Epic Beards of Review: The Garden of Darkness

Gillian Murray Kendall’s The Garden of Darkness blooms with subtlety. This post-apocalyptic young adult novel is like a little plot of land: you till in early Spring, plant your seeds and sit back to watch it grow.  In an age where these end of the world novels are shooting up like weeds, Garden blossoms and crowds out the others, soaking up the glory of the sun for itself. Sure you’ve got to water and weed it, but in the end, you’ve quite the bumper crop.

As an overburdened field suffers from loss of nutrients, we get your obligatory plague decimation—but there’s a twist: the Cure. Of course, if you happen to weather the plague and get said Cure, you’ve become a stark-raving lunatic, much creepier than being a zombie. If you’re a kid and haven’t yet succumbed to the plague, you now have to overcome the Cured and the day-to-day survival of a fallen world.

There’s a certain honesty here in the way different children handle their new-found lifestyles. It’s not just about missing their folks, it’s about how they deal. Our heroes are at times child-like, but not childish. The fact that survivors mentioned child services more than once was interesting, as were the way suicide and death in general. Much love to a character’s lethargy in response to basic hygiene. Too neat.

And although the main character wore her crush’s letterman jacket for the entirety of the novel, it acted as a tether to the former world, but not in a gooey, overly sentimental way. There is the slightest hint of love story taking place here, too, but it is deftly handled as mild flirtation.  Without the pressures of societal norms and high school drama, it allows itself to develop naturally.

Character development is spot-on as more and more hangers-on are introduced into bands. They balance well, unlike typical adventure novels where particular characters have special skill sets. Here, they just are: kids will be kids. Even the behemoth of a dog, Bear, our main character befriends early in the story, isn’t used as an easy way out of harmful situations.

Two of the more stellar plot points to note:

Not giving anything away, but there’s a grown man who deems himself “master-of-the-situation” whom is gathering children to his aid. As the book progresses, his intentions become clearer and it is compelling to see his chapters interspersed amid the novel as a parallel to our roving band of children and teens.

There’s also an aside about halfway through highlighting characters which we’ll never get a chance to interact with. As a brief interlude it was captivating to read of their ill-fated exploits in comparison to our main characters.

The ending sneaks up on you, and it’s worrisome that loose ends won’t be tied up. It was, however, clear, concise and a quite sharp way of ending things. It is beautifully wrought, and won’t be tied up in another series where you get a book and movie deal.

And so we return to the garden aspect of this book. Its shooting tendrils sprout up time and again about the pages literally and figuratively looking for a way to grow amid the darkness. There is some good fruit here, and it should be eaten of heartily.

The Garden of Darkness by Gillian Murray Kendall is due out 6/25/2014 from Ravenstone. 

Prodigal: The Wooded Council

Painting done by Elizabeth of Pocket Vinyl at Avenue 209 Coffee House November 13, 2013.

Okay, so there's a twelve-seat council (going with Biblical allegory here) of woodland creatures.

I've been working on this for some time, revolving chiefly around this old bear (Karhun) and Barry, the main character in Traveling Tales.  Long story short, the prodigal son is coming home.

Here's my list so far:

1. Karhun
2. Old Turtle
3. Cardinal
4. Blue Jay
5. The Frog Prince
6. Buck
7. Fawn
8.
9.
10.
11.
12. The Prodigal Son

The Prodigal Son is the twelfth seat on the council, but has been absent for years and his homecoming has got Karhun all riled up.  (Maybe some Judas references here?)  There're reasons he's been away, all legitimate-like, but he's back nonetheless. 

Is "The Wooded Council" a decent name?  If not, what would you suggest?  What are the four other animals on the council?  I'd been using a rabbit as a courier of sorts to wake up the rest of the woodland creatures, but was hesitant to use him as a seat.

Also, think of the seating arrangement as thirteen tree stumps: one in the middle for speaking, and twelve others around it as intervals on a clock.

Does anyone read this blog?  If so, why aren't you commenting here or over at The Oracular Beard on Facebook?

PRODIGAL: An Introduction, of Sorts

                                                                      BUY IT HERE!



