Posts on fantasy

Not Your Ordinary Princesses

Lisa — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 16:37:24 -0700

So, I lied. The weather was so beautiful this past weekend, I was able to spend another afternoon on the beach, reading and writing.

This time, my book was Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, or, The Search for a Suitable Princess, by Laurel Snyder. In this semi-fantasy, a milkmaid named Lucy leaves her tiny kingdom of Thistle, hiking into the Scratchy Mountains in search of her absent mother, with only a cow for company. But her best friend Wynston, who's prince of Thistle and is not interested in meeting princesses to marry, isn't far behind. Separately and together, Lucy and Wynston have a number of adventures until everything, as they say, comes out in the wash.

The book is light-hearted, with a timeless feel. There's plenty of humor and tension, but even the darkest moments are not too dark for most young children. It's a story that would appeal to boys as well as girls. I'll be suggesting Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains to families who want a nighttime read-aloud for ages 6 to 10ish.

Catch fun interviews with Laurel Snyder at Big A little a and The Longstockings.

What I liked most about Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, actually, was how much it reminded me of The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye. It was one of my favorite books when I was seven years old and, in fact, helped inspire me to be a writer (though I have never, as Kaye claims to have done, written a book in one sitting, alas). The Ordinary Princess is another light-hearted, timeless story, and it turns fairy tale tropes delightfully on their heads.

In general, I'm more of an anti-princess person. The Disney Princess marketing craze makes me barf in seven shades of pink. As a dad in the library commented to me, he doesn't mind his two-year-old daughter playing princess and requesting princess stories, it's the way princesses have become the face of consumerism.

Disney and traditional fairy tales aside, though, I think the most interesting princess stories are anti-princess stories—the stories where the princesses don't do what they're told and run off and get into lots of trouble. There are probably some good princess stories that deal with diplomacy and whatnot, but I—and probably most kids—would rather have magic and misbehavior.

Here are my favorite anti-princess princesses:

Amy in The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye
At Princess Amethyst's christening, an ornery fairy declares she will be ordinary. Amy grows up freckled, messy, and adventurous and, rather than pretend to be something she isn't for another stuffy prince, she runs away to begin a new life as kitchen help in the castle of a neighboring kingdom. Sweet, romantic, and gently humorous, this gem holds up read after read. Suggested for second grade and up.
Eilonwy in the Prydain Chronicles, by Lloyd Alexander
Eilonwy is a princess of the lost House of Llyr, and when we first meet her she's cooped up in the fortress of an evil enchantress. Feisty and bold, yet also sensitive and passionate, Eilonwy is never content to sit idly when there are quests to be gone on or battles to be fought. Like Princess Amy, she also moonlights as a scullery maid. Unlike Amy, she carries a huge sword, is a sorceress in training, and kicks serious a$$. Suggested for fourth grade and up.
Aerin in The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley
Speaking of kicking a$$, how about the chip-on-her-shoulder princess who's sick of being the royal family's magical dud and decides to become a dragon-slayer? Aerin has got to be one of the most infuriatingly bullheaded characters in literature, to the point of doing a lot of really stupid, dangerous things—and you can't help but love her for it. I love this book more every time I read it. Suggested for seventh grade and up.
Anidori in The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale
After her journey to marry the prince of a neighboring kingdom goes horribly awry, Ani's left with nothing—no possessions, no entourage, not even her name. Don't call her powerless, though. Playing the part of a lowly goose girl, Ani demonstrates true strength as she works to reveal the treachery wrought against both kingdoms. Goose Girl has several fun parallels to The Ordinary Princess, actually, but I don't want to spoil them. Suggested for sixth grade and up.

It occurred to me while writing this how many princess stories ultimately revolve around marriage. A princess doesn't want to marry so-and-so, so she runs away. Or a princess meets her true love, but he's not a prince... or maybe he's a prince in disguise? Etc. So very heteronormative, that royal obsession with heirs. Is there a YA princess book out there in which the princess falls for another princess? If not, it's dying to be written.

Who are your favorite storybook princesses?

