Watched (2011), by Cindy Hogan

Another free YA book seemingly worth reading… but ultimately, unfortunately, somewhat disappointing. While part of a series (again: why do authors keep doing this?), it has a cohesive plot that ends when the book ends. So far so good. And it is not yet another teen-with-paranormal-abilities-saves-herself-and-the-world-while-falling-in-love-with-demon novel. Another point in its favour. So what is it about?

Fundamentally, naïve, bullied, insecure Christy earns a scholarship to a political educational field-trip to Washington, where she hopes she will be able to reinvent herself in a more powerful, attractive form. This she manages to do, but only with the help of the more socially and sartorially astute Marybeth. The transformation is sufficiently successful to garner Christy the amorous attention of two (2!) of the boys in her particular cohort. This subplot ultimately becomes almost annoying, as does the repeated references to Christy’s insecurities.

The more interesting—and more central—plot involves Christy and her friends witnessing the execution of the attaché of a State Senator. They manage to notify the FBI, who become involved in both protecting the students and attempting to apprehend the culprits. That the perpetrators of the murder are Middle Eastern terrorists feeds too strongly off of and into American post-9/11 fears, but the crime is fortunately not highlighted as a cultural conflict. The story is an effective balance of teenagers trying to have a good time in their nation’s capitol and young adults in a frightening and indeed life-threatening situation.

After a climactic scene with the FBI, a safe house, and a number of gunshots, Christy’s life returns almost to normal: she has chosen one of the two boys (the more compassionate, honorable Rick over the more intriguing but dangerous Alex), and she flies home to Montana… This would be a fitting ending, with a  small nudge toward a knowledge of Christy and Rick’s future. I really wanted to read the sequel, actually, as the first presented closure yet left the possibilities for future narratives of interest.

I therefore went out and found Protected (2012), and began to read. Then I stopped. Within the first chapter, the rich and overly self-confident Alex relocates himself to Christy’s school, and she is thrown back into the teen angst of being attracted to two boys. But she had made her (wise) decision! The last thing I wanted to read was more of the insecurities and trauma associated with Christy’s immaturity in lieu of a focus on the political intrigue that underlies the first novel in the series. Still, Watched stands alone as an interesting YA novel, in a “TV-drama” sort of way, not requiring a sequel at all…

Cape Town (2012), by Brenda Hammond

This review was first published in Resource Links Magazine, “Canada’s national journal devoted to the review and evaluation of Canadian English and French resources for children and young adults.” It appears in volume 18.1

Cape Town

The mother of my best friend growing up was a ballet dancer in South Africa before immigrating to Canada. The stories she told came back to life as I read Brenda Hammond’s Cape Town, so similar are the feelings the protagonist Renee has towards her art. But while dancing is Renee’s raison d’être, it is not the central theme of the novel, which spans the year between February 1989 and February 1990: a time when all nations’ eyes were on South African politics and the issue of apartheid. In September 1989, F.W. de Klerk was voted into power; on 11 February 1990, Nelson Mandela was finally released from 27 years in prison; on 8 June 1990, the state of emergency was lifted; between 1990 and 1993, de Klerk’s government systematically ended over 40 years of legislated apartheid. The hope that Renee and her boyfriend Andrew feel in the new Prime Minister’s commitment “to creating a new South African free of oppression and discrimination” (323) resonates strongly at the conclusion of their story. We have lived through the struggle, seen through Renee’s naïve Afrikaans eyes. So carefully depicted is the balance between political struggle and Renee’s own internal struggles that even readers who did not live through that historical moment will understand both the horrors and the hope that surged through South Africa in the early 1990s.
Renee Pretorius is the ideal character to explore the issue of apartheid from a psychologically safe perspective, rendering the horrors of apartheid moderately accessible to a young adult audience. Renee is a young Afrikaans girl, from a traditional rural family, recently arrived in Cape Town to begin her studies at the School of Dance at the University of Cape Town. Her conservative religious and social attitudes sit uncomfortably with her innate humanism, and she soon finds herself not only communicating with, but befriending a Coloured student as well as falling in love with a young political activist of British descent. Renee and Andrew’s relationship is adeptly handled: their conflicts are based on a real social chasm, and the reader is never quite sure whether their feelings for one another will be enough to overcome the vast differences in their cultural backgrounds. Underlying all of her experiences and expressions of discomfort, though, are Renee’s strong feelings of social justice and philia, most powerfully expressed in her unquestioning love of her family’s Black servant, Kokodais.
While the dilemma Hammond creates for her characters is alleviated in the final pages, the providential political moment comes after Renee has made her decision regarding her path in life. We are thus left with both a happy ending and a firm belief that Renee has developed a strong social and political consciousness: she knows who she is, and who she wants to become.

