A Review of Dodger by Terry Pratchett

How did Charles Dickens come up with the character of the Artful Dodger for Oliver Twist? According to this book, the journalist and serial novelist met a street-smart teen who served as the basis for the character. That would be a great premise all by itself, but Pratchett takes it a step further—the book is told from the perspective of Dodger. It is also, according to the author’s note, historical fantasy. Since you won’t come across a shred of magic here, you might find yourself wondering why. Here’s how the author puts it: “This is a historical fantasy—and certainly not a historical novel….” I would say it’s historical fantasy because Dodger performs feats of derring-do that are sometimes a little over the top. Feats, in fact, worthy of a Dickens novel. Or maybe a James Bond movie. (Spy books and movies are secretly fantasy novels, I’ve always thought.) Joan Aiken would be proud of this book, which channels the kind of fantasy/adventure writing you'll find in her Wolves of Willoughby Chase and the rest of the series. So. Strict fantasy? No. But Dodger requires a certain suspension of disbelief. It is also one of the best books I’ve read all year.

This is approximately one-fourth due to the adventure and secondary characters like Charles Dickens; it's three-fourths due to the central character. We learn that Dodger is a tosher. Not only that, but he’s a geezer. Here’s a minor villain explaining to the major villains what they’re up against:

“A geezer is somebody that everybody knows, and he knows everybody, and maybe he knows something about everyone he knows that maybe you wished he didn’t know. Um, and well, he’s sharp, crafty, um, not exactly a thief but somehow things find their way into his hands. Doesn’t mind a bit of mischief, and wears the street like an overcoat. Dodger now…well, Dodger’s a tosher as well, which means he knows what’s going on down in the sewers too—a tosher, sir, being somebody who goes down there looking for coins and suchlike that may have been lost down the drain.”

Dodger mostly considers himself a tosher. He’s even been known to pray to the Lady on occasion. She's the patron saint of toshers—a beautiful woman with rats swarming happily over her feet. But Dodger is meant for something more. It all begins one night when he’s in the sewers and hears a cry for help. He pops out and sees a girl trying to get away from two men in a coach. I should mention that Dodger is a fierce street brawler. He bashes up the men rather handily and takes off with the girl. Here’s where he runs into Charles Dickens and his friend Henry Mayfield. Once they have convinced him of their integrity, he allows them to convey the girl, who has been badly beaten, to Mayfield’s home to be cared for by Mrs. Mayfield. But Dodger comes along to make sure everything is on the up and up.

Then Charles Dickens takes an interest in Dodger and hires him to find out who the girl is. Not only does Dodger have an instant crush on the girl they begin calling Simplicity, but he’s also intrigued by the challenge. He begins asking around—which is what brings him to the attention of the villains. The adventure escalates and escalates in, well, true Dickensian fashion. With a little bit of James Bond thrown in for good measure.

But I was telling you about Dodger. He is dimensional in a rough and ready way tinged with vague ambitions. Fortunately, he has a mentor in the form of the old Jewish man he lives with: Solomon, of course. Solomon has been trying to teach Dodger just a little honesty and now begins to help him take advantage of the opportunities that come his way because of this new adventure. Solomon is an amazing character; later in the book we start to realize just how amazing he really is. Simplicity turns out to be rather complicated, too. Dodger meets one of the richest women in England, not to mention Benjamin Disraeli, police master Robert Peel and, in a Pratchett tour de force, Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street—from whom Dodger seeks a haircut.

I can’t even begin to tell you how wonderfully well all of this is executed. The writing itself is strong, but the ideas are even better. For example, Dickens teaches Dodger about the way journalists spin stories, explaining it using fog as an analogy. We see variations of London fog crawling here and there in the story to reinforce the theme. Then Dodger coopts the metaphor in a truly useful way as his life careens down the increasingly dangerous streets of the city. For example, Dodger meets Disraeli and draws his own conclusions. Here he talks to Solomon about it. The old man is describing social stratification. “Intrigued, Dodger said, ‘Am I downtrodden?’” The old man answered:

“You? Not so you would notice, my boy, and neither do you tread on anybody else, which is a happy situation to be in, but if I was you I shouldn’t think too much more about politics, it can only make you ill.”

