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A review by acaciathorn
The Twig Trilogy by Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell
1.0
The Edge Chronicles should come with a warning. Caution: this series contains reminders that life isn't fair, and in the grand scheme of things, every endeavor is futile. Enjoy the illustrations.
I picked up these books because they were in the children's fantasy section of the library and looked like a fun, easy read. "Oh, a boy raised by woodtrolls!" I read on the back. "How whimsical! I bet this will be a pleasant diversion from my woe-begotten life."
WRONG. DEAD FREAKING WRONG.
This trilogy is supposed to be for KIDS...and yet it's one of the most grotesque, horrifying, trippy, violent, tragic, and downright effed up things I've ever read. I can barely even describe the kind of suffering the main character, Twig, goes through. Abandoned by his father at birth. Lost in the scariest damn forest I've ever encountered in a fantasy novel. Hunted by ferocious beasts. Lied to, stolen from, tricked, betrayed. Beloved pet-companion eaten alive in front of him. Held captive. Friends murdered and dismembered before his eyes. Father freaking evaporates after they're finally reunited. Works his ass off and gets a skyship, only to have it destroyed and have his companions flung to the far corners of the wilderness. All beautifully described and illustrated, all charmingly situated within the confines of a cruel, schizophrenic, polluted world that doesn't give a shit.
THIS AUTHOR IS A SADIST.
Now, I'm not saying this series is poorly written. It's marvelously, grotesquely crafted - it was just too damn cruel for my tastes. I have this expectation, when I read books, that if a protagonist goes through hell and back, s/he deserves a happy ending. Or at the very least, a meaningful one. The Edge Chronicles denied me the fulfillment of that expectation. Even more disturbingly, the narrative never gave any indication that such an expectation even existed.
In a way, I really respect Twig's character for his ability to keep some semblance of hope, of charity, of honor, and of direction throughout his ordeals. The world he inhabits is so schizophrenic, so unreliable, that he's like a tiny ship cast about in a maelstrom, with no hope of ever finding his way to shore. More often than not his fate is woefully outside his control. There's no anchor. No center of gravity. Even the sky-ships he loves are constantly in a state of flux and uncertainty. Reading a story like that is disorienting, maddening, and alienating. It drags you down into that world, and you feel as though you could plunge over the edge at any minute and fall forever into the who-knows-what. How fitting, then, that the story takes place on a gigantic jutting rock called The Edge, with water eternally pouring off the sides into the nothingness below.
Strangely, I think this series would have bothered me a lot less if I had read it as a child. The world of the story is so primordial, pitiless, and savagely simple. It's like something from a long-ago, half-forgotten dream. Although The Edge is populated by sentient beings, their societies don't follow the laws of our world. In our world, there's always some security and structure, because we are a cooperative species with the ability to form strong social bonds. The Edge Chronicles follow the laws of nature at its most basic. There is no pity, no thought, no conscience...only hunger. It's a world where everything eats everything, both literally and metaphorically, and where any moment might be your last. There's no such thing as an "important character"...everyone's on the menu, and it's dinnertime, baby. I felt like I was looking into humanity's distant past, or maybe even a past before humanity, when our prey-animal ancestors lived in constant fear of being devoured.
Compelling, but deeply disturbing.
I picked up these books because they were in the children's fantasy section of the library and looked like a fun, easy read. "Oh, a boy raised by woodtrolls!" I read on the back. "How whimsical! I bet this will be a pleasant diversion from my woe-begotten life."
WRONG. DEAD FREAKING WRONG.
This trilogy is supposed to be for KIDS...and yet it's one of the most grotesque, horrifying, trippy, violent, tragic, and downright effed up things I've ever read. I can barely even describe the kind of suffering the main character, Twig, goes through. Abandoned by his father at birth. Lost in the scariest damn forest I've ever encountered in a fantasy novel. Hunted by ferocious beasts. Lied to, stolen from, tricked, betrayed. Beloved pet-companion eaten alive in front of him. Held captive. Friends murdered and dismembered before his eyes. Father freaking evaporates after they're finally reunited. Works his ass off and gets a skyship, only to have it destroyed and have his companions flung to the far corners of the wilderness. All beautifully described and illustrated, all charmingly situated within the confines of a cruel, schizophrenic, polluted world that doesn't give a shit.
THIS AUTHOR IS A SADIST.
Now, I'm not saying this series is poorly written. It's marvelously, grotesquely crafted - it was just too damn cruel for my tastes. I have this expectation, when I read books, that if a protagonist goes through hell and back, s/he deserves a happy ending. Or at the very least, a meaningful one. The Edge Chronicles denied me the fulfillment of that expectation. Even more disturbingly, the narrative never gave any indication that such an expectation even existed.
In a way, I really respect Twig's character for his ability to keep some semblance of hope, of charity, of honor, and of direction throughout his ordeals. The world he inhabits is so schizophrenic, so unreliable, that he's like a tiny ship cast about in a maelstrom, with no hope of ever finding his way to shore. More often than not his fate is woefully outside his control. There's no anchor. No center of gravity. Even the sky-ships he loves are constantly in a state of flux and uncertainty. Reading a story like that is disorienting, maddening, and alienating. It drags you down into that world, and you feel as though you could plunge over the edge at any minute and fall forever into the who-knows-what. How fitting, then, that the story takes place on a gigantic jutting rock called The Edge, with water eternally pouring off the sides into the nothingness below.
Strangely, I think this series would have bothered me a lot less if I had read it as a child. The world of the story is so primordial, pitiless, and savagely simple. It's like something from a long-ago, half-forgotten dream. Although The Edge is populated by sentient beings, their societies don't follow the laws of our world. In our world, there's always some security and structure, because we are a cooperative species with the ability to form strong social bonds. The Edge Chronicles follow the laws of nature at its most basic. There is no pity, no thought, no conscience...only hunger. It's a world where everything eats everything, both literally and metaphorically, and where any moment might be your last. There's no such thing as an "important character"...everyone's on the menu, and it's dinnertime, baby. I felt like I was looking into humanity's distant past, or maybe even a past before humanity, when our prey-animal ancestors lived in constant fear of being devoured.
Compelling, but deeply disturbing.