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.
