Dragonhaven

I’ve long admired the way Robin McKinley writes animals. She treats them as fully developed characters, with their own personality, habits, and quirks, rather than as props. (That’s the way to write good animals. Period.) From the yerig, the foltsza, and, of course, Talat in The Hero and the Crown, to Friar Tuck’s dogs Sweetheart and Brown-Eyes in The Outlaws of Sherwood, McKinley’s animal characters exude intelligence and humor.

So it’s not entirely surprising that McKinley should finally write what is, more than a fantasy or science fiction, an animal story. That book is Dragonhaven (Putnam, 2007).

Teenager Jake Mendoza is native to Smokehill National Park, the only North American (and only one of three in the world) refuge for dragons. Real dragons, that is. The flying, fire-breathing, 80-foot-long stuff of St. George: Draco australiensis. That’s almost everything Smokehill’s researchers know, however, because the dragons are so elusive and mysterious – until Jake finds a mother dragon, shot by a poacher, and saves one of her tiny, squirming, butt-ugly babies. He names her Lois.

For a human to “interfere” with dragons is highly illegal, so Jake’s new baby has to be kept a secret. And since humans know virtually nothing of dragon physiology, husbandry, and so forth, every moment with Lois challenges Jake’s intuition and improvised mothering skills. But there’s no giving up. She’s imprinted on him, and he loves her – well, as parents love their children.

It may sound strange, but Dragonhaven has more in common with, say, The Yearling than with Eragon. Speculative aspects (i.e., existence of dragons) aside, the story is firmly rooted in modern-day America. You won’t find any magic here but the miraculous bond between Jake and Lois.

But Dragonhaven departs from classic animal/coming-of-age stories in a couple ways. For one thing, Jake has reason to believe dragons aren’t “just animals”; they may be as or more intelligent than humans in their own way. For another, while you may feel your eyes getting a little dewy by the end of the book, this is not a tearjerker. I hope it doesn’t spoil for you to know this book has a happy ending!

Nonetheless, I found Dragonhaven a long and somewhat difficult read – not that McKinley’s ever been a great choice for reluctant readers. When I was eleven, I initially had trouble getting through The Hero and the Crown because of its rather complex and formal narrative style. Ironically, Jake’s narration is difficult to parse for its informality. The entire book is written in his very strong and likeable voice, but – well, to put it Jake style: it’s like clauses are piled on top of clauses, and you can’t necessarily get the meaning just by glancing at the page, you actually have to read every word, which is understandable because why would McKinley put the words there if they weren’t meant to be READ, but at the same time it makes for slow going, especially when the sentences are long, and the paragraphs are long, and the sections are long, and the chapters are long, and… you get the picture. To put it bluntly: I could have done with some more white space on those pages.

All in all, I was glad to read another truly original story by McKinley. Her fairy and folk tale interpretations are very fine, but in an age when every tale in the Brothers Grimm seems to be getting a makeover, I question whether anyone’s, like, making stuff up anymore. (I know that’s not true. But surely you’ve noticed this trend?) By grounding Dragonhaven in our own world, McKinley’s speculation is all the more potent. You’ll be fervently wishing there was a Smokehill, somewhere in the crags and plateaus of the American West, waiting for you to jump in your car and drive there, hoping for a glimpse of dragons flying in the distance.