O. R. Melling, The Book of Dreams (Amulet Books, 2009 )
I normally refuse to read, let alone review, novels set in the middle or end of a series I haven't even begun yet. And I will admit, probably to everyone's astonishment, that I had never previously read anything by O. R. Melling. The blurbs I read on her work made me roll my eyes and mutter, "Oh, no, not another "Faerie Wars" book."
And yet. But still. Even so. Etc.
I'm a sucker for books on Faerie, however overdone I firmly believe the subject to be (much like urban vampire stories); so when the offer came down the line, and I was assured that I did not need to read the whole series to understand this novel, I bent my head and agreed.
Time passed. I forgot the book assignment. Then a bulky package arrived and reminded me of my obligation; opening it, I stared in horror. "This thing's thicker than the last Harry Potter book!" I cried, despairing. "It's a series in itself!"
In truth, weighing in at 680 pages of story, even before glossary and notes are added in (bringing it to 698 pages), The Book of Dreams is the shorter of the two. The hardcopy of Deathly Hallows finished up at 759 pages, and The Book of Dreams is, when set side-by-side with the other, a physically smaller book in width and height. So I was throroughly wrong there.
I found the cover art (by Cliff Nielsen), presented in a glossy rather than a matte sheen, more striking on the Melling novel than on any of Rowling's. A young woman holding a staff stares a challenge out at the viewer, as dragons writhe through a background of flames and the shadows of war play out behind her. It's a lovely mixture of photography and artwork, and a very powerful image.
Once I stopped howling over the size of the novel, I sent in notice that it might take me a little bit longer than usual, hid it under a stack of paperwork, and tried to avoid thinking about it. But that only worked for a day or two; I have an overdeveloped guilt complex and can't stand having unmet obligations on my desk. And that cover kept drawing my eye.
So I began to read, and . . . well, let's just say I didn't get much sleep for a couple of nights. I intended to read a chapter at a time, really I did. Ah well, my best intentions always fall away when presented with good writing. And good maps. The artist, Bret Bertholf, developed three terrific maps: one focusing on Canada, one tracing the various journeys undertaken by characters, and one showing North America as it was originally settled by the various Native tribes. That last map alone fascinated to me; I'd never heard of some of the tribal names listed. Of course I've heard of Aztec and Mohawk and Cherokee -- who hasn't? -- but Absaroke (Crow), Yokuts, Yana, Innu, Iynu, and Tutchone were all magical and new sounding to my ear. So, right off the bat, I was impressed and intrigued by the presented details.
Then I turned to the Prologue, my feet went out from under me, and I fell into the book wholeheartedly. I never would have expected a story about a transplanted Irish girl, forced to move to Canada by parents with the best of intentions, to catch my interest in the least. And maybe, if this novel had started off that way, it wouldn't have; but it begins with a wolf. An intelligent wolf, who comes into a major city searching for something and finds, along the way:
Sufi dancers inscribing the grass with prints as light as sparrows'. . . .Owls were gathering to hold their own parliament. . . . a statue of a tall angelic man with shoulder-length hair . . . He held a book in his hands.
The wolf speaks with the statue (both of whom admit aloud that such a conversation is intrinsically odd) and receives answers that only puzzle and trouble him further: intimations of evil creeping through the land, warnings of a great battle to come.
Again, this could have been "oh, not another Cosmic Battle Between Good And Evil" -- but it wasn't. Melling brings the old storyline to life with unexpected, vibrant characters and true motivations, a deft hand with description and a steady pace that pulls the reader unstoppably through the story. The main character, Dana, has a human father and a Faery mother; unhappy with the move to Canada, she spends as much time as she can playing in "Tir Tairngaire," the Faery Lands where her mother remains eternally young, carefree, and more than willing to caper around with a teenage daughter. It takes Dana a long time to realize that sometimes, escaping to a world of seemingly endless fun isn't the answer to problems.
