Ancient One
- Book Review,
by T. A. Barron
From Publishers Weekly
When an untouched forest of ancient redwoods is discovered on Native American holy grounds in the Oregon wilderness, a band of unemployed loggers sees only an opportunity to earn a living, not thinking of either the ecological or the spiritual consequences of felling the trees. Anxious to preserve the wilderness, Kate (the heroine of Barron's debut novel, Heartlight ) and her great-aunt Melanie set off to stop the loggers. Once in the forest, Kate is catapulted 500 years into the past, where she is caught in a fatal struggle over the very same wilderness. Kate's quest--to help the forces of light and love prevail over Gashra, the Wicked One, and his forces of greed and death--resonates through time, influencing events set in the past as well as those set in the present. This fantasy adventure offers well-realized characters, imaginative situations, high-minded theme and purpose, complex emotion, a smattering of really good fight scenes and a healthy dose of slapstick humor. Working with elements inspired by American Indian lore, the Lost World stories by Edgar Rice Burroughs and A. Merrit, and the works of C. S. Lewis and Madeleine L'Engle, Barron has woven a boldly original novel that is as thought-provoking as it is fun to read. Ages 12-up. Copyright 1992 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From School Library Journal
Grade 5-9-- Kate, who journeyed to a distant star in Heartlight (Philomel, 1990), now finds herself transported into the past. While visiting Blade, a town in southeastern Oregon, she is immediately embroiled in a battle between local loggers and her great-aunt Melanie, a retired teacher whose hobby is preserving the lore of a lost Native American tribe. At stake is a newly discovered crater containing several species of ancient trees. Events move swiftly as Kate accompanies her aunt to the crater to confront the loggers, who are determined to cut the trees down. Within the hollow of ``The Ancient One,'' the forest's oldest redwood, Kate slips back 500 years. Persevering on her mission, she encounters friends and enemies. While the story, with its rapid pace, inventive surprises, and feisty heroine, is entertaining, readers are left with unanswered questions. (How can a walking stick destroyed in the past exist in a present that is clearly a product of that past? Why does Barron undercut his repeated avowal of the interconnectedness of all life by casting reptilians in their cliched role as bad guys?) Also, by personalizing the conflict, the author chooses to ignore the complexities of international trade and corporate profit. Two deeply philosophical books, Ursula LeGuin's A Wizard of Earthsea (Bantam, 1984) and Patricia Wrightson's The Ice Is Coming (Atheneum, 1977; o.p.) serve the cause of environmentalism better. Purchase where fantasy adventures are popular.-Margaret A. Chang, North Adams State College, MACopyright 1992 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Kirkus Reviews
A long but well-peopled fantasy with a strong environmental message. When Kate, 13, tries to help stop a group of unemployed Oregon loggers from cutting a unique stand of redwoods, she's cast back five centuries and propelled into the struggle against Gashra, a megalomaniac volcano creature with a very real ``scorched earth policy.'' The strongest feature of this novel is not the wandering, predictable plot but the colorful cast, especially the nonhumans- -boulder-like Stonehags, many-eyed underwater Guardians, lizard-folk, owl-folk, and (best of all) the monstrous Gashra, a delicious combination of tyrannosaur, octopus, and two-year-old- -who add a strong dash of humor as well as occasional prophecies and rescues. In the end, Kate recovers a stolen power crystal, sends Gashra back into the earth for a few more centuries (take heed), and returns to her own time to witness one last desperate logger felling the oldest redwood just before a protective injunction takes effect. Barron shows some understanding of the loggers' plight, but pushes concepts like the interconnectedness of nature, our arrogance toward the environment, and the necessity of preservation (both directly and metaphorically). Still, much better wrought than the author's tedious Heartlight (1990). (Fiction. 12-18) -- Copyright ©1992, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.
Terry Tempest Williams-11/92
T.A. Barron is a storyteller, a modern myth-maker who allows us to see what is possible in a humane world. The Ancient One transcends genre. It is a journey of truth and compassion that shows us where we have been and where we might go if we choose to listen to the spirits of trees, owls, and all that is native. The Ancient One is an environmental fable for our time.
