At the end of The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, Faina disappears. Not literally – no one sees it happen, but she is nowhere to be found. There are so many possibilities, both realistic – as much as you can use such a word when you’re dealing with magical realism – and truly fantastical (if sad). I know that everyone is going to have their leanings towards one idea or another, and I like the possibility of discussing them all through a blog post (and your comments also, I hope!)

There is the prospect that, as a ‘snow child’, Faina simply melted into the ground as did the snowman in the famous Christmas tale. We can assume that by the time she disappears, Faina had completed her mission – I believe most people are of the opinion that Faina appeared to Jack and Mabel because Mabel, especially, wanted children and was feeling lonely. So, if Faina had completed her mission, and if she had been ‘created’ by Mabel’s hopes, then there is every chance she simply faded away.

Faina having faded away, melted, certainly fits the way she ended her days, ill. The sickness turned her into a sort of shadow of herself, so there is every chance she did just disappear or return to the snow she had arisen from. Though, we can suppose, a human illness, the event did not take her away in the usual human way. Her body was gone.

This begs the question: did Faina die or did she simply leave? Perhaps the illness had only so much of a hold over her. Maybe it was a convenient moment during which she could leave. Maybe her time with the families was simply up. Perhaps she was ‘called’ to be elsewhere. Depending on what or who Faina was, the possibilities here are endless.

If Faina didn’t die, did she run away? Could it be presumed, if this were the case, that Faina was trapped by her situation with Mabel, Jack, and her newest family? Certainly the idea of captivity could also fit in with the idea of death. Who is to say Faina isn’t a creature who fades away when captured by humans? (The mythical selkies come to mind here.)

The fact that Faina did not take her child with her, a person whom most people would see as being the most important to her (and certainly if Faina was magical in some way she would surely want to take her half-magical child) supports the idea of captivity, of ultimately being unhappy. It’s important to remember that the story is never told from Faina’s perspective so we’ll never know what was going on in her head.

But if Faina did literally disappear, there would have been no choice involved.

We can assume that the truth was as Ivey wrote it from the third-person perspective – Faina stayed with Mabel and Jack because Mabel needed her. And it’s just as possible that Faina really loved Garett, as much as it’s possible that she was simply following human traditions and ways of life. If she was there just for Mabel then in giving Mabel the joy of being a mother and then a grandmother she had surely fulfilled her purpose. Indeed by providing a grandchild, Faina may have left but she had provided a permanent child for Mabel to care for.

If she didn’t die, Faina may later have returned. She may have returned for her husband and child, who don’t know what happened to her. She may have simply needed to go back into the woods and be free, maybe recharge, for a while. Unless Ivey decides to tell us one day, we are not likely to ever find out.

And that is surely very suitable – it puts us in the same position as the families in Alaska.

Have you read The Snow Child, and, if so, what do you think happened to Faina?

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Lam’s main character angered me so much that I found myself seeking a reason for his inclusion. I read The Headmaster’s Wager, all the while wondering why Lam had created such an abhorrent and consciously ignorant person, someone so bad they often marred what was an otherwise superb exploration of war.

It was as I wrote the conclusion of my review that I realised there might be more to it than what was on the surface. Yes, this sounds silly of me – we’re ‘meant’ to look for themes and reasons in literature and I’d forgotten to do so – but at the same time, Lam’s relentless writing of Percival as ignorant, his (Lam’s) seeming failure to grasp when the ignorance had become too much and that it was high time he gave his character an epiphany, suggested that there wasn’t to be any reason or theme.

But when I say ‘any reason or theme’, I mean only in the context of a life lesson for Percival; as I wrote my review it occurred to me that the character’s stupidity was really out of his hands.

When you look at the content and story of the book from any angle other than Percival himself, it becomes apparent that the reason Lam never lets his character learn to be a better person or gives him a shock that actually changes him, is that Lam needs to use Percival to detail what he, Lam, wants to detail.

At the very foundations, Percival’s stupidity, his failure to leave Vietnam, means that Lam can write about the horrors of the war from a fly-on-the-wall perspective. He doesn’t need to report it via a character’s purchase of a newspaper and he has no time limit during which he can explore what happened; because the ever-ignorant Percival fails to leave the country until the very last paragraph, Lam has 450 or so pages in which to discuss the Vietnam war. And surely first-hand knowledge, albeit of course somewhat fictional and an imagining, is better than a report from a far away country where everything is a lot less compelling because you know that in a moment the character is going to have tea, play tennis, and get back to their new life.

Percival stays at his school in an area that isn’t particularly poor but is invaded, both by refugees and the enemy troops. He therefore witnesses the atrocities of the soldiers towards the common people who were fighting to survive; at the same time his status and money allows Lam to also look at the more wealthy members of society as well as the foreigners – in the latter case both literal foreigners and the wives and mixed-race children of the often spineless foreigners who abandoned them.

