This richly imagined novel invents a backstory for the famous Nativity tale of the three wise men-Melchior, Balthazaar and Gaspar-who follow a star in search of the prophesied king. Fletcher (Shadow Spinner) centers the story on Mitra, a Persian teenager, and her young brother, the fragile, kindhearted Babak. The pair was forced to flee after their father's unsuccessful coup attempt against the reigning monarch, Phraates. Mitra successfully disguises herself as a boy and a beggar-until Babak unwittingly reveals his ability to foretell the future through his dreams. His prophetic visions attract unwanted attention, most perilously from Melchior, an out-of-favor Magus who kidnaps the boy so Babak can dream exclusively for him, despite obvious risks to the boy's health. (He grows weaker with every dream.) There's a bit too much going on-two romances for Mitra, multiple escapes and recaptures, squabbling Magi-and the pace occasionally advances as languidly as a camel journey from Persia to Bethlehem. But Mitra is feisty and honorable, and Fletcher, with lush and often poetic language, somehow ties her many strands together, drawing a subtle parallel between the humble circumstances of the unnamed baby's birth and the empathetic suffering of Babak, a prince in exile. Ages 12-up. (Sept.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Alphabet of Dreams
Narrated by Meera Simhan
Susan FletcherUnabridged — 9 hours, 23 minutes
Alphabet of Dreams
Narrated by Meera Simhan
Susan FletcherUnabridged — 9 hours, 23 minutes
Overview
Then they discover that Babak has a strange gift: If he sleeps with an item belonging to someone, he can know that person's dreams. Soon Babak and his abilities come to the attention of a powerful Magus-one who has read portents in the stars of the coming of a new king and the dawn of a new age. Soon Mitra and Babak find themselves on the road to Bethlehem . . .
The acclaimed author of Shadow Spinner returns to ancient Persia in this spellbinding saga-a tale filled with the color of the caravansaries and the heat of the desert, a tale that reimagines the wonder and spirit of a lost age.
Editorial Reviews
Gr 5-8-Susan Fletcher once again illuminates the scope of history with a personal and engaging story about individual struggles in this novel (Ginee Sea Books, 2006) with a biblical theme. Of royal heritage, their family scattered when their father tried to overthrow the king, 15-year-old Mitra and her younger brother Babak are living in the catacombs of Rhagae in ancient Persia. Mitra disguises herself as a boy and they beg and steal to survive. Then Babak tells of a dream that comes true and Mitra discovers that when Babak sleeps with an item from another person next to his skin, he dreams their dreams. For a time, Mitra parlays this somewhat frightening talent into coppers, saving up for passage to Palmyra, where some kin may still exist. They are soon discovered by a magus, Melchior, who wants Babak to dream only for him. Their journey finally takes them to Bethlehem. This deeply and richly imagined novel, with intricately spun details that bring the story to life, is read with solemnity by actress Meeta Simhan. Mitra's humorless rancor at having sunk so low socially, her absolute determination to find a better way, and her bottomless love for Babak shine through in Simhan's narration. A worthy addition to both public and school libraries.-Charli Osborne, Oxford Public Library, MI Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Fletcher's inward-looking tale recreates the arduous journey of the Three Wise Men, as seen by a teenager in double disguise. After three years of hiding from the Persian king's soldiers by pretending to be both a boy and a beggar, Mitra, child of a rebellious noble, is swept up by the Magi along with her little brother Babak, who has begun to experience dreams that actually become reality. Impelled by the strange triple conjunction of two planets in the sky, the priests journey across the harsh desert toward distant Jerusalem. On the way, Mitra's dream of being restored to her previous lofty state runs into one snag after another as Babak's health begins to fail, the hunt for her and her brother comes closer and her efforts to hide her sex are complicated by new, strange feelings for two young men she encounters. Fletcher focuses more on emotional than physical landscapes, pushing the historical setting well into the background; Mitra gets nary a glimpse of the baby Jesus, and though she's able to give advance warning of the slaughter of the innocents, that too is left offstage. Still, by the end she has given over her childhood, along with its fantasies, and found a true home. Absorbing. (author's essay) (Fiction. YA)
Meera Simhan elegantly delivers this enchanting and intricate story of one of the greatest mysteries in the history of Christianity. In the time before Christ’s birth, protagonist Mitra and her brother, Babak, find themselves victims of political and social upheaval. Left to fend for themselves in the City of the Dead, they find that Babak has a special gift they may use to gain passage to find their family. Simhan deftly carries off the Old World diction and syntax of the dialogue. Fletcher’s detailed descriptions of setting, well researched and true to the time period, also add charm to the listening experience. D.L.M. © AudioFile 2006, Portland, Maine
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940169179156 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 08/08/2006 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
Alphabet of Dreams
By Susan Fletcher
Ginne Seo Books
Copyright © 2006 Susan FletcherAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0689850425
Chapter 1
Babak's Dream
When we lived in the City of the Dead, my brother dreamed mostly of food. Banquets he would have there, curled up on the stone floor among the ossuaries -- melons and olives, chickpeas and dates, lentils and bread. Even noble folks' food was not too fine for his dreams -- honeyed lemon peel and almonds, saffron-roasted flesh of lamb.