Dodger may not think a lot about politics, but he knows how to play people. After turning into a reluctant hero to the entire city and laying his fists about in a couple of dark corners where he is meant to die, Dodger hatches an elaborate plot to save Simplicity. Then he takes an odd crew a-toshing in the sewers, where he meets up with the worst of the villains hired by the major bad guys to kill him.

Pratchett has a marvelous time with his conclusion, which is unexpected and unbelievable and absolutely perfect. But the book sings because of the people in it. I have long admired Pratchett for his talent with characterization, and here he does it again—in spades. Dodger’s dodgy yet sincere thought processes are a compelling, heart-warming mix of an utter lack of morals combined with a true-blue determination to put certain wrongs right.

We also get Pratchett’s signature humor, though it’s considerably toned down in this book as compared to the satire in the Discworld series. The passages about Dodger getting a better class of clothing, first in a shonky shop and later on Savile Row, are a prime example, along with the follow-up joke that will make you think of celebrities wearing the same designer dress to a fancy party. A lot of the humor has to do with Dodger as a fish out of water, but Dodger is so valiant and so aware of himself in the world that he is not, after all, the brunt of disdain. All of this struts its stuff on the stage of filthy, colorful nineteenth-century London.

You simply can’t go wrong with this book.

I’m not crazy about the trailer—Dodger isn’t tough enough and the fight is too slow paced. But watch it if you want.

Also: This cover is not the best ever, but I think the UK cover is worse. It's just doofy. Good thing the inside of the book is so wonderful!

Note for Worried Parents: Dodger is a book for teens, with a good dollop of peril and violence plus a few relatively mild references to prostitutes and just basically the sordid nature of the streets. And there’s a joke you wait for the whole book due to the unfortunate name of Dodger’s very smelly dog. Even that is not spelled out, though. In general, it’s just a mature book about an older teen character.

A Review of The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda

There’s a hint of Joan Aiken’s books in this one. At least, it reminded me a little of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. Lucy’s very nice parents are drowned under odd circumstances in the first chapter, and her home is soon commandeered by her greedy aunt and uncle. The unpleasant pair is determined to squelch Lucy in every way they can.

Then an old woman with silver hair stands on the beach and sends her magic Lucy’s way. Imagine her surprise when the woman later shows up posing as the mistress of an exclusive boarding school—just what Lucy’s aunt and uncle want. But the truth is very different, as are Lucy’s fellow fugitives.

Meanwhile, Lucy’s aunt and uncle plot to steal her inheritance, mostly the house. But they are in for a few surprises when Lucy and her new friends show up to try to stop them. Maybe when all’s said and done, Lucy will go in search of her true guardian, her intrepid world explorer aunt. (That’s looking like the plot in Book 2!) But is her family really cursed?

This cheery little adventure might make you picture Polly Peerless tied to the railroad tracks as Dick Dastardly twirls his mustache. Yet Lucy and her friends are not one-dimensional characters, even if the aunt and uncle are. Two other characters you’ll like are a little dog named Mr. Pugsley and a maid called Addie. You will not like the man Lucy has named the Brute, however.

The book begins in New England in 1906 with the ringing of a bell, but it’s no ordinary bell:

There it was again—the sound of the ship’s bell. Though there was no ship, and no wind, it clanged, echoing across the rocks and out over Simmons Point. Addie stepped through the front door onto the veranda, where I sat snuggled in one of the oak rockers facing out to sea. Buried in my book, I hummed a scrap of the old sea chantey Father had taught me. “A la de dah dah, a la dee dah dee…” “There ‘tis—that accursed bell,” Addie exclaimed….

The magic in this book doesn't overwhelm the story. The author sneaks in bits and pieces of magic in just the right way: the mysterious bell, a strangely helpful mist, and the surprising, enchanting conclusion. The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons is an altogether satisfying book for the back-to-school crowd.

Note: This MG novel will come out on October 2. I received a review copy from the publisher.

A Review of The Broken Lands by Kate Milford

In this prequel to The Boneshaker, a young card shark named Sam teams up with a girl named Jin who’s a Chinese fireworks maker to defeat an evil takeover of New York City. The chief villain here is Jack, who is the secondary villain in The Boneshaker. However, we see relatively little of Jack himself in The Broken Lands. Rather, two awful beings named High Walker and Bloody Bones (or just Walker and Bones) have been sent on ahead to prepare the way for Jack to take over nineteenth-century New York City.