So we are able to get more than a glimpse of the sordid reality of the common person as well as, thanks to Percival, the stupidity of the privileged. Of course in the case of this particular book, most of those with money leave as soon as they can – it is Percival that the focus is on.

Talking of ignorance, something that is always apparent is Lam’s wish to look at the role tradition plays in our lives. Here tradition has an extreme effect – Percival’s pride stops him aligning with people who may have helped him, his belief in the superiority of his heritage makes him think he is safe, his loyalty to the homeland he hasn’t seen for years leads him to send his son, ultimately, to his death, and his stubbornness, which isn’t quite tradition but is affected somewhat by it, leads to his poor decisions and his belief that bribes will always work. Would Percival have been less alien if Lam had written and published his book decades ago? Readers likely would have thought him stupid for not leaving Vietnam when he could, but his loyalty to his country and traditions would have been easier to understand. And whilst this isn’t to say that a reader nowadays isn’t going to understand it – they will – it is of course more frustrating for us. And I would say that is true no matter the reader’s own heritage and cultural background.

There are reasons, certainly, for Percival being such a bad character, but yet it is still difficult to spend the entire book with him, especially because his opinions and choices can at times, for their absurdity, detract from the story of war. However, the thought occurs – if Percival had left Vietnam at the start, an undeserving, awful, privileged man who was able to leave because of his riches, wouldn’t it be the case that he would be an anti-hero anyway? Once Lam created Percival and decided he wanted to detail Vietnam, it would have been difficult to back track on the character’s appeal to the reader.

And at the same time isn’t it also that it’s difficult to like Percival because he has chances and doesn’t take them? If so, what does that say of us? Are we thus in support of the idea that there is a priority line for escape? Are we upset that a person doesn’t take the chances given, thereby surely acting as Lam hoped we would, taking to heart the idea that chances shouldn’t be squandered? (Unless of course not taking a chance means helping others or the like, which of course didn’t happen in Percival’s case except with his son.)

That is something that needs to be remembered, too – Percival stayed to help his son. He didn’t see that it was almost hopeless because he still had the means, he believed, to rescue him. This fact of course looks at tradition and Percival’s personality in a good light. Where Percival’s father abandoned him, Percival won’t abandon his son. This is what can become lost amongst the rest of the themes.

It is likely that Percival gets away to America safely after the book, unless the boats the refugees ran to were a decoy. If Percival got away safely, what does that show? He has ruined lives, he has been a big part of the reason many are dead, and he still continues in his ignorance. Is Lam reminding us that money rules the world? And would a complete change in Percival’s personality have been realistic by this time? Even if you still hope Percival will see the light it would surely be a little grating if he had realised his mistakes, fully and truly, only after all that he had caused and after gaining the means to escape.

I believe that there are enough pointers for every reader to reach their own conclusion as to why Percival is the way he is, and I also think it’s possible that Lam wanted it to be that way. He surely has his own feelings on the matter, but they are included and revealed in such a way that the reader can differ if they want to. For me I think the fact that Percival’s remaining in Vietnam increases our view of the war is the reason I will hold to, but there are many and they are various enough to suit readers of every age, situation, and location.

What do you think?

I know that Rainbow Rowell has written about this, and that as she’s the author we must defer to her, but still there is the suggestion that each reader will take what they will from the book. Because it’s a theme I found particularly interesting, I wanted to explore it in my own way. I should point out that I wrote this post before reading Rowell’s answer.

For a large part of Eleanor & Park, we don’t really hear any definite suggestions that oppose the idea that Eleanor is big. What Park says sometimes, his lack of mention of her size, only goes to show that he’s in love – because when they first met he called her big and later he doesn’t refer to it. The only person who really discusses her size in any way is Eleanor herself. And we all know the stereotypical thoughts girls are supposed to have about their weight and all the diets we are all supposed to be on.

It’s when Park’s dad first greets Eleanor that the thought really occurs – Park’s dad says that she’s not as big as he’d thought she’d be. And whilst you could take from that that Park’s dad was thinking in extremes and that Eleanor is just a smaller version of ‘fat’, the way it’s all written just suggests something else. It suggests that all this time there’s been nothing to the idea. And whilst the nickname that created Park’s dad’s impression – Big Red – has a lot of potential subtext behind it, thinness is so lauded that even a bit of weight could cause such a name.

I don’t think that the possibility the largeness is (mainly) in Eleanor’s head means that we are meant to see Eleanor as overly anxious and lacking in self-worth. She is lacking in worth a little as ‘befits’ her situation, but again the subtext isn’t saying that Eleanor is a totally unreliable narrator with too much imagination. More that yes, maybe she thinks she’s big but that the emphasis is suddenly switched to the reader who has essentially created the image of a fat girl in their head with only one source of evidence. The reader has bowed to stereotypical language and ideas, the oft-used idea that a scruffy girl who is perhaps a little bigger than average is likely to be huge.

