Into the Woods

The charming thing about having a 12-year-old who is a good reader is that if you leave books lying around, he'll pick them up. I've been reading Last Child in the Woods, by Richard Louv, and for the last couple of days, Walker has read sections of it. So I don't have to read it and then try to change my parenting; my kids are old enough to read it themselves and then decide if they think it's true. Last evening Walker, who has a good case of poison ivy already, went out to the woods in back of our house and climbed a tree. "And it did make me feel better, mom" he said.

One of the odd effects of building on to the back of our house is that it has seemed to bring the woods closer, because we can see less yard and more woods from the new bathroom window. I have the best view of our unusual orange azalea, which is just about to burst into full bloom, that I've had in years.

So I've enjoyed reading Keith Donohue's The Stolen Child, which is about hobgoblins who live in the woods and creep into a house to steal a child and leave a changeling in its place. It's enjoyable in the same way that singing "Teddy Bear's Picnic" in a low growly voice while you're in the middle of the woods is enjoyable (the changeling actually sings this song in the novel)--it gives me a little shiver late at night, looking out into the fragrant darkness from the window that, as yet, has no blinds over it.

The interesting thing about The Stolen Child is that the point of view begins with the changeling ("Don't call me a fairy" he begins) and then each chapter alternates between him and the child he replaces, who joins the hobgoblin band. Their attempts to hold onto and even recapture memories are the focus of the novel. The stolen child, formerly named Henry Day but now referred to as Aniday, discovers his "faery powers," like his ability to appear to bring a deer that was struck by a car back to life: "the trick...is to breathe into its mouth. It's not dead at all, but in shock." The changeling, now known as Henry Day, discovers more about his original self as he grows up in the world of houses, and eventually discovers that in his first life, he was an autistic musical prodigy. The boys take parallel paths, and the culmination of the novel is their meeting, although in all the meetings throughout the novel, neither the human nor the faery can understand each other.

I found this novel at the library on Sarah's recommendation, and May turned out to be the perfect month to settle into its green reverie.