David Almond is an interesting writer. Since his last name begins with A I am acquainted with quite a few of his novels. (That’s right, I just keep reading.) Anyway, he writes these young adult novels that always have a small element of the fantastic in them- a fallen angel, a magic cave, or in this case, an abandoned baby. True, there isn’t anything that other-worldly about a baby lying around in a park, but the way everybody in the book acted, there was. This brings me to my only real problem with the book. It’s a good story and all, save the baby, boys grow up, yada yada yada, whatever. But these pre-teens are kids that are filled with such angst and drama that I just can’t really buy into anything that happens.
It’s probably just because I can’t relate to them. Apparently I had this carefree easy childhood and I just didn’t need to behave or speak or think the way these kids do. I mean, I don’t remember ever playing war games that escalated into somebody actually trying to kill one of the players. Sure, I remember playing war games; everybody did that. But we didn’t use real knives, and we didn’t end up stabbing each other. If somebody got a scratch from one of our sticks-that-was-a-fake-knife, it certainly wasn’t because our little pre-adolescent brains took a moment to process the complexities of whether or not actually killing our friend was a good idea. And we definitely didn’t do it with this really artful, multi-syllabic language that belongs in some enigmatic Oscar contender that no one understands.
My real question is: are kids really like this now? Do they wander around poetically designing in their own heads their own individual meaning of life? Do they find the skies so glamorous that they have to consider each cloud and what it might be speaking to them? Do they look at a tree and see a gallows, or imagine the butterflies woven together in a net that flutteringly smothers their enemies? Do they even have enemies?
Wait, I had enemies. There were bullies and such, sure, but I didn’t lay awake at night dreaming up new and creative ways to kill them. I was a kid! I just wanted them to quit making fun of my big nose! The most creative way I had of dealing with my “enemies” was learning what corner of the playground they hung out in and staying on the other side.
Don’t kids like bikes and dolls and video games and books anymore? I mean, really. How old am I that these silly John Hughes wannabes are so much older than I am? Because that’s how I feel when I read young adult books these days… there’s no kids anymore. There’s just a bunch of old souls wandering around in awkward bodies.
Rescuing babies.
And then murdering the bullies.
And then escaping to
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