Milford spends quite a bit of time showing us what these villains are up to, which provides a chilling counterpoint to what Sam and Jin are doing as they race to save the city. The two young people are aided by a few men who hang out at a saloon called the Reverend Dram, among them another character from The Boneshaker, a grizzled black musician named Tom Guyot. Apparently New York City has ten secret protectors, and the bad guys are trying to wipe them out. Unfortunately, Walker and Bones are rather successful, which ups the peril. And it's no ordinary peril; what we get is devilish magic being turned on New Yorkers. For example, Walker starts killing people in a truly terrible fashion just to draw out the city’s guardians. And here is the scene in which Bones makes his appearance:

A wind kicked up along the beach, sending hats and skirts and blankets whirling. The black-eyed man shoved his flying hair out of his face and stepped back. Where the pile of bones had been, a swirling mass of sand was collecting into shape. The shape spun like a little tornado, pulling sand and pebbles and stray bits of seaweed inward, collecting broken shells, snips of paper, and twigs of driftwood, creating a denser and denser cloud that hovered at about the level of the black-eyed man’s knees. It began to throb, to shift and pulse and mold itself. Little by little, it began to take shape. The wind flowing up and down the beach began to diminish. The dark shape, still indistinct and fuzzy at the edges, unbent itself. A tall man stood up.

But let’s consider our two heroes. When the book begins, something unusual is happening to Sam: he is being beaten at his own game. His card sharking and the man who beat him will come into play later in the book. Next we meet Jin, first seen through Sam’s eyes. (And yes, there’s a little romance blossoming.) She travels with her grandfather and another man, making fireworks and putting on shows with them. She sneaks a recipe from a strange, ancient book of fireworks that her grandfather owns, then makes fireworks that are more than a little magical. Sam and Jin are both appealing characters—and they are not the same old, same old, either.

Nineteenth-century Coney Island and other parts of New York, with an emphasis on the nearly completed Brooklyn Bridge, make a marvelous setting for an ominous otherworldly threat. The grand hotel Milford includes is especially effective.

The Broken Lands is fairly dark and serious, but it is an entertaining read. Fans of The Boneshaker will appreciate it, and those who are new to Kate Milford’s work should read both books. Milford uses the new book to add to the oddly supernatural version of historic America that she is creating. For example, we find out more about the crossroads and travelers of a certain magical persuasion. The author's work might be closer to magical realism than to traditional fantasy; it definitely includes an element of horror. If you like your historical fantasy with a touch of brimstone, take a look at The Boneshaker and The Broken Lands.

Note for Worried Parents: This is a book for teens. It has some gruesome violence, black magic, and oblique references to child prostitution. None of this is gratuitous, however, though the book does build in creepiness. I would recommend The Broken Lands for readers ages 12 and up.

A Review of Grave Mercy by Robin LeFevers

Forget about Catherine, Called Birdy; it's time to meet Ismae! If your horrible father forces you into an arranged marriage in 1485, what you really want is to flee to a convent where the nuns specialize in training female assassins. Hopefully you'll get to kill some men who remind you of dear old dad. Except—Ismae isn't really her father's daughter. As the circumstances of her birth make clear, her true father is Death, or "St. Mortain." Once she has passed a test at the abbey (by not dying), Ismae finds happiness in her new life. She makes a friend named Annith and trades her father's endless beatings for intriguing lessons. She even learns to read. Ismae is especially good at poisons, and she meets a strange girl named Sybella who has apparently survived horrors worse than her own.

Soon Ismae is being sent out on an assassination mission. She succeeds, and another mission follows. But her third mission isn't like the others. Ismae is asked to accompany a man named Duval to the court of the young, uncrowned duchess of Brittany. There she will have to face intrigues for which she is thoroughly unprepared, including spying on Duval to see if he is loyal or a dangerous enemy.

As Ismae sneaks about the castle, you may be reminded of Elizabeth C. Bunce's Starcrossed or Rae Carson's The Girl of Fire and Thorns. Who can be trusted? Obviously not the brutal Lord D'Albret, who is trying to force the young duchess to marry him. Nor the French, who consider themselves to be in charge of the girl. But even though Ismae is feeling more and more like she can trust Duval, her contacts from the convent pressure her to find him guilty of treason.

