved until we see if the whole lives up to the enormous promise of this opener, but the potential for greatness is most certainly here. Regardless, this is a very fine book in its own right. I am delighted that UK publisher Hot Key have picked up the children's debut of this hugely talented US writer and brought it straight over here.

This is a true children's book. It is not one of the more complex, multi-layered or sophisticated novelsI have included here recently. It is not resonant with the tropes of myth and archetype. Nor does it particularly explore the depths of our human condition as do such gems as Doll Bones and Ophelia and the Marvellous Boy. It is very much a fantasy adventure story. But it is none the worse for that and has many delights, and indeed depths, of its own.

The core of its story is built around some of the key conventions of children's fantasy literature. Its central characters of a boy and girl are drawn into a world which they discover beneath the surface our own reality, but of which most people around them are unaware. There they are selected for their qualities to play significant roles in a mission to defeat great evil. Horace and Chloe, the young protagonists, are brought under the influence of a couple of older mentor figures, the 'Wardens', and each of the children is chosen to become the 'keeper' of a very special 'instrument'. These endow them with particular abilities but place them in direct conflict with malevolent forces who predictably want to take over these instruments to augment their own power. All this is very familiar territory to children's fantasy readers.

Here, however, conventionality ends and much fresh vivid imagination is brought to bear by this exciting author. Being a 'keeper' quickly involves each child in the formation of a deep psychological/emotional bond with their instrument. Further, as one of the characters explains, the powers which accompany each instrument - seeing into the future for Horace, passing through solid objects for Chloe, floating into the air for another child - are not so much 'magic' as extensions of science. They extend what we know and understand to be true just beyond what we know and understand to be possible. They transpose some of the recently discovered principles of post-Einsteinian, quantum physics back onto everyday experience, exploiting anomalies in space and time.

Yet The Keepers is not quite Science Fiction either. The gradual and subtle introduction of romantic, invented nomenclature - 'Fel'Daera ' for the box through which Horace sees the future, 'Alvalaithen' for Chloe's dragonfly instrument, 'Kesh'kiri' for the hidden race - keeps everything within the compass of fantasy. It is a fascinating and intriguing amalgam and one that I have not encountered before in quite this form.

The Box and the Dragonfly is, then a thinking book, a book for the thinking reader. Concepts are explored thoughtfully, logically, or at least ultra-logically. The implications of Horace's ability to see the future for the way he acts and the paths he chooses are worked through both by the author and ultimately by Horace himself. This is in stark contrast to the rather facile and logic-defeating time travelling that is to be found in many children's books. Here is a book which allows space for the exploration and explanation of ideas and for reflection upon them, both by the characters and by the reader. Despite some dramatic and exciting incidents, much of the first two thirds of this fairly long novel has, in consequence, an overall pace which some might consider slow. It is a book for committed readers rather that those just seeking an introduction to extended reading. However I hope that even these latter may eventually find their way to this remarkable work, for its pace, it's reflection are integral to its ultimately engrossing power. Making sense of what is happening, and then exploiting that understanding, is very much what the story is about.

Another huge plus of this book's length and pace is the opportunity it gives its author to truly develop characters and relationships. This too he does to great effect. Both the questioning Horace and the often chippy, but wonderfully brave and loyal, Chloe are rich creations with whom the readers are given ample opportunity to become involved. Their relationships, with each other and with other key characters evolve and change in engrossing style . It is a considerable authorial coup, for example, that he can devote a whole chapter to Horace playing chess with his mother, which apparently forwards the action of the story very little, yet deepens its humanity very considerably. It is clever and important too that, within a superficial framework of good v evil, much about many of the characters remains ambivolent and uncertain. Neither Horace nor Chloe are ever truly certain whether they trust or even approve of the motives of their two mentor 'Wardens'.

Yet for all the slower pace and thoughtfulness of so much of the book, the final 150 or so pages avalanche into a most wonderfully gripping narrative climax. Suddenly, to see the future through Horace's eyes, through his wonderous box, and yet still to want desperately to know if it will actually happen, is an exquisite excitement. This combines with an empathetic sharing of the emotional trauma when both Horace and Chloe are torn from their bonded instruments, their 'tan'ji'. This is an experience not unlike the severing of a character from their daemon in Philip Pullman's Northern Lights and creates devastating tension. What we experience towards the close of this book is a clever drawing together of the elements of the author's detailed build-up into one of the most exciting and gripping climaxes to any novel I have read in a good while. It is a stunning piece of invention and a thrilling piece of writing.

