Having neglected for too long to read children's books written since 2000, I missed out on Frances Hardinge. I had of course seen her name feted in several contexts but never got around to reading her. But I have discovered her now - and she goes straight onto my list of great writers. She has already written several titles well worth their place on this blog , but I will start with Fly by Night because, of all the books I have come to recently, this was the most outrightly joyous to read.
Fly by Night is a complete delight for two principal reasons: firstly, the staggeringly original, quirky and sparkling quality of its invention. Fantasy is a genre where so many writers end up working over the same stock settings, characters and plots; often drawing on a relatively narrow range of myth and folklore for inspiration. Of course this is not always a problem in itself because some authors reinterpret those standard components in amazing ways. Those very myths and and traditions, too, are elements of our heritage, and, perhaps, of our collective unconscious, therefore potent and powerful. But Frances Harding seems to have little need for external influence or inspiration. She clearly has an imagination and creativity capable of the most startlingly novel and engaging inventions. Characters, names, belief-systems, settings, organisations, they are all conjured up for this book with dazzling and captivating originality. The whole work just fizzes with invention; reading it is like being given a glass of champagne after drinking still wine (and occasional stale tap water). When you read on the first page that 'The nursemaid's name was Celery Dunnock. She was born on a day sacred to Cramflick, She Who Keeps the Vegetables of the Garden a Crisp,' you get a feelng of what you are in for. But it is more than just the author's marvellous 'ability to name cats'. Her characters are so alive, so entertaining, so ambivalent, so original: the feisty, if sometimes rather overbearing, main character Mosca (Housefly) Mye, her viciously misanthropic 'pet' goose, the unreliable but strangely trustworthy Eponymous Clent . . . There are just so many; all entertaining, many engaging, some adorable. The whole large, rich and complex enclosed fantasy world which this author creates is a constnt surprise, wonder and delight.
And that is not all. The second great joy of the book is its language, which is itself every bit as witty, frothy and inventive as the other elements. Never less than skilfully readable, the author continually throws in surprising but apt words, brilliant turns of phrase and images that illuminate through their staggering originality. Quirky. Brilliant in every sense.
The book has muli-layered and significant thems too: the conflict between individuality and authority, between truth and deception, between freedom and censorship and, underpinning everything, the life-affirming and almost redemptive importance of books.
What, to coin a phrase, is not to like? Oh, and did I say? It is very funny too.
Is this a truly great book then? One for my list? In the final analysis perhaps not quite. I found the storyline overall just a little over-stuffed, a tad too complex and meandering to be completely satisfying. By the end I felt I had experienced some amazing inventions, a world, characters, ideas, language, that hadn't completely decided where they were going, or perhaps how to get there. But this did not detract from hugely enjoying the read. If this is not a fully great book, it is very nearly one and Frances Hardinge is undoubtedly a great writer, as original and exciting as any of the very best children's fantasy authors, past or present
I have since read other books of hers with great pleasure. Her latest The Lie Tree is another stunner and I shall write it up here soon.
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