This review originally appeared in Viewpoint: On Books for Young Adults.
Deborah Ellis’ No Safe Place follows the fortunes of four refugee children who are thrown together in their desperate bid to escape horrific circumstances. Abdul, 15, has been orphaned by the war in Iraq and is living rough in France while he tries to secure illegal passage to England. His life in Calais is violent, dangerous and miserable; he survives on the one meal a day provided by charity and guards his precious roll of English banknotes by wrapping it in plastic and forcing it up his bottom. When Abdul gains a place aboard a rickety people-smuggling boat, he meets Rosalina (a Roma girl), Russian boy Cheslav, and Jonah, the British smuggler’s nephew. The children are hardened by their circumstances and fiercely suspicious of each other, but when a storm and a struggle aboard the boat suddenly puts them in charge of their own destinies, they realise that they will have to work together in order to survive.
The story is told mostly told from Abdul’s point of view, interspersed with flashback chapters where the reader learns the events that have brought each character to their current desperate existence. Rosalina was sold by her family to ‘work’ for two men, the work turned out to be prostitution. Cheslav was abandoned at a young age by his mail-order-bride mother, dumped at an orphanage and later forced into a brutal military school. Abdul’s father and brother were killed in a bomb blast, and his mother later shot in front of him for the ‘sin’ of driving a car.
Best known for her Breadwinner Trilogy, Deborah Ellis specialises in unflinching portrayals of children whose lives have been torn apart by war and desperate poverty. The lives of these forgotten people are unbelievably horrific and No Safe Place often makes for very difficult reading:
“My son and I are going to make our way to Paris, on foot if we have to – what’s another long walk? We are going to the Eiffel Tower, or to that fancy garden with the flowers, or to the place where the president lives. I will get some gasoline, and I will pour it over my son and myself. Then I will tell him how much I love him. I will hold him close to me, and I will light a match.”
Abdul wasn’t shocked.
It is not just the events themselves that are appalling, but also the way the children have adapted to accept the violence and death as something normal (especially given the fact that while the characters are fictional, their experiences are fact for many). Ellis’ often sparse writing elegantly reflects the matter-of-fact attitude of her characters – the more shocking events are often simply detailed and this only serves to enhance their horror:
...more men came in. She kept up her fake cough, coughing as close to the door as possible so the men would be sure to hear her.
They left her alone that night.
She coughed all through the pleading and screaming and crying of the other two girls. She coughed while the parade of men laughed and slapped and grunted and drank. She coughed and thought about her great-grandmother fighting off the Nazis.
She knew she would not be left alone another night.
Ellis creates strong, smart characters that make for satisfying reading. The resourceful and fierce Rosalina quickly became a favourite of mine. Her escape from prostitution is one of the most exciting and rewarding sequences in the book (plus her reaction when Abdul later expects her to do his washing is priceless).
I find the age recommendation on the back of this book (an uncorrected proof) to be problematic. My copy recommends it for ages 11-14, but I believe both the age of the protagonists (14-15) and the distressing detail of many of the events places it firmly in the middle-upper secondary readership. Perhaps some more mature younger readers would be able to manage, but I think many upper primary/lower secondary readers would find the more graphic scenes difficult to cope with:
They each held a machine gun. They pointed their guns at Abdul’s mother.
“Only whores drive!” one of the men shouted.
Then they opened fire.
Abdul flung himself down on the seat, over the top of Fatima. He clawed the air, trying to grab his mother to pull her down out of the range of the bullets.
There was shattered glass everywhere. The guns were loud and seemed to go on and on.
And then there was silence. The guns stopped shooting. Abdul heard the car doors slam, tires squeal and cars drive away.
“Mama? Mama!”
His mother’s face was a mass of blood and pulp.
Little Fatima, leaning against his mother, was silent and still. There was a bullet hole in her head.
Abdul began to scream. He screamed and screamed and tried to shake his mother back to life.
While No Safe Place is a gripping read that tells an important story, the violence, tension and desperation are so unrelenting that more sensitive readers may find it too much. The moments of humour and relief are few, which may well reflect the lives of these displaced children, but for the reader it makes the book very hard-going. Perhaps the saddest part of this story is that while the children are so desperate to reach England, as illegal immigrants, their difficulties won’t end once they reach it. While Ellis’ conclusion is moderately hopeful, it also realistically acknowledges that for these children, there still really is no safe place.