Review of The Fire-Eaters and The Colour of the Sun.
It took about a page of The Colours of the Sun to remember why I love David Almond. Somehow I didn't expect his less well-known books to be quite on the same level as Skellig and Kit's Wilderness but neither of these two magical novels disappointed. He writes with beguiling simplicity, the sparseness of J.M. Coetzee combined with the social awareness and emotional bareness of Ken Loach. His depiction of Newcastle and the Tyne area is mythical and grimly realistic and his sense of history and memory merges seamlessly into the present. Both of these books retrace his favourite themes, amplify and combine them to turn his works into a satisfying and unified mythology of his own. Class systems and education are under scrutiny like in My Name is Mina; his Blakean imagery reappears, as well as his penchant for a Shakespearian retelling like in Ella Grey; his obsession with our anatomy, the internal workings of the human body, like in Skellig; old, mysterious men who blur the lines between angel and devil; characters that create art, poetry and other forms of expression; a dark, Gothic sense of romance that blurs gender lines. If you like David Almond, there's nothing to dislike about these books.
The Colour of the Sun tells the story of Davie, a boy in a coastal town who has recently lost his father. A murder occurs in his town, a boy killed in a knife fight with a rival family, and Davie roams the streets and the moorland of his hometown interviewing and being interviewed by the various inhabitants of the town. There are ghosts galore that populate his wanderings - the voice of his father, a strange errant man with one leg - as well as doubting priests and old washer women who tell folktales about babies kidnapped by birds. Religion and folklore merge into sweeping descriptions of Northern landscapes. At times the setting is quite magnificent. The story itself is relatively lean and dreamlike with little central thrust, but the murder story develops into a Tyneside Romeo and Juliet in which the two rival boys form a violent love triangle with a local girl, love, youthful passion and aggression converging with a sense of social frustration and not fitting in. One particular scene on the moorland above the town sums up Almond's talent for capturing a magical moment, as a brief kiss at a kissing gate sends Davie's soul reeling.
There is also plenty of humour in The Colours of the Sun, shown by the jovial and surprising ending, like one of Ken Loach's rare happy films, but it doesn't remove the fact that Davie grows up in a restrictive, difficult environment. Like many of Almond's characters, he shows his release through his artwork, sketching the characters and scenes of the book as he goes. Almond frequently plays with the sense of authorship in the creative process, Davie more than once wondering if he is part of a story. If he is, he thinks, there's not much he can do about it anyway so he might as well just keep walking. In his grief, Davie's wanderings capture some of the beautiful loneliness of a solitary walk, the landscapes wrapping him up in their stories and their magic. Almond writes in dialectal English, increasing the sense of authenticity. More than other books, The Colour of the Sun expresses his deep love for the places that he grew up in and the stories that informed his growing up.
The Fire-Eaters is also a beautiful ode to his place of birth, combining many of the stylistic elements of The Colours of the Sun and Kit's Wilderness. Together, the three books make for a fascinating trilogy. Of the main characters, however, Robert Burns in The Fire-Eaters is perhaps the best and most sympathetic. The story is also the most conventional, a true Ken Loach social adventure. Robert is a working class boy who is accepted into a private school. His father isn't well and his friends are accept their fates - to stay in their coal town. He meets McNulty on a trip to Newcastle with his mother, a mad street performer who can skewer his cheeks and breathe fire. It turns out McNulty is an old war acquaintance whom he believed dead (another ghostly older demon). Robert befriends a boy called Daniel who has moved into the area because his father is attempting a photograph study of the working class. The two boys come together to protest against the violence shown by teachers towards the pupils at their school. Told in the first person, The Fire-Eaters is direct, clarion clear and infinitely believable. It allows Almond is delve into past traumas, look at how the war affected his parents' generation, and analyse that period of tension and opportunity that followed the war. Class barriers are beginning to break down, kids from coal towns can go to university, and middle class gentlemen from Kent are taking photographs of the working class, as if studying a different species.
Almond handles this social tension very well. Ailsa's family is particularly well portrayed. She has been accepted into the same school but doesn't want to go in order to continue in the family tradition. This masculine, working life is dissected with a mixture of rebellious disdain and mythical admiration. Again, Almond's description of the setting is amazing, culminating in a fire-side beach scene that combines the best of his work. Sometimes you stare in wonder at the brilliancy of a single sentence, or stop and check when he last used an adjective. He rarely needs them. When he uses them they are ringed with poignancy. Like Skellig, his best book, his characters and settings are described with deliberate, poetic repetitions that resonate like mantra in your head. He writes of young love and friendship in such a way that the characters throb with pain and longing, as well as the intangibility of those memories of youth. It makes you want to experience it all again. It makes you glad it's all behind you. The Fire-Eaters in particular is for older readers, although some of the themes in The Colour of Sun are also quite dark and difficult. If you were to criticise, one could say that his books are thematically very similar. The Fire-Eaters, loosely, treads the same path as Skellig. For me, Skellig was so perfect I was glad to have it retold and restructured. It allows Almond to expand upon his mythology and his themes.
Both of these books swept me up. Neither is better than Skellig but both are so much better than anything else out there. For me, there is no better writer today. It doesn't matter how old you are. If I had to choose, The Fire-Eaters is the better book, but The Colour of the Sun is perhaps a little more adventurous in style and more original. David Almond could probably tell me anything; he simply is the most consummate poet and storyteller there is.
The Colour of the Sun: 9
The Fire-Eaters: 10