Tyger by SF Said, Illustrated Dave McKean NOW OUT IN PAPERBACK

 

‘The most ordinary things had become extraordinary.’ (p 66)

And now . . . 

Only very rarely does an author build a high reputation on a very small number of books. However, when they do, they often turn out to be amongst the finest writers; Thankfully, there are many discerning readers prepared to value quality over quantity. This is certainly the case with SF Said’s output; his three children’s novels to date are widely read and enormously loved for very good reason.

However, we haven’t had anything new from him for nine years or so. This means that the recent publication of a fourth book, Tyger, is very exciting indeed. I could not have avoided noticing the enormous number of plaudits and recommendations it has received on social media, but I have deliberately not yet read other people’s reviews, or listened to author interviews and the like. It is not that I am not interested in what others think, quite the contrary, but I like to gather my own impressions of a book before being influenced by others. So if what I have to say below just repeats what many others have already said, I apologise - although I will not be surprised at all if this is the case. How can anyone not recognise this book as the modern masterpiece it is?

Deep London

The whole of this new narrative is deeply rooted in its location, London. True, this is not as completely straightforward as it sounds. Although a contextualising page places this as the London in the 21st Century, it is pointedly an alternative history version, where a number of events that have shaped our own society have simply not taken place. The rule of the British Empire continues and has in fact developed as a highly stratified society under harsh totalitarian regime. Slavery has never been abolished, the encloseure of the countryside is only just happening, and racism is rife, with even those born in England but of immigrant descent, classified as ‘foreign’ and forcibly confined to an impoverished ‘ghetto’. Alongside this creativity and the arts are being suppressed too.

Nevertheless, there are enough references to ‘real’ London history and tradition, for example, the ancient rivers of the capital and key locations like Oxford Street and Tyburn, for it to feel authentically grounded.The story is central to its particular location and vice versa. Growing from this, a riveting narrative emerges about a boy and a girl from the ghetto, who learn about their own ‘magical’ gifts and have to use them to help a numinous ‘tyger’ escape the clutches of a terrifyingly villain. Their ‘quest’ is to open a hidden portal into a new and better world, thus freeing the Tyger from its wounded mortal form. On the one hand, this places SF Said’s new book firmly in the wonderful tradition of children’s fantasy developed by such greats as Alan Garner, Susan Cooper and Philip Pullman. At the same time, it is every bit original and enthralling enough a story to engage compellingly and affect deeply.. 

If it were nothing more that this, I would rate it a very fine addition to the contemporary children’s canon. However, it is more. Far, far more.

Tyger with a ‘y’

I hesitate to compare Tyger too closely to His Dark Materials, as they are very different works However, there is a real sense in which, just as the Philip Pullman’s books are underpinned by Dante Alighieri, so SF Said’s new work draws extensively for some of its key imagery on the writings of William Blake. There is an immediate distinction too, of course; whereas Philip Pullman is concerned to subvert the fundamental, Christian tenets presented in The Divine Comedy, SF Said seems rather to seeks to re-present Blake’s visionary spirituality and his reforming zeal for our own times.

The clearest Blake allusion is obviously the Tyger itself, its eyes unmissably burning brightly. However there are numerous other references threaded through the story, the lamb, the ‘Doors of Perception’, the use of the name Urizen for the personification of all that is corrupt and corrupting in the world, the intense experience where the Tyger helps protagonist Adam to ‘see the world in a grain of sand’. And it is the representation of London itself that is perhaps the other most potent link. For this is very much Blake’s London, with all its ‘dark satanic mills’, not only as physical reality but as a metaphor for the darkness of a vile, soulless society. 

