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Rainbow Explorer
, October 12, 2015
(view all comments by Rainbow Explorer)
This book is difficult for me to rate here, as the quality of the story is so very uneven - making it a 3.0, at best. The story hooked me right away, creating both the most lovely fantasy and real book settings I've probably ever encountered. As a life-long lover of nature, beauty, and gardens (especially flower gardens), the biologic language of flowers and plants, along with the visual splendor of Mo's gardens and the dream fairy world (Aventurine), captured my imagination in ways few books have ever done. Just like Birdie, I couldn't help but be attracted to Mo and the notion of chains of "fairy godmothers", as well.
Then, the book's technical writing flaws began to become so blatant, they started interrupting my enjoyment of the story. Time and again, without any attempt at explanation, each of the book's protagonists would just somehow "know" something and act on that sudden eruption of "knowledge" without any explanation of where it all came from. Some readers might generously label those episodes as "intuitions" but intuition is based on previous experiences - experiences that were never hinted at nor explained in any form, nor was any logical clarification surrounding these mysterious flashes of "knowledge" ever provided either.
It left me, as the reader, feeling as though I was a third party secretly overhearing a story conversation going on between the author and a mysterious, yet fully informed, other party. In other words, I felt very much an outsider to the story, rather than an active participant within it. As such, I felt frustrated by the frequent gaps in disclosures regarding the rules and world-building structures of Aventurine.
There was no consistency regarding how knowledge was obtained or passed along, nor how/why there erupted extraordinary roller coasters of emotions, midway through the adventure which abruptly ended once Birdie returned to the "real world". Basic facts such as Birdie's unusual forced weekend study of Latin are never discussed or explained. This leaves the reader unclear whether it was related to a religious requirement, an academic agenda, or some other quirky need. Clearly, it is extraordinarily unusual for a child of her age to be able to both accurately identify a broad range of plants using conventional English names, let alone the Latin ones, on top of it. Yet, the reader is given almost no explanation for how/why Birdie already had such knowledge, especially as her mom was so opposed to everything connected to the world of Mo (which would suggest gardening/plants, as well).
Both Birdie and Kerka were amazingly incurious characters who repeatedly failed to ask significant questions either of themselves, each other, or of anyone else they came in contact with. With all of the unfamiliar settings, objects, and experiences they were going through, their IQ levels would have had to be subnormal for them to have gone through so much with so few questions being asked or answered. Most preteens would never pursue any serious task/quest with so few questions asked or answered.
At the same time, the author somehow wants the reader to believe that children genuinely assess their own statements for levels of "whininess". Having worked with hundreds of children of all ages, as both an RN and K-8 teacher, I have yet to meet a child who is concerned about their level of complaints, except when they fear that such statements will invoke brutal punishments via the adults in their lives. Having peeked at another book in this series, it appears it is the author, herself, who despises children who complain. Apparently, both questions and complaints go against her value system, which I don't agree with nor find healthy.
The whole meaning behind the "Shadow Tree" and the dead plants surrounding it were neither explored nor explained, making most of the painful events that occurred there meaningless to the reader. Why was Kerka kidnapped by the "Shadow Tree" and her hair lopped off by the fern? What did those stinging lights represent and why didn't the fairy queen equip the girls better to protect themselves from all those attacking creatures in the "Shadow Land"? Clearly, both Mo and the fairy queen knew much more than they ever bothered to share with Birdie. Why did they both opt to withhold so much valuable, insightful information about Aventurine?
None of these questions and dozens of similar ones were even briefly raised or explained anywhere in the book. Birdie didn't seem the least bit upset that both her grandmother and mother had been withholding huge quantities of important family knowledge/history from her. I know of very few real-world kids who would be so nonchalant about the range and depth of family deceptions and lies that Birdie had unwittingly been living amongst.
It would have been far more reasonable for Birdie to have expressed a whole range of emotions upon returning to the "real world", rather than swinging wildly through emotions in the "dream world". After all, she had been used as an innocent "pawn" in her mother's war against her grandmother, since birth. The author doesn't want readers to seriously look at the impact of that choice on Birdie, so she just breezes right over it all, as though it's irrelevant and minor - a genuine fantasy, on the author's behalf.
The ending of the book was the weakest part of the whole project. Suddenly, Birdie's mom is rushing home from London to see her mom who'd she'd despised and spent decades describing as a "crazy old bat" to anyone who asked???? I understand that this is a fantasy book but this story's resolution is so far beyond believable as to make a joke of genuine family discord and painful, intergenerational events. No severely broken relationships are healed either this rapidly nor as miraculously as this one appears to. It takes a lot of time to rebuild trust and closeness after such huge family tears. Apparently, despite the author's age, she still has yet to learn this fact of life.
The superficiality of the ending and the quick, easy resolution of Birdie's grief about being yanked away from her treasured home, school, and friends in Califa, feels deeply disrespectful of the emotions and needs of children, to me. It's clear, from my perspective, that the author wants to breezily resolve several major traumas of childhood by "blowing a little fairy dust" upon them. Clearly, she doesn't have much depth to herself and, thus, doesn't sense much depth to the internal world of children, either.
There is so much potential in this book's setting, characters, fantasy world, and nature themes that could, theoretically, encourage, enrich, and engage readers who are making major adaptations to some of the greatest challenges of life. Sadly, the author doesn't yet live up to the potential of the world she's created. Hopefully, in future books, she will display much greater depth and sensitivity in her use of Aventurine as a source of healing, not only of children and families, but of nature/the planet, as well.
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