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Jul. 8th, 2007 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skygiantsSo, as previously mentioned, one thing I've been doing a lot of since coming home is rereading the YA books I used to love when I was tiny, and seeing which ones hold up as good reads now that I am somewhat less tiny. As my love for many of them remains untarnished, I figured I would share some of my findings with you all!
The Gammage Cup and The Firelings, Carol Kendall
I've had copies of these books as long as I can remember - family legend goes that this is because my dad used to date the author's daughter, but I don't know how substantiated that claim is. Regardless, I used to love these books a ridiculous amount, as proven by the fact that my Gammage Cup is almost as battered as my Secret Garden. Both of them deal with a society of small, hobbitlike folk that clings to tradition and fears change; The Firelings is something of a prequel to The Gammage Cup, but as it takes place far, far in the past there isn't much connection between them except thematic.
The Gammage Cup is a pretty simple book, and presents its themes fairly obviously: the village of Slipper-on-the-Water abides by a variety of silly rules, including, among other things, a prohibition against wearing any other colors than green and brown and creating any art other than neat geometric shapes, and five misfits decide to leave before the other villagers exile them. Of course, they end up discovering an invading force and saving the village. Despite the emphasis on colors in the plot, the message is fairly black-and-white, although the characters and the writing are cute and fun. Muggles, the main protagonist, is endearingly practical in the middle of rest of her more melodramatic friends, and a lot of emphasis is placed on the realities of the situation.
The Firelings, on the other hand, is a much darker book, and (in my opinion) a much more interesting one. Once again, it presents a group of misfits who save the village from destruction, but in this case, FROM BENEATH THEM, IT DEVOURS - the Firelings live on top of a volcano, and believe that every so often they have to provide a Morsel, a child sacrifice, to soothe its hunger pangs. Now the volcano's rumbling again, and the teenagers in the village, misfits anyways because, well, all teenagers are misfits, find themselves at risk. The protagonists (among others) are Tacky-obbie the orphan, who would have been sacrificed ten years ago if his uncle hadn't hidden him away; Life, whose brother Hulin was sent in Tacky-obbie's place; and Skarra, the abused apprentice to the hermit-priest who gives the prophecies by which the Firelings live their lives. All of the characters are flawed in believable ways, while still being likeable - Tacky-obbie is dangerously indecisive, Life's contrary and bossy, and Skarra is that infuriatingly awkward kid you just want to yell at to make him speak up - and the sense of menace of the rumbling volcano, and the knowledge that the reader has that it's going to erupt any minute and no sacrifice will stop it, makes the entire book very ominous in interesting ways. Although some of the villagers are frightened and violent, the real enemy is the volcano itself, and the book doesn't lose sight of that. Besides, human sacrifice. What's not to love?
The Thief of Always, Clive Barker
Milliwaysers may recognize this book as the canon for the character Harvey Swick, which is actually one of the reasons I reread it; Harvey in the bar makes me really happy, and I remembered how much I used to love the book way back when my fifth-grade teacher first read it to the class over the course of a year. (We were all terrified. But enjoying it!)
In the book, Harvey gets lured off one gray February to the Holiday House, a child's paradise with all the food and presents you could desire, a glorious summer every afternoon, perfect Halloween every evening and Christmas every night. (It's like the anti-Narnia!) Of course, the too-perfect facade of the Holiday House covers something much, much darker. It's a familiar theme, but Barker does it well - the Holiday House is really believably tempting, and Harvey is a rootable character. I tend to get a little irritated when the reason for a character being the protagonist is flatly stated as "because he's SUPER-GOOD AND SPECIAL" (see: Potter, Harry) but I can easily retcon that the reason Harvey gets to be special is because he's really inquisitive, so it's okay.
The Secret Country Trilogy, Pamela Dean
This is sort of cheating, because I didn't in fact read these when I was little, I read them over the past year. But they're still YA books, so they count, and I will review them anyways! So there . . . arbitrary rules that I set myself.
These books were kind of calculated to appeal to me anyways, since I love the "people stumble into a magical land and find themselves out of their depth" plotline when it's well done - it's the contrast and culture clash between the modern world and the fantasy land that appeals to me. The Secret Country trilogy adds a twist to this by having the magical land that the protagonists discover be, in fact, the one that they made up in the game they've been playing for years. They all have roles there that they step right into; they know exactly what's going to happen, because they made up the plotline. Except that there are subtle differences: characters they didn't create, customs they didn't make up and don't understand. And it's hard to talk in formal fake Middle English all the time, and, besides that, the plotline that seemed like so much fun when it was just fiction is a lot less palatable when it involves people they actually know and care about.
The books aren't perfect - sometimes they seem to skim over important plot points, and they're written in such a way as to make the reader feel just as lost as the kids in this strange and subtle world, which can be frustrating - but I would really recommend them. They'll be especially appealing to writers and RPers, I think, just because . . . well, imagine if it happened to you. Here's one exchange that reminded me of all of you, made while the characters are trying to make a difficult decision in the least painful fashion:
"An this were yet thy game, what wouldst thou choose?"
