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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