Despite a childhood which included, for a time, a modest Hornby layout on my bedroom floor (once around the dirty socks, a station of piled homework and a tunnel under the bed) I would not have expected to be a huge enthusiast for a book about a rail network. But I am. Railhead has just proved to be one of those rare and precious reading experiences where the desperate desire to know how intriguing things turn out fights with a longing for it all not to end, not to have to leave a truly engrossing world or to say goodbye to characters I have come to care deeply about. It was one of those reads where closing the final pages brought a feeling almost of bereavement; memories which would be held close for a long time wrapped in the wrench of an immediate experience lost. This book is that good.
Of course I have long rated Philip Reeve's Mortal Engines series (now republished as Predator Cities) amongst the great works of children's imaginative literature. (See my post from February '15.)
In a quite different vein, I also enjoyed enormously his Here Lies Arthur (2007). Alongside my passion for fantasy, I am something of aficionado of King Arthur novelisations, particularly ones which explore the relationship between the 'historical' and the legendary leader. In fact l have a full shelf of related children's titles, ranging right from George Finkle's haunting Twilight Province from back in 1976, through Rosemary Sutcliff and such delights as Anne McCaffrey's Black Horses for the King to Michael Morpurgo and, of course, Kevin Crossley Holland's now almost classic Arthur trilogy. Philip Reeve's book holds a worthy place alongside these eminent neighbours.
Even so I was taken aback that Railhead is quite such a wonderful book as it is. I probably shouldn't have been, but I was. This book turned out to tick all my boxes for an outstanding work of children's fantasy fiction: it is strikingly original and superbly imaginative; it builds a fascinating world peopled with engaging characters; it is written with masterly richness - and it is a devastatingly exciting story to boot. On top of all this, it has a great deal to say for itself and many questions to ask of the reader. It is a book to think about as well as to enjoy.
Of course, it is probably more accurate to label it sci-fi rather than fantasy - but here the line is very narrow. It does build its world in a futuristic ultra science context rather than a mythical one. It does feature sentient trains, humanoid robots, peoples who rely on advanced communication and uber technology and 'gods' who are complex data sets. But its trains are not too far removed from dragons, its androids elves or dwarfs, its masters of technology magicians. This is a brilliantly magical world.
Certainly, there are elements of this story which draw on 'fantasy' tradition and precedents. The opening gambit of a petty thief being recruited by a sinister 'magician' to steal something much more significant, as is Zen, the protagonist, here, has certainly been seen before. Similarly the idea of a boy who thought himself of lowly origin turning out to be far less so is not novel. However these story elements are not to the book's detriment. Rather, they link it to its narrative traditions. Beyond this, though, the whole universe which Philip Reeve conceives, with its anthropomorphic trains* travelling a network that regularly crosses vast distances of space, is unique and arresting. Similarly it is peopled with most imaginatively conceived characters and technologies. Foremost amongst these are the K-gates which allow the trains to cross space instantaneously. Also conceived with stunning imagination are the Hive Monks, creatures made up of colonies of bugs which can animate themselves in humanoid form (just about). Similarly striking are the ethereal Station Angels, shimmering 'after effects' of K-gate travel, who may just be more then they seem. The whole concept is brilliant, in both senses of the word. Philip Reeve is one of the most imaginative contemporary writers we have.
As befits such an admired and experienced writer, his use of language and control of style and structure are also nothing short of masterly. When, for example, he describes Zen's passion as a 'railhead', his compulsion for riding the trains, Philip Reeve does not take us into any world of dull, sad anoraks but immediately shares with us all the adrenaline rush, all the exhilaration of riding the silver rails and crashing with an 'un-bang' from one world to the next. It is quite magical writing giving us an equally magical vicarious experience. And this is only the start of a thrilling rush of story, thrillingly told. One un-bang after another.
At the very heart of the book is a very simple love story - or it would perhaps be simple if did not involve two beings - Zen and the android 'wire dolly', Nova - between whom no one would have considered such a relationship even remotely conceivable . It is therefore about love which transcends all prejudice, all taboos, transcends even the possible, and, in consequence, is of profound significance. I well recall the relationship between Tom and Hester, which begins so spikily in Mortal Engines, as one of the most wonderfully conceived and developed in all of children's literature. That between Zen and Nova is, in its way, just as affective and just as memorable.
Perhaps most important of all for me, though, is that Railhead breaks the mould of the strongest and most exploited convention of fantasy fiction : that it is centrally about a conflict between the light and the dark; that it involves the hard-won triumph of good over an unspeakable evil, which was threatening the whole of life.
I spent much of the novel intriguided by which of the rather ambiguous key characters were going to turn out to be good or evil, which 'side' they were on. Only later was I brought to the realisation that no one in this fascinating world is clearly either one or the other. Characters, relationships and the reader's perceptions of them continually and subtly shift. Some fail to become what they could be, others are as surprised by the way things turn out. Some are simply out for themselves, others are revealed to be less selfish than they seemed. But there are no 'sides' in an absolute sense. This is a more subtle, more complex world than that, and the book is a richer and more rewarding reading experience for it.
Ultimately Railhead is about the need for a new beginning, a new beginning on a cosmic scale. However it is not a new beginning that is needed because the universe is evil, black. This fresh start is needed because life is tired, too comfortable, too rigid, too controlled, too safe. The network has become too self-contained. This universe and its story poses questions, and challenges, for us all. Zen is not a hero of legend. He is the potential hero in us all. He is after all the petty thief, the struggling survivor, not the knight in shining armour, or even the simple hobbit. He just comes to see when a new start is needed, and, ultimately, has the courage to make it happen.
In the main it will probably only be older readers who pick up and are entertained by the literary and musical references in many of the names Philip Reeve selects, or by his subtly inserted quotes from Casablanca; but I am older and I was entertained. It is one of the many endearing things about the 'motorik', Nova, that she loves that old film. She is one of the many great creations of this book - that is if you don't count the Hive Monks, or the trains, or the Station Angels, or Flex, or Zen, or . . .
Railhead is abundant in originality and imagination, rich in characters and story, captivating in its world building, mould breaking in its ambivalent morality, and enthralling in its sensitive questioning of how, when and why we, and the world, need a fresh start. It is one of my books of the year so far, probably a book of the decade, possibly . . .
We should all 'Listen . . .'
*Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends break bad.
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