And in Park’s mother we surely have someone who, despite the fact that she is very kind and wouldn’t have said anything outright, would surely have intimated something if Eleanor was really that big. Again that’s if we stereotype and say that as a beautician Park’s mother would turn her nose up. Which in this case I’d vouch that we’re meant to do.

Eleanor is large but her diet at home is relatively meagre. Perhaps she was large at the neighbour’s house where she would’ve been well fed, but at home? Surely the pounds would’ve dropped away. Is there thus a possibility she has an eating disorder? Is she seeing what isn’t there or seeing what she thinks others see, imposing upon herself the view of others? I don’t think she has a disorder, but I found the idea worth considering.

I myself, even now, see a large girl when I think of Eleanor. That is what Eleanor’s narration left me with, and maybe it’s what Eleanor wants us to believe. Maybe she thinks that people focus most on her size when they’re actually more concerned with her clothes – after all she is mocked for her clothes but doesn’t care about that so much herself.

I think we are meant to see a large girl so that our stereotypical ideas can be destroyed in front of our eyes. I don’t think Eleanor is very fat, I think that the constant idea that she is, even after we get words on the contrary, is perhaps meant to teach us something about the way thoughts have become so ingrained in us that even when it’s a story about understanding others we still fall in with what society thinks.

How did you see Eleanor?

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I finished Gone With The Wind a little confused. It took a good few minutes for me to be happy with the way it had ended and not upset that there was no more. I’d seen a sequel on my boyfriend’s mother’s bookshelf but knew it wasn’t by Mitchell.

I suppose my discontent arose from the ending being so ambiguous for such a long novel. I felt cheated that I’d spent almost an entire month reading Mitchell’s words for her to leave me in the lurch. But the more I thought about it I realised that whilst yes, I did feel cheated, she left us enough to form a more complete conclusion. A conclusion that begs discussion because I’m sure everyone has a slightly different opinion or at least a different reasoning for which side of the debate they fall.

To me, it is most easy to say that Scarlett did not get Rhett back, that they did not end up together. Yet interestingly, in the case of someone saying ‘yes’, this is one occasion where I’d not feel the need to ask them to elaborate.

I’m going to cover both options. I think both are plausible and the evidence behind each is so vast that I did later wonder if this is exactly why Mitchell chose ambiguity. Ambiguity leads to lots of thinking which leads to your book being remembered. And from the way Mitchell wrote her story, from the way she handled Scarlett, I really wouldn’t put it past her.

And I believe that although this post has more evidence stacked for ‘no’, those who say ‘yes’ would be able to produce more than I have here.

So in defence of the ‘no’, which I’m starting with because it means I’ll have to end this piece discussing the ‘yes’ I don’t subscribe to and I know that in doing so I’m going to give myself even more to think about.

No, Scarlett Didn’t Get Rhett Back

The first point that comes to mind is that Scarlett intends to leave the matter until tomorrow. She’s not going to think about it now. Of course she’s not thinking straight, she would be a little in shock and disbelief, but her leaving it until later does suit her overall carelessness. It’s a pity she treats the situation like any other, and it does infer that she doesn’t love Rhett enough (though surely she does otherwise the ending wouldn’t be so dramatic – and it also fits the rest of the calamity going on around her). Indeed Mitchell leaves Scarlett neatly with no one left in the world who loves her, besides her servants and possibly Wade and Ella. As much as Mitchell is fair to Scarlett that is a pretty damning and somewhat apt conclusion.

Would sleeping on the matter make Scarlett forget or not care? Given that she bounces back from bad situations well and quickly enough, one could assume she might wake up and damn Rhett to hell before leaving for Tara. And we all know how procrastination goes – leave it and you’ll end up leaving it and leaving it and so forth.

Once she’s back at Tara, Scarlett is likely going to be very happy just by being there. She’s got Tara, she doesn’t need Rhett. Perhaps Tara is actually her true love? This possibility is suggested throughout the book but it is incredibly well supported at the end. Perhaps, for all their compatibility, Rhett is a poor second in her eyes.

When Rhett walked out the door, Scarlett could have run after him. But she didn’t. And although she tried to persuade him to stay, to convince him she loved him, and those tears were surely real, it isn’t as though she became completely passionate. Indeed in this time of crisis she actually stopped herself from touching him, and she went about the discussion as though there would be another conversation later, another chance to make it right. Then again, Scarlett is used to getting her own way and getting whichever man she wants, maybe she didn’t feel the need for an outburst. This of course leads back to her decision to leave it until the next day.

