Midwinterblood (by Marcus Sedgwick)

Two souls who long to be reunited through time is in short what Marcus Sedgwick’s Midwinterblood is about. It all starts on the mysterious Blessed Island in the year 2073 with journalist Eric Seven visiting the island and intent on writing a story about a place where apparently no children are born and people are rumored to live forever. On Blessed Island he meets a young woman, Merle, who he feels strangely drawn to although he doesn’t quite know why. At the close of the first tale, the reader ends up with more questions than answers, questions that are slowly answered by going back in time… seven times, until we get to the beginning of their destined love.

As per usual, Sedgwick’s prose is sparse and seemingly simple, which gives it its unsettling and haunting feel that most people call “gothic” (and after all, this is not just a book of love, but also one with quite a lot of violence, blood, death…). Somehow, Sedgwick always manages to give his books an almost poetic quality and Midwinterblood is no exception to this. I’m sure that Sedgwick will be accused of trying to outsmart himself with his attention to structure, genre, language and mood. But that’s not taking into consideration how engrossing this book (and many other of his books) really is: you just can’t stop reading and that’s the mark of a true artist right there.

Any Sedgwick book needs to be savored rather than devoured, though. His atmospheric prose is of the type that lingers. Blending the contemporary (e.g. the use of present tense alternated with the use of past tense for the narration of the 7 tales) with the traditional (these stories are what gothic horror tales would have been like at the heyday of “the gothic novel”!), he is so unlike many present-day “fantasy” writers, who churn out formulaic fantasy fodder. Sedgwick, on the other hand is – to use Aidan Chambers’ words – a true author and not a writer and he’s obviously not concerned with pleasing a certain type of audience, but rather in producing a work of art. Revolver, Blood Red, Snow White, Midwinterblood… all of these share this common urgency. And it works! It works for kids, it works for teens, it works for adults!

Short Cuts

I Will Save You (by Matt de la Peña)

Kidd Ellison has the worst of lives. Away from the mental facility Horizons where he ended up after his mother killed herself (after she killed her abusive husband), he now lives in a tent on the beach, employed by Mr Red. In I Will Save You Matt de la Peña plays with narrative timelines as the reader has to figure out the links between Kidd and Olivia, Kidd and Mr Red, and especially Kidd and Devon, a guy Kidd met at Horizons but who now also turns up at the beach.

The book actually starts at the end of it all, when Kidd somehow pushes Devon off of a cliff, and then goes back to tell the entire story in flashback, memories, dreams and notebook entries (Kidd writes in his philosophy of life notebook). This disjointed chronology may throw you off at times, but it actually enhances the sense of desperation Kidd feels. The only thing this broken and vulnerable kid wants it to save Olivia, but when the mysterious Devon arrives and starts his devious schemes, everything Kidd wants is threatened. Even though you know from the start that something is up with Devon – there are clear hints throughout the book – I’m sure some readers will still be shocked at the ultimate twist at the end of the book.

I was a bit surprised to see this listed as a YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers, because it’s not exactly a “quick read”. On the contrary, it really does require some effort from the part of the reader. I don’t see my reluctant readers picking this up ‘quickly’. In any case, I Will Save You is a deeply moving and engaging book about a boy with an extremely troubled past and whose future is far from bright. Definitely one of the saddest books in a long time…

4 stars

 

My Swordhand is Singing (by Marcus Sedgwick)

Marcus Sedgwick is a cat favorite. One of the only writers to successfully publish work for children and young adults, his foray into the ‘darker’ genres is remarkable. In My Swordhand is Singing Sedgwick takes on the myths of the vampire. In his version of the age-old myth, there are no melodramatic romances. There are also no shining and sparkling über-creatures and irresistible doe-eyed maidens. Instead, Sedgwick focuses on the folktales that have been told all over the world, all through the ages. He sets his story in the 17^th century in the dead of winter somewhere in Eastern Europe. We get the story of a father, Tomas – a drunk – and his son Peter, both woodcutters and not liked by the villagers where they have settled. In this tale we get gypsies and the evil of the Shadow Queen. In this tale we get the ‘hostages’ (vampires), who’re only after one thing and it’s not making out with the living!

Sedgwick’s horror is so different from the fantasy horror that is usually associated with Vampire stories these days. If anything, it looks like for once we get a writer who has done his homework researching ancient folklore instead of romanticizing it. My Swordhand is Singing is by no means Sedgwick’s best work, but it already shows what this unique writer will attempt in later books too: a focus on setting (eerily so), an interest in the past, and gothic-like retellings of old tales.

