3 & 4. don't give up, don't give up
Feb. 14th, 2010 02:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harborshoreHappy Valentine's Day, my darlings. I was supposed to have a story about girls falling in love, but things are the way things are and it will be late. I'm really sorry.
Instead, I'm going to talk about two books where girls save themselves and their people, and how even history can be changed.
Libyrinth by Pearl North.
Haly, the primary protagonist (there is another one) of Libyrinth, can hear books talk. That is, when she is close enough to something written, it will read itself out loud to her. This makes her a Chosen one in (somewhat unexpectedly) the religion of her enemies, the Eradicants, or as they call themselves, the Singers. This is because there is a prophecy that one day the Redeemer will appear and rescue the "murdered words" (the Singers believe that words written down are murdered words, so they burn books) by reading it out loud, or rather, singing it.
The action centers around an enormous library, the Libyrinth, founded long ago by somebody named Theselaide (if you believe the Libyrarians) or Iscarion (if you believe the singers). One of the things that this book does enormously well is to trouble the idea of history as something that is set and unchanging--we start out the book believing one thing, and gradually come to realize that it isn't that simple, not at all. I love that, and I love that despite the love of books that is so evident on every page of this novel, the author doesn't give us a conflict where the bookburners are stupid or entirely wrong. For instance, there's a moment when someone says, "wait, you know how to vaccinate people and we know why it works." So the Libyrarians have forgotten the practical applications of a lot of their knowledge.
I also love Clauda, the servant girl who turns out to have a mystical power of her own, and who is so much brighter than she is initially given credit for. That was almost my favorite thing about this book, that the difference between enlightenment and backwardness was not rich vs. poor or educated vs. illiterate. I also love that there was a tiny hint that perhaps the servant and the princess Selene were going to fall in love--there was a lot of "whither thou goest" going on and many significant glances and touches.
The two things that I liked a little less was that the ending was abrupt, there's no way around that, and that the narrative sometimes made things happen too fast (especially realizations), like so:
It's not that this tendency ruins the book, it just throws off the pacing every now and then. Unfortunate, because the rest of it is fascinating and well thought out.
The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera.
God. This book is overwhelming in the best of ways. I saw the movie when it came out (I assume at least some of you did), and I actually didn't know it was a book. But it is, it is, and Kahu feels real here too, in her struggle against a tradition she doesn't understand.
The most heartbreaking moment is after her recital, when she recites her speech in Maori in order to honor her grandfather and the history of their people, but her grandfather doesn't come.
She's eight years old.
It's a tough balance for the book to strike, to hit the half-way point between retaining the traditions and moving forward. I think Ihimaera manages--it doesn't read as a condemnation of the traditions, but it does read as a ringing indictment of being unable to move forward. I'm incredibly grateful that Kahu survives, that she doesn't have to be a Christ-like figure in order to start change amongst her people.
This complexity returns in his portrayal of racism against the Maori. We have the fear of the unknown becoming palpable and having deadly results--in a horrifying scene, the narrator's white roommate and his parents leave a Maori worker that they hit with their car to die on the road because they're afraid of the repercussions if they try to help him. As somewhat of a consolation (though of course not nearly enough), we also have moments of understanding, such as when an old white lady tells the police that the Maori men that have come to help with the whales are there to, you know, help with the whales. It's an impressively deft picture of how racism and change works: the big and the small, the way it's still there and the way it can be countered.
Change. Sometimes it's so very simple and immensely complicated, all at once. A little girl and the whole ocean.
Previous reviews: Ash by Malinda Lo | The Changeover by Margaret Mahy
Instead, I'm going to talk about two books where girls save themselves and their people, and how even history can be changed.
Libyrinth by Pearl North.
Haly, the primary protagonist (there is another one) of Libyrinth, can hear books talk. That is, when she is close enough to something written, it will read itself out loud to her. This makes her a Chosen one in (somewhat unexpectedly) the religion of her enemies, the Eradicants, or as they call themselves, the Singers. This is because there is a prophecy that one day the Redeemer will appear and rescue the "murdered words" (the Singers believe that words written down are murdered words, so they burn books) by reading it out loud, or rather, singing it.
The action centers around an enormous library, the Libyrinth, founded long ago by somebody named Theselaide (if you believe the Libyrarians) or Iscarion (if you believe the singers). One of the things that this book does enormously well is to trouble the idea of history as something that is set and unchanging--we start out the book believing one thing, and gradually come to realize that it isn't that simple, not at all. I love that, and I love that despite the love of books that is so evident on every page of this novel, the author doesn't give us a conflict where the bookburners are stupid or entirely wrong. For instance, there's a moment when someone says, "wait, you know how to vaccinate people and we know why it works." So the Libyrarians have forgotten the practical applications of a lot of their knowledge.