This was Rabbit’s fourth visit to Brown Bear’s cave this morning—he’d long since learned this was the best plan of attack.  It would be better off for all of them if Bear had time to adjust, and it helped to wake the big guy in stages.  Bear wasn’t so much a grump as he was out-and-out loud, but he also had one heck of a reach.  As far as Rabbit was concerned, don’t kill the messenger.
Brown Bear harrumphed across the forest floor, still groggy from being woken up entirely too early.  Rabbit game him plenty of room as he careened through the underbrush.  The burrow with the missus would be quite welcome at this juncture.  Rabbit himself had been up since well before the sun.  Wise Old Turtle had come to him sometime in the night.  The story was long and drawn out, which was really the only way he knew how to tell them.

This was not easy listening for Rabbit.  He’d had the gist of it by about halfway through, and was dying to hop to it.  He wanted to be on the move already!  Feet thumped, like he was running in place.  Jumping to conclusions were inherent flaws of Rabbit’s character; however, he supposed he should wait.

Lightning bugs swarmed by the bottleful, fit to burst, a continual pre-dawn light necessary for council business.  At any given moment half the fireflies would be lit, while the others would be resting.  This early in the morning, however, there were quite a few still yet to be woken, the light dim.

Though the day had recently been saved, New Spring was still days away.  The chill was still here, and the threat of death lingered.  The insects arrived early enough to light the way and understood.  This was important, so much so that it would be a sign of the times before, one that advertised everything imaginable and flashed

IMPORTANT

IMPORTANT

IMPORTANT.

They didn’t know what it was that deserved the attention, but the murmurings hinted at something.  Something big.  Something possibly worth dying for, or so the Forest Kingdom breathed.

It was always darkest before dawn, so it was said.  Tonite, this morning, wherever time fell, was like no other.  Miss Moon had set and though birds were calling, Sire Sun was still hours away.  Like the animals on their way, the clouds gathered as well and fixing to storm.  The wind had not failed to mention it either as it picked up speed and shouted through the trees.

Trip. Trap. Trip.

(Concept sketch credit: Justin Gleghorn)

Barry crested the rise of the covered bridge, the stifling claustrophobic air already so hot this early in the morning.  It would normally be cool and rainy and it wasn’t even June yet.  Was a sign, but hopefully not one that read disaster for the caravan heading West to Alton A.

It was on his descent that he spotted the other man at the mouth of the cavernous river crossing, seemingly filling that space with all of his perpetual bulk.

“He’s never early.  And it’s barely past nine.” Barry mumbled with trepidation.

He was a hulking behemoth of a man.  Corn-fed and well bred, as big as a horse and could eat like one, too.  He would eat one at that, had it been on the menu.  There were five extra teeth in that massive head of his and though there weren’t any cases of him knowingly using them on his victims—there was always that possibility.

Quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, but boy when he did…  Arms like tree trunks and hands like stumps and long thick roots of fingers reaching out for his prey.  Grizzled beard and wild look of an ogre, who, if he wasn’t feral already, would turn on the unsuspecting wretch who would infer that is where his name came from.

"Trip.  Trap.  Trip.  You're late."  the man grumbled.

Yet his eyes were blue pools of goodwill, reflecting the purity he could see in everyone.

Barry hopped off his bicycle, only to be forcibly grappled by the monstrosity that was Ogethan.  Bones cracked audibly, which was normally the case.  One could always judge how happy Ogethan was to see you by the number of vertebrae protesting ‘yays’ and ‘nays’ from within Barry’s back, assenting or dissenting approval based solely upon the fact that it hurt so good.

“Big day, huh, buddy?”  Ogethen inquired of Barry.

“Ouff.”  was all he could reply for the moment.  He straightened himself and Barry looked to him briefly, as if the trip one last questioning.  Barry nodded committedly, as if every today was going to give him one last chance to back out.

“Word.”  Barry responded.

“Word to your mother.”

“And your mother, too.”

Left hands on each of the bike’s handles, rights launched into a secret handshake so complex (not to mention secret) that it can’t be written about here.  Ogethan hefted his rucksack and Barry wheeled his bike down Water Street as hot dust drifted up from its place at their feet.  It moved lazily beneath their footsteps.