3.5 stars

Blood Red Snow White (by Marcus Sedgwick)

By his own admission, “a sense of place” is what often inspires Marcus Sedgwick’s storytelling. Combined with Sedgwick’s almost gothic flair and often Unheimlich and atmospheric way of writing, this has resulted in a couple of gems. In Revolver, for instance, that setting is the Arctic, suitably evoked in an almost claustrophobic way. The 2007 novel,  Blood Red Snow White, is quintessential Sedgwick too: a unique setting (Russia during the Russian Revolution) and a mesmerizing  style (especially in parts 1 and 2 of the book) contribute to draw in the reader like a magnet.

Blood Red Snow White is a fictionalized biography of the writer Arthur Ransome during his extended stay in Russia. However, it is not like any other biography you are likely to read: part fairytale, part spy story, part romance we do not only follow Arthur Ransome, writer, journalist and potential spy but also the fate of the Russian bear in its rebellion against the regime of the Tsar.

This story is told in three distinct but clearly connected parts. Part one tells the story of how Ransome – disillusioned by a loveless marriage – sets off for Russia, leaving behind a daughter, Tabitha, who he loves very much. At the same time, Sedgwick introduces us in the most allegorical of ways, almost mimicking traditional Russian folklore, to the key players of the Russian Revolution who manage to send the great Russian bear out of the forest and into Tsarist territory: “One was a Russian, the other a Jew, and they were firm friends, though they spent much of their time arguing. They would argue about all sorts of things, but each would listen politely to what the other had to say. First, the Jew, whose name was Lev, would argue that the people of Russia should be its true masters, and while he did, the Russian, whose name was Vladimir, would stroke his small and excellent beard. Then they would swap, and Vladimir would argue that while what Lev had to say was true, they should not forget that people needed guidance from enlightened minds. And Lev would stroke his own small and excellent beard.”

If part one reads like a classic Russian folktale, then Sedgwick switches voices in part two to introduce us to Ransome as a potential spy, recruited by his friend Lockhart, when it becomes obvious that Ransome clearly has questions about some of the actions of the Russian revolutionaries. This part almost reads like a spy thriller, with each chapter also suitably time-stamped. When Ransome decides against helping out Lockhart, because he feels the future of Russia is nobody’s business but the Russians, we get to part three in which the romance between Ransome and Evgenia, who also happened to be Trotsky’s secretary, is the main focus. Ransome returns to England, but because of his previous sympathies for the Russian Bolshevists he finds himself out of a job and fearing for Evgenia’s safety.

Parts one and two are stylistically clearly the strongest parts of this sophisticated and captivating read. This is mainly because the language is so fittingly haunting. Part one is dark and sparsely told, as any good fairy tale should be. Part two bears all the typical spy story elements:  it’s tense and threatening with an acute sense of betrayal to keep you at the edge of your seat. That is why it is a bit of pity that a novel that is so good loses much of its tension in the last third as we return with Ransome to England and then follow him into Sweden so he can go and get Evgenia.

That being said, Blood Red, Snow White is still one of the best historical novels slash biographies you will encounter. Sedgwick is one of those authors who effortlessly crosses the artificial boundaries between children’s, young adult and adult literature.  This should come as no surprise because anyone who can write this compellingly, and has such a distinctive voice deserves the largest audience possible. About Revolver, Sedgwick said: “[…] that’s what makes writing teenage fiction so exciting: you can do almost anything, unconstrained by the obsessions with style and genre that plague adult fiction.” Restrictions of any kind, though, are obviously in the eye of the literary critic (in most cases), and luckily for this reader, Sedgwick is not one to be bound by them.

The White Darkness (by Geraldine McCaughrean)

The Printz committee has a knack for choosing the more challenging books as their winners and the road less traveled often prevails. In the case of  The White Darkness that is something to be taken literally too: an exploration into the white darkness of the Antarctic is not really a common topic in YA, but it doesn’t mean it can’t produce a gem of a novel that surpasses the mere adventure novel. There’s also Marcus Sedgwick’s Revolver, really a world apart from The White Darkness, and this book too caught the eye of the Printz Committee… they sure like it cool!