LaFevers does a masterful job of showing how a sheltered, downtrodden girl can grow in confidence and purposefulness. Yes, there's an odd sort of romance brewing between Ismae and Duval, but the rest of the plot holds its own. The characters seem so real and ordinary and flawed that it's easy to forget you're reading a story. The world the author builds is a medieval one—with a twist. The language is smooth and clear. Here's a sample:

We ride all day. In the newly cleared fields, sheaves of wheat hang from a cross, begging for Dea Matrona's blessing on the harvest. Cattle graze nearby, feasting on the remaining stubble in the ground, one last fattening before slaughter. Indeed, the slaughter of animals for winter has already begun and I can smell the copper tang of blood in the air.

A few stone cottages are scattered throughout the countryside, squat and stubborn against the encroaching wildnerness. Most doors have a polished silver coin nailed to them, an attempt to discourage Mortain from casting His gaze on their households, since it is believed He will go to great lengths to avoid His own reflection. Those that are too poor to afford that small protection hang hazel twigs, in the hope that He will mistake them for the real bones He has come to collect.

One ongoing mystery in Grave Mercy has to do with the will of Mortain, or rather the mark of Mortain. Being Death's daughter gives Ismae certain powers. Taught that when she sees the mark on someone, she has the go-ahead to assassinate them, Ismae begins to wonder if the nuns got it quite right. This book is arguably a coming-of-age story as Ismae begins to trust her own judgment even when everyone around her says otherwise.

Grave Mercy is a long book, but a thoroughly satisfying read. The next book in LeFevers' His Fair Assassin series will be about Sybella, and it's a safe bet the third book will be about Annith. Definitely something to look forward to, not to mention a nice break from fallen angels!

Note for Worried Parents: This is a book for teens with some mature situations involving violence and sex (or the threat of both together). Though these scenes are handled tastefully, I wouldn't recommend Grave Mercy for tweens or MG readers.

A Review of The Inquisitor's Apprentice by Chris Moriarty

Picture Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars... Now plop them into New York City, make the Irregulars into a rich girl and a poor Jewish boy, and add a generous dose of magic. Nope, still not a good enough analogy. But it leads you in the right direction, where you'll find Sacha Kessler, a boy from an alternate version of New York's Lower East Side in the days of Thomas Edison, who is a key character in the story. (Hmm. Perhaps this author's last name inspired me to think of Sherlock.)

Chapter One is titled with precision: "The Boy Who Could See Witches." When Sacha blurts out that he can actually see the magic created by Mrs. Lasscha in her bakery, he is caught by a New York Police Department Inquisitor, who proceeds to recruit him. Not that he has much choice! Sacha has to take an IQ (Inquisitorial Quotient) test, which confirms his magical ability. Sacha finds himself apprenticed to an odd, colorful detective named Maximillian Wolf. Here's the detective:

In a city like New York, charm was cheap. Any shopgirl or salesman could buy a little glamour to help win the next sale or just get that extra edge it took to get ahead, and most did. It wasn't exactly legal, but it worked. And New Yorkers were too ambitious to turn down anything that worked.

But Inquisitor Wolf didn't seem to think he needed that kind of help. In fact, he seemed to go to great lengths to be as unglamorous and unmagical as possible. His long, lanky legs were encased in baggy trousers that had never seen the inside of a tailor's shop, let alone a fitting spell. His jacket hung off his bony shoulder like a scarecrow's sack. His hair looked like it hadn't been brushed for weeks. His spectacles were covered with smudges and fingerprints. And his dishwater-gray eyes wore a sleepy, absentminded look that seemed to say Wolf was still waiting for the day to bring him something worth waking up for.

As far as Sacha could tell, the only remotely interesting thing about Maximillian Wolf was the extraordinary collection of food stains on his tie.

Moriarty's premise and world building are utterly delightful. The first few chapters give us a wonderful Jewish neighborhood in late nineteenth-century New York. For example, there's Sacha's uncle the anarchist and the neighbors who share a flat with Sacha's family: Mrs. Lehrer spends years sewing her savings into the lining of a coat. The baker, Mrs. Lassky, makes mildly bespelled pastries such as "Deliciously Efficacious Knishes...guaranteed to get any girl married within the year." The Wobblies are the Industrial Witches of the World, and the villain of the tale is a scarcely disguised Robber Baron, J.P. Morgaunt, while Sacha's fellow apprentice is gutsy Lily Astral (nice play on the name Aster!).

