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I’ve always thought of the years between nine and twelve to be a
kind of "golden age" of reading, and yet for at least the past
decade, some of the loudest grumblings about contemporary Australian children’s
publishing have been about the dearth of substantial, complex and challenging
literature for this readership. Program notes for a panel at the recent
Children’s Book
Council of Australia Conference seems to confirm that something has
changed dramatically in the way we now view books and reading for this
age:
"Betwixt and Between" — A fleeting time is spent dipping
into the delights of literature for "younger readers" and children
quickly move onto "older" books. It is a special genre full
of quirky fun. What motivates the writers for this special age group?
Since when was this time in one’s reading life "fleeting"?
Do young readers really move almost immediately from Aussie
Bites to Sonya Hartnett? And on the way, are these readers really
only after "quirky fun", a literary "bit on the side"
before they get into the serious, "real" business of YA fiction?
On the contrary, these readers do want books that will last longer than
one afternoon, that will repay re-reading, and will do all those other
things good fiction should — elucidate and entertain, transport
and transform. But for whatever reasons, the bottom line is that in Australia,
we’re not publishing very many of them any more.
Thank goodness for Elizabeth Honey. Honey’s novels have been characterised
by complicated and sometimes audacious adventure plots and character ensembles
which focus attention of the nature and importance of community and the
family. They contain genuine, unforced humour in both action and language,
and are leavened with serious ideas and reflections on the best and worst
that people can be.
Remote Man is Honey’s most complex and in some ways, most serious
book to date. It’s also enormously entertaining and at times very
funny indeed. The adventure this time deals with five kids on four continents
pursuing a wildlife smuggler. There’s our protagonist Ned, visiting
Massachusetts from Melbourne with his mother, who is recovering from a
serious bout of depression. Ned befriends Rocky, a local boy with whom
he shares a passion for wild creatures. Back in the Northern Territory
is Kate, Ned’s cousin, who email-alerts the boys to the activities
of the smuggler. Via the internet, the three meet up with Cleverton in
Jamaica and Yvette in France, and the five kids set to some international,
electronic detective work to track down and stop the smuggler.
It sounds like The Famous Five meets Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, with all
the attendant wild coincidences, and incredible acts of imagination, ingenuity
and courage on the children’s behalf. But there’s a significant
difference between Honey and other less accomplished practitioners of
this genre. While the action may indeed be far-fetched, (although technically
— in every sense — possible), within the world of Remote Man
the characters and their adventures are fully expressed, entirely consistent,
and absolutely convincing.
Remote Man also deals with serious matters with dignity and intelligence.
Ned’s mother’s depression is not merely a plot device to get
him to the NT and then the USA; it’s a reflection of the fact that
many children have to deal with the painful realities of their parents’
adult lives. Ned gains maturity through supporting his mother through
her illness, as well as through the evil he confronts in the brutal smuggler.
Honey also provides readers with a satisfying resolution, without a platitudinous
happy ending (shocking and confronting things happen both as a cause and
a result of the adventure), and there’s a tantalising possibility
of a follow-up adventure. Let’s hope we visit Cleverton next time!
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