FaceSpace (2013), by Adrian Chamberlain

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 18.3.

FaceSpace

Concerned that my opinion of Adrian Chamberlain’s Facespace was biased by my age and gender, I gave the novel to my daughter’s grade 8 classmate—let’s call him Lucas—to read. Lucas, a remarkably articulate critical thinker for a twelve year old, not only validated my position, but shared his own opinions regarding the actions of the novel’s protagonist, Danny.
I begin by not liking stories that are based on dishonesty, unless they are handled extremely well and to good purpose. While Chamberlain’s intent is obviously not only valid but important—to teach readers the necessity for honesty and integrity in their social media interactions—I felt that the delivery was lacking to such an extent that young readers would not engage with the message. To begin with, there is no legal reason, as far as I know, for not calling “FaceSpace” either MySpace or Facebook, which it is obviously based on. Young readers like veracity in their novels; they like to see what they know to be real, not a fictional representation of something as central to their lives as social media sites, when there is no reason to avoid that verisimilitude. And—as Lucas points out—such social media sites, regardless of what one titles them—are international. Danny’s British “friend” James would have had numerous British FaceSpace friends, had he been real, and no high school student would miss that oversight… but that is getting into the plot, which I have not explained.
The premise is that young Danny is unpopular, and longs—as many young teens do—to belong. He invents a British “friend” on his social media site, one who is as popular as he wants to be himself. His experiment is a success, until he is discovered. There is a subplot in which Danny takes images of his popular best friend and alters them in Photoshop into unattractive and even grotesque images, reposting them anonymously. His friend is extremely upset, but Danny never owns up to his authorship of the images, which is a problem, as this situation is never resolved. The most significant obstacle to enjoyment of this novel—for me—lay in the character of Danny, who is implausibly naïve and more, well, stupid, than readers would believe themselves or any of their friends to be. Lucas agreed, noting that Danny “seemed to jump into trouble almost willingly,” and that his actions “seemed like a sequence of convenient and unconnected events rather than a narrative flow” (his words: honestly). Even as part of the Orca Current series, which is designed to have an easier reading level, I feel that FaceSpace fails to engage: it feels far too much like a character like Danny would not exist, and if he did, we would have little sympathy for him.

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…

Truths I Learned from Sam (2013), by Kristin Butcher

Having really enjoyed Kristin Butchers Return to Bone Tree Hill (2009), I was excited to receive Truths I Learned from Sam to review. It was with a bit of trepidation that I began, though, having read the back cover, which informed me that “[i]n a story story about relationships [good] and about how bad things happen to good people [a bit disconcerting], Dani discovers that sometimes the only villain is life itself [ouch].” I wasn’t sure I was ready for another emotional rollercoaster of YA angst. I need not have been worried: my concerns were misplaced, where my excited expectations certainly were not.

Butcher’s depiction of life in rural BC shows a remarkable acumen, if not lived experience. Webb’s River is like so many small interior towns—Spuzzum, Malakwa, Yank, Moyer: little on the road but a gas station, but teaming with life in the woods and hills around them.  Dani learns to ride; she learns to drive an old standard transmission clunker. We can smell the sage in the air she breathes, feel the dust in our throats at the rodeo.

The foundation of Butcher’s novel, though, is her adeptness at character construction and development. Dani is a typical teen in a not-so-typical situation. Her mother is getting married. Again. For the fifth time, actually. We shouldn’t like her mother, and we can understand why Dani might have problems with the relationship. Throughout the novel, though, Dani’s mother shows her love for Dani—however self-centred she may be in some ways—and Dani relies on her mother’s affection and support, which she receives—albeit over her cell phone. Theirs is a sometimes-awkward understanding, but they do understand and love one another. So when Dani’s mother and her new husband go off on a honeymoon to Europe, and Dani is sent off to the Cariboo to her mother’s brother—the “black sheep” of the family whom Dani had never heard of—Dani is more worried about her six weeks in a strange place than she is upset by her mother’s seeming desertion.