Then there's the shadowy figure who seems to be following Sacha... what does he want?

Sacha's family is proud of him for getting such a good job, and Sacha tries to focus on learning everything he can from the surprising Inquisitor Wolf. He also begins to tolerate and then appreciate Lily, who is tougher than she looks.

The mystery the team is trying to solve has to do with an attempt on Thomas Edison's life, but that winds up being only a small part of a much more complex and devious plan. Moriarty's plot takes a couple of surprising turns as the story progresses, working its way up to a highly dramatic climax involving Houdini.

The Rag and Bone Man, Hexers, and dybbuks mix it up with other strange magical influences and famous figures (slightly revised) in this well-written, satisfying historical fantasy. (Be sure and watch for an appearance by Teddy Roosevelt.) Although the plot wraps up nicely, we are left with a dark glimpse of the next book. I can't wait to read the sequel!

Note: I requested a copy of this book from Amazon Vine. The Inquisitor's Apprentice will be out on October 4.

Update, 9-29-11: Check out Kate Milford's interview with author Chris Moriarty at the Enchanted Inkpot.

Troll Blood West of the Moon from Katherine Langrish

I read Troll Fell and liked it so much I kept an eye out for a sequel. Got it: Troll Mill. And then there's Book 3 in this trilogy, Troll Blood, which sends young Peer a-viking clear to the New World. Fortunately for readers of historical fantasy, the Troll Trilogy is now available in one volume, West of the Moon.

Katherine Langrish's trilogy is just as much steeped in folklore as it is in the realities of life in Norway several centuries ago. The trolls are particularly gruesome, for those of you who want a shiver with your adventure.

—In Troll Fell, Peer Ulffson is orphaned and sent to live with his horrible uncles, who concoct a plan to sell him to the troll king as a wedding gift. With the help of his friend Hilde, a cranky Nis (think brownies or even Dobby the House Elf, only not), and possibly the dubious, terrifying Granny Greenteeth, Peer can find out just what his uncles are up to, especially when their plan changes unexpectedly. You've always wanted to attend a troll wedding feast, haven't you?

—In Troll Mill, Peer's evil uncles might be back, and what's to be done with a baby that appears to be half selkie? New encounters with trolls plus Peer's changing feelings toward Hilde occupy this second volume, which may be even better than the first.

—Troll Blood takes Peer and Hilde across the sea in a Viking boat, led by Gunnar and his son Harald, whose violent ways will endanger them all, especially when they run afoul of the natives in Vinland (North America). Langrish impressively weaves Native American mythological creatures into this new tale of her brave young Norse twosome. And for the romantics among you, Hilde finally realizes that Peer is an amazing guy (though not till late in the book, mind you)!

Langrish makes her adventures feel as real and unpredictable as everyday life. In Troll Blood, the Norsemen are mostly disdainful of the Native Vinlanders, whom they call Skraelings, but an abandoned boy finds out otherwise, as does Peer when he runs into terrible trouble. Harald's murder of two young native men on a hunting expedition comes back to haunt him in the same way the ghost of a dead seafarer haunts his father. And we get an interesting comparison between a Viking berserker and a creature from Native American legends, a version of the wendigo.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the author's handling of the woman with the titular troll blood, Astrid. A cold, selfish girl, Astrid is eventually revealed as a rich and troubled character. There's a dimensionality to the interactions of so many of these characters when it comes to their friendships, their family lives, their goals, and their struggles. It all adds a satisfying depth to Langrish's work.

While Hilde makes a gutsy companion in the Troll Trilogy, Peer is the character whose perspective dominates the books, and he is a thoroughly likable boy, full of equal parts determination and self-doubt. We watch him grow up in these three books. In fact, Troll Blood might also be described as Peer's coming-of-age story. Here's a glimpse of him the morning after he has volunteered to go to Vinland only because Hilde is going:

Slowly he remembered. He and the twins were sleeping in the cowshed to leave more room for the guests. "Do you mind, Peer?" Gudrun had whispered last night. He'd minded very much, but of course he'd lied and said he didn't.

