The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer

This book made me cringe. And cry. And laugh. And want to scream. And that, to me, is the sign of an excellent book. Farmer’s frighteningly possible imaginary story is an incredible creation. From the setting of Opium/Dreamland to the concept of mindless “eejits,” Farmer has done an excellent job of taking science to an entirely new eye-opening, bone-chilling level. I am always hesitant to read science fiction because I feel more inclined to read books that I find particularly relevant to my own life. However, after reading The House of the Scorpion, I have a newly found appreciation for the genre. Like Orwell’s 1984, Farmer’s novel forces us to face the things we are most afraid of—and makes them very realistic. Given the current state of science in our society it is not unlikely that cloning could become a part the world as we know it. All the issues Farmer broaches—cloning, illegal drug empires, dictatorships, exaggerated versions of Communism, and brain washing—make for an incredibly dense and intense novel. To top it off, she gives us a main character with a less-than-desirable identity who is going through the pains of puberty while trying to save his own life!
From the second I opened the book to the last sentence, I found myself cheering for Matt. He is an incredibly realistic teenage boy. He is simultaneously trying to find his identity, build his self-esteem, and attempt a romantic relationship, all while undermining and admiring authority figures. He is the ultimate underdog in the story and it is for that reason that he is so likeable. Not only did Farmer draw me in with the rapidly paced plot, but her vivid descriptions of the smells and sights of Opium and the treatment of the “eejits” elicited an unpleasant visceral reaction that erupted from my gut.
“The evil smell made Matt’s eyes water, and he could barely focus on the dense yellow sludge on the bottom…he threw himself off the horse and sucked desperately at the inhaler. His lungs filled with liquid. A terror of drowning swept over him, and he tried to crawl away from the trough. His fingers dug into the rotting fish-slimed oil” (172).

I really enjoyed this book because it made me think. It made me question the role of government and the issues surrounding cloning and drug wars. Is cloning moral? What is the goal of stem-cell research? Should the government play a role in science? To what extent?
It also helped me to realize that the issues teenagers deal with—dating, relationships, identity, culture, appearance, belonging, family, work, play, and so on, are completely timeless and have and will continue to affect teenagers in any era. She also does a wonderful job of showing the reader how Matt grows throughout the story. She does this explicitly by labeling the sections “Youth”, “Middle Age”, “Old Age”, “Age 14” and “La Vida Nueva,” but she also does this implicitly by slightly altering his language and endowing him with more mature thought processes as the story unfolds. At one point towards the end of the novel, Matt has begun to realize the possibility of escape. One such inner monologue follows:
“Matt felt light-headed. This meant that every single night the Keepers turned into zombies. This meant the factory was left unguarded. The power plant that electrified the fence was left unguarded. A big sign flashing FREEDOM lit up in Matt’s mind” (309).

I also appreciated the mixture of English and Spanish phrases and the incorporation of Mexican folklore into the text. This was also an excellent way to demonstrate the timelessness of cultural beliefs, language and lore.
If Farmer’s novel can intrigue an unwilling reader, I have no doubt it will be a perspective-altering read for anyone interested enough to dive into this novel.

Skellig by David Almond

Even after turning the last page of the book two days ago, I am still trying to figure out what or who Skellig might be and I don’t really know how I feel about that—do I want a more involved explanation or am I satisfied with opened-ended ambiguity? Skellig was unlike any fantasy book I have ever experienced. To be honest, had it not been labeled fantasy, I think I would have enjoyed it more. I was expecting more fantastic elements than the book lent itself to, and this was disappointing. However, I enjoyed the mythical elements of the text and found myself in a state of wonder for a good majority of my reading. My favorite mythical element of the text was Michael’s ability to feel his baby sister’s heartbeat alongside his. This is such an important part of the book, because it demonstrates not only a kinship relationship between them, but a spiritual element as well. This is an aspect of the story that could not exist in a contemporary realistic fiction novel. Watching the simultaneous life-death teetering of both Skellig and the baby kept the novel in motion and tugged the reader’s heartstrings. Although I did not find myself particularly drawn to the character of Skellig—I found him to be quite whiny and less than charming—I found that I cared about him more because I felt that his existence was the only way that Michael’s sister could be saved, and that was the part of the story that I cared about.
At some points throughout the text, I felt as though the author might be attempting to reference to God or a religious figure and leave the interpretation up to his readers. This made for a very interesting interpretation. What is the author trying to say about God or angels? Are we intended to take a religious view of Skellig? How does this add or take away from the text?
Other fantasy texts I have read have been placed in entirely fictitious lands with entirely mythical and impossible creatures (i.e. Harry Potter and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe). This is what I was expecting with Skellig and because of my expectation, I was disappointed. Had I gone into the text completely open, I think I may have taken away more from it.
Stepping back from the genre label of this text, I believe it has many positive aspects. First of all, the family dynamics in the story are incredibly heartwarming. What father-son duo is as close as Michael and his father? What boy is so in-tune with his emotions that he can feel his dying baby sister’s heartbeat alongside his own? At one point, when his sister’s heart stops for a moment, he feels it: “My heart’s stopped. Feel my heart. There’s nothing there” (149). I also appreciated the characterization of Mina and her mother. Mina is just as magical as Skellig (and ten times more charming), but she will not go away when the baby’s health is restored. Mina also teaches Michael the important lesson of not letting school get in the way of one’s education. He learns and remembers more during their explorations than a year of school possibly could. (An important thing to remember as an educator!) The mother-daughter relationship of Mina and her mother mirrors Michael and his father, and their welcoming home is one of the only ways Michael can survive the stress of his sister’s illness. The relationship between Michael and Mina is also particularly interesting because Mina allows for Michael to have these spiritual, magical experiences while Michael attempts to remain grounded in reality. After Skellig lifts them off of their feet and shows them their wings, Michael goes to the window. “‘What are you doing?’ she whispered. ‘Making sure the world’s still really there.’ I said’” (95). For him, the fantasy world is an element of his reality and he wants to have both. In the end it appears as though Skellig has served to bring Michael together with both Mina and his sister, and once he is gone, he has Mina and his baby sister to remind him of the fantastical elements—or extraordinary, as Mina would say—of everyday life.