Sam, Dani’s uncle, turns out to be one of the salt-of-the-earth individuals without whom the world (and YA fiction) could not survive. Sam’s obvious pride in Dani, his affection, and his hand’s-off parenting attitude help her to grow in a number of ways important to a teenaged girl. He treats her like a young adult, not a young girl, and she responds with the respect and maturity he takes for granted; it is obvious that he has never had a teenager before. When he finds Dani and her new boyfriend Micah kissing, for example, he merely asks “You kids having a good time?” (92): slightly protectively, but certainly not facetiously. Although he watches over her, he knows Dani is in a safe place, in safe hands, and he leaves her free to enjoy her youth.

We watch Dani grow into her place in this new community without the sense of dread that the back cover suggests… almost. There are just enough subtle clues for the reader to anticipate the emotional crisis that comes near the end—which I will not spoil the story by revealing. I knew what was coming, and was saddened by the inevitability. What I did not expect was the heart-wrenching yet beautiful twist Butcher throws in, causing tears of both joy and sorrow. Through the sadness, Dani is left in a calm and accepting emotional space, considering her future with hope and anticipation. While Truths I Learned from Sam provides a strong and satisfying sense of closure, I really want to know what happens in Dani and Micah’s future…

Last Cut (2012), by Wren Handman

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 18.2

Last Cut

“A Cautionary Tale for Young Divas” is how I would subtitle Wren Handman’s Last Cut. The protagonist—16-year-old Caitlin—is carefully crafted as a self-interested aspiring actress with talent, and serious attitude. Initially, I wondered whether young readers would continue with the book; there are perhaps too many subtle clues of Caitlin’s real nature for readers to like her. Maybe that’s not necessary, though, for all readers. Those who persevere with the novel will be rewarded with an intimate glimpse into the dangerous and damaging problems into which naïve hubris can lead one.
Overly sure of her acting ability, Caitlin tries out for—and lands—a role in a “professional” movie. To take part, she has to skip school, which requires lying to her parents. She also has to be 18, which requires lying on her contract… which she doesn’t read anyhow.  In telling her friends about the audition, she lies that “they totally loved me … they even asked me to stay for, like, a second audition afterwards that they only give to the people they really want to see” (31). My patience with Caitlin by this point was growing thin, but my respect for Handman’s authorial abilities was increasing. I may not like Caitlin, but I have to admit that she and her friends seem very much like high school girls I know, with the same relationships, the same catty games, the same petty jealousies, well expressed.  When Caitlin surfaces from her work to attend a party, her friends Hannah and Suzanne are overjoyed to see her; her response is telling: “they’re overdoing it just enough that I can tell they don’t mean it. I mean, it isn’t that they’re not happy to see me. It’s just that they know they hurt my feelings on Wednesday, so now they’re overcompensating to try to make me feel good. They’re acting so excited to see me that it really feels fake, and I have a hard time mustering any enthusiasm” (89). The relationship between honesty, sincerity, acting, and artifice finally comes home to Caitlin, but it is too late: in the end she learns a hard lesson, and has gambled away most of what she thought she had for a dream of stardom that was doomed at the outset by her own dishonesty.
My one real reservation about the novel lies in where we are left. Topless photos of a Caitlin, aged 16, are circulated by the movie’s publicity people before her age is discovered. The severity of this situation is earlier alluded to by the casting director—before we know any photos have been released—but we are left with no indication of what this ultimately will mean for Caitlin, for her family, or for the movie producers. Child pornography is a very serious issue, and it feels like Last Cut trivializes the situation by leaving it unresolved. The final scene exacerbates the problem; Caitlin’s boyfriend is angry enough to leave her, telling her that her concerns are pointless, that “the whole world doesn’t revolve around you” (141), when in fact her concern is at least partially founded on the fact that her stupidity has caused considerable legal problems—perhaps criminal prosecution—for the movie producers who gave her a chance. Perhaps the teen reader will not care, but personally prefer to have real-world legal problems not left hanging. The criminal justice system within which Handman—as a realist author—is writing provides many possible answers: it would be nice if we were told which Handman envisions for her characters.

Hockey Girl (2012), by Nathalie Hyde

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 18.3.