There is one further feature of this book that cries out for accolades - and that is the sheer quality and skill of its language constructions. I have heard pianists talk about the way that in some great compositions the notes just seem to fall comfortably under the fingers. In this book the words, phrases, sentences fall equally comfortably under the eye - or perhaps more accurately onto the inner ear of the reader. This writing is sometimes beautiful, as for example is the description of what Horace first sees through his box. It is often dramatic. It is sometimes deeply affecting, as when Horace and Chloe are severed from their instruments. But it is always pleasing, always apt, always effectively communicative. Words, phrases and sentences feel right. This requires great writerly skill, and Ted Sanders has it in spades.

By the end of the book the fact that it is the first of a new sequence becomes a cause for much rejoicing. This first volume feels in many ways almost like a prelude to a story, but those ways are all good ones. There is so much unexplored and unresolved. There are so many intriguing things yet to discover about characters to whom we have become fully committed and about their conflict with the malevolent Riven. There are other characters too about whom we as yet know so little. It is to be sincerely hoped that we are to discover stories and even back-stories to complement fascinating glimpses of the likes of Gabriel, Neptune and the flute-playing Ingrid, not to mention Beck and of course, astoundingly, Horace's . . . but no spoilers. Suffice it to say that what appears initially to be the story's wind-down coda turns out to contain one of the most profound and devastating surprises of the whole tale.

The Keepers has all the makings of a great addition to the canon of children's fantasy literature. Even as a stand-alone The Box and the Dragonfly is a cracker of a book.

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The Mark of the Dragonfly by Jaleigh Johnson

It is one of the classic formats of fantasy fiction for the narrative to be built around a journey. The Mark of the Dragonfly sits securely within this tradition and the protagonist, Piper, sets herself the mission of taking the lost and amnesiac Anna back to her supposed home in the distant 'Dragonfly Territories'. It is however unique in my experience of reading children's fantasy for almost all of such a journey to be made on board an old and very special steam train, as it is in Jaleigh Johnson's exciting debut.

And this is far from the only imaginatively mould breaking element of her book.

 

At the core of the world this writer creates is a dystopian society operating with rather crude mechanics (essentially 'steampunk' ), where disparate and largely broken elements of 'our' more advanced civilisation are scavenged as treasures. This is, in itself, a set up that I have encountered in so many recent books that is in danger of becoming over worked and rather tired as a concept. In addition the geography of the relatively small world of her narrative is split into two rival kingdoms clearly close to the brink of war. This is another fantasy trope that hangs for me on balance between convention and cliché. However here Jayleigh Johnson revitalises these elements by mixing them with other surprising and superficially rather inconsistent elements. Her creation has elements of pure science fiction in that, alongside the human inhabitants of her world, live a race of completely non- humans, the tentacled 'sarnuns' . Their place, at least In this particular narrative, is almost incidental and close to feeling gratuitous. Yet their presence does give the world a strong feeling of 'otherness' and challenges what could otherwise have been an easy assumption that this is simply part of our own earth projected into some post apocalyptic future. On top of this, or perhaps more accurately within it, are elements which belong far more to high fantasy. Not the least of these comes with the realisation that one of the story's key characters belongs to yet another race of beings and is in fact a shape shifter who can transform from his human form into a winged, rather dragonish, creature. There is magic too, at least of a kind, and the protagonist, Piper, discovers that she is a 'synergist', with the power to command and control mechanisms, both constructively and also with dramatically destructive force. This is all very strange - but in a good way, in fact a wonderful way. All these elements could feel very disparate and confused, yet Jayleigh Johnson manages to meld them very effectively into a totally convincing and enthralling world.