Rich in resonance 

Yet, whilst the  strands of SF Said’s narrative are woven through with multiple resonant images, not all of them are drawn from Blake. In fact this erudite author’s eclectic mind fires off allusions as illuminating sparks through his story. Some are blatant, others far more subtle, yet others the merest shades, yet discovering them is always a profound readerly delight. To name but a few, there are echoes here of Androcles and the Lion, of Prometheus stealing fire from the gods to give to mankind, there is an archetypal apple tree, and even Shakespeare’s Polonius gets a thinly veiled reference. (‘Doubt anything you like . . . But never, ever doubt me.’ p 92) It all contributes to a literary crucible of incredible potency. One particular parallel that struck me very forcibly was the image  of the Tyger, a creature with a wound that does not heal, lying in the ruins of a derelict building, itself surrounded by a rubbish tip. Surely there is an echo here of The Fisher King waiting in the Authurian Waste Land and met again in the writings of T S Eliot?

Spiritual more than moral

There is a very real sense, I feel, in which Tyger is a morality tale  (like Pilgrim’s Progress or Everyman) but with the specifically Christian goal of these much older works replaced by a universal, metaphysical ‘heaven’. This means that both characters and settings, although conjured with most telling sensitivity, are in a sense representational rather than individual. In this way, Adam, the main character, has a name shared by different faiths as the representation of the first, and therefore of all humans, of  ‘Everyman’. Whilst his companion in his ‘quest’ is Zadie, Z to his A, so that the two represent the whole spectrum of people A-Z. They are alpha and omega; the beginning and the end. And yet they are completely human. That is the utter wonder of this book. They are simple, they are deeply human, they are universal, but they are also very particular individual children.  It is a story for us, for our time.

For us, for now

However distanced the images and ills of Blake’s London, and of SF Said’s London, however much evils such as Empire and slavery might seem to already have been conquered, we do not need to do much more than scratch the surface of our own world and our own society to find much the same sores festering. However much we may congratulate ourselves as human beings on what has been achieved and improved, is there not so much more in our world, our ‘London’, still in need of improvement?

More than the images of Blake, Tyger is embued with the spirit of Blake. What the Tyger does is show Adan and Zadie the power they hold inside themselves; the power to see things as they truly are, as they could be 

‘    At once, the power rose up inside him. And the world looked very different. 

     He saw shards of broken glass gleaming on the ground like diamonds. He saw crushed tin cans glowing silver in the light. He could feel the wind on his skin; the whole world moving and turning and spinning around him.

     All of it was beautiful, and all of it alive.’  (p 64)

She shows the children that 

‘“Nothing is ordinary . . . Everything is extraordinary. . . And the same is true of you. Nothing special? You are miraculous beyond measure.”’ (p 60)

She opens to them the potential  of books, of libraries and school, the power of imagination and creativity, and ultimately that:

‘“It is not the doors of imagination you must open,” said the tyger. “It is yourself.”’  (p 96)

All seas, all ships

However, there is also great significance that Adam, the main character, is a British Muslim boy whose family has its origin in the Middle East. The strong representation of this ethnicity gives others children of similar background a still all too rare opportunity to see themselves represented in books. At the same time it gives others a much needed chance to see the character in positive light and, dare I say, imagine his life and that of his family. Similarly the equally sympathetic/empathetic  character of the darker-skinned Zadie. In fact there is wide representation here of the major faiths, with for example, the librarian of the underground library, Lady Judith, providing  strong reflection of Jewish heritage and culture. Yet Tyger, like indeed much of Blake’s work, represents a universal spirituality rather than promoting any particular religious doctrine, even where particular doctrinal heritage provides the images to conjure this. 

The advantage and importance of a story with so many resonant images, so many references, firing off in so many directions, like a whole box of fireworks ignited at once, is that individuals can read their own messages, find their own truths in it. This is the mark of a very great book. And, although I said I would not draw too many parallels with His Dark Materials, here is another.

Growing towards infinity

Does it matter then if young readers, or indeed others, do not pick up all the book’s many Blake references and allusions? No. Not at all. For the story and its telling are infused with the spirit of Blake and his thinking, Something of the essence of Blake  is made explicit through the story. For many, Tyger, will help readers to understand the world of Blake, rather than the reverse. But even that is not necessary. Tyger brings Blake’s commitment to the power and importance of imagination directly to its readers. 