I also love Clauda, the servant girl who turns out to have a mystical power of her own, and who is so much brighter than she is initially given credit for. That was almost my favorite thing about this book, that the difference between enlightenment and backwardness was not rich vs. poor or educated vs. illiterate. I also love that there was a tiny hint that perhaps the servant and the princess Selene were going to fall in love--there was a lot of "whither thou goest" going on and many significant glances and touches.
The two things that I liked a little less was that the ending was abrupt, there's no way around that, and that the narrative sometimes made things happen too fast (especially realizations), like so:
Clauda said, "Maybe you heard some rumors, back home, about how she used to pretend that the books talked to her?"
Selene gave her a tight nod.
"She wasn't pretending. It's true. It's always been true. That's how she knew Griome was making a deal with the Eradicants. She heard it from his letter to his nephew."
Selene thought about that for a moment. "And how she knew how to open the vault. She said she learned it from a book..."
"Probably the maintenance manual that was sealed inside the vault at the time," said Clauda. "And it's how she can understand The Book of the Night even though it's in a language nobody knows."
It's not that this tendency ruins the book, it just throws off the pacing every now and then. Unfortunate, because the rest of it is fascinating and well thought out.
The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera.
God. This book is overwhelming in the best of ways. I saw the movie when it came out (I assume at least some of you did), and I actually didn't know it was a book. But it is, it is, and Kahu feels real here too, in her struggle against a tradition she doesn't understand.
The most heartbreaking moment is after her recital, when she recites her speech in Maori in order to honor her grandfather and the history of their people, but her grandfather doesn't come.
Nanny Flowers hugged her fiercely. 'I tell you, Kahu, tomorrow I'm really getting a divorce. Your Koro can go his way and I'll go mine.'
Kahu put her face against Nanny Flowers' cheeks. Her voice was drained and defeated. 'It's not Paka's fault, Nanny,' she said, 'that I'm a girl.'
She's eight years old.
It's a tough balance for the book to strike, to hit the half-way point between retaining the traditions and moving forward. I think Ihimaera manages--it doesn't read as a condemnation of the traditions, but it does read as a ringing indictment of being unable to move forward. I'm incredibly grateful that Kahu survives, that she doesn't have to be a Christ-like figure in order to start change amongst her people.
This complexity returns in his portrayal of racism against the Maori. We have the fear of the unknown becoming palpable and having deadly results--in a horrifying scene, the narrator's white roommate and his parents leave a Maori worker that they hit with their car to die on the road because they're afraid of the repercussions if they try to help him. As somewhat of a consolation (though of course not nearly enough), we also have moments of understanding, such as when an old white lady tells the police that the Maori men that have come to help with the whales are there to, you know, help with the whales. It's an impressively deft picture of how racism and change works: the big and the small, the way it's still there and the way it can be countered.
Change. Sometimes it's so very simple and immensely complicated, all at once. A little girl and the whole ocean.
She was serene. When the whale broke the surface she made her karanga to sky and earth and sea and land. She called her farewells to her iwi. She prepared herself as best as she could with the little understanding she had. She said goodbye to her Paka, her Nanny, her father and mother, her uncle Rawiri, and prayed for their good health always. SHe wanted them to live forever and ever.
The whale's body tensed. The girl felt her feet being locked by strong muscles. The cavity for her face widened. The wind whipped at her hair.
Suddenly the moon came out. Around her the girl could see whales sounding, sounding, sounding. SHe lowered her face into the whale and closed her eyes. 'I am not afraid to die,' she whispered to herself.
The whale's body arched and then slid into a steep dive. The water hissed and surged over the girl. The huge flukes seemed to stand on the surface of the sea, stroking at the rain-drenched sky. Then slowly, they too slid beneath the surface.
She was Kahutia Te Rangi. She was Paikea. She was the whale rider.
Hui e, haumi e, taiki e.
Previous reviews: Ash by Malinda Lo | The Changeover by Margaret Mahy
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Date: 2010-02-15 06:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2010-02-15 08:55 pm (UTC)I hope you don't mind but I've been reading your journal for a while and thought I would friend you. You seem very nice and most of all articulate and smart. Plus you're from Sweden too which is rare :D
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