He remembered more, and a pit of dread opened in his stomach. What had he done? Had he really promised to go away for an unknown period of time, on a strange ship, to a strange land? Spring was on the way. He'd been looking forward to seeing the lambs being born, watching the barley come up, rowing out of the fjord with Bjorn and Sigurd to gather seagulls' eggs from the islands. Now all that would go on without him.

Of course, the star of the show in this trilogy just might be the Nis, the odd and clever little creature who sometimes scolds and sometimes helps our heroes. Plus there's Peer's dog Loki, who's always up for some troll fighting.

Langrish's books are rich in language, adventure, and fantasy. It's particularly nice to read historical fantasy that's set somewhere other than the British Isles. Norse folklore is a real treasure trove, as the Troll Trilogy demonstrates. You will also get a strong sense of what it was like to live in Norway all those centuries ago, from the building of sod houses to the snap of the sails in the middle of a seemingly endless ocean.

If you missed these books the first time around, you're in for a treat with West of the Moon!

Note for Worried Parents: These are middle grade books, but they're on the older end, mostly because they're sophisticated in terms of storytelling and character development. They include kidnapping, murder, and peril, along with some monster-inflicted gore. They also have teen attraction and jealousy in Book 3.

True confessions: I missed West of the Moon's blog tour a few months back. Oh well—better late than never!

See Langrish's excellent series of blog posts from fantasy authors talking about their favorite folktales. Here's the first one, but look for all 21.

A Review of Chime by Franny Billingsley

Jane Austen meets the lovechild of Terry Pratchett and Diana Wynne Jones, with Neil Gaiman as godfather and Libba Bray as godmother...

Sort of. Only not at all, because we're talking Franny Billingsley, okay?

There are a couple of authors working in the field of children's books who take three to six years to write each book. It's probably not a coincidence that they are among the best writers out there. Megan Whalen Turner is one, and, as Franny Billingsley proves with her long-awaited book Chime, she is another.

Is it horror? Is it fantasy? Is it a gothic novel set in a swamp? Well, yes. I think my first thought was Pride and Prejudice because of the banter between the two leads, plus the Victorian setting. But from there, this book might as well be set in the bayous of New Orleans, since the Swampsea is just that swampy. Alligators would feel right at home here. No, wait: actually, they'd get eaten by one of Billingsley's marvelous British folktale monsters, like the Boggy Mun or maybe Mucky Face.

But we really should talk about Briony...

She hates herself, especially for what she did to her sister Rose, who hasn't been quite right ever since. What's more, Briony is pretty sure she's a witch, since she can see the Old Ones, the nature spirits and other eldritch creatures who inhabit the Swampsea. If anyone finds out her secret, she will hang. Briony tries to be careful, but it doesn't help when the Boggy Mun sends a fatal coughing disease into the village. He promises Briony he'll withdraw the disease, but only if she can get Mr. Clayborne's crew to stop draining the swamp to build a railroad.

Meanwhile, Mr. Clayborne's son Eldric is staying at the vicarage, and he and Briony are instantly attracted to each other. Eldric has a good heart, but he's also a mischief-maker. He quickly sees the wildness in her that Briony has been trying to hide.

Cedric is sure he's in love with Briony, too, and a girl named Leanne starts getting her claws in Eldric. Briony can feel herself getting angry, and that's not good. When Briony gets angry, terrible things happen...

The best thing about this book is its characters, especially Briony. She is so vital and good and bad and full of self-doubt that she feels completely true as you are reading. Everywhere she turns, this girl faces a new dilemma, or rather, each time she tries to solve one problem, she seems to create a new one. Despite her stubborn strength, Briony is haunted to the point of being tormented.

Other characters are just as rich. Even the most peripheral ones manage to feel dimensional. The golden, leonine Eldric is such a wonderful combination of deviltry and kindness that readers will probably fall in love with him even as Briony does, especially when listening in on the conversations between this couple: you know, the kind of talk that leaves everyone else in the dark even as it illuminates just how perfectly in sync two people can be.

Briony's sister Rose is an intriguing character, as well. At first she seems to need Briony so desperately that we can pretty much understand why Briony sometimes chafes under the weight of this burden. On the other hand, Rose is fiercely loyal to Briony, and just because she is prone to screaming fits and other behaviors that are probably a mild form of autism doesn't mean she can't ever come through for her sister in her turn. You will surely smile, as I did, to see the way Rose frames every demand and request, small and large, like this one: "I prefer that you not talk."