John Higgs, in William Blake Now: Why He Matters More Than Ever, says of that artist/poet ‘He has found his way to a numinous place and wants us to accompany him. His work is a trail he has left and, if we follow it, it will lead us there.’ (p 7)

Much the same can now be said of SF Said in his transcendent book Tyger. And the place his trail leads is richly life enhancing and world-building. World-building not in a fantasy sense, but in the sense of imagining how our world can be built better. We oldies have not always done too well at building that better world, but the post-millennials must, and many are. But only, as Blake and S F Said understand, by being able to imagine it better. As Blake himself said, ‘What is now proved, was once only imagin’d.’  (The Marriage of Heaven and Hell). So what is now imagined will one day be proved. What is seen by those who have passed through the doors of perception is the reality of things. And those who perceive can imagine and ultimately create.

Images of images

Tyger glories in being an illustrated novel, which is to say far more than a novel with some Illustrations, David McKean’s powerful images, some illuminating, some deeply moving, some almost terrifying, are not merely a complement to the text, but an integral element of the narration. Totally compelling, they yet have something of the same quality of the text, representational, almost archetypal rather than uber-realistic. With many wonders en route, for me they reach a peak in the brilliantly simple facing profiles on pages 240-241, culminating in the upward reaching image across pages 244-245, which captures so perfectly the essence of the book as a whole. However, the sequence  of sparse text and ‘vanishing’ visual images that closes the book is also something close to sublime.

Opening doors

Adding his own inspiration to that of William Blake and the greats of children’s literature , SFSaid takes the portals between worlds and opens them onto a new spirituality of hope.What Tyger offers to its young readers is the perception to see things as they are, the imagination to see how they could be different, and the creativity to build a new and better world. 

And ‘when the stars throw  down their spears.’  the Tyger  confronts Urizen, the embodiment of all that is evil in the world, and attests:

‘You were wrong about the mortals, Urizen . . . Every one of them can do what these two have done tonight. The power belongs to them now.’ (p254)

More than anything, this is a book that believes in children. Long may it burn bright in the forest of the night.

Tyger not only reserves itself a place on my list for Books of the Year 2022, but takes the very top slot. It is theoretically possible that it may be knocked off by something else I read between now and early December. But I think it very unlikely. 

The Chestnut Roaster by Eve McDonnell

Cover: Holly Ovenden

I much admired and enjoyed Eve McDonnell’s debut MG novel, Elsetime and have been waiting to see if she would come up with a worthy successor. In the event, she has certainly done so - and more. The Chestnut Roaster is a triumph. Only very rarely do I find myself as excited by a piece of new children’s writing as I was with this. It is not an old chestnut, but a glorious shiny new one.

The girl who remembers

The book is set in late Nineteenth Century Paris and it main character is a twelve year-old chestnut seller, working on a street corner of the city. She is remarkable in many ways, but perhaps the most remarkable of all is that she remembers in detail every single day of her life. However, she does not always find this huge store of memory as an asset, sometimes it feels more of a burden.

‘ . . . since the day we were born, I can remember everything that’s happened. It’s all in here. (She pointed to her head) . . . Like a list of facts . . . but with wooden boxes, millions of them . . They rattle when a memory wants to be heard . . . There are tunnels and shortcuts and alleyways everywhere, and the boxes are linked in so many ways, I get lost sometimes.’ (p 55)

Physically small, she continually fidgets and flutters, sparrow-like, and her name is, appropriately Piaf (the French for sparrow, a name that will probably resonate with many older readers, if not the younger ones).

The first thing that struck me as so very special in this novel is the quite wonderful way in which Eve McDonnell uses language to create a vivid impression of the idiosyncratic Piaf. Novel and striking figurative images and frequent jumps in focus conjure beautifully the essence of her personality and the quirky way she thinks, immediately establishing her as a fascinating and endearing protagonist.

‘One danger-filled memory morphed into another: the doctor’s hand was yanking her hair like he was pulling her memory through her roots, and the scent of one hundred cherry berlingots suddenly swirled, both in the cramped space of her mind, and, right here, in her narrow window ledge.’ (p 79)

As another example of this writers magical way with language there is an extended passage where Piaf and her twin have to hide in an ecclesiastical treasure coffer, which turns out to be airtight. So evocative is the writing that I found myself figuratively breathless just as the characters were literally so.