The Secret of Willow Castle (1966), by Lyn Cook

Not long ago, I was out in Ontario celebrating the 100^th anniversary of the War of 1812, staying in Brant County, one-time home to Sara Jeannette Duncan, E. Pauline Johnson, Adelaide Hoodless, and other notable early Canadian women. Although Brantford was fascinating, I was rather sad that it lies so far from Westport, up near Kingston, where author Lyn Cook still lives. I have spoken to Lyn Cook a number of times by telephone; she is a delightful woman: sharp, engaging, knowledgeable, and with a sense of humour that makes me really want to meet her in person. But alas, on this last trip, it was not to be. The next best thing, though, was visiting the… bookstore? library? home? of Mr. Nelson Ball, who has been slowly selling off his Canadiana library over the years, and who had a store of Lyn Cook first editions. Having already depleted my book budget, I could only choose one, so I purchased The Secret of Willow Castle, the favourite childhood book of Lisa Wood, my host in Brantford. She loved this book so much, she tells me, that she forced her parents to take her to Napanee, to see where it takes place. Doubtless Napanee has changed since 1834, but one always hopes to find something of the story still lingering…

For The Secret of Willow Castle is based on real people: Henrietta MacPherson and her family existed; she appears on both the 1861 and 1871 Canadian census records, still living with her parents. A comment in the end matter of the book tells us that “in the town of Napanee, Ontario, Henrietta’s home still stands now, as it did in 1834, on the river bank looking towards the falls. The mills are gone but a plaque in a hillside park marks their place, and the willows still trail their branches in the quiet waters of the pond.” The house is in fact now the Napanee town museum, with its own website. So too is there ample historical evidence of Henrietta’s cousin John Alex, who weaves his way in and out of her life, an inspiration to her growing sense of honour and responsibility. John Alex is in fact John Alexander MacDonald, destined to be the first Prime Minister of Canada. There are sufficient indications of his growing political acumen, and discussion of his future should he choose to enter politics, but never is he firmly identified. The unaware reader does not stumble over the politics in the story, which are natural comments made by the adults, not ideologies masking as narrative. Politics are only interesting to Henrietta because she is a curious child who wants to know what the adults around her are discussing. The reader, like Henrietta, learns just enough to stay interested: “’Tis not usual for young ladies of eleven to be interested in politics, childie, but if you want to know, I’ll tell you” (31), her father tells her, and includes her in his discussion with John Alex about William MacKenzie’s leadership, couching his discussion in terms that young Henrietta will understand.

Despite its extensive and solid connection with Canada’s real history, I read The Secret of Willow Castle with no introduction other than that a friend had liked it. I knew nothing of the history of Napanee, or its connection to John A. MacDonald or Canadian history as a whole. To me, The Secret of Willow Castle was an entrancing story of a young girl being raised by an affluent and morally honourable family in the early 1830s. The tone of the novel reminded me of Louisa May Alcott’s Eight Cousins (1875), undoubtedly my favourite book as a girl, as the sense of a young girl needing to learn her place in the world, not only as a woman but as a member of an entitled family, resonates in both.