Robert Coles, M.D.-10/92
The Ancient One is wonderfully lively and suggestive-full of wisdom, written with grace and subtlety. The reader is offered a moral fable rendered evocatively and poetically. All of us urgently need to attend to this beautifully told, thoroughly enjoyable story, and hear its urgent and convincing message.
Lloyd Alexander-11/92
T.A. Barron has applied his own unique imagination to evoking the power of Native American moods and mythologies. The result is a combination of ancient strength and modern vision; on an epic scale and on a human scale. Absorbing story, vital characters-and also a pioneering work opening paths we didn't know were there.
The New York Times Book Review-11/92
Mortality, in all its splendor and sadness, is T.A. Barron's subject....Fantasy mavens will find plenty here to enthrall them....Interesting and august.
Madeleine L'Engle-10/92
Once in a great while a book comes along that is so powerful and so wise that I want to shout about it...Readers young and old will enjoy the adventure, relish the characters, and ponder the meaning of this book.
Book Description
"Lost Crater is like no other place on the planet...stranger than you can imagine." A log collapsed in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks. "The Ancient One lives there." When Kate travels to Blade, Oregon, for a quiet week at Aunt Melanie's cottage, her plans are dashed by the discovery of grove of giant redwood trees in nearby Lost Crater. For thousands of years, no humans have entered the fog-filled crater--except possibly the Halami people who lived in the region centuries ago before vanishing without a trace. Long a source of deep mystery, the crater is now a source of conflict, pitting those who see it as the dying mill town's last hope against those who see it as a rare sanctuary that should be protected. Caught up in this struggle, Kate follows an old Halami trail into the crater, and suddenly is thrown back in time five hundred years. Accompanied by the trickster Kandeldandel, the loyal Laioni, and the young logger Jody, she meets strange and enigmatic creatures, none more frightening than the volcanic Gashra, bent on destroying everything he cannot control. To defeat him, Kate must find the answer to an ancient riddle--and the courage to make the most difficult choice of her life. In this extraordinary quest, combining high adventure and heroic drama, a girl discovers that all living things are connected in ways she never expected, and that true friendship can reach across cultures, and even across centuries.
Card catalog description
While helping her Great Aunt Melanie try to protect an Oregon redwood forest from loggers, thirteen-year-old Kate goes back five centuries through a time tunnel and faces the evil creature Gashra, who is bent on destroying the same forest.
From the Author
For me, writing is exploring. Whether it's the surprising connections among people, the wondrous patterns of nature, or the mysterious wellsprings of the spirit--the universe beckons. I love to explore it, whether by foot or by pen. Writing is both the most joyous--and most agonizing--labor I know. And it is by far the best way to travel--in our world or any other. Ever since my youth on a ranch in Colorado, I've felt passionate about nature--and about writing. I wrote and published my own magazine as a kid, called the Idiot's Odyssey, which sold about five copies an issue (including the ones my parents bought). I kept writing during my college years at Princeton, and during my years at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar. During that time at Oxford, I composed stories and poems while hiking in the Scottish highlands, while sitting beneath the boughs of an English oak I named Merlin's tree, while backpacking through Asia, Africa, and the Arctic; and while participating in a traditional roof thatching in Japan. Even during my years managing a fast-growing business in New York City, I often rose before dawn to write. Finally, I followed my dream to write full time. In 1990, I moved back to Colorado and started writing in the attic of my home, with the help of my wife and our five young children. I am currently writing a five-book epic about the youth of Merlin. This epic gives me a chance to add a new dimension to the rich lore about this enduring figure. Why am I spending almost a decade writing about Merlin? Because he is much, much more than a great wizard. His story is, in truth, a metaphor--for the idea that all of us, no matter how weak or confused, have a magical person down inside--waiting to be discovered. If you would like more information about the epic or my other books, please visit my official tabarron website.
