Yay Random Books!

I can’t think of anything interesting to write about. So here are some speculative fiction for middle grade and young adult readers that I like. None of them is by any means flawless, but I enjoyed them all. So there.

As a bonus, here is one non-speculative fiction middle-grade book that is absolutely hilarious and mostly available online: Diary of a Wimpy Kid, by Jeff Kinney. It is quite possibly one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Imagine Malcolm in the Middle plus Calvin and Hobbes, with a preteen-boy sensibility that’s all its own. The main character/narrator, twelve-to-thirteen-year-old Greg is funny precisely because he’s selfish and totally clueless, and, though he gets his comeuppance, he hardly ever learns his lesson.

Anyway, on to the speculative stuff.

The Once and Future King, by T. H. White, is actually a series of four books (The Sword in the Stone, The Queen of Air and Darkness, The Ill-Made Knight, and The Candle in the Wind). You may recognize the first if you’ve ever seen the movie of the same name; be aware that, while the basic plot is the same (Merlyn tutors a boy named “Wart” who becomes King Arthur), there is no trace in the novel of the broad-handed villains-and-heroes dichotomy that plagues the Disney version. Arthur is a good man, but he is naïve and insensitive; Lancelot is fiercely dedicated to the morals of the round table and the welfare of his king, but he’s also an adulterer and a sadist; Guinevere is a good queen and loyal wife who nevertheless falls in love with her husband’s best friend. The four Orkney knights (Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth) are brought up to viciously hate Arthur, their uncle, but some end up becoming his most devoted followers. It’s nice to reread the familiar plots (Arthur pulls the sword from the stone; Lancelot and Guinevere fall in love; Gawain fights the Green Knight) but see the characters fleshed out and real. Nicer still to rely on one’s own judgment to decide who’s good and who’s bad and who deserves which reward or punishment.

Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman, isn’t actually a series of four books, but it is a sequel to American Gods. If you don’t fancy reading that, no worries: I remember very little of the latter but still thoroughly enjoyed the former. Fat Charlie’s life is thrown for a loop when his hitherto-unknown-and-mysterious brother Spider shows up for a visit. Spider effortlessly ruins everything from Fat Charlie’s job to his relationship with his fiancée; in the meantime, Fat Charlie must dig into his heritage and figure out who – and what – his and Spider’s father was, and what that means for him. The story wraps together an exploration of African mythology and a feel-good case study of how having confidence in yourself can change your life.

Escape From Witch Mountain, by Alexander Key, is quite possibly out of print. I’m almost certain I own the only copy I’ve ever seen, which was originally in the children’s section of my library but later turned up in an out-with-the-old-in-with-the-new giant book sale. It is yet another book-that-was-made-into-a-Disney-movie that lost half its interesting stuff in the translation from page to screen. Which was probably absolutely necessary, as I’m not exactly sure how dramatic you could make a character who can’t talk in a medium like film. Anyhow, Key’s politics become quite clear by the end of the book, but forget that part. The story’s about twins, Tony and Tia, who seem to have strange powers their peers lack and can’t quite remember where they come from. But, when the old woman taking care of them dies, they find themselves on the run from mysterious men. Their only hope of escape lies in remembering who they are.

The Diamond in the Window, by Jane Langton, is the first of the Hall Family Chronicles, and also the best (with the possible exception of The Fledgling, which deservedly won a Newbery Honor). Two children, Eddy (who likes to speak in Backwards English), and his bookish sister, Eleanor, get trapped in a series of increasingly frightening dreams – dreams that seem to have been involved in the disappearance of two other children years ago. The story’s great, scary and imaginative. Not much more I can say.

The Brothers Lionheart, by Astrid Lindgren. Ms. Lindgren is far better known for her Pippi Longstocking books, but The Brothers Lionheart was the one I always loved the best. It’s the story of two (duh!) brothers, Jonathan and Karl Lion. Both boys die, but don’t worry, that’s not spoiling the story. They die in the first chapter of the book. The novel is the story of what happens to them after their deaths, and the mission they must undertake to save the souls of others, because even after death, unfortunately, there are still dictators, fascists, and tyrants. Now I’ve made it sound like dead boys vs. the Nazis, but it’s not like that at all. In Lindgren’s afterlife, there are dragons and monsters, but also good people and resistance fighters, too. Both good and bad people reach the same place, but, in the end, the good people’s reward is the ability to be good and strong and concerned with others, while the bad ones live (or afterlive?) in loveless, selfish existences. In the end, the main struggle is that of our narrator, Karl. Karl knows he’s not as brave or strong or kind as his older brother – not brave enough to fight for good on his own. But he is brave enough to fight for his brother, and, by the end, he learns he and Jonathan, regardless of their different virtues, truly are the brothers Lionheart.

One for the Morning Glory, by John Barnes, is a very strange novel. The Wikipedia entry compares it to William Goldman’s The Princess Bride, and I suppose it is similar, in the sense that both take place in timeless lands where the destinies of princes and princesses matter and wicked villains can be counted upon to have a swordfight with the hero. But the tone, despite the story’s whimsy, is a little sadder, a little more serious. Young Prince Amatus drank the Wine of the Gods and has been left only half a person – the right half, to be precise. Amatus gains four mysterious Companions who journey with him on his various quests to become a whole man.

The Chrysalids, The Midwich Cuckoos, Day of the Triffids, and Chocky, by John Wyndham, are all top-notch science fiction novels. Wyndham likes to write of children with preternatural mental powers; you may recognize the plot of The Midwich Cuckoos from the movie it spawned, Village of the Damned. In a small village, parents give birth to a number of children who can impose their will on others and seem to share a group mind. The Chrysalids takes the opposite perspective – it is told from the point of view of children with astonishing telepathic powers that they must hide from a society that fears and hates them and doctors who hope to sterilize them. Day of the Triffids is a post-apocalyptic story in which alien plant-things called triffids have taken over the world. And, in Chocky, a small child’s imaginary friend turns out to be more than the product of a vivid fantasy life.

Last, but not least, The Mennyms, by Sylvia Waugh, is another beginning to a series. This one has five books, which is very important to note, because, if you don’t know the number of sequels, you might think the story ends at a most depressing point. The Mennyms are a family of life-size rag dolls living at number 5 Brocklehurst Grove in a medium-sized English town. While this sounds like it could be the set-up for a syrupy Raggedy-Andy-type tale, the series is understated, laid-back, and thoughtful. What would you do if you never aged, never ate, never slept, if everyone else in the world would immediately consider you a freak suitable for their amusement or study or both? What would you do if you could never shake hands or look someone in the eye without giving yourself away? As the series opens, the three generations of the Mennym family are shaken to their core by the news that their hitherto absentee Australian landlord intends to come for a visit. How will they keep their secret? Can they avoid drastic changes to their way of life? The characters are understated, memorable, and painfully human – from Soobie, the cynical blue Mennym, perpetually sixteen and not willing to pretend, as the rest of his family does, that their daily rituals of miming eating and drinking have any meaning, to Miss Quigley, the family friend, who lives in the hall closet until it’s time for a pretend “visit”, upon which she sneaks out the back door and comes around front to ring the doorbell.