The story begins with young Henrietta MacPherson—having recently celebrated her 11^th birthday—awaiting the arrival of her favourite cousin, John Alex. John Alex brings her a present, but in her excitement, she demands that she receive it immediately. The moral current of the novel is set here, for her father allows her to open the present, but not to actually use it until she learns to behave in a more controlled manner. John Alex agrees, noting that she will learn such control as she grows older. While Henrietta is not—and does not become—a meek, obedient child, such as this scene might suggest both the author and the parents would like, she does learn both control and responsibility through the course of the story. Allowed to accompany her father to the gristmill they own, she discovers a mysterious new friend, Sarah, who has created a “secret castle” in a willow tree by the river. The girls become fast friends, hiding notes in the tree when they cannot meet, but contriving to meet whenever they can. The friendship between the girls is the underlying thread that weaves through the other events in Henrietta’s story: being barred from a skating party; attending a fair; meeting the neighbour’s slave, Jim, and questioning the morality of his situation; helping to settle a long-standing feud with another family; visiting the local wise woman for medical aid; being surprised with a trip on a river schooner; and participating in the day-to-day life of young girls in the mid 1800s. The girls’ lives are thrown into turmoil, though, when Sarah, an orphan servant to a neighbour, is at risk of being sent away to a family fallen on hard times. Just as the crisis reaches its climax, Henrietta falls dangerously ill.  Narrative expectation tells us that all must work out in the end, and the reader can almost—but not quite—see the path of Sarah and Henrietta’s story before it unfolds. There is no overarching dramatic tension in the story—despite a few tense scenes—but drama and excitement are not the point of The Secret of Willow Castle. This novel has significantly more substance than the faster-paced sensationalist story often written for youth today. The Secret of Willow Castle is both an extremely well researched and seemingly faithful representation of early Canadian life, and a heart-warming portrayal of a young girl’s growth into a strong, liberal-minded young woman to whom friendship and family remain paramount.

Dragons in the Waters (1976), by Madeleine L’Engle

Another win for Madeleine L’Engle, the mystery writer. Dragons in the Waters, like The Arm of the Starfish (1965), presents a well-structured, interesting mystery set in exotic climes, this time aboard a steam cruiser headed from America to Venezuela.  Again, Poly O’Keefe, Calvin and Meg’s oldest daughter, is a central character, this time joined by her two-year-younger brother Charles, whose dreams are sometimes visions. This tendency to the paranormal is artfully introduced in The Arm of the Starfish, when Charles’s seemingly irrational tears are noted as foreshadowing crisis: in that case, the death of a friend. In Dragons in the Waters, his dreams help steer the children’s understanding of the complex relationships between the adults aboard the ship, and ultimately the informal investigation of the murder of one of them. The plot is tight and leaves no loose ends; the characterization is up to L’Engle’s usual high standards.

One interesting aspect of Dragons in the Waters (that is also present in a significant degree in A Swiftly Tilting Planet (1978), which shares other characteristics) is the exploration of an indigenous culture, in this case the fictional Quiztano tribe.  As in A Swiftly Tilting Planet, L’Engle does not tackle the lived experiences of a real indigenous tribe, but nonetheless does present a sympathetic relationship between the more forward-thinking Americans (i.e.: the Murry-O’Keefe family and their friends) and historically disadvantaged cultures. I would love to see what Native American reviewer Debbie Reese thinks of these texts and L’Engle’s representation of indigenous cultures… From my privileged, very White perspective, I think she has done a good job. Her Quiztanoes are healers.  While the ancestor of the children’s friend Simon is responsible for helping the Quiztanoes to build “Caring Houses” (explicitly different from hospitals), which seems like yet another “White-man-teaches-the-Native-a-better-way” trope, L’Engle is careful to have Quentin Phair—the ancestor—be a flawed individual, with some positive ideals. The balance is there in his life as well as his accomplishments; all he brings to the Quiztanoes is a sense of how to strengthen their own culture and way of living so that seven generations later it can still exist in a world dominated by American and European powers. Ultimately, their culture is shown to provide for Simon what American society no longer can, which is a very powerful commentary on what really matters in life.