How did he know of such food, I used to wonder. Was it seeing it in the marketplace? Or does one's true nature bubble up and show itself in dreams? We'd ceased eating as nobles do three years before, when Babak was scarcely two.
Still, this dream food seemed to satisfy him someway. He did not wake weak and peevish with hunger, as I did. There was a kind of glow upon him while the aftertaste of nocturnal feasts suffused his face with joy.
"Sister!" he would say to me. "Such a dream I had. Roasted chickpeas! I ate till I nearly burst! And oranges, all peeled for me and sprinkled with leaves of mint. And warm rounds of bread with sesame seeds!"
But this talk of feasting only made me hungrier, crankier. "Move your feet, Babak," I would snap at last. I would drag him through the honeycombed cave passageways and out toward the gates of Rhagae.
"You can't eat dreams," I would say.
But I was wrong about that.Dreams can feed you, can send you on journeys to places beyond imagining.
I know this, because it happened to us.
"This way, Babak! Come!"
I snatched his hand and pulled him along the street as he veered toward a broken-winged pigeon that foundered in the dust, then yanked him away from some sobbing beggar woman he was drawn to, drying his tears, because of course he must cry too.
"She's nothing to you, Babak. Remember who you are!" We arrived at the head of the caravan as the first horseman passed the carpet weaver's market. "Look for Suren," I said, though now Babak had no need of instruction. His eyes, fastened on the passing travelers, were hungry with hope.
The swaying tassels, tinkling bells, and bright-woven saddlebags lent the caravan a festive air. Seemed to presage a celebration. A songbird trilled from its gilded cage, and a net filled with cooking pots clanked merrily. A camel-riding musician struck up a tune on a double-pipe; another shook a tambourine, filling the air with its gay, rhythmic jingle. Though I tried to fend it off, I too felt hope seeping into the chambers of my heart. I breathed it in with the dust that bloomed up from the animals' feet, with the smells of sweat, dung, and spices. A Magus, resplendent in his white cloak and tall cap, rode by astride a magnificent stallion. A lesser priest came behind, swinging a silver thurible that perfumed the air with smoke; another bore aloft the coals of the sacred fire in a brazier of hammered copper. I studied the others' faces as they passed -- the horse-archers; the attendants and servants; the camel drovers and donkey drovers; the musicians and entertainers; the pilgrims and merchants and grooms. I willed our brother Suren to be among them, to have attached himself to this caravan and returned to us.
But the last of the travelers passed, and no Suren.
I was reaching for Babak's hand to lead him away -- not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see what was gone from his eyes -- when I noticed a jostling up ahead, by the fruit seller's market. There was shouting, and cursing, and an exchange of blows -- a circumstance made in heaven for us. "Move your feet, Babak!" I said. In a trice I had slipped three pomegranates beneath the folds of my tunic and stripped a sack of dates from a fair-haired Scythian nomad with blue tattoos. The fracas suddenly veered in our direction; the Scythian stumbled, fell, flattened Babak beneath him.
It was then, I now realize -- when Babak was pinned beneath the Scythian, when I was kicking the Scythian's back to get him to move -- that the man's fur cap fell off. Babak must have tucked it into his sash.
That night, back in the City of the Dead, Babak pillowed his head on lynx fur and dreamed -- not of food, but of a birth. A happy occasion. A boy. He recognized the Scythian in the dream. Someone bringing him the baby, settling it in his arms. Someone saying, "Father." Babak dreamed the dream, he told me, as if the Scythian himself were dreaming it.
By chance, we caught sight of the man near the rope makers' market the next day and, before I could stop him, Babak sang out, "A boy! It will be a boy! A healthy boy!"
"Hsst!" I said, and snatched up Babak's hand, and ducked behind a donkey, behind a spice merchant, behind a crumbling wall, and tried to lose ourselves in the crowd before the Scythian could catch us.
But he did.
As it happened, the Scythian didn't recognize Babak from the day before. As it happened, the stolen cap and dates were the last things on his mind. As it happened, he was hoping for tidings -- though not from a marketplace waif.
As it happened, his wife was expecting a child.
This dream of my brother's was a good omen, he said, when he had pried it from us. Then he handed Babak a copper. With which we bought food -- something I had never done in all the fourteen years of my life.
Continues...
Excerpted from Alphabet of Dreams by Susan Fletcher Copyright © 2006 by Susan Fletcher. Excerpted by permission.
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