I'd Add Dr. Seuss to the List of Exceptions.

Lisa — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 13:36:01 -0700

The unseen title tag to this XKCD comic reads, "Except for anything by Lewis Carroll or Tolkien, you get five made-up words per story. I'm looking at you, Anathem."

Thanks to Joe for sharing!

Flora's Dare

Lisa — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 08:29:48 -0700

Unquestionably, the 2008 book I anticipated most was Flora's Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room), by Ysabeau S. Wilce (Harcourt, 2008). Or Flora's Dare, for short.

Its predecessor, Flora Segunda, was one of my favorite books of 2007. The twisting and turning plot, the unique yet distinctly American fantasy world, the original fantasy elements, the well-rounded characters, and dry humor made it a pleasure from beginning to end. Flora's Dare meets the high standard set by the first volume.

Three months after the events of Flora Segunda, the nation of Califa is facing great unrest, both political and in the form of earthquakes that threaten to destroy all. When Flora learns the earthquakes may be caused by the Loliga, a powerful elemental trapped in the form of a squid underneath the city, she knows she must seek the aid of Califa's most powerful adept, Lord Axacaya, though her parents insist he is not to be trusted. Meanwhile, Flora's perfect older sister has deserted the army and her best friend Udo has gone silly over a goth girl and the prospect of making his fortune bounty hunting. As always, Flora asks herself: what would her idol, the great magickal ranger Nini Mo, do?

In addition to the things I loved about Flora Segunda, these were some things that stuck out to me while reading Flora's Dare:

Flora is no Mary Sue. When she tries a spell beyond her ability, she gets burned (sometimes literally). Things never go right the first time—or, often, the second or third time. It's sometimes frustrating to read, because you want to see Flora succeed. But it's great because at each failure, Flora tries again; like a good ranger, she never gives up.
Wilce keeps the surprises coming, but each reveal gives you the sense of, "Ahhh! I see!" rather than "Where did that come from?"
It's clear by the end that there's at least one more Flora book coming, but you don't feel that way while reading it. In other words, this is not a Book Two that feels like nothing more than a build-up to Book Three. (Meanwhile, I think readers could read Flora's Dare without having read Flora Segunda first, but so much world-building takes place in the first book, I don't think you'd want to.)
There is what I believe to be a thinly veiled reference to This Is Spinal Tap on page 70.

Flora's Dare is darker than Flora Segunda. There's more violence and death, and there are some tense moments when sexual assault is threatened (but never carried out). Still, I don't think it's anything that anyone but gentle readers couldn't handle. I highly recommend it for readers interested in adventure and/or fantasy and/or just something a little different, junior high age through adult.

And now, of course, I can't wait for volume three.

(Don't miss this fun interview with Ysabeau Wilce, conducted by Little Willow last year!)

Books Boys Like: Ghost Letters

Lisa — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 15:06:39 -0700

Bestsellers aside, one of the most popular middle grade series at my library is Blue Balliett’s trilogy consisting of Chasing Vermeer, The Wright 3, and, most recently, The Calder Game. I hesitate to call it a mystery series, for the reasons J. L. Bell and friends state, though it does share some of the appeal of mysteries—i.e., mysterious things happen. They’ve also got an appealing intellectual slant, with their focus on great works of art; reading them, you feel like you’re painlessly learning something really cool. And while I’m not a huge fan myself, there’s no denying: the books are darn popular with the kids.

So, when they’ve gobbled those up and are looking for more, hand them Ghost Letters, by Stephen Alter (Bloomsbury, 2008).

Seventh grader Gil Mendelson-Finch has just been expelled from McCauley Prep and sent to live with his poet grandfather, Prescott, in the ancestral Finch home. Initially prepared to be bored out of his skull, Gil learns that Hornswoggle Bay (somewhere in New England) is anything but dull.

As a joke, Gil writes a message, puts it in the odd, blue bottle that washes up on shore, and throws it back into the ocean—only to have it return the next day with a letter from a boy named Sikander, who lived in the Indian province of Ajeebgarh in 1896! And that’s just the first in a series of strange occurrences. There’s also a putrid-smelling skeleton’s hand Gil and his new friend Nargis find in an abandoned mailbox, a ghostly postman who walks the town, and a genie who’s been sleeping in an envelope for more than a century!

