Transmigration (2012), by Nicholas Maes

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 17.5.

Transmigration

Whoa. What a ride! Nicholas Maes’s Transmigration is brilliant: a well-conceived fantasy with a unique premise and a gripping storyline. The novel begins with a talking bunny, but there is nothing cute or cuddly about the sinister alternative world history that Maes creates so carefully. It should perhaps have been a clue that a West Coast bunny talks with a Brooklyn accent, but I admit I found it only a bit out of place—until the plot progressed. In Maes’s history, a species of souls—bolkhs—coexists with humans as we have developed through the evolutionary process: a species that wants now to take back what was once theirs, destroying all human life. Young Simon Carpenter, of Vancouver, BC, is a tool they need for their war against humanity. When he learns this, his comfortable world is shaken to its foundations, and he must flee for his own safety and that of his family. The complicated relationships between players—different types of souls and their various connections with physical bodies—are adeptly explained to the reader through Simon’s own learning experience. I almost needed to create a rubric, but Maes brings in the terms just often enough to help the reader learn his nomenclature and the associated characteristics of his world.
The talking bunny seems an unlikely scenario for the introduction of a YA mystery-fantasy, but the bunny’s very cuteness is the first tool used against Simon by the bolkhs in their battle for supremacy. The bolkhs inhabit animals, as well as some humans, and their plan would have all bolkhs incarnate and powerful, at the expense of humankind. What ensues is a series of flights and confrontations that takes the protagonists from Vancouver to Europe—both of which the author obviously knows well—where Simon confronts the leader of the bolkhs, Tarhlo, who almost convinces him of the righteousness of the bolkh cause. Tarhlo’s logical argument is based on empirical scientific knowledge: the bolkhs argue that their ascendancy now is a natural part of the evolutionary process, as right and understandable as the Cro-Magnons prevailing over the Neanderthals. So well-crafted is Maes’s story that we are honestly not sure what Simon’s choice will be.
Ultimately, Simon travels to New York and a final confrontation, after which we are left with the protagonists safe for the moment, but still threatened: the final sentence assures us that “[w]hile the first confrontation with the bolkhs was over, the war was only getting started” (244). This is the one flaw in this otherwise spectacular piece of YA fiction: the end does not present any closure; it demands—rather than merely anticipating—a sequel. Please, authors: write novels that stand alone as narrative entities; refrain from publishing what amounts to the first installment of an indeterminately long narrative cycle. It is not fair to readers to create a book-length cliffhanger: leave such commercial tactics to the pulp serials. The degree of disappointment in the inconclusive ending is proportional to the level of engagement Transmigrations elicits: if it were a less engrossing story, we wouldn’t care so much that the ending disappoints.

Calyx of Teversall (2011), by Maia Appleby

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 17.3.

Calyx of Teversall

My initial response to Calyx of Teversall was not entirely positive, a result of the rather stilted—rather than merely simplistic—writing style.  The style continues throughout the text, but the further I read, the less it seemed to matter.  The story itself should be stereotypic, but is not: while the characters encounter gnomes and fairies and there is an evil Rumplestiltskin-like creature after our protagonist, Maia Appleby keeps her plot and characters fresh and lively. We really come to like and respect young Calyx (formerly Charles), his mother, and the aunt and uncle who take him in and hide his identity.

Calyx is protected by fairy magic in his youth—one reason the Borgh elf Fenbeck wants to capture him.  This magic is augmented by his naturally cheerful and friendly disposition, and he eventually gains access to trading directly with the gnomes, who are master jewellers and gem-cutters. Calyx is taught their trade, and would be set for a life of honest, lucrative labour with his antique-shop owner uncle, were it not for the return of Fenbeck, who discovers his whereabouts.  In order to overcome Fenbeck, and return him to his original beaver form (now there’s a lovely Canadian twist!), Calyx must learn Fenbeck’s true name…

This is a simple story, but one that pleases in its straight-forward narration and honest character development.  In the end, Calyx’s trust and honesty—and the help of the fairies—help remove the threat of Fenbeck, and all works out for the best.

Tam Lin retold

These are only three of many retellings of the Tam Lin myth. The story itself is powerful, yet difficult to recreate for younger readers, given the powerful sensuality of the imagery. Perhaps that is why these examples seem less than what I want them to be… I will continue to seek out other retellings, and add my reviews to this page as I find them…

Fire and Hemlock (1985), by Diana Wynne Jones

As a retelling of the tale of Tam Lin, Fire and Hemlock falls short.  There is not enough magic in the first two-thirds of the novel to create a prescience of where the tale is going. Like Polly, we do not follow the hints that are laid out for us, even if we know the original.  The balance between realism and fantasy is amiss, and we are too focused on Polly’s disastrous home life to enjoy her growing acquaintance with eh magical realm (in fact, this could have been stronger for her, as well as the reader).  In the end, the magic surfaces and carries us on a wave of narrative power, but the backstory has not been powerfully enough built to support the finale, and we flounder through what seems to be based on a mythological tale, but does not hang together logically within Jones’s own creation. There is such potential here, but I feel it is not realized… This comes nowhere near the imaginative genius of the Chrestomanci series.

Tam Lin: A Ballad Retold (1990), by Jane Yolen

Retold by Jane Yolen; illustrated by Charles Mikolaycak. While this is an illustrated text, it is a fine example of a modern author using traditional oral narrative style to retell a poetic ballad. This version is simplified and sanitized such that there is no mention of sexual relations, only love (excepting perhaps the child that appears at the end of the illustrations…).
The illustrations in this version are fabulous; they augment the story, showing the brightness of the colours and the magic of the space.

Tam Lin (1991), by Susan Cooper

Retold by Susan Cooper; illustrated by Warwick Hutton.  While I love Susan Cooper’s writing, for the most part, this retelling of the Tam Lin story is inferior to Jane Yolen’s 1990 retelling.  Rather than creating a tale seeped in the magic of faërie and moonlight, as Yolen has done, Cooper has written a story for younger children, with Margaret as a headstrong, disobedient girl, rather than the proud, willful but capable Jennet of Yolen’s tale.  The requisite plot elements are both retained and removed from the original to recast it for younger readers (no mention of sex, although Tam Lin promises Margaret a baby at the end), but the narrative style is that of a modern picture book, rather than a simplified oral narrative.  Read Yolen’s!