Excerpted from Ancient One by Thomas A. Barron. Copyright © 1992. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved
First, God created Rain. Then Drizzle. Then Mist, the Fog. And then: More Rain. Kate smiled soggily at her own adaptation of the story of creation, Oregon style. Her sneakers were wet enough that they squelched like sponges as she walked. She could feel the warmish water sloshing between her toes. No use even trying to stay dry anymore. She stepped deliberately into a muddy puddle that nearly filled the heavily rutted street. The splash of water slapped against her lower leg, pressing jeans against shin, as brown circles spread outward from her submerged sneaker. Only Aunt Melanie's bright green shoelaces, reluctantly accepted by Kate when her own ones broke, remained visible in the muddy water. Water everywhere. At this very moment, she could be curled up by the fireplace, stroking the shaggy gray cat Atha. But Aunt Melanie, usually delighted to spend a rainy afternoon warmed by fire coals, quilts, and homemade spice tea, was in no mood for such things just now. Something was troubling her, something serious. So serious she didn't want to talk about it, even to Kate. Just a few minutes ago, when Aunt Melanie had checked her watch and realized it was nearly five o'clock, she had beseeched Kate to run to the post office before it closed. With an edge of urgency, she described the envelope she was expecting: long and brown, pretty thick, the kind lawyers like to use. Why lawyers? Kate had asked, but her great-aunt didn't answer. She merely ran a hand through her curls of white hair and glanced out the window toward the dark reaches of forest beyond, where the whine of distant chain saws mingled with the sound of swishing branches. Then she had handed Kate her rain jacket and pulled open the cottage door. Kate leaped across a small stream flowing through a rut, only to land with a splash in another puddle. Without the slightest pause, she continued walking. Her many visits to Aunt Melanie over the years had developed in her a grudging appreciation for the gentle rains of this land. They were part of the landscape, just as much as the trees. Trudging onward, Kate surveyed the scene on Main Street even as her mind played over and over again Aunt Melanie's words. Long and brown, pretty thick, the kind lawyers like to use. Although Blade, Oregon, didn't pretend to be a booming metropolis, it could claim most of life's necessities. Blurred by mud and mist, the storefronts seemed to run together like an oversized watercolor painting. She passed the local laundromat, right next to the Texaco station, where townspeople often gathered for good conversation. This afternoon, though, it was deserted. The street itself was strangely empty, nothing but a string of connected puddles. Breaking into a jog, she splashed down the remaining block to the old brick building sporting a white cardboard sign in the window with the words Post Office. She scampered up the moss-coated wooden steps, slowing only to reach for the rusted door handle. At that instant, the door flung wide open and a lean, red-haired boy not much older than Kate's thirteen years darted out, clutching a parcel of some sort under his arm. They plowed straight into each other. Kate tumbled backward down the slippery steps, landing on her back in the muddy street. The boy cried out in surprise, almost landing on top of her. "Hey, watch where you're going," he said accusingly, wiping some mud from his cheek with the sleeve of his yellow rain jacket. "Watch yourself," Kate retorted. Suddenly her eyes fell upon the parcel the boy had been carrying, now resting on the street only an arm's length away. It was an envelope, brown and shaped like a long rectangle. She caught her breath as she read the name clearly typed on the mailing label: Melanie Prancer. The boy snatched up the brown envelope, rose quickly, and started running down the street in the direction of Cary's Tavern. "Hey, come back," Kate shouted. She leaped to her feet and flew after him with the speed of a shortstop dashing to snag a line drive. They raced past the buildings of the town, their feet pounding through the puddles. Kate gained on him, but slowly. Just before the parking lot outside the tavern, the boy swerved. Kate stretched out an arm and barely caught him by the collar of his rain jacket. She pulled, and the boy lurched backward, his feet sliding out from under him. Before he had even hit the ground, she was on top of him. "Give me that," she demanded, pulling at the brown envelope. "No way," answered the boy, struggling to hang on. He kicked at her savagely, spraying mud into the air. Finally, Kate loosened his grip enough to yank the envelope away. Just then the boy rolled to his knees and butted against her with such force that she fell back into a deep puddle. The brown envelope skidded across the muddy street, coming to rest at the edge of a rut just outside the tavern. Kate crawled madly after it. As her fingers started to close on the edge of the envelope, a heavy boot slammed down on top of it. At once, Kate knew it was the boot of a logger-beat-up brown leather, without steel toes because if a tree trunk falls on a logger's foot he prefers to have his toes crushed rather than sliced off by the steel lining. She raised her head, seeing the grinning face looking down on her from under a weather-beaten hard hat. She tugged on the brown envelope. "It's mine," she said. The boot did not budge.
Buy from Amazon
Compare Prices
|
|
Home