Adolescent angst and love, worried parents and mentors, sacred forces and rituals, all weave through this book like a melody set to words. Melling isn't afraid to mix up cultures and languages; Irish, Native American, Canadian-French, and Indian mingle throughout this story. Jean, Dana's love-interest, uses French as often as in English: "Oeuvre la porte! Open the door . . . Calisse, girl! Open the door! . . . Qu'est-ce que tu fais? It's coming!" he shouts at her during their first major encounter.
Now, I have no clue what most of those words mean, but I'm pretty sure he's telling her to pull her head out of her keester and get a move on. And to confirm, all I had to do was turn to the extensive Glossary in the back of the book and read that oevre la porte! means "open the door" and qu'est-ce que tu fais means "what are you doing?"
I couldn't find calisse in the Glossary, so I went online and discovered it's a French-Canadian swear word. Returning to the Glossary, I found it at last, towards the back, along with "tabernac"; however, Melling defines them rather tamely compared to what I saw in my search:
Tabernac (Canadian French) -- swear word referring to 'tabernacle.' Many French-Canadian curses refer to the Roman Catholic Church. Also used in this book are calisse for calice (chalice) and maudit (damned).
The online Urban Dictionary defines calisse as equivalent to a much stronger word, although it does admit that "the level of vulgarity of this blaspemic [sic] swear differs from region to region."
Which raised an interesting question for me: if a writer uses a foul swear word from another language while avoiding similar slang in her main tongue, is that cheating? Does it still count as swearing? Just because it doesn't register in my consciousness as equivalent to "fuck", is it any less offensive in the end? Let me note here that swearing (which is the only realistic response -- besides staining your shorts -- when a giant evil monster is about to eat you) never bothers me. It's the apparent effort to keep the text "clean" for conservatives that drew my interest (but not condemnation); the worst English swear word I found in the book was "damn," and the definition in the Glossary offers readers the tamest translation possible.
However, vulgarity is relative; certainly there shouldn't be much offensive about a word that literally translates as "chalice"! And this isn't the place to sidetrack into a complex linguistics discussion anyway, so I'll just shrug, leave the issue for other people to argue, and turn back to the proper scope of a book review: the descriptions, characters, and plot.
And there's plenty there to praise without reservations. The amount of research Melling has put into this novel quite literally staggers me; in the "Acknowledgments," she offers gratitude for travel grants from the Arts Council of Ireland, a bursary award from Wicklow Country Council, along with thanks to The Tyrone Guthrie Centre, The Fatal Light Awareness Program (FLAP), the Native Canadian Centre in Toronto, and much more.
Also mentioned in the "Acknowledgments" are the names Deirdre and Yvonne Whelan. In the novel, Deirdre and Yvonne are Dana's two aunts, and stand out as two of the most striking and fun characters I've seen in a while: unbothered by notions of "proper" behavior, they're likely to walk into a fancy restaurant, wearing, respectively, stilettos and hobnailed boots; ogle the maitre'd, and quite possibly get themselves thrown out for laughing too loud. I love the thought that these characters might be based even in part on truth; I think the world is a better place with such folks walking the real streets. For one thing, they provide marvelous inspiration for novelists. . . .
The plot and subplots that wind though this novel deliver information on culture and myth, folklore and magic, moving from the ordinary world of high school into the depths of Faerie without missing a beat. I found myself crying at the end, and I don't think it was just sleep-deprivation; Melling had me hooked, and good. I have always been, and probably always will remain, a sucker for magical tales of overarching love, self-sacrifice, and towering loyalty, kept grounded with occasional sparks of humor. The Book of Dreams delivered all that, along with thoroughly memorable characters and a fresh take on an old storyline.
I zoomed through this book with great appetite and little sleep, and regretted not a moment of it. Will I pick up the other volumes by this author? Absolutely -- when I have three days or a week free for reading each one. Would I recommend this author to friends and family? Absolutely -- but only to the ones who love reading great big fantasy novels.
And no, I'm not loaning my copy out. I want to look at those awesome maps some more.
O.R. Melling's Web site may be found here.
More examples of Cliff Nielson's stunning artwork may be seen thisaway.
The Urban Dictionary may be found over here.