Hockey Girl

Unnaturally for a Canadian, perhaps, I don’t like hockey. I did, however, really like Nathalie Hyde’s Hockey Girl. While it does focus on the sport sufficiently to engage die-hard fans, underneath the excitement of the sport, this novel is more about equity, integrity, and solidarity in all aspects of life.
The story opens with our protagonist, Tara, in the middle of a play: her determination borders on aggression, and her sense of fair play is offended by both the other team’s behaviour and the referee’s bad call. As she sits in the penalty box unjustly, we are introduced to her team’s real antagonists: members of the boys’ hockey league who had goaded the girls into a bet, that whoever comes out higher in their own standings at the end of the season has to play cheerleader to the other team the entire next season. Both the boys and the girls picture the result—the skimpy, over-sexualized outfits—should the girls lose. This is a challenge worth winning, certainly.
The real drama of the story lies, however, in the girls’ fight to keep their team together in a highly patriarchal, hockey-mad town. The boys get all the ice time, and their coach only stays around until the scouts come… then he moves on to coach a more prestigious (male) team. The girls ultimately find the help they need from unsuspected sources, including in Tara’s case from Kit, one of the boys’ team’s best players. The story thus contains an amount of romance appropriate to junior high readers, and the way that Kit and Tara relate to one another is both honest and heartwarming. Both young adults have to contend with unfairness, from both their community and their hockey-obsessed fathers, and Tara learns that not only girls suffer from the worship of machismo endemic in the males of her society. The lessons she learns have an obvious extrapolation to issues in the world at large, and Hyde creates an effective parallel in how portions of the community rally to the girls’ side when their ice-time is taken. While the battle is simplified, the issues are not: Hockey Girl scores a goal for women’s rights specifically and for an increased sense of justice and solidarity in general.

Dead Run (2012), by Sean Rodman

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

Dead Run

Orca Soundings books are becoming increasingly more interesting and poignant. Dead Run begins in media res, with the protagonist surging forth from a stoplight, set on winning a cycling race that afternoon. Immediately, we are wrapped up in Sam’s life, his expectations, his dreams. The story is written in the first-person present tense, which contributes significantly to our feeling of involvement in Sam’s life. Sam’s life, however, is not going so very well. Despite his obvious abilities as a cyclist, he is part of a team whose leader does not give him any chance of success. When his youthful impatience causes him to be kicked off the team, his hopes are shattered. Then an apparent rival, impressed with his abilities, hands him hope in the form of an introduction to Viktor: previous Russian Olympic gold medallist, now a refugee and owner of a cycle courier business. Sam not only learns from Viktor, but ultimately becomes involved in his business in way that he suspects is not quite legitimate… but like Viktor’s pride in his business, Sam’s desire for cycling stardom gets in the way of his sense of right and wrong.
Sam’s story is one that most young people will be able to relate to. Sean Rodman has created characters and a situation that are both intriguing and yet believable. The moral lesson he learns is not specific to his situation, but an essential consideration of honour or cultivated blindness to what one knows—or at least strongly suspects—is wrong. As Viktor says, “Sometimes you want something so badly that you make yourself blind. To reality. To the truth. You trade away your honor. Your freedom” (101). In the end, Viktor and Sam make it right, but only at significant expense to themselves. This is as it should be, Rodman is careful to portray: if you break the law, or even a moral code, you must pay a penalty. The penalty Sam pays is fitting, as is Viktor’s, and the reader comes away feeling that not only has justice been served, but that Sam has become a stronger, better person for his experience. Not all tales of youth involvement in crime are so honest and yet so ultimately hopeful; Rodman has given us a story that is powerful and effective—I hope that all young teens have an opportunity to learn the lesson he gives us.

Devil’s Pass (2012), by Sigmund Brouwer

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.