Time and again this author’s imaginative skill with words sent shivers of pure delight up my spine.

‘Piaf lit the candle and waited until the flame yawned itself tall.’ (p 106)

One inspirationally well chosen word is all it takes to bring a simple sentence into an alluringly evocative image. What a writer she is!

 À Paris

Another strong feature is the way the author clearly establishes her atmospheric setting of historic Paris without ever needing to resort to lengthy description. The authentic names used for streets, for characters and for specifics such as food items soon establish a distinctly French ambience, reinforced by echoing each chapter number in French. In fact the characters, in their dress, speech and behaviour, all have a distinctly French feel. Eve McDonnell adds to this by referring to well known Parisienne locations and landmarks: the newly built Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and, very  significantly, the catacombs under the city. For her Irish and British audience, it all gives the story an enchanting feel of ‘otherness’, conjuring the romance and magic of Paris, even for readers who have never been there. The sound of the names used is enough to transport the enchanted reader ‘Elsetime’.

Originality

Yet another joy lies in the way the reader is, from the outset, toppled into exciting story without screeds of clunky exposition. Right at the outset, Piaf is almost abducted by a sinister stranger, and then literally dropped into further danger in one of the city’s unpredictable, sudden sink holes. We are immediately gripped and swept forward on the tide of powerful story. Shortly after, other key characters are introduced: Piaf’s mother; the enigmatic Madame Lebrande; the ‘witch-girl’; Piaf’s own twin, who, in contrast to his sister’s prolific memory, seems to have been robbed of all of his; and of course the malevolent, child-snatching doctor. However, just as with the setting, these people are introduced, as it were, without introduction. We see characters emerge, through dialogue, action and interaction, as the narrative itself unfolds. Intrigue is ramped up further as it emerges that whilst Piaf is convinced that it is 1888, most others around her seem to think it is still 1887. Has Piaf somehow jumped forward a year, or has everyone else forgotten one? How and why? It is clear that memory and its loss is a strong theme here. Eve McDonnell’s cleverly structured storytelling pulls the reader further and further into Piaf’s world, at the same time identifying more and more strongly with her. 

Providing it is supported with quality writing (as it certainly is here) I am a huge admirer of originality in children’s stories. This is especially so at a time when it seems to me that so many published MG and YA novels (and for that matter their titles) are all too often variations on the same, over-familiar  characters and scenarios. However, original this book certainly is. True, the basic premise of a couple of kids working to thwart a dastardly villain is a classic trope, but around this the author build her richly imaginative story of the memory-full and the memory-less, of twin protagonists in a twin city, overground and underground, the brightness and light paired with darkness and the macabre. It is a true triumph of engaging imaginative invention,

With such idiosyncratic, clever language use, evocative location and character building, and stirringly imaginative storytelling, how could the book as a whole not emerge as highly distinguished.

Picture it too

Illustration also adds considerably to this outstanding text. Holly Overden’s cover is strikingly attractive. I particularly admire the gold sweet chestnut leaf, with its pattern of filigree veins reflecting both a key object in the story, and, to me, the myriad interlinked boxes of Piaf’s memory. Even more remarkable, however, are Ewa Beniak-Haremska’s double-page internal illustrations. These complex drawings are not only stunning in themselves but also reflect beautifully the multifaceted content of the story. They merit  a great deal of careful looking - and will reward this with thrilled recognition of so many images from the story.

After THE END

Whilst they are themselves finely written, I did not feel that the explanations of the illustrations, that come after the end of the book, were  really necessary; the images speak perfectly well for themselves when seen in the context of the narrative. However, if they help some young readers appreciate the pictures more fully it will be a very good thing.

The author’s own afterword, entitled ‘In Actual Fact’, does provide a most valuable insight into her approach to writing the piece. Were I still teaching, I could see these few pages being very helpful, perhaps even inspirational for young writers.