They stared down their future like the barrel of a gun making their way through the park.  The cannon guarded Haven from ancient foes of a long time forgotten, the veteran’s memorial park one of their last bastions of hope.  Though pointed towards Barry’s home, sedition had since been reconciled, and the five counties of Clint now worked together as a whole.

They both walked in unusual silence, of which Barry was quite content.  Ogethan would normally be re-enacting some of the previous night’s tomfoolery.  But instead, rolled himself a cigarette, and had yet to offer any of it by the time they were halfway down the block.

“You know those things’ll kill ya, don’t you?”  Barry offered.

“Barry, my boy, I’m only living til I’m forty, ‘cause you’ll have killed me by asking the same old questions over and over again.” Ogethan protested.  “Smoke?”

They stopped at the street corner, and Barry nervously switched his packback from shoulder to shoulder.  Half a block away was Sally Fallon’s School for Exceptional Children, where Barry had boarded on and off the last five years of his life.  Though he would be glad to leave it behind, there was more than a lingering regret to be abandoning this place.

Barry’s apprehension was palpable, as thick as the heat and the humidity of the morning air.  Hadn’t Barry been wanting to be rid of this place for as long as he’d known him?  Ogethan fished into his pocket, coins jingling quietly for the lack thereof.

“Say, I’ve got a few coin…want to head over for a farewell breakfast of sorts?”

“Yah, my grandfather game me some money before I left…” muttered Barry, tearing his gaze from The Fallon House to Ogethan before he realized the error of his ways.
         
“Well then, it’s settled—breakfast’s on Pap.” Ogethan remarked as he made a left down a comfortably tree-sheltered Grove Street, with Barry quickened his pace to keep up.

You can break his ship, but you can't break his spirit.

Okay, so here's the dealio:

        Sorry I've not been keeping up-to-date with posting.  Though it's a horrible excuse, I've been GETTING PAID doing regular bi-weekly book review columns in our local rag The Lock Haven Express.

        The only hitch to this is that other than giving me something extra to do, no one can read my column because they've not put any online.  Not sure if any of you's really want to read 'em, but I'm posting them on here so at least I can share them with some of my writerly friends.

Here's the latest.  Read it and weep.

THE ORACULAR BEARD

       

You can break his ship, but you can’t break his spirit.

Ship Breaker, by Paolo Bacigalupi, is the kind of post-apocalyptic book I can get into: solid story, characterization and harrowing exploits. The fact that Ship Breaker has received multiple awards for young fiction doesn’t hurt, either. 

In a gritty post-apocalyptic future, teenage boy Nailer scuttles through the ductwork of washed-up oil tankers salvaging copper wire to sell to the highest bidders. The work is tiring and dangerous, and it  doesn’t help that his drug-addled father uses him as a punching bag to regularly take out his aggression. 

This doesn’t keep Nailer from looking on the bright side. Days are spent searching and daydreaming of the “Lucky Strike” that will make him reach beyond his wildest dreams. One fateful afternoon, he finds himself trapped in a holding tank full of oil, but his wishes are not to come true. Here we see—in excruciating detail—the loyalty which this society leans on to help one another.

Due in part to the destruction of our fragile ecosystem, class 6 hurricanes now rage and wreak havoc upon entire coastlines. Yet these “city killers” can bring up salvage of their own, and this one offers a wrecked clipper ship as penance. 

But what he finds aboard a ship exclusively designed to shuttle the rich is quite more than he bargained for. Amid threats of death and loyalty, Nailer enters into a class war that brings him closer and at the same time further from his home. 

The only thing that caught me up in this book was Nailer’s time on the ocean (I am in no way nautical) and a nutty penchant for using half-human animals as characters in post-apocalyptic settings. It’s one thing to bring this upon ourselves, but to make the animals suffer, too? Ludicrous. 

This fast, entertaining read was at times predictable as well, but the richness of the storytelling helped me to forget that with the addition of themes and ideas I’ve not seen previously breached in the genre. For fans of this book, there is also a companion novel The Drowned Cities to partake of.

click HERE to buy!