Torture- It's all a head game

So I received the following email in my inbox this week:*

"Dear Ms. Mitsch,
      I am writing this letter to let you know that I am so glad to hear you are such a fan of my work.  I have seen the review you wrote for Wolfskin, and I felt somewhat sorry for the emotional state it left you in.  Had I known that it was such a challenge to read such an obvious plotline, I'd have changed it right from the start!  Instead, I hope you continue on to read Foxmask, my sequel to Wolfskin.  I wrote it especially for you!**  Please let me know how you fare with it.  All my best, Juliet Marillier."

It's so nice to be thought of!  Especially in advanced retrospect, or is it retroactively proactive?  Anywho, it took me a week (and a lot of nailbiting and late nights), but I finished Foxmask by Juliet Marillier.  Clearly, she heard my plea last week for a more mysterious storyline; I got just that.  Maybe I should have been a little quieter in my demands.  Had I known what was to be delivered, I'd have cheered my good luck in getting the openess of Wolfskin.  Instead, this week, Ms. Marillier handed me a piece of cotton gauze, bid me to bind my eyes lightly, and put me in the passenger seat of her convertible.  I was to instruct her turning of the wheel as we drove down Route 1, hugging California's Pacific coastline on a foggy winter's morning.  Dear God, what horrific rush!

Whereas Wolfskin made an obvious statement of story arc in the very beginning of the book, Foxmask was almost the complete opposite.  The book is set almost two decades after the end of Wolfskin, dealing with the children of Eyvind and Somerled.  Eyvind's daughter, Creidhe, is the picture of domestic arts and goodwife practicality.  Thorvald, child of Margaret and Somerled, is an outsider in his community, more due to his own moodiness and self-centered nature than anything else.  As the story opens, Margaret tells him the truth of his parentage, sending his world into tumult.  Being eighteen, impetuous, and full of himself, Thorvald decides to go on a little expedition, just to see if his father is still alive.  That's about the only clue the author gives as to where this ride is going to take us.

Much like the rocky and pinwheeling nature of California's coast, this plot moves quickly in one direction, then another, and back again.  You can only get the barest glimpse of what's ahead of you, hardly enough to formulate where the road is leading at any given time.  Once again (or maybe as usual?), the author tackles some big philosophical questions.  Can a person change their nature?  How fixed are our personalities, given the genetic inheritance and the environmental pressures?  How much farther can truth take you in places of distrust and times of violence?  What is a necessary lie? Is there such a thing?  She also does a good job of exploring the moral ambiguities involved in "survival" versus "living".  Heady stuff, I know, and her ability to slalom through this very deep terrain while keeping the characters and plot on track is just remarkable.

In fact, the story of Foxmask very much resembles its slightly fantastical setting, which the author based loosely on the modern-day Faroe Islands.  Located between Norway and Iceland, the Faroes make the Orkneys look like the Azores.  (A little bit of geography humor for you there.  Go look them up on the map, I'll wait.  Get it now?  Ok, moving on).  Settled in roughly the same era as the Orkneys by the Norwegian Vikings, the Faroes are a hard-luck place for hard-luck people just looking to have a little place to live and pass on.  Not much is known about this islands before the coming of Irish monks, as whatever natives might've been living there did not have any written history.  If there was a movie to compare this story and location to, it'd be the western Purgatory.  Same bleakness of location, similar hard-luck stories.  It makes a fantastic backdrop to the ever-shifting story and larger-than-life questions and archetypes that the author uses.

So when I said I would prefer a little dodginess to an outright train wreck, I might've been wrong.  I have to say that both of these books put you between the proverbial rock and hard place, making you really question yourself and your moral code.  As my husband used to say, ethical questions are really the only ones worth debating; all else is a foregone conclusion.  My hat's off to Ms. Marillier; I must be her most emphatically reluctant fan.

Wow, now what do I read?  All else seems a little... pale in comparison.  Maybe it's back to the magazine rack for a few nights, and give my brain some time to cool off.


*- This is totally fiction.

**- This is utter and totally made-up crap.  Though it'd be awesome for an author to say that to me.  Maybe something for the bucket list....

A Trip to the Light Isles- Why the Vikings are less than trustworthy....

More often than not, the types of books I enjoy have an air of mystery or suspense to them.  You're never altogether sure which direction the author's going to take.  I love that; I love that building of anticipation that comes from not knowing where the story is going.  Oh sure, I might be able to make an educated guess as to how the plotline is going to fall out, or what kind of character development is going to happen, but overall I like being along for the ride.

In fact, usually when I can see the layout of a story, I lose interest rapidly.  However, this time was very different.  In the first twenty pages or so of Wolfskin, by Juliet Marillier, the author sets out the entire premise of her story; I won't lie, it's like seeing a train wreck before it happens.  And the author gives you the choice: read on, and see how it plays out in real time, or set the book aside and find something a little tamer.  I'll admit, I did debate for a day or so.  Can I put myself through this psycho-drama?  Can I handle what's coming?

After getting my crash gear on, I dove back into the book with vigor, and pushed through it.  Don't get me wrong, it's not some badly written piece of literature that you have to work at to finish.  It is altogether sublime in its development of characters and building of tension.  Instead of a usual back country winding road that I usually drive, I've signed up to swim across Lake Champlain.  The challenge is seemingly obvious, but the far shore is still hidden by fog.  All I have to rely on is the author's elusive offer for a good ending.  I had to hope that would be enough.

Opening this story with an old Norse legend of two men who swear to each other a bond of blood brotherhood, the author sets the stage for an intense emotional rollercoaster.  The two main characters, Eyvind and Somerled, are a study in contrast.  From the time they met as boys on the cusp of manhood, both cling to the other, seeing a perfect compliment and companion.  They, too, swear a bond, one that is based on faith, meant to last an eternity.  Both have large dreams and the dedication to bring those dreams to life.  Sadly, the dreams of one will make a living nightmare for the other.

The author uses these two characters to explore a complex framework- the permanence we associate with promises and vows versus the constant change inherent to life itself.  In a time when certainty is necessary to maintain any semblance of civilization, making vows or giving one's word acts as a cornerstone to the functioning of society.  The fabric of trust needed in keeping a community together and thriving is based on that concept.  But the old axiom still applies- people change.  It is a universal law that we change over time; none of us are the same from one year to the next, because the experiences we have alter us and our perceptions of the world around us.  So how can you have both?  Is it even possible to make a deep vow to someone and be able to keep it over the years?  What if the vow is made in error of judgment?  How do you come to grips with trying to keep a promise, knowing that the other party is not worthy of the loyalty? 

The setting for this is one of my favorite spots in the world- the Orkney Islands off the coast of northern Scotland.  From the time of the Neanderthals, the smalls islands of the Orkneys have had many waves of inhabitants.  The author uses the backdrop of the late 8th century-early 10th century on the Isles, and she cleverly gives a plausible story for the settlement of the Vikings and the reaction of the inhabitants (mostly of Pictish decent).  I've seen Maes Howe, Skara Brae, and the Stones of Stenness, all of which are featured in some form in the story.  I think the author did an excellent job of describing the geography, as well breathing life into what is mostly conjecture on the culture and society of the Orkneys during this period of history.

Despite my trepidation at the outset, I have to say this story evolved in an amazing fashion.  If you have any interest in Viking culture or the Orkney Islands, this is a very good read.  Or if perhaps you like that feeling of seeing the challenge at the outset and like a good train wreck, this is might be a book for you as well.  I might still hesitate a little when this author makes an offer like this in another story, but at least I know I'll be in for a good time before the crash and burn.