The Arm of the Starfish (1965), by Madeleine L’Engle

Well, I am glad I listened to my friend’s sincere request that I read The Arm of the Starfish (1965) and Dragons in the Waters (1976) before I abandon Madeleine L’Engle… and I find it extremely interesting that The Arm of the Starfish was written between A Wrinkle in Time (1962) and A Wind in the Door (1973), in fact, only three years (so, for an author, fairly immediately) after A Wrinkle in Time. The story centres on young Adam Eddington, who has been sent to Europe to work with Dr. O’Keefe (Calvin, that is). There, he is caught up in corporate intrigues and torn between the alluring young Kali and Calvin and Meg’s eldest daughter, Poly.

The Arm of the Starfish is not science fiction, nor is it the questionable fantasy that L’Engle engaged in later. It is, in fact, pure espionage, delivered successfully to a younger reading audience. My one disappointment was young Adam’s inability to discern the “good guys” from the “bad guys.” Granted he is only 16, and granted he is enticed by a beautiful young socialite, but with his years of association with “Old Doc” Didymus, you think that he’d have developed a sufficient degree of loyalty not to be immediately and disastrously swayed by the first pretty face that came along. He is presented as a relatively street-smart New York youth, but this characterization is not delivered in his actions or attitudes. L’Engle should have cast him as only naïve, and there would have been less of a problem. Apart from this discrepancy, though, the novel is very successful.

Taken as a pure, unadulterated mystery, Arm of the Starfish satisfies. It has the requisite number of players—leaders and followers—and a premise that was valid not only in 1965, but is still today: corporate power is unassailable, often even for governmental agencies. Adam gets caught in the middle of a corporate attempt to steal scientific research, and in the end learns a number of valuable lessons about what really matters in life. L’Engle manages to depart from her usual strong Christian stance to include both admirable and corrupt church officials and a very positively presented atheist as part of her cast. That the atheist dies is perhaps problematic, unless you believe the underlying theological position of the novel, which is far more humanist than others of her texts. Overall, I would highly recommend The Arm of the Starfish to young readers wanting an exciting and yet ideologically supportive text. It is unlike anything by L’Engle I have yet read.

The Shadow Road (2010), by K. V. Johansen: Revisited

The first three times I finished The Shadow Road, I immediately wanted another text, a sequel, so that I could continue to dwell in K.V. Johansen’s mesmerizing world.  This time, however, I read the series more critically, thinking more deeply about the narrative structure of the series, rather than merely revelling in the enjoyment of the story as expressed in each individual text. In the end, The Shadow Road leaves us in a place that does not actually require further narrative, however much we might want it.  The denouement presents us with effective closure and yet leaves the possibility—should the author so desire—of further stories: notably not further illumination of the questions that have run through the series to date, the secrets of the Yehillon, as these mysteries are solved.

Nethin’s experiences in The Shadow Road are presented as a retrospective report of dubious authenticity. Rather like the frame narrative of Margaret Atwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale (1985), the two short descriptive paragraphs that frame Nethin’s story inform us that years—if not decades or centuries—have passed between the action of the novel and the moment of our reading. The scope for further tales within this period is vast and encouraging, and we can only hope that Johansen sees fit to populate those years with recorded narrative. Apparently she has plans for a fifth book, temporally placed between Nightwalker and Treason in Eswy, but Orca Publishers is not yet convinced. I suggest that anyone reading this review, who appreciates The Warlocks of Talverdin even a quarter as much as I do, write to Orca Publishers (orca@orcabook.com, attention Sarah Harvey, Orca Young Readers, Juvenile & Teen Fiction Editor) and let them know how much we want to see that fifth—and sixth, and seventh—installment.

Nightwalker (2007), by K. V. Johansen

I was introduced to the Warlocks of Talverdin when I was sent The Shadow Road (2010), fourth in the series, to review for Resource Links magazine. I was so impressed by that novel— not even having read the first three—that I immediately bought the series. I have since read all four three times, and thus was perhaps lying to myself when I told myself that I had to reread them all to review them for this blog.