Every odd event brings Gil and Nargis closer to understanding the connection between Hornswoggle Bay and Ajeebgarh—a connection nearly 200 years old and rooted in the tragedy of a lost love letter. Meanwhile, Gil receives increasingly panicked letters from Sikander, whose province will soon be attacked by the British Army—all because of a postage stamp!

If you’re looking for a linear plot, you won’t find it here. The omniscient narrator jumps between perspectives and time periods on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Still, it’s a fun ride. Alter works many mail-related tropes—dogs who chase mailmen, carrier pigeons, secret wartime codes—into the plot (though a chain letter disappointingly went nowhere). There’s also a recurring poetry motif that, while not essential to the plot, does not feel out of place either.

Readers (e.g., I) may be disappointed that there is no such place as Ajeebgarh, nor was there ever a Postage Stamp War in India, but they will catch the vibe of British Colonialism and perhaps read into real-life postage stamp wars in other parts of the world throughout history. My other disappointment was the rather Deus Ex Machina ending—but kids who have enjoyed Blue Balliett’s books, with their similarly fantastical and serendipitous conclusions, will probably not be bothered.

All in all, an entertaining read for grades 4 and up.

Skin Hunger

Lisa — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 16:30:38 -0800

As of today, I’m in the unusual (for me) position of actually having read all the contenders for the National Book Award’s Literature for Young People category. I enjoyed all the nominees but thought Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian was particularly deserving, so la-di-da. It wasn’t until this week, however, that I got around to reading Skin Hunger, by Kathleen Duey (Atheneum, 2007).

When I was a kid, I loved Ursula LeGuin’s The Tombs of Atuan. I eventually read other Earthsea books, but The Tombs of Atuan was the volume I kept plucking from the library shelf. In it, a little girl named Tenar is identified as the reborn high priestess to the Nameless Ones. She’s wrenched from her family and renamed Arha (“the eaten one”), and begins her isolated training. She spends much of her time in the labyrinth of the Tombs, which is where she eventually encounters the wizard Ged of A Wizard of Earthsea. I think what I loved most about the story was its bleakness: the stone, the darkness, the solitude. The horror of it gripped me in some masochistically pleasant way.

Well, in Skin Hunger, Duey takes bleakness to an even higher (lower?) level. It’s the first book of a series called A Resurrection of Magic, and, boy howdy, am I looking forward to the books that follow; please tell me there’s a happy ending somewhere?

In short, alternating chapters, Skin Hunger follows two main characters, in what turns out to be different times: a farm girl named Sadima and a lord’s son named Hahp. In Sadima’s time, the nearest thing to magic is the charlatan “magicians” peddling their snake oil in the marketplace. Every age is ruled by kings or by wizards, and now it’s an age of kings; magic is forbidden.

No one believes in Sadima’s ability to communicate with animals until a mysterious young man appears on her farm and invites her to join him in the far away city of Limòri. There, he and another young man named Somiss are trying to unlock the secrets of magic to bring health, wisdom, and peace to the land. That’s what Franklin tells Sadima, anyway. When she arrives in Limòri and meets chilling and single-minded Somiss, however, she begins to question whether the means outweigh the outcome.

Then there’s Hahp, scorned second son of a wealthy lord, sent to the wizarding academy in Limòri. Before you start envisioning jolly banquets and Quidditch matches, know this: the Academy is no Hogwarts. From Hahp’s arrival, he and his classmates are thrown into a dark, labyrinthine world where days and nights are meaningless (reminiscent of the Tombs of Atuan, actually), and literal starvation is the motivating factor to learn the seemingly impossible tasks the wizards set them. One of the ten boys will graduate to become a wizard – or none at all. And the boys are forbidden to help each other. Despair is always just around the corner.