"Oh, if it were the game, it would be easy. We'd think of an ingenious excuse to keep Andrew outside, but something would happen that would oblige him to disobey, and he'd come and figure everything out and be mad as hell."
"Truly?"
"Truly, my lord. Because that would be more interesting."
Doom, woe, and RP masochism, guys? None of you know anything about that, I'm sure.
The Dalemark Quartet, Diana Wynne Jones
. . . you guys didn't really think I was going to be able to do a long YA book-review-session without another Diana Wynne Jones pimp, right?
This is a four-book series, which I haven't been able to reread for ages because I've been missing the fourth, which is the best one, and I didn't want to read without it. But then I found a cheap copy in Berkeley, and immediately pounced on them as soon as I got home. Because they're fantastic.
The books aren't direct sequels to each other; the first three all center around different characters, who only come together in the fourth. All four are set in the country of Dalemark, a loosely linked set of Earldoms that has been undergoing civil war for the past few centuries between the North and the South. The general impression over the first two books is that the North is "free" and the South is oppressed, but if anyone is thinking that that's too simple - well, it is, and the dichotomy between the two gets much more complicated in the last book.
The first book, Cart and Cwidder, centers around Moril, youngest in a family of singers who travel between the North and the South; it's a lot of fun, and reads the youngest of the four, I think, mostly because Moril is a preadolescent at the time of the story and it's filtered through his eyes. Drowned Ammet, the second book, focuses on Mitt, a young Southern revolutionary. The themes are fairly dark - by the time he's seven years old, Mitt's already decided to dedicate his life to what's essentially a suicide mission, and the real story lies with his slowly dawning self-awareness - but DWJ's writing style is, as always, fantastic; she writes about the dramatic in such a way that it's not only consistently interesting, and often funny, but also consistently relatable. These are not the kind of books where the author forgets that the protagonists, in the midst of their daring escape, also have to use the bathroom. The Spellcoats, the third book, gets off to a slow start, but it picks up around midway through. It's set in Dalemark's prehistory, and describes the original creation of the kingdom.
However, as I've said, it's the fourth book, The Crown of Dalemark, which is my absolute favorite. This is the book where the assumptions built up in the earlier books get challenged - where characters coded earlier as 'good' may in fact betray you; where some of the ways of the "free" North can be as bad, or worse, as those of the South; where a revolution has a harsh price. It's also the book where Mitt and Moril get to team up (and, awesomely, hate each other and bicker constantly) and the book that plays into one of my favorite tropes, as mentioned above, the modern character who gets plunged into a magical past, so really there was no way that I was ever not going to love this book. HOWEVER I would also recommend it - and the entire quartet - to you all as well. Because they're awesome.
The Gammage Cup and The Firelings, Carol Kendall
I've had copies of these books as long as I can remember - family legend goes that this is because my dad used to date the author's daughter, but I don't know how substantiated that claim is. Regardless, I used to love these books a ridiculous amount, as proven by the fact that my Gammage Cup is almost as battered as my Secret Garden. Both of them deal with a society of small, hobbitlike folk that clings to tradition and fears change; The Firelings is something of a prequel to The Gammage Cup, but as it takes place far, far in the past there isn't much connection between them except thematic.
The Gammage Cup is a pretty simple book, and presents its themes fairly obviously: the village of Slipper-on-the-Water abides by a variety of silly rules, including, among other things, a prohibition against wearing any other colors than green and brown and creating any art other than neat geometric shapes, and five misfits decide to leave before the other villagers exile them. Of course, they end up discovering an invading force and saving the village. Despite the emphasis on colors in the plot, the message is fairly black-and-white, although the characters and the writing are cute and fun. Muggles, the main protagonist, is endearingly practical in the middle of rest of her more melodramatic friends, and a lot of emphasis is placed on the realities of the situation.
The Firelings, on the other hand, is a much darker book, and (in my opinion) a much more interesting one. Once again, it presents a group of misfits who save the village from destruction, but in this case, FROM BENEATH THEM, IT DEVOURS - the Firelings live on top of a volcano, and believe that every so often they have to provide a Morsel, a child sacrifice, to soothe its hunger pangs. Now the volcano's rumbling again, and the teenagers in the village, misfits anyways because, well, all teenagers are misfits, find themselves at risk. The protagonists (among others) are Tacky-obbie the orphan, who would have been sacrificed ten years ago if his uncle hadn't hidden him away; Life, whose brother Hulin was sent in Tacky-obbie's place; and Skarra, the abused apprentice to the hermit-priest who gives the prophecies by which the Firelings live their lives. All of the characters are flawed in believable ways, while still being likeable - Tacky-obbie is dangerously indecisive, Life's contrary and bossy, and Skarra is that infuriatingly awkward kid you just want to yell at to make him speak up - and the sense of menace of the rumbling volcano, and the knowledge that the reader has that it's going to erupt any minute and no sacrifice will stop it, makes the entire book very ominous in interesting ways. Although some of the villagers are frightened and violent, the real enemy is the volcano itself, and the book doesn't lose sight of that. Besides, human sacrifice. What's not to love?
