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Narrated by Philip Franks
Nicky SingerUnabridged — 5 hours, 29 minutes
Narrated by Philip Franks
Nicky SingerUnabridged — 5 hours, 29 minutes
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"A 12-year-old is perfect bully bait until an arts project at a local nursing home pairs him with a truculent resident with a mysterious history. The writing soars, from the pitch-perfect delineation of the boy's wry, self-depreciating voice, to the change wrought in him as he becomes `the sort of boy who can fly,' " wrote PW in a starred review. Ages 10-up. (Nov.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.
Gr 6-8-Robert Nobel is a geek whose life is about to change. Bespectacled and awkward, he endures daily ridicule and bullying from his classmates, especially their ringleader, "Niker." As a class project, Robert is assigned to interview the elderly Edith Sorrel, a lady with a mysterious past now living in a nearby rest home. Edith tells Robert the beginning of a folktale about a firebird and asks him to make her a coat of feathers. Robert, intrigued to the point of obsession, believes he can prevent her death from terminal illness if he finishes the coat in time. In addition, she asks him to visit the now derelict Chance House, Edith's former home and the scene of a terrible tragedy. When "Niker" goads Robert into spending the night in the vacant house, the spookiness threatens to engulf both boys. This debut novel by British writer Nicky Singer (Delacorte, 2002) is a multi-layered story full of dark shadows. The performance, narrated by British actor Philip Franks, slowly builds an ominous suspense much like a film noir. The production is curiously intense, but the writing is laced with enough wry humor for a good balance. Franks' presentation of Robert as a self-deprecating schoolboy fighting his demons and those of Edith Sorrel as well makes for a memorable listening experience. Thoughtful readers who enjoy suspense, complex plot lines, and finely-drawn characters will appreciate this production.-Celeste Steward, Contra Costa County Library, Clayton, CA Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
A British import with Cormier-like undertones that explores the twinned themes of fear and courage. Robert, narrator of the tale, is "the class squit"-timorous and awkward, he is the easy butt of the vicious and charismatic Niker. He is unutterably lonely; although he has a loving relationship with his mother, she is hardly ever at home as she works to support the two of them in the wake of the departure of Robert's father some years previous. When the class begins a project to match students with residents of a nearby nursing home to share life experiences, Robert finds himself paired with the imperious and slightly mad Mrs. Sorrel, who directs him to go to a condemned apartment building. Robert's unwilling investigation leads to both a subtle but profound change in his relationship with Niker and an intense, almost mystical, attachment to the dying Mrs. Sorrel. There is a touch of the surreal in the telling of the story as Robert shifts his focus from his own misery to the pain, both past and present, of Mrs. Sorrel, and attempts to save her life by recreating the pattern of a Cree variant on the Selkie myth. Singer, a newcomer to writing for children, here displays a terrific sense of voice-"How come grown-ups are always so smart about your life, but not quite so smart about their own?"-and an ability to develop character, as she allows Robert to move from self-absorption and self-pity to real strength and an understanding that "you make your own luck." The setting, a seaside British town in autumn, is beautifully realized, and the publisher should be congratulated for refraining from Americanizing most Briticisms. The metaphors of feathers and flight are omnipresent to the point ofobviousness and Mrs. Sorrel herself is drawn with a regrettable lack of subtlety, but Robert's voice, alternately wry and yearning, and the ambitious reach of the narrative carry the show. (Fiction. 10-14)
| BN ID: | 2940171785086 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 04/09/2002 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
| Age Range: | 10 - 13 Years |
1
It all began when Catherine came to talk about the Elders' Project. Of course that's not what Catherine would say. She'd say it began in a time that is yesterday and tomorrow and eternally present. But then Catherine's a storyteller. I'm not a storyteller. I'm just the guy it happened to.
Anyway, there we all were in that dead time just after lunch, a little pale sunlight trying to push its way into Class 7R. Miss Raynham had set out a chair for Catherine and patted its seat to make her sit down. She'd said "Ahem" and begun to scratch her head. None of us likes it when Miss Raynham scratches her head. Her thin gray hair barely covers her very white scalp. The merest touch of a fingernail on that creepy skull showers her shoulders with dandruff. Niker says if she ever loses her job as a teacher she could earn a living making snowdrifts for the movies. When I told my mum that story (and I made the story mainly about Niker) Mum said: "That's nothing." Apparently, when she was at school, they had a teacher called Miss Cathart, who used to spit down the sleeves of her cardigan. Miss Cathart's cardigans, Mum says, were the crocheted sort. Loosely knitted. With holes in. So the spit ran out.
This is the problem with stories. They run on. So- to begin again: Miss Raynham says: "Ahem." And then. "This is Catherine. Catherine erm . . ."
"Deneuve," says Niker.
"Of Aragon," says Derek.
"Parr," says Weasel.
You can see we've been learning about Henry VIII. Well, everyone but Niker has.
"Class," says Miss Raynham, and she shifts downwind--fast. She's big, Miss Raynham, corpulent, a blob on legs. But she moves like a spider. One minute she's standing at the front of the class with a smile and a piece of chalk and the next thing you know, she's zigzagged to your desk and the chalk is in your neck. Or Niker's neck in this case.
"Catherine Fenn," continues Miss Raynham without a pause, "has come to speak to us about the Elders' Project. Catherine?"
Attention transfers at once to the front of the class. Catherine is youngish, in her twenties probably, little, dark, and she seems at rather a loss. Her long hair is piled up on her head and held in place with a moon and stars clip. Only the clip isn't doing a very good job and most of the hair is making a bid for freedom down Catherine's back. She's wearing those brightly colored clothes that look like you've dipped them at random in three different vats of dye and--as yet--she hasn't said anything.
"Catherine," repeats Miss Raynham with that scratch and that edgy irritation we all know so well.
"Hello," says Catherine at last.
"Hello, Catherine," says the class.
She shifts position, as though she's Goldilocks and she can't get comfortable in Mummy Bear's chair. "Thank you for letting me be here."
"Oh boy," says Niker, and then seems to choke. Could be the chalk at his throat.
"I . . . ," begins Catherine, but Miss Raynham's patience is at an end. She strides to the front of the class.
"Catherine is a storyteller. We're very fortunate to have her on loan from Icarus, an arts organization working with people in the community. Catherine is going to lead a project between children from this class and the residents of the Mayfield Rest Home."
"Is that the barmy bin?" asks Weasel.
"No, Wesley, it is not the barmy bin. And it is partly to counter such ignorant attitudes about the senior members of...