‘Tantalising paintings and photographs helped me imagine long-lost worlds . . . as a writer of stories of the made-up kind, I had a power - an almost magical power. I could hold my pen like a paintbrush and add sparkle to those old paintings. I could take real historical facts and add a splash of wonder or mix a special tint for magic.’ (P 337)

Eve McDonnell certainly has that power, and it is truly magical. 

You may have gathered, I loved this book. I heartily recommend it, both to young readers and to those adults responsible for engendering in them the lifelong habit of reading for pleasure. The Chestnut Roaster feels destined to become one of my Children’s Books of the Year.

Which Way to Anywhere by Cressida Cowell

Refreshingly familiar 

Cressida Cowell is one of our most popular children’s authors, with a huge international reputation, yet her books  stand head and shoulders above many other mega bestsellers. In fact, never mind head and shoulders,  I would say she tops them by everything from the knees upwards. That is because she has a very special and particular genius. She provides wonderfully high quality literature almost by stealth. She is a giver of some of the finest and most important gifts a writer can impart to young readers, yet she does not thrust them down reluctant throats, rather she coats them in the most delicious, fizzing confection.

From the outset of her writing career (How to Train Your Dragon in 2003) she has produced hugely kid-pleasing books, a mixture of zany comedy and wild adventure, threaded through with (her own) delightfully anarchic drawings. She has successfully repeated this winning approach through numerous sequels and a magnificent new series (The Wizards of Once) without it ever becoming formulaic. And now she has done it again with Which Way To Anywhere, which is simultaneously as familiarly delicious as fish and chips and as freshly crisp as a summer salad. 

Clandestine quality

It is, in itself, a remarkable achievement, yet it is not in this that her greatest genius lies. Rather it is in sneaking under the radar of this uber-kidilicious frenzy, real quality literature; presenting features of which many young readers may scarcely even be aware, but which will nevertheless have a profound and lasting effect in their development as readers (and perhaps writers too). What she adds to glorious entertainment  is true quality in terms of evocative language, sophisticated story structure and richly meaningful content. 

 The way she tells it

Cressida Cowell is not afraid  to slip into her highly readable prose, challenging vocabulary and insightful idioms. The result is a hugely enriched reading experience. Young readers absorb the communicative potential,of written English whilst rollicking along with her hugely diverting narrative.

‘ . . . one long curling python of a vine whipped out languorously and tripped K2 up.’ (p 13)’

The narrative itself could, I suppose, (if you were possessed of a certain pretentiousness) be called a post-modern metatext, in mixed media. It has a framing narration provided by ‘the storymaker’, who is not simply a character in the embedded tale (it would be a terrible spoiler to say who), nor even just the masked presence of the author, but also the voice  of story itself, heightening children’s awareness of the potency of storytelling at the same time as introducing them to something of the rich diversity of fictional form. 

Her delightfully drawn characters (drawn in both the verbal and the graphic sense) are rather more contemporary and ‘real’ than in her previous books. That is, they come from Planet Earth, or at least start off there.Whilst in no way lacking in magic or, indeed, in outlandishly speculative adventure, they share with her earlier creations  a deep grounding in genuine human feelings and relationships. This tale in particular not only poses the question of who might (or might not) be a hero,  but also explores meaningfully sibling and other family relationships (be they created by blood or by circumstance). And it does so with ultimate positivity, without offering unrealistically perfect resolutions.

In the end, ‘The friendly old house in the middle of that boggy little part of Planet Earth was only just a little bit less messy and falling-down and unsatisfactory than it ever was or had been, . . . And everyone had made promises that they would find hard to keep.’ (p 438)

Cressida Cowell’s writing and drawing are just as full of humanity as they are zanily imaginative and wildly entertaining, whilst her very considerable skill as a novelist underpins everything. Were I still a teacher, I would be delighted to find any child in my care reading this, or any of her other books, knowing that they will be gently absorbing much of true quality at the same time as they are being royally entertained. Thankfully there is more of this new series yet to come.