Of course the issue with that is that she won’t know where Rhett is. Unless she spends all that time that comes after her necessary sleep with visiting acquaintances and sending telegrams, she may not find him again.

A point suggested earlier in the book is that they are now different. Since Bonnie was born, Rhett tried to change himself, change the way people saw him. And it worked. Scarlett is possibly even worse than she was before, and the difference between them is vast. In societal terms, Scarlett would blot any future success Rhett had unless her love was enough to make her want to change her nature.

Now Bonnie is dead and without Bonnie there is nothing except history (and the house, which we can assume Rhett would sell) tying the couple together. They do not share friends, Melanie is dead also, there is nothing between them when the love has gone.

Lastly, Rhett has Belle, who he may not love as he does Scarlett, but Belle is caring and kind towards him. Rhett might even have taken Belle with him.

The case for ‘no’ is pretty sound.

Yes, Scarlett Did Get Rhett Back

But there are some ‘yeses’ about. Chief amongst them is surely the compatibility – the couple have a lot of chemistry and they are very much the same person. Scarlett is the woman for Rhett, most certainly, and even though she’s only just realised it, Rhett’s always been the man for Scarlett.

Scarlett is good at manipulating. And she can charm a man’s stockings off. Even if Rhett is a tougher cookie than most men of her acquaintance, there is still a chance.

And Scarlett isn’t one for giving up. She might have felt like giving up when she fainted on the ground looking for food, but she’s courageous and doesn’t like being told what to do. She would make the utmost effort for something she believed in enough.

Scarlett’s finally in love. After all this time and after all the heartache over Ashley, surely she deserves a chance? It is purposefully ironic that the day she realises the truth and understands Ashley is the same day Rhett leaves her, but love is worth fighting for.

The way Mitchell ends it, waiting until tomorrow, suggests a circle, a story that goes on and on. In this way Scarlett could get her chance.

Finally, and most fitting of Scarlett’s usual nature, there’s not much money at Tara compared with her house in Atlanta. Her mills have been sold, her store makes little money, and if she lives at Tara she’ll be sharing rooms with Suellen. For someone who wants riches, and perhaps sadly, for someone who has experienced poverty and then got herself together, Scarlett will want Rhett’s money.

In conclusion

I do wonder how long Rhett had been considering leaving Scarlett. Was telling her to sell Ashley the mills a malicious act? Or was he preparing what he thought might one day be the way, making it easier for Scarlett to get her damned Ashley? Or was it simply that Rhett wanted her to fit in?

From the little I’ve written about ‘yes’ compared to ‘no’, I am now wondering whether ‘yes’ is at all possible. They do seem flimsy reasonings. I’m still on the side of ‘no’, and I believe it’s likely Rhett and Scarlett would never have crossed paths again (except perhaps for one of those stereotypical old age nostalgia scenes).

What do you think? Did Scarlett get Rhett back?

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Despite the fact that there are numerous issues with The Iron Fey series, that the handling of the concept could have been so much better and that I wish it was grittier and less romance-focused, I can’t help but love the premise upon which Kagawa rests her story.

The series (which started with The Iron King) is about the clash of our older world – the pre-technical years when myths and imagination played a bigger role in life – and our world nowadays with its constant evolution. The clash occurs between the more traditional fairyland – Kagawa chose to use Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream – and the ‘fairyland’ that is the creation of technology, iron faeries with iron glamour.

Whether or not the subtlety was on purpose or whether it’s a happy coincidence, the idea running in the background is that technology should not take over. Kagawa clearly wants the mythical faeries to survive but at the same time she makes the iron fae understandable.

And it’s for that reason I wonder if the subtext was accidental, because Kagawa seems to be saying that neither side ought to win, that both should co-exist. Personally I like this idea; but because the iron fae’s very existence destroys that of the others, I’m not so sure about it.

To me, purposefully included or not, the book is a warning about how we are letting the new subtract from the parts of tradition we should keep, taking over our previous dreams and what we’d now call our ‘offline’ lives. Losing fairy stories, no longer considering the existence of fairies, would surely be a loss for our world, and no matter how hurtful some of the traditional fae are to Meghan in the book, they are surely needed. (Indeed in most cases fairies are considered dark and mischievous anyway.)

I specifically wanted to write this post before finishing the series because the titles of the books indicate what will happen. Personally I believe the best way to end the series would be to push back the iron fae, as it seems it wouldn’t affect the mortal world, but I think Kagawa has something different in mind.

This isn’t to recommend the series, per se – it’s a fantastic premise somewhat wasted in its fantasy high-school-romance naïve-heroine genre, but if you are okay with delving past that to get to the discussion you might enjoy that discussion (the discussion being subtext).

I’m finding the characters disappointing and the second book was filler from start to finish, yet I can’t stop reading because of that great theme.

Whether you’ve read the books or not, what do you think of the theme of technology versus tradition?