Devil’s Pass

In the vein of Monique Polak’s excellent Middle of Everywhere (2009), Sigmund Brouwer’s Devil’s Pass takes a young urban Torontonian on an adventure of a lifetime in Canada’s wild north. Both novels are poignant investigations into how culture shock and isolation can be powerful motivators in identity formation, but where Polak’s protagonist learns a lot about himself and his place in the world, about cultural values and what really matters, there is a sense of security in his life that is noticeably absent from 17-year-old Webb’s experiences in Devil’s Pass.
Webb is a street kid—by choice. He has run away from an abusive step-father and a mother he loves but who remains in ignorance of Webb’s reality, an ignorance Webb painfully perpetuates to protect her from her borderline psychotic husband.  Upon the death of his beloved grandfather, Webb is thrust into an adventure—orchestrated by his grandfather as part of his legacy—that takes him to the Canol Heritage Trail in the Northwest Territories in search of answers to a mystery from his grandfather’s youth. The quest itself is interesting enough to engage the reader immediately and consistently: Brouwer feeds us clues little by little, artfully reeling us in to the tension that Webb feels both within himself and in the world around him. Webb’s street-smarts come into play when he runs foul of a local troublemaker in Norman Wells, where the hiking portion of his quest begins.  The combination of the social problems Webb must deal with (poverty, homelessness, abuse, police harassment), the grief he struggles with at the loss of both his mother and his grandfather, and his need to complete the task his grandfather has set for him, drive Webb forward with a determination that readers will not only admire, but understand. Webb is not a strong, self-assured hero; rather, he is a troubled, angry young man, sometimes scared, and certainly seeking for a home and security in an unfriendly world. In the end, we are not know certain he will manage the road he has chosen, but we applaud the choices that he ultimately makes.
Devil’s Pass is one of seven novels written by seven separate authors, about the seven grandsons of David McLean, each of whom is sent on a quest as part of his inheritance: Webb’s journey will certainly inspire readers to seek out the other novels in the series, in the hope that they are as satisfying in term of both intrigue and emotional veracity.

Samantha’s Secret Room (1963), by Lyn Cook

I can well understand why Samantha’s Secret Room is one of the best loved of Lyn Cook’s works. It contains not only a loving, hard-working family, but a number of classic elements of childhood that will grip young readers and carry them into Samantha’s world: an old family mansion, a message sent in secret to a stranger, family lore of hidden books and secret rooms, an older cousin Samantha admires, and a best friend to share it all with.

Samantha Wiggins lives in Penetanguishene, Ontario, on the shores of Georgian Bay. Her great-great grandfather had been a lumber baron, and built the mansion that is now mostly shuttered, but still their family home. As children in a farming family, Samantha and her two younger brothers have a number of responsibilities in the family, which of course they moan about and try to get out of; but the family work ethic is strong, and certainly modern readers could learn a thing or two about respect and commitment from the family dynamics that Cook presents.

Once again, Cook has done her research. If you check google maps, you can find exactly where Samantha’s home was, on the point looking toward Beausoliel Island, on Champlain Road. Cook has a knack, too, of weaving historical facts seamlessly into her narrative. When Samantha’s new friend, Kim, comes to visit from London, Ontario, the family show her their home, relating the colourful history of Penetanguishene in fluid, natural dialogue.

The secrecy in the novel springs from a number of sources. Samantha’s friend Colette has a Christmas tree farm, and Samantha ties a note to a Christmas tree, in lieu of the traditional message in a bottle (after all, the lake would be ice until spring, and who wants to wait?). The result is a new best friend, Kim. Samantha, as the title (misleadingly) suggests, has built herself a secret room in the old root cellar: a room that no one knows about but her, where she hides from her family and writes her diary. When her cousin Josh writes from Connecticut that he is coming to visit, he asks if they have found Samantha’s secret room, and Samantha wonders how he knew… but his secret room is not hers. Samantha’s great-grandmother, who lives in her girlhood room in the tower of the house, is also Samantha, as was her mother, born in 1833. The secret room Josh writes about belonged to one of them. Great-Gran, too, provides a bit of mystery, as she keeps asking the children to look for her “book … the one with all the flowers in it” (25). The family is convinced that no such book exists: after all, everyone has searched the house, high and low. Great-Gran is almost ninety, forgetful and a bit crotchety, and is therefore humoured by her family.

