Taken, by Rosemary Hayes, reviewed by Pauline Francis

 

I have known Rosemary Hayes – and her novels – for many years. When she published my first novel, she gave up an entire day to edit it with me. That detailed Master Class has stood me in good stead ever since.

The cover of Taken, with its butterfly motif and open hand, makes the reader think instantly about freedom – and therefore, its opposite – lack of freedom. And this freedom has as much to do with mental freedom as much as physical.

Kelly’s father disappeared four years ago, when she was ten years old. It was thought that he had committed suicide, although his body was never found. Kelly has found it very difficult to accept his death.  She has been very much a prisoner in her mind ever since.

Is her father dead? If not, where is he? Did she see him just now in the trees at the park or was it her imagination playing tricks because it’s Autumn again, the time of the year he disappeared?

Kelly confides in her best friend, Lizzie, who is dismayed.

“What if Kelly is losing it again?” she asks herself.

As soon as Kelly glimpses (or thinks she glimpses) her father, she loses her freedom again – the freedom to be honest with her mother, brother, Gran and Lizzie. They are desperate to put the past behind them. She has to go it alone, until she confides in her new friend, Jack.

Events in this novel gather pace quickly, as secrets and lies pile up, forcing Kelly to go in search of the truth. But, as so often in real life, the truth hurts.

Hayes weaves the ups and downs of teenage life into this mystery story and it is uplifting to see the increasing closeness between Kelly and her family. I found the scenes with brother Nat tender and convincing. Kelly’s Gran is an especially intriguing and well drawn character.  Although Kelly calls her “a neurotic temperamental nightmare,” it is Lizzie who leads us to the heart of her character. Cleverly, Kelly’s absent father is constantly present in everybody’s thoughts – especially the reader’s. There is an ever-increasing contrast between the gentle artist father Kelly remembers and the person she doesn’t know at all.

Taken is a well-constructed story told by a very experienced author who knows just when – and how- to increase the tension. The twist at the end is clever and poignant - and offers some hope and stability at last for Kelly. But it does mean that she will have to live with some degree of uncertainty – as will the reader.

Hayes says: “Ransom are selling it as YA (12+) which I think is about right. Although it is (I hope) very easy to read, there is some violence towards the end – and some kissing, too.”

This is a timely novel, reminding us of the threat of terrorism that we all face. Kelly’s sacrifice is as great as her father’s and all those who are working to make our world safe. We should not forget that there must be many Kellys in the real world.

Pauline Francis www.paulinefrancis.co.uk

 

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UNDER WATER by Marisa Reichardt, reviewed by Pauline Francis

I chose this debut novel because of this sentence on the front cover: “Sometimes the safest place to be is underwater.” I was intrigued because I really don't like water at all. The hard cover on the right is even more disturbing to me, so I've shown you both.

Morgan is seventeen, lives in California and used to be a great swimmer, until a terrible event at school made her afraid to leave her apartment.

Sadly, we’ve become used to reading about school massacres, even used to reading about yet another loner who has taken revenge on his rejecting world. Reinhardt takes us in into new territory: what happens to the survivors? How do they recover from their trauma? Life can never be the same again, so how does a young person grow into a new one? Morgan is such a survivor. We know this early on. The tension lies in not knowing exactly what happened to her.

This novel skilfully and slowly takes us into Morgan’s mind as it is written in a very sparing present tense and first person, like a mental diary. Just when the reader is beginning to get the measure of her and her progress, thanks to her therapist, Brenda, a new thread of the trauma floats to the surface. The reader is constantly asking, ‘Is she going to get over this?’

Morgan begins her recovery when a new boy moves in next door. But this isn’t a love-cures-all novel. It’s much more subtle than that. The boy, Evan, connects Morgan to the world outside that she misses and wants to return to. And Reinhardt takes pains to point out that Morgan has to do the hard work every day, reading the mantra stuck onto the kitchen wall:  

1. Breathe 2. You’re are OK. 3. You’re not dying.

Nobody can get better for her.

“’Are you proud of yourself? Brenda asks.

‘I guess.’

‘I want you to own it, Morgan.’

‘Yes.’”

I very much liked the introduction of Morgan’s car, a classic (1957) matador-red Bel Air, left to her by her grandfather. It’s a strong character and adds a dark twist to the day of the massacre, to Morgan’s final revelation.

I did find Morgan’s family situation depressing: her father suffers from war-related mental health problems; some might say it is unnecessary, as are Evan’s own family issues. But as forgiveness and acceptance are at the heart of this novel, Morgan has to forgive her father as well as the loner who carries out the massacre.

This is an honest and gutsy novel that I would recommend far and wide – to anybody suffering the trauma of physical and mental abuse - and to their teachers, parents, carers and counsellors.

Pauline Francis www.paulinefrancis.co.uk

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THE BOY AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN by JOHN BOYNE, reviewed by Pauline Francis

 

In this novel, Boyne re-visits World War 2 almost ten years after the success of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, so there’s the question: ‘Will this be as successful? 

Boyne uses a familiar technique: he sets up the world of Pierrot, a seven year old boy, very carefully. Did he decide to make this boy younger, I wonder, following the criticism of Bruno in his first novel - that he was too old not to understand that he was living next to a concentration camp? Or is that just me, thinking as an author, not as reader...it goes with the job. 

Pierrot has a German father, a French mother and a Jewish friend, a deaf boy called Anschel. After being orphaned, Pierrot is sent from Paris to Austria, where his Aunt Beatrix works as a housekeeper to a mysterious master who visits the Berghof, a house on top of a mountain in the Bavarian Alps. Travelling there alone, Pierrot’s fear is increased when he is bullied by young German soldiers on the train.

The reader is quickly drawn in to Pierrot’s new and strange world: the master of the Berghof is Adolph Hitler; the year is 1935 and the world is already moving towards war. Pierrot recognises Hitler as soon as he sees him. His aunt has already taught him what to say if they meet: Heil Hitler. They do meet, and Hitler take s a liking to Pierrot (re-named Pieter), and slowly sucks him into the Hitler Youth. That’s when I became too aware of the research that went into this book. I didn’t like the cameo appearances of real people into real history, such as the visit from the Duke of Windsor and Wallis Simpson. 

But then fictional events take a turn for the worse and rack up a terrible tension. This is where I began to hold my breath. I want to sympathise with the traumatised, orphaned Pierrot/Pieter. I want his innocence to survive the brutality of war. But I know, deep down, that he has to conform to survive. 

And survive he does, at the cost of a terrible decision. Traitors must be punished, Pieter told himself.

That’s the great sadness and tragedy for me, an innocent child corrupted by his environment. Will Pieter suffer regret and guilt forever? Will Pieter be able to see just what he’s become? He has to, hasn’t he, otherwise he will have been corrupted forever. There has to be a way back for him, for all those who have been corrupted by war.

I once listened to a talk given by a boy soldier, ordered to kill to order in Sierra Leone. He said that afterwards, he was taught by a therapist to repeat, ‘It wasn’t me who killed. It was somebody else.’

How will Boyne deal with this dilemma?

I thought it wasn’t going to be solved, even as I began to read the last chapter, A Boy without a Home. At first, it read again too much like a history book, too close to research. And then came the ending I wanted, a wonderful ending of hope, which has stayed with me – and I won’t spoil by telling you, except to say that Pieter offers his only friend – and his reader – the chance to decide.

Pauline Francis

www.pf@paulinefrancis.co.uk

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