Tamsin: A Book Review

If you happened to read my fangirl gushing about the wit, humor, and beauty of The Last Unicorn, then you're well aware that I'm a fan of Peter S. Beagle's writing. And given that my current"to read" list on Goodreads is pretty much everything he's ever written, it shouldn't surprise anyone that I've already found my way to another Beagle work. This time, it was Tamsin that thrilled me to the depths of my writerly soul, but in new and unexpected ways. 

Any illusions I had that this book would be filled with the same dignified elegance as The Last Unicorn vanished with the use of the word "period" on the very first page. And no, it was not in the context of a grammatical discussion. At first, I was so jarred by how different the voice of the main character, Jenny Gluckstein, was from anything I would have expected from Beagle that I had to take a minute before I could move on. But I'm glad I did. It was worth getting over the culture shock.

The voice of the main character in this novel turned out to be just as magical as anything in The Last Unicorn, but with a sense of sense of reality and tangibility to it. You see, the narrator is a 13 year-old girl from New York City whose mother, Sally, is getting married to an Englishman. Unfortunately for Jenny, this means that she is being uprooted from her life in Manhattan and transplanted with her new family to an ancient farm in Dorset, where her new stepdad has been hired to get the farm yielding crops again.

Nothing could have thrilled Jenny less. Awkward, pimply-faced Jenny had a hard enough time making friends in New York. She is apprehensive about moving to a foreign country, inheriting two stepbrothers she's never met, and has the general aversion that most children posses to seeing their parents change. Jenny recognizes that Sally is happier with her new husband than she's ever been and that she is doing everything possible to make things easier for Jenny, but she resists her mother at every turn. She is confused and overwhelmed, and it makes her behave badly. Her life in New York may not be perfect, but it's familiar and comforting and she doesn't want things to change.

But change it does, and in ways that Jenny could never have expected. The farm in Dorset has a rich history, you see, and that history isn't exactly lying dormant. Rather, it's rifling through the pantries at night, breaking the refrigerator, and sending a lingering smell of vanilla through the house. Led to investigate by her mentor in the study of coolness, Mister Cat, Jenny ends up coming face-to-face with ancient beings lurking in the secret world of Stourhead Farm, including a gentle, lovely ghost named Tamsin.

"An Ill Wind" by Dashinvaine

Original image found here.

Through the course of the story, Jenny finds her destiny linked to Tamsin's. If she doesn't figure out the connection between Tamsin's past and the eerie night world of Stourhead Farm, her new friend may be doomed to a fate far worse than death. 

I think the thing that struck me as most impressive in the beginning of the book was how believable and relatable Jenny was. For a grown man to inhabit the mind of a 13 year-old girl so ably and with such sensitivity is no easy thing, and Beagle pulls it off with more skill than some writers who actually once were 13 year-old girls. And the real feat is that, given her disgruntlement with the way her life is changing, Jenny says and does some unpleasant things to blameless people in the beginning and is not one bit less likable. Between the clear portrayal of what was so upsetting to Jenny about her circumstances and the fact that the story is  told by a 19 year-old Jenny with the regret brought on by hindsight, you understand where she's coming from and see that she did come to repent for her past transgressions. In fact, the way she uses her crankiness to hide her sadness and discomfort actually becomes endearing, an accomplishment that could only be pulled off by the same man who once made a unicorn's arrogance seem charming.

An artist's depiction of the Wild Hunt.

Original image found here.

And Peter S. Beagle does for English folklore what he did for the unicorn, and just as cleverly. It would be easy to read about boggarts and pookas and the Wild Hunt and to not be able to take them seriously, thinking of them as silly fairy tale beings with no weight or depth. But in Beagle's world, they have a reality to them, a seriousness and a grandeur that makes them both intriguing and intimidating. They feel almost historical, like details that the history books overlooked that truly capture the richness of English culture. So complex and wonderful was the world he created in the pages of this book, with it overlay of historical facts, that I was reluctant to finish it as I drew near the end. I didn't want to leave, to go back to my mundane life where a knock in my kitchen was just my dishwasher clicking to rinse and a storm was just a storm.

All of the characters are people you'd gladly spend time with, except where they're not meant to be. From good-natured stepfather Evan, to loving mother Sally, to quiet stepbrother, Tony (who is apparently quite the dancer), and that sweet bundle of curly-haired energy called Julian, you find yourself knowing and welcoming these people into your life, page after page. And Mister Cat makes me wish I had a creature in my life who could ooze unflappable competence that way, being more of a caretaker and companion than a mere pet.

And Tamsin. Oh, Tamsin. I don't wish to spoil you, dear reader, but prepare to fall in love. This whole book will make you fall in love, with the plot, the characters, and the vivid beauty of the writing, but Tamsin nestles atop this pile of literary achievements like a twinkling jewel.

So if you are looking for a beautifully written novel as relatable as a conversation with your best friend, but as surreal as waking up in the middle of a fairy tale, pick up your copy of Tamsin today. And I shall envy you the privilege of being able to read it for the first time as I go back for my second and third reads to soak in all the nuances!

This novel is mini beagle-approved!

Book Review: The Last Unicorn

I know what you probably think when you hear the word "unicorn." You picture a violet-eyed, snow white horse with a golden horn and glitter in its candy pink mane. It would giggle and frolic and fart rainbows and generally be the most asinine, girly member of the pantheon of mythical beasts. Surely, most of us would rather read about dragons, griffins, or even a nice sea serpent.