With Christmas, Kim’s visit, Winterama, and a family reunion in the summer to celebrate Great-Gran’s ninetieth birthday, life in the Wiggins household moves from one small excitement to the next. Calves are born in a blizzard; the family dog runs away to have her pups; Samantha makes friends with their reclusive neighbour… and through it all Great-Gran demands that Samantha reads the Bible to her, and that they find her book. Despite her demands, it is obvious to readers (if not to Samantha) that Samantha is Great-Gran’s favourite; she knows—as Samantha does not—that Samantha’s courage and feisty spirit has been passed down through the female line. The theme of connection and continuity is accentuated in other relationships, too. Kim’s father is an antique salesman, and Josh is a budding archeologist: together they provide a sense of the importance of history—in a broader sense—that reinforces the novel’s message of the importance of family and tradition. Overall, the story creates a powerful feeling of peace, of belonging, even in the midst of changing circumstances and relationships. In the final scene, when the mysteries have been solved, Kim has returned to London, and Josh has left to pursue his career, Samantha climbs the stairs to her Great-Gran’s room and begins, again, to read to her the Twenty-Third Psalm…

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.

Winter Shadows (2010), by Margaret Buffie

A perfect book to read right now, when shadows are lengthening so early in the day: the air is crisp, our hands thawed by warm breath that hangs in a cloud before dissipating. These days, I can easily imagine Beatrice, “huddled under a pile of buffalo robes” (1) as we first meet her. I have never lived in the prairies, being from the mountains of BC, but Buffie’s descriptions are so vivid that I can see Beatrice’s world, and Cassandra’s more modern version, and feel the difference between the two eras they lived in. I am not by nature adept at creating images from descriptive texts; I generally get a strong feeling for characters in books, but have a problem visualizing their settings. I recognize this as a failing in my role as reader, and am thus overjoyed when an author’s descriptions are effective enough for me to really see the world she creates.

Buffie’s setting carries her carefully designed plot along with it; her ability to intertwine her modern realist stories with the paranormal connections that are the vehicle for growth and learning does not seem to wane. As in her other stories, in Winter Shadows emotional support comes to Cassandra through discovering the truth of Beatrice’s life. Cass is facing the first Christmas with a new step-mother and annoying younger step-sister; she feels betrayed by her father, abandoned by her dead mother, righteous in her anger, and justified in her acting out. While we do not necessarily agree with her—from an adult perspective—we can see why she feels and does what she does… Teen readers would undoubtedly not only sympathize, but empathize with her position, her attitude, and her behaviour. Buffie contrasts Cass’s modern familial problems with those of a young Métis girl, Beatrice, in 1856. Beatrice has returned from school in the East to St. Cuthbert’s, Manitoba, to live with her father and his new wife, Ivy. Ivy, like Cass’s new stepmother, Jean, does not share a culture with her new husband. Beatrice calls her “puritanical” (20), and certainly she has no love of—let alone respect for—Native cultures, including Métis. Beatrice’s story is presented as a combination of conflicts: she suffers both as a daughter with a new step-mother, and as a Métis who loves her grandmother and her culture, yet sees it denigrated by many in her community, including her step-mother. Cass, living in her ancestral home that was also Beatrice’s, begins to see visions of Beatrice’s life, as Beatrice does of Cass. The connection between the two young women causes both of them to doubt not only their sanity, at some level, but also their instinctive emotional responses to their world. Learning of the cultural and social prejudices with which Beatrice suffers helps Cass to put her own problems into perspective; seeing visions of the comparatively strong and emancipated Cass helps Beatrice to stand strong in the choices she has to make.

Layered beneath her plot, Buffie has created a narrative of mid-nineteenth-century Métis culture that is part of a resurgence of and thus growing interest in the Métis historical narrative. Another admirable author in this vein is Jacqueline Guest, whose Belle of Batoche (2004) and Outcasts of River Falls (2012) are more straight-forward historical narratives of Canadian Métis life. I’m not sure if there are others, but these three novels speak strongly to the need for the Métis narrative to be told, to be reconstructed in a way that provides ready access for modern young readers. Winter Shadows, with its combination of carefully researched history and language, and Buffie’s as-always insightful interpretation of modern youth and the issues they face, is for me the perfect combination of reality and metaphor, modernity and paranormal history. While I do not love (understand? identify with? appreciate?) Cass as much as I do Frances Rain, I believe Cass speaks as strongly to young girls today as Frances Rain did almost 25 years ago.