Illustrations: Jessica Roux
‘Sam had not lost everything. Not yet. Not when she still had a chance to save her family and her old life by being a little brave.’ (p 48)
UK paperback release
The paperback of this book from US author Jenn Reece has just been published and will soon be available over here. This will, hopefully, bring a deserved larger UK readership to this poignant novel. However, as someone who enjoys the physicality of books as well as their content, I must say the hardback I already have is itself a most pleasingly attractive volume, with the strength and impact of its story well reflected in Jessica Roux’s powerful illustrations..
Jenn Reese’s great skill is in capturing authentically and very affectingly the thoughts and feelings of a child going though a time of trauma. Protagonist Sam and her slightly older sister have, with the involvement of a social worker, suddenly been removed from their home and parents and sent to live with an Aunt Vicky who they have never met, in a State they have never even visited before. One of the strengths of the writing is that the circumstances of this disturbing change only gradually become apparent as the story develops, although the fact that Sam’s sister, Caitlin, arrives with a broken arm in a sling is an early clue; there is no crude exposition here, only subtlety and sensitivity. Although not completely mute, Sam is extremely quiet and withdrawn in response to the drastic changes in her circumstances. Her wild mental swings between her passionate wish to return home, her response the nature of the countryside in which she finds herself and her habituated escapes into reading and fantasy, convey her intense insecurity most disturbingly.
A game and not a game
The principal narrative driver involves Sam being given a box containing an old card game, that of the book’s title, the characters and actions of which soon begin to permeate her ‘reality’. When squirrels in human clothes start to appear there is a brief fear that this story is becoming twee. But nothing could be further from the case. Prompted by a manifestation of the highly unreliable fox character, Sam is soon pursuing the goal of discovering the game’s ‘golden acorn’, which she believes will grant her deepest wish of returning home to her family and friends. She is also learning the demanding and disquieting cost of the fox’s ‘help’.
Alongside the game, Sam struggles with the relationships of her new situation, with her newly-discovered aunt, with the boy who knits (you’ll see!) and even with the changes in her own sister. And the brilliance of the writing comes fully clear as the relationship between Sam’s game and her reality emerges. Both the structuring of the narrative and the language of its telling are exceptional in their skilled control, leading the reader into intense emotional involvement with Sam and her story.
Dark to light
As the narrative slides in towards its climax, the game becomes increasingly dark, horrible even. When the storm rages and the fox hunts the tale takes on a terrible intensity. It is disturbing, shocking; but then so is the domestic situation it shadows. It does not matter whether Sam’s playing of the increasingly compulsive and heart-rending game is her own fantasy or ‘magical reality’. It is a deeply potent metaphor. It is her working through of all she and her sister have suffered in the most insidious of circumstances, perpetrated by the very people who should have been her protectors.
Fortunately Aunt Vicky knows the way to start healing. The only way.
‘I want you to know that I love you, and that you can trust me. You don’t have to do anything to earn these things. If you mess up, I will still love you. If you lie to me, you can still trust me. You are worthy of love, Sam. Just as you are.’ (p 156)
The Bishop’s Candlesticks. Love to the loveless shown. A golden dawn with the real ‘golden acorn’.
As it should be
As a bonus, when Sam and her sister arrive at Aunt Vicky’s house, it is to discover that their aunt has a wife. The single-sex nature of this marriage is accepted without comment or question and this seems to me exactly how such a partnership should be treated in fiction for young children, as something perfectly normal and unremarkable in itself. Our hope and aim must always be that our children will help create a more inclusive world that our own.
Don’t miss this
This books sits thrillingly in an America heritage of sensitive and revelatory writing about children, for children; a line that runs through such greats as Betsy Byars, Katherine Paterson and Patricia Reilly Giff. It also reminded me of some of the amazing older children’s novels of Australian Ursula Dubosarsky*, a writer who is not nearly as well know here as she deserves, despite being revered in her native part of the world.
A Game of Fox and Squirrels is a very special book, stunningly conceived and realised. It speaks from the heart and to the heart. It is surely a must for anyone in the U.K. who is widely interested in children’s literature, as well as for young readers seeking something that will engage both mind and emotions deeply.
Oh and one final thing. It is also the ideal book for egg lovers (you’ll see!). Although I’m sure vegans will enjoy it too.
At about the same time as this is one published in paperback, Jenn Reese has a brand new MG novel out, Every Bird a Prince. From a writer of this distinction, it has to be worth looking out for.
Note:
*If you can, get hold of The Blue Cat, The Red Shoe, or even The Game of the Goose, I strongly recommend.