While at first I found the very brief (three to seven pages) chapters maddening, the shift in point of view jolting, Duey ultimately pulls it off. The two storylines eventually converge, the events and themes of Hahp’s and Sadima’s stories informing the other’s as the tension rises. After a somewhat slow first fifty pages, Skin Hunger turned into a page-turner I could barely put down.

At the book’s close, Hahp’s story pauses on a note of hope and anticipation, Sadima’s on chilling inevitability. Meanwhile, many questions remain unanswered. I’d like to know what it is about Hahp that gives him his wizarding aptitude, and what Sadima’s special ability will amount to. And, of course, I can’t wait for a ray of sunshine. It’s going to be a difficult wait for Book Two.

At this point, I don’t think I have much to add to the conversation about the other NBA nominees, but I'd like to link to some good blog reviews found elsewhere. Read them and consider my opinion “ditto.”

Also, check out Cynsations' interview with Kathleen Duey about Skin Hunger!

Dragonhaven

Lisa — Thu, 29 Nov 2007 17:29:38 -0800

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.

Flora Segunda

Lisa — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 11:56:07 -0800

As I commented on Wizards Wireless, I’m terrible at predicting Newbery and Caldecott winners. First, for as many books as I read, there are countless that slip past me. Second, the books I’ve enjoyed most that past few years haven’t seemed to attract those shiny gold and silver stickers. Third, because I wait to read books until they’ve arrived at the library, I’m always lagging a bit in my reading of new books.

But since the end of the year is galumphing toward me all too fast, I figure I may as well start rounding up some of my personal favorites now. Not books I think are destined to win shiny stickers, necessarily, but ones I got a huge kick out of, just the same. Here’s the first:

Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), A House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and A Red Dog
By Ysabeau Wilce (Harcourt, 2007)

Though members of House Fyrdraaca always go into the military, Flora, approaching her fourteenth birthday, has no desire to follow in her General mamma’s footsteps. Instead she dreams of being a Ranger like her hero, the mythical Nini Mo, focusing less on fight and might than on magick, cunning, and survival skills. But when Flora uses her magickal essence to help Valefor, the banished Fyrdraaca Butler, regain his former power, she finds herself in trouble way over her head. And that’s only the beginning!

Once I got through the somewhat overwhelming prologue and first chapter (lots of names thrown around), I was utterly enchanted by this unique fantasy: its haunting magical setting, its unexpected twists and turns, its odd combination of the familiar and alien, the modern and ancient. It also had many bits that made me laugh out loud. For example, in one of my favorite scenes, a disguised Flora enters a bar and gruffly demands a beer, only to discover it’s actually an ice cream parlor.

What I liked best, however, was its distinctly American flavor. This is not done-over Arthurian or Scandinavian folklore. The story takes place in a country called Califa, in what seems to be an alternative San Francisco Bay Area. Califa has a rather strained relationship with Huitzil, its neighbor to the south – a nation ruled by, we are to believe, blood-thirsty Aztec-esque warriors. Wilce draws on Aztec and Native imagery in presenting their different style of magick, but doesn’t chain herself to their mythology. In Summerland, Michael Chabon aimed to write an American fantasy, drawing on various American legends, and the result was a ponderous, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink volume. In contrast, in Flora Segunda, Wilce has created a fresh setting, characters, and story that ultimately owe allegiance to, it would seem, no one.

I recommend Flora Segunda for readers grade 6 and up. Fans will eagerly await the second volume, Flora Redux, on its way in August 2008. Finally, in the interest of full disclosure: I met Wilce at the First Annual Kitlitosphere Conference, where she graciously accepted my effusive, yet stuttering, praise.

Some Online Interviews with Ysabeau Wilce:

BookPage - "It's easier sometimes to use real details than to make things up—I know an awful lot about 19th-century military culture, and rather than let all that useless knowledge go to waste, I figured I'd recycle it."

Cynsations - "...I wanted to try to capture the feeling that you have when you are kid and everything seems so super important, and yet the adults around you are oblivious to this. When you are a kid, everything can feel so super-charged, and yet as adults we forget this and figure that nothing in a kid's life can possibly be that important."