Nightwalker

Rereading Nightwalker, I was once again impressed by K. V. Johansen’s narrative abilities.  Certainly, she has created a world that is internally consistent, as all good fantasy worlds must be; more than that, though, she has created a unique world that harks back to fantasy classics such as Lord of the Rings only in that narrative ability, not in content, nor in characterization.

At first, Nightwalker seems a traditional medieval-style fantasy, with the young orphan Maurey (although we do not initially know his name, as the text is presented in the first person) caught as less than a servant at the royal university in Dunmorra. Slowly, artfully revealed, we learn his tale: betrayed by the corrupt and power-hungry chancellor and his brother when Maurey’s self-appointed guardian died, his tuition and legacy were stolen, and he was reduced to the nothingness we find him in. His economic ostracization is compounded by his physical appearance: he is neither fair nor swarthy, as most humans, but white skinned with black hair and eyes: physical characteristics of the race of Talverdin, the “warlocks” from whom the land was wrested by force centuries earlier.  This political dynamic is one of the primary powers of Johansen’s series, for her world both is and is not our own.

The geography of Johansen’s fantasy world resembles Europe and England far too closely to be accidental. Eswiland is England, invaded by the fair-haired Northerners long since; the Ronish Empire is the Iberian peninsula, still peopled by darker-skinned inhabitants; Berbarany is North Africa… But the comparison is never explicit, and the cultures only loosely parallelled; nonetheless, racial and cultural prejudices motivate many of the characters in Johansen’s world, as in ours. In the initial invasion, the Talverdin people were overcome and pushed west, beyond the mountains, where they now live protected by spells to prevent humans from entering what are left of their lands. An emissary of peace just before Maurey’s birth solidified the political antagonism, when the Queen of Dumorra, married as a child to a much older King, abandoned her station to become the lover of the Talverdin prince. The racial antagonisms, the political intrigues, the balance between personal desire and royal obligation are all handled extremely deftly: never so much as when Annot abandons her birthright to defend Maurey against the blatant and deadly prejudices of her relatives, or when Maurey, realizing his own position within the greater political mechanism, must choose between his noble obligation and the life of a new friend. Johansen does not succumb to the popular tendency to create a happy ending where expediency demands a different choice. That the novel ends well does not feel like authorial manipulation so much as the natural result of strong characters making the right personal and political choices.  In such writing lies the greatness that we remember of Aragorn, of Faramir (in the book, not the movie!), of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth… Some novels inspire the reader to aspire to ethical nobility: Nightwalker is one of these.

The Shadow Road (2010), by K. V. Johansen

This review was first published in Resource Links Magazine, Canada’s national journal devoted to the review and evaluation of Canadian English and French resources for children and young adults. It appears in volume 15.4

The Shadow Road

I feel like an ancient explorer: I have discovered a new land, and it is mine.  This world was created by K.V. Johansen in the first book of her Warlocks of Talverdin series, Nightwalker (Orca, 2007). The Shadow Road is the fourth in the series, and thus seems a little confusing at first, but the author manages to integrate sufficient reference to past events to help the new reader learn her world, without obviously re-telling the plot of previous books.  In The Shadow Road, we are plunged into mystery in the opening pages, wherein young Nethin is trapped inside a coffin, his magical powers impotent.  It is slowly and artfully revealed that Nethin is the son of Lord Romner and Lady Fuallia, minor protagonists of earlier tales, and a powerful warlock in his own right… usually.  His powers overcome by potions, his enemies use him to open a gateway onto the mythical “shadow road” that connects their world with others.  The adventures that ensue are complex and carefully constructed; Johansen is adept at presenting intricate political and social intrigue, supported by strong characterization.  On her website, she admits having been influenced by Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings—what author of high fantasy since the 1950s was not?—but the influence lies more in Johansen’s narrative craft than in any plot or character similarities.  She has created a fascinating, original fantasy world, one which readers will want to enter in to dwell.  As with Middle Earth, we imagine the shadowy spaces outside of the narrative, peopled by characters we have yet to meet, partaking of incidents that have yet to happen, and we fervently hope that K. V. Johansen will continue to tell their tales for years to come.