In The White Darkness it is Sym’s voice that is somehow as magnetic as the pole she’s about to explore with her ‘Uncle’ Victor.  Sym is 14 and like many protagonists in YA novels she is withdrawn from her contemporaries who all just seem to be interested in boys and make-up. Sym, on the other hand, is shy and at the age of 14 she is in love with Titus Oates, the voice in her head. For the reader and for Sym this is not something out of the ordinary. Titus is just there. Although this is obviously a coping mechanism (Sym’s father has died), the voice Sym hears and is in love with also represents her lifelong passion: the Antarctic. In the beginning of the novel, Sym’s Uncle Victor – who’s actually a friend of the family – offers to take Sym and her mother on a trip to France. But at the airport Sym’s mother can’t find her passport, and Victor and Sym leave without her. What sets out to be a weekend in Paris, turns into what should become Sym’s adventure of a lieftime: a trip to the Antarctic… the one place she’s always dreamed of as it’s the place that Titus also explored so many years before. From the start the reader realizes that something is ‘off’ about Uncle Victor, but Sym still believes vehemently in the genius that is Uncle Victor… It is only throughout the entire trip that she realizes that she has been conned by him…for a very long time. Because Uncle Victor is actually looking for Symmes’ Hole and the journey into the white darkness is the journey of an obsessive madman.

There are a couple of elements that make of The White Darkness such a thrilling and challenging read. First there’s the link with Titus Oates.  Titus Oates is actually Captain Lawrence Oates, an English Antarctic explorer, who explored the South Pole at the beginning of the 20th century. He died in an act of self-sacrifice, but his body was never found. In the book his voice, springing from the vivid imagination of Sym, is a presence all in its own: guide, conscience, friend, hero…he takes on whatever form Sym needs him to be. And though it may sound contradictory, but it is the voice in Sym’s head – her true confidant and the one protector against the evil machinations of ‘Uncle’ Victor – that keeps her sane in the mad world that Uncle Victor has created for her. Second, there’s an obvious theme of abuse in the book, but contrary to most abuse stories, the abuse here is not sexual or physical (except for one crucial element, which I will not spoil!), but entirely psychological, and as pervasive as any form of abuse. The last challenging element is the narrator’s voice. As a reader you just know that something is not quite right, even though you can’t exactly put your finger on it, and as a reader, you will get frustrated with Sym for not figuring things out about what is going on with her. Also, the almost outrageous adventure (a girl taken on a trip to the Antarctic without her mother’s knowledge!) that Sym is about to experience takes a lot of willpower on the part of the reader. Once you’ve overcome those hesitations, however, you will marvel at the exquisite beauty of the white darkness of the arctic. Sym’s voice is captivating and magnetic. The arctic is intoxicating in that all-absorbing sort of way.

All props here go to McCaughrean who has created a multi-layered plot (history blending with a present-day coming-of-age story) while not sacrificing the attention to language. Her prose has the sort of astonishing beauty that the Antarctic she’s describing also has: atmospheric, desolate and treacherous: “When the White Darkness sets in, it’s such a kindness. All shadows disappear – the sky, the ground – leaving nothing but a milky, trembling nothingness. It’s a sweet light, a pleasant light, like lying under a sheet on a summer morning: the presence of light without any of the usual complications – like being able to see. Perfect ignorance was like this, I remember: a feeling of enlightenment without ever quite grasping what was going on. They call it the White Darkness.” (p. 305) Loved this!

Revolver (by Marcus Sedgwick)

The cat wanted more. This is more. “Even the dead tell stories,” is how Marcus Sedgwick’s award winning  11^th novel Revolver starts. Set in the Arctic, in 1910, this is the story of 14-year-old Sig Andersson and the Revolver. It’s also the story of a boy forced to grow up due to the extreme circumstances he finds himself in.

Imagine the coldest of cold places of the Arctic Circle. This is where the Andersson family, father Einar, step-mother Nadya, and teenagers Anna and Sig, live. One day, Sig finds his father Einar dead on the ice, frozen to death. Nadya, Anna and Sig drag Einar’s body back to the cabin, and after Nadya and Anna leave to get help, Sig is alone in this cold and desolate place. Then there’s a knock on the door that will bring back history, and will force Sig to make decisions. “A gun is not a weapon,’ Einar once said to Sig. ‘It’s an answer. It’s an answer to the questions life throws at you when there’s no one else to help.” (p.24)

Revolver is spread out over a mere 217 pages, and switches between Sig’s 1910 (Einar’s death and the menacing events in the cabin) and Einar’s 1899 (the Alaska gold rush and how Einar’s past will influence Sig’s decision). Yet, where other novels as short as this one fail in their characterization or in the development of the plot, Sedgwick manages to write a haunting, almost claustrophobic , tale of hardship, hope and making life-choices. This chilling story would put even many “grown up” thrillers to shame. Sedgwick’s prose is sparse, thrilling, tense. Revolver proves the power of language. It proves that a carefully constructed plot does not need to be dragged out. Even the most reluctant of readers will want to pick this one up: a fast, exciting and ‘easy’ read, yet with a philosophical everyman twist. Sometimes less is more.