We also get lovelorn and sometimes threatening Cedric, a father who may not be quite as distracted and unaware as he appears, an array of scary fairy critters in the swamp, the deceased (but still influential) Stepmother, and the titular Chime Child, an old woman (no, really) who weighs in on legal or social situations involving magic.

I've mentioned Briony, but not her voice, which is powerful and idiosyncratic, wry, self-deprecating, and very smart. Here are a few choice excerpts:

"Thank you." But why should I thank Pearl? She was being paid. Anyone could stand a screaming girl if she was paid, but the sister of such a girl is never paid. I'd like to go farther than twenty feet. France would be nice, and I speak tolerable French. Or Greece, although I speak intolerable Greek, and only ancient. But if I couldn't manage to order a glass of wine, I'd order a wine-dark sea; and I like olives; and I believe I might like squid; and I would certainly like anyplace far away from Rose.

The swamp slurped and swallowed. The stars rubbed out the Dreary-shaped space. Eldric shifted behind me; the tussock gasped and gurgled....
Mr. Dreary had vanished. Too late to pull him out. The false lights had vanished. Everything had vanished except Eldric and me. Everything had vanished except the two of us, the lantern, the stars, and the swamp, which breathed slowly through its jellied lungs....
The Wykes lured Mr. Dreary into the most treacherous part of the Quicks, where he fell and drowned. Where anyone would have drowned, unless he could walk on water, which I venture to say Mr. Dreary could not.
But I could not forget how the swamp slurped and swallowed. Those were not the sounds of falling.

Despite her cough, Rose was in unusually good spirits. That was irritating. If I'm to trade my life for Rose's, I'd appreciate her exhibiting a touch of melancholy. Also acceptable would be despair....
"I don't like my shoes," said Rose.
"I'm wearing my shoes and you don't see me complain."
"You only hear a person complain," said Rose. "Not see."
How has Rose lived for seventeen years and no one has ever killed her, not once?

Billingsley packs this book with twists and mysteries small and large. For example, Briony used to write the stories of the magical swamp creatures, but all of her stories were burned in a fire that also damaged one of her hands. Now the creatures beg Briony to write their stories again, but she refuses.

Some of the Swampfolk, like the Brownie, the Strangers, and the ghost-children, seem harmless, but others are lethal. More than one character runs afoul of the Dead Hand, a terrible thing that tears off people's hands and drags them deep beneath the dark waters of the swamp.

Little by little, readers will learn Briony's secrets, even as Eldric learns them. We discover that Briony is both an utterly reliable and an unreliable narrator. Gradually, her troubles take on surprising shapes, like newly made swamp creatures. Until pieces of the story that didn't seem to be connected suddenly clasp tentacles and feathers before showing us fresh, uncanny faces. I'll admit I guessed a villain or so early on, but not the why of it or how it actually made Briony the person that she is.

My sole quibble? The too-modern looking girl on the book cover—her lipstick, her mascara, and her American cheerleader face and 'tude. She feels so un-Briony to me! Briony should be wild and fine-featured, ghostly and bony, with a 'tude that speaks of mysteries and swamps, not malls and football players. (This would be a bit better, though still too prissy. Or if it has to be a photo, check out the cover art for Gretchen McNeil's Possess. Trees on interesting face, very cool!)

Ah, well. Everything else is superb. Along with its other delights, I should point out that Chime is beautifully crafted, its well-made language carrying you along like a small boat on a river of story. I'm betting you can't resist a book that starts out: "I've confessed to everything and I'd like to be hanged. Now, if you please."

Chime is one of those books that makes you astonishingly glad to be a reader. I'm very pleased to hear that it's garnering multiple starred reviews from key review sources. If it doesn't win the Printz or at least a Printz Honor award next year, I will Not Be Happy!

Also: If you haven't read any of the author's other books, I highly recommend The Folk Keeper. It's a little more middle grade, but another great read. And visit the Enchanted Inkpot to read a recent interview with Franny Billingsley.

Note for Worried Parents: Chime is a book for teens. There is talk about sex and having babies in spots, a threat of rape, and a trio of unforgettable flashers who are witches up in the trees of the swamp—one of the book's odder, funnier moments. We also get violence, especially in the form of attacks by nightmarish swamp creatures. And there are kisses, some more welcome than others.