 

The great strengths of the book lie in its story-telling, which skilfully provides both compelling narrative drive and rich character development. The plot is gripping and has many surprising, even shocking, twists and turns. Edge of the seat excitement abounds. Yet the author also allows her story space and time. It is relatively long for a first children's novel, but here this is an asset. It gives ample opportunity for reflection on and enrichment of her world and her characters. The protagonist, Piper, together with Anna and Gee, who develop into her two very close friends - she is just a little young for outright romance - are all splendid creations. They are complex, endearing without being saccharine and certainly not idealised. Their development is as much a gripping element of the story as is the action which precipitates it. Other characters are strongly drawn as well, both the good guys on the train and those met en route. The chief 'baddie' is appropriately chilling too, and also turns out to be somewhat more complex that first painted. However this is very much Piper's story and it is excellent to have found yet another great fantasy adventure with a strong and feisty female lead. I hope we are moving steadily towards blurring or even erradicating silly distinctions between girls' and boys' books and through literature, licencing the young of each gender to identify with the thoughts and feelings of the other. We may then truly move closer towards genuine 'He for She/She for He' society. This book should certainly help. It deserves to reach a wide audience and I hope it will shortly be published over here as well as in the US. However, thanks to the Internet I am pleased to say that it is already fairly easily obtainable.

Strangely, neither this volume nor its accompanying website make any specific mention of a sequel. I hope and trust there is actually more on the way, and soon. Here is a story crying out to be developed into, say, a trilogy or quartet. Despite this book's warm and satisfying ending, there is so much in both this world and these characters which the reader is left aching to know more about. As it stands, this is an excellent fantasy read. If the author can extend its potential into a cohensive, fully developed and resolved sequence, then it could be the start of a great work of children's literature.

 

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Ophelia and the Marvellous Boy by Karen Foxlee

 

 

Here is another stunningly good find from publishing house Hot Key who seem to have been signing up some wonderful writers recently.

It is good too to have made my first recent discovery of a great new book by an Australian author. There is such a strong tradition of outstanding children's literature from Australia. Going back a while, I would certainly place Patricia Wrightson on my list of all-time greats, and there are many deserved classics like Ruth Park's Playing Beatie Bow. More recently Sonya Hartnett and Morris Gleitzman spring to mind (especially the latter's deeply affecting Once, Then, Now and After sequence) and there are many more

Karen Foxlee certainly proves herself to be a writer fully worthy of this rich heritage. However Ophelia and the Marvellous Boy also belongs to a tradition of children's literature to which I refered in a vey recent post (on Holly Black's Doll Bones), that in which young people's traumatic issues are worked out through a (metaphorical) involvement in fantasy, often in the form of reimagined or reinvented fairy tale. This is a sub-genre which I primarily associate with US writers, although of course there is a lot of cultural interchange between The States and Australia. Ophelia is certainly a splendid addition to this important strand of children's literature. The tradition has already provided many all time greats and there is good reason to think that here we have another.

Superficially, however, there are several basic aspects of this book that seem rather a long way from being particularly original. The central issue of the book concerns a young girl, the eponymous Ophelia, trying to cope with the recent early death from serious illness of her mother. Such bereavement of children has already been the subject matter of a good many notable antecedents. It is, of course, an important topic and will come as fresh and vital to many of this book's young audience. However, in children's literature terms, it has been rather well worked already.

In the fairy tale world which intrudes itself into Ophelia's life the principal character is an evil Snow Queen who is holding the land in perpetual winter. Of course, one of the features of fairy tale is that it uses easily recognisable archetypes. Certainly too this queen is an excellent metaphor for the frozen emotions that Ophelia's family experience following the bereavement. However, it is also a figure that has already been very well used in children's story, not least of course by C S Lewis. Is it perhaps getting over-worked? The idea of this fairy tale persona eventually conflating with the principal adult character of the 'real' story is again not new.

The setting too, a museum, although offering lots of fascinating potential is one that has already featured in numerous children's books. And then the core of the inner narrative revolves around a 'prophesy', the fulfilment of which eventually inevitably emerges as falling to Ophelia. If any story device in a fantasy book is likely set my alarm bells ringing it is that old chestnut the prophesy!

In fairness, Karen Foxlee does add to these familiar elements many imaginative and inventive features of her own. The whole character and story of the Marvellous Boy himself, the unlikely hero who has been sent to find the 'Other One' needed to defeat the Winter Queen, is charming and original. Additionally many of the witch's minion creatures, not least the 'misery birds', do very potently conjour up nightmarish fears.

However it is not the plot as such, nor even the basic theme, important and potent as it is, that makes this book so very compelling. It is the way that the novel is written. This is quite wonderful and undoubtedly transforms what could have been a good but slightly unoriginal story into an all-time gem of children's literature.