The Thief of Always, Clive Barker
Milliwaysers may recognize this book as the canon for the character Harvey Swick, which is actually one of the reasons I reread it; Harvey in the bar makes me really happy, and I remembered how much I used to love the book way back when my fifth-grade teacher first read it to the class over the course of a year. (We were all terrified. But enjoying it!)
In the book, Harvey gets lured off one gray February to the Holiday House, a child's paradise with all the food and presents you could desire, a glorious summer every afternoon, perfect Halloween every evening and Christmas every night. (It's like the anti-Narnia!) Of course, the too-perfect facade of the Holiday House covers something much, much darker. It's a familiar theme, but Barker does it well - the Holiday House is really believably tempting, and Harvey is a rootable character. I tend to get a little irritated when the reason for a character being the protagonist is flatly stated as "because he's SUPER-GOOD AND SPECIAL" (see: Potter, Harry) but I can easily retcon that the reason Harvey gets to be special is because he's really inquisitive, so it's okay.
The Secret Country Trilogy, Pamela Dean
This is sort of cheating, because I didn't in fact read these when I was little, I read them over the past year. But they're still YA books, so they count, and I will review them anyways! So there . . . arbitrary rules that I set myself.
These books were kind of calculated to appeal to me anyways, since I love the "people stumble into a magical land and find themselves out of their depth" plotline when it's well done - it's the contrast and culture clash between the modern world and the fantasy land that appeals to me. The Secret Country trilogy adds a twist to this by having the magical land that the protagonists discover be, in fact, the one that they made up in the game they've been playing for years. They all have roles there that they step right into; they know exactly what's going to happen, because they made up the plotline. Except that there are subtle differences: characters they didn't create, customs they didn't make up and don't understand. And it's hard to talk in formal fake Middle English all the time, and, besides that, the plotline that seemed like so much fun when it was just fiction is a lot less palatable when it involves people they actually know and care about.
The books aren't perfect - sometimes they seem to skim over important plot points, and they're written in such a way as to make the reader feel just as lost as the kids in this strange and subtle world, which can be frustrating - but I would really recommend them. They'll be especially appealing to writers and RPers, I think, just because . . . well, imagine if it happened to you. Here's one exchange that reminded me of all of you, made while the characters are trying to make a difficult decision in the least painful fashion:
"An this were yet thy game, what wouldst thou choose?"
"Oh, if it were the game, it would be easy. We'd think of an ingenious excuse to keep Andrew outside, but something would happen that would oblige him to disobey, and he'd come and figure everything out and be mad as hell."
"Truly?"
"Truly, my lord. Because that would be more interesting."
Doom, woe, and RP masochism, guys? None of you know anything about that, I'm sure.
The Dalemark Quartet, Diana Wynne Jones
. . . you guys didn't really think I was going to be able to do a long YA book-review-session without another Diana Wynne Jones pimp, right?
This is a four-book series, which I haven't been able to reread for ages because I've been missing the fourth, which is the best one, and I didn't want to read without it. But then I found a cheap copy in Berkeley, and immediately pounced on them as soon as I got home. Because they're fantastic.
The books aren't direct sequels to each other; the first three all center around different characters, who only come together in the fourth. All four are set in the country of Dalemark, a loosely linked set of Earldoms that has been undergoing civil war for the past few centuries between the North and the South. The general impression over the first two books is that the North is "free" and the South is oppressed, but if anyone is thinking that that's too simple - well, it is, and the dichotomy between the two gets much more complicated in the last book.
The first book, Cart and Cwidder, centers around Moril, youngest in a family of singers who travel between the North and the South; it's a lot of fun, and reads the youngest of the four, I think, mostly because Moril is a preadolescent at the time of the story and it's filtered through his eyes. Drowned Ammet, the second book, focuses on Mitt, a young Southern revolutionary. The themes are fairly dark - by the time he's seven years old, Mitt's already decided to dedicate his life to what's essentially a suicide mission, and the real story lies with his slowly dawning self-awareness - but DWJ's writing style is, as always, fantastic; she writes about the dramatic in such a way that it's not only consistently interesting, and often funny, but also consistently relatable. These are not the kind of books where the author forgets that the protagonists, in the midst of their daring escape, also have to use the bathroom. The Spellcoats, the third book, gets off to a slow start, but it picks up around midway through. It's set in Dalemark's prehistory, and describes the original creation of the kingdom.
However, as I've said, it's the fourth book, The Crown of Dalemark, which is my absolute favorite. This is the book where the assumptions built up in the earlier books get challenged - where characters coded earlier as 'good' may in fact betray you; where some of the ways of the "free" North can be as bad, or worse, as those of the South; where a revolution has a harsh price. It's also the book where Mitt and Moril get to team up (and, awesomely, hate each other and bicker constantly) and the book that plays into one of my favorite tropes, as mentioned above, the modern character who gets plunged into a magical past, so really there was no way that I was ever not going to love this book. HOWEVER I would also recommend it - and the entire quartet - to you all as well. Because they're awesome.
