“Life starts now.”
This is one of those rare ones that number among the best kind of stories. The stories that make you look inside yourself. The stories that take you on a journey and, when they leave you, they leave you in a different place than you were before you opened their cover.
Yes, Toby and the Secrets of Tree surpasses Book 1, Toby Alone. Partly this is because at this point we know our characters, so we don’t have to spend time getting to know them. Rather like the way one can thoroughly enjoy Season 2 of an especially good tv series. The plot of the second book beautifully weaves the threads of the first together in a spider’s masterpiece of silken art.
At the beginning, this was Toby’s story. But it’s not anymore. This the story of the whole Tree. It’s even the story of those beyond the Tree. It’s the story of all of us.
There’s such an abundance of pathos here it makes your heart ache. A poor cobbler betrayed by his wife, listening each night to the whispered conversations of a couple deeply, loyally in love through the worst trials of their life, then the man who was so traumatized he’s been considered mute for years, but now, suffering fresh abuse in the prison camp, he screams at night, and oh don’t forget the blind and deaf young man who has friends so good and true they still tell him “goodnight,” even though he can’t hear them, and the poor innocent little ten-year-old who has an appointment with a master torturer. I could go on…seriously I could. I almost want to, to help adequately express how much is packed into this expansive sequel.
Maybe if it wasn’t so true to life, so true to humanity, it wouldn’t stir the emotions the way it does. Maybe a young, blissfully sheltered child could read it without getting their heart stirred. I don’t know.
I do know that it was perfect for this time and season in life. It was cathartic for me. And for that, I’m appreciatively thankful to the certain someone who so kindly recommended it.