The Snow Child

            The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey is delightful but not without faults. The novel follows the lives of Mabel and John, two Alaskan homesteaders. Their lives are hard—Alaska is barren, and they tend rough land and hunt for food. They are also childless, a fact that has created a great rift between them. Their lives are very desolate at the beginning of the novel. They have little interaction with each other or anyone else. As the novel progresses, however, they befriend their neighbors, Esther and George, and taheir sons.

           
The crux of the novel, though, is the story of little Faina, a girl who appears one night in their yard after they build a snow child on their lawn in the first flurry of the season. Faina’s story is part harsh reality, part mysticism, and the girl quickly becomes like a child to the old couple. Mabel believes she is a snow child, like that in a story she heard as a child. The girl appears to walk on snow without really sinking in; she cannot stand the heat and disappears every year at the end of winter. Remarkably, she can survive alone in the brutal Alaskan wilderness. To John, Faina appears a feral child. He knows that her father is dead, for the child lead John to her father’s lifeless body one day. As the novel progresses, Mabel and John’s opinion of Faina change and change again. The reader is left wondering: how mystical and magical is the child? And how fallibly real is she?

           
There are some great things about this novel. The story of John, Mabel, and Faina is mimetic of the tale that Mabel knew as a child—that of an old couple who builds a snow child only to have her come to life but disappear every spring. This feature is interesting, and I enjoyed some of the underlying criticism of fairy tales (they are often very cruel even though they are meant for children). The characters, although a bit stereotypical at times, are enjoyable. The portrait of Alaskan homesteading was particularly fascinating for me, since it is a part of American history I knew nothing about.

           
I spent a long time trying to figure out what was “wrong” with the novel. As I was reading it, I knew it had shortcomings but couldn’t totally pinpoint them. I think, however, it lies in the fact that at times the dialogue seemed a bit stale or halted. Sometimes I wondered if this was just supposed to be halted because of the time period of the novel and the way people spoke back then, but I am not sure. Ivey did a pretty good job with everything else. Like I said, at times the characters seemed stereotypical, but they rounded themselves out as the novel progressed, although perhaps not as fully as they could have. The final portion of the story seemed a little too rushed, and the first part a little too slow. The pacing simply needed a small shift.

          
In spite of my criticisms, I did enjoy The Snow Child. If you like fantasy novels that have mere elements of magic and not a completely transformed world, I would recommend this book. 

The Girls

I have never read a book like Lori Larsens The Girls. The novel is about a lot of the things that all novels are about: love, friendship, family, relationships. But The Girls is not any old novel, and the narrators are not your usual could-be-anybodies. At the time that they are writing their co-authored autobiography, Ruby and Rose Darlen are almost thirty, sick, and working in a library (The Girls is one of those books within a book…a fiction novel that reads like an autobiography). They are also the world’s oldest surviving craniopagus twins. That means that they are joined at the head, sharing a major vein. They can never be separated, and because of the way they are connected, they have never seen the other’s face except for in mirrors or photographs.

Rose is the academic, and the main writer of the autobiography. She is sporty and bookish at the same time, with a verbose yet poignant way of looking at the world. She weaves in her own story with that of her sister’s, her Aunt Lovey and Uncle Stash—her adoptive parents.

Ruby is interested in history, and a fan of TV. Although Rose often says that Ruby is the weaker of the two, Ruby comes across strong in the chapters that she writes. Although she is clearly not as “writerly” as her sister, her chapters add simplicity to the complex narrative that Rose writes, breaking the novel up in a pleasant way.  

There are stories of lost children, pregnancies, crushes and loves, death. There are tales of magic and witches, of superstition and fact. Of crows and family. Of growing up and being a child and being different during all of that.

It took me a while to read The Girls. Rose’s chapters are very thick feeling and take some time to get through, but I think the main reason that I was so slow to finish the book was that I didn’t want it to end. This book…I will never forget this book. It is everything I love about a novel—great characters, good plotlines, fantastic language—with the added punch of being about a topic like growing up as a conjoined twin. It is unique, without feeling gimicky. If the book was just about two sisters not joined at the head, it would be still stand up as a great novel. 

I give author Lori Lansens major credit for being able to write about being a craniopagus twin, when she obviously isn’t, with such clarity. She doesn’t leave out details—questions about love-relationships and being a conjoined twin were in my mind when I started reading this novel, and they get addressed because one of the twins conceives at one point in the story. She also doesn’t make the whole novel about the twins. Aunt Lovey and Uncle Stash’s relationship are woven beautifully into the tale, and they become fascinating with all of their flaws and perfections.

I can’t even express how much I recommend this book—if you want to read a good, different, and beautifully written novel, pick up The Girls.