Three things particularly excite me about Karen Foxlee's writing, although I could go on for ages about its many delights and stunningly effective qualities.

The first is her use of language itself. What is remarkable here is not so much the vocabulary she employes, although this is has that quality of apt and deceptive simplicity that makes it easily readable yet immediately communicative. Rather it is her turn of phrase, her imagery, and her patterning of language which is such a constant delight. Often mellifluous, always fresh and exciting, this writer can build words together in ways which constantly enlighten and enliven her storytelling. Her wording really draws the reader into her characters, as well as into the two initially different, but gradually integrating, worlds of her story. There is a richness that continually catches both the imagination and the inner ear of the reader. It unobtrusively but surely beguiles that reader to enter right inside her narrative. Karen Foxlee's creation proves, is effect, not to be that of an impoverished or derivative voice, but of an enormously rich and lively authorial imagination. Over and again she demonstrates a lightness but sureness of touch which belies very considerable writing skill. One particular aspect of this is that she is almost obsessed by lists. But not in a bad way, in a totally entertaining and delightful way. The beautifully constructed and patterned lists which permeate this narrative - lists of the museum rooms through which Ophelia runs, lists of her putative names for the Marvellous Boy, lists of the thoughts of the ghost girls who haunt one of the rooms - give it an energy and rhythm which verge on the poetic and would make it a wonderful text to read aloud. And there are not only actual lists, but stylistic 'lists' too. Karen Foxlee makes frequent and effective use of those rhetorical devices of repeated words and phrases which are often associated with Churchillian speeches; things like anaphora and isocolon, if we want tobe technical. But technicalities don't really matter here. Felicities abound.

The second feature of this writing which so impressed and thrilled me is the clever subtlety with which character, plot and theme are in practice revealed and communicated. This writer never hits you over the head with exposition or explanation. Rather she reveals gently, often briefly, but always tellingly too. And what she reveals is therefore all the more believable and all the more affecting. A great of example of this is the way in which, once we have been introduced to her little behaviours, it only takes a simple statement that Ophelia has puffed at her inhaler, or tugged on one of her own hair plaits, casually mentioned, often without elaboration, for us to know exactly how she is feeling and reacting. All the depth of thought and feeling associated with the loss of her mother is dealt with in exactly the same casually simple but profoundly revealing way. In fact the central character, Ophelia herself, is so cleverly and sensitively drawn that she ends up as one of the most endearing and moving protagonists that I have encountered in a children's novel for a long time. In her own way she is very much a Frodo. She is basically insecure, lost, afraid, and yet she presses on with doing the difficult things which need to be done in a way that shows character and bravery far exceeding flashy heroics. This is epitomised in one of my very favourite lines, spoken by Ophelia after the Marvellous a Boy has thanked her for rescuing him: 'I probably shouldn't do it again. I have very bad asthma.'

The third aspect of the writing that I found so compelling was the structuring of the whole narrative. The way the 'back story ' of the Marvellous Boy Is integrated through the early sections is beautifully handled with gently differing styles distinguishing the two realities. Even more telling is the way the two world converge as Ophelia's quest evolves. The metaphorical dimension of her crucial part in defeating the Snow Queen becomes gradually clearer as her own 'real' emotional journey deepens. The resolution, which is of both the fairy story and of the real-life issue, is a small triumph of storytelling.

As well as being a book about dealing with loss and grief , this is also a book about the importance of fantasy itself. Initially Ophelia finds her security in order, rational explanation and scientific understanding, traits very much inherited from her father. By the end she has allowed her life, her thinking, and her being to be balanced by imagination, by the creativity that is the legacy of her story writing mother. Opelia has learned to follow her heart as well as her head, and this is another wonderful thing.

On the surface, this is a relatively short, easy read intended primarily for a young audience. There is no problem in that. Indeed the writing skill, the imagination and the sensitivity which have gone into its crafting have resulted in a true little gem. I am tempted to include it on my list of the real greats of twenty first century children's literature to date. In fact I will. Children who read it thoughtfully will not only have an enthralling experience but also end up more sensitised to important aspects of the human condition. Even if unaware of it, they will have experienced extremely skilful writing too - and that is another most valuable thing. They will have been enriched.

 

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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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