If it had the thumbs to hold a pen, this unicorn 

would dot its "i's" with little hearts.

Original image found here.

It's difficult to imagine someone who could take the Lisa Frank/ My Little Pony-esque sting out of the image that the unicorn has acquired over the years, but that's exactly what Peter S. Beagle does through the pages of THE LAST UNICORN. Whatever quaint notions you may harbor about these creatures being the over-caffeinated cheerleaders of the fantasy world, prepare to abandon them. These aren't your mothers' unicorns.

Pick up a copy here.

Beagle's unicorn comes to life on the page as a strange, majestic beast capable of wonders and horrors, violence and mercy. Her mind is a logical, deliberate place, her view of the world tinged with a cool detachment. Being a supernatural being with the casual arrogance that comes with magical prowess and the wisdom of having seen the centuries pass, she lacks a truly empathetic nature. When she encounters our mortal griefs, the best she can manage sometimes is pity, because our human emotions and concerns are strange to her. Unlike we mere mortals, the unicorn explains to us early in the book that her kind are incapable of feeling regret. 

Added to this alien viewpoint is her awareness of her own beauty, which she enjoys admiring in ponds, and her consciousness of her legendary status, which merits parades and fanfare in her view. And yet, these almost unpleasant-sounding characteristics come together across the pages to create a creature who is not one whit unlikeable. Indeed, her vanity has an odd charm to it. And given that she is a creature whose horn can cow a dragon, return the dead to life, and shatter illusions, the reverence she expects is well-deserved. Besides, there is an odd vulnerability to her, beneath all of her supernatural badassery. Like a hermit making her way into the bustling wide world, you find yourself nervous for her as she sets out on her quest, and catching glimpses of the unexpected sensitivity hidden beneath her seemingly dispassionate nature.

Don't hate her because she's beautiful.

Original image found here.

The story revolves around the unicorn's startling discovery that she is the last of her kind left in the world.  Unicorns are solitary creatures, so she has not been concerned by the fact that she hadn't seen another unicorn for some time. Then she overhears a conversation between two hunters, who know that they're in a unicorn's forest and lament that the poor beast is the last, as all the rest have vanished. And while she initially can't believe that it's true, she has to know for sure. If something has become of her people, she either has to find them or join them in their fate. And so begins her quest.

It is jarring for the unicorn to leave her forest. Her presence there kept it safe and peaceful and the odd, anachronistic world beyond its limits does not seem kind. Indeed, men in the world no longer know her for what she is, and there are dangers that threaten even a creature like her. However, like any good hero, our unicorn gets by with a little help from her friends. She is ultimately joined on her quest by Schmendrick the magician, a bumbling magic-user with an unusual curse, and Molly Grue, a sensible middle-aged woman who was formerly a cook for a group of Merry Men wannabes. Schmendrick charms as a secret softy who employs the skillful patter of a used car salesman to escape disaster when his magic fails him (as it often does). Meanwhile, though she sometimes comes off as pushy, Molly is a marvelous, practical foil for a grandiose personality like Schmendrick's, with a deep sense of compassion to soften her and save her from severity. These colorful cast members add humor and humanity to the tale, giving us a more familiar lens through which to view the world.  From the macabre wonders of Mommy Fortuna's Midnight Carnival to the twisted towers of King Haggard's castle, these travelers keep us amused, invested, and entertained. 

The unicorn's nemesis in the story, the Red Bull, 

will NOT give you wings. He will, however,

try to steal your unicorns.

Original image found here.

The writing in this book is beyond amazing. Peter S. Beagle's words have a strange music, where unicorns are the "careless color of seafoam," cats look like piles of autumn leaves, and no matter how much a magician may seek to school his expression, his nose always gets away from him. My writerly heart when pitter-pat with envy as Beagle described how the spiral staircase of Haggard's tower squeezed in on them like a sweaty fist and later conjured images of a brisk wind that "leaped here and there in the room like a gleeful animal discovering the flimsiness of human beings." A master wordsmith, the words he strings together are seldom words you would expect to see standing shoulder-to-shoulder in any sentence, and yet their combination makes perfect sense. Much like a good poem evokes feeling using unexpected imagery, so, too, does Beagle's artful prose stir one's heart and imagination to a gleeful frothing.

Likewise, his dialogue has the kind of lovely, poetic logic that makes perfect sense in a fairy tale. In this story, young girls are the ideal questing beasts and one look in a woman's eyes suggests that she is either mad or just born that morning. 

Overall, Beagle's imaginative and unexpected work was like a beautiful and haunting dream. The combination of his legendary, medieval setting peppered with oddities like a butterfly singing of trains and a prince reading a magazine made me unsure of what world I was dwelling in, but I was absolutely certain that I never wanted to leave it. The plot unfolded with expert pacing, subplots cropping up in flourishes like dashes of paint on an artist's canvas, and everything tied together in the end exactly as it should. And in the same way that he made a unicorn so much more than a pretty beast, Beagle transformed this fairy tale into so much more than just a bedtime story. There was an epic quality, and yet a humility and a humanity to it. And much in the way that a good song will echo in your mind long after you first hear it, the themes and images in this book resonated in my heart long after I turned the final page. 

In the end, I understood the quote from Patrick Rothfuss written along the bottom of the cover: "The Last Unicorn is the best book I have ever read. You need to read it. If you've already read it, you need to read it again." 

Hear hear, Mr. Rothfuss. I heartily agree.