Another delightful return to a book I loved as a child, this time with my own children, one of whom—to make it even more special—bears the name of the main character.
Though obviously belonging to the doll-come-to-life genre, a few things make this book stand out. One is that the discoverer and owner of the doll is a boy—a fairly typical boy obsessed with sports and dreaming of becoming a professional footballer, but who responds to the compelling personality of a talking Victorian doll, Lady Daisy Chain. Because Lady Daisy has been unconscious for 90 years (the book takes place in 1990) and last she knew Queen Victoria had just died, the book also contains some sense of time travel, at least in the sense of Gone Away Lake. And there is mystery, too—the discovery of the forgotten doll, the enigma of how the magic works (which, charmingly, all talking-toy books must provide their own more-or-less-unique explanation of), and then a slight detour into detective and crime fiction when Lady Daisy is pursued by a sketchy antique dealer and ultimately abducted. For a 160-page children’s book it has a lot going on in terms of genre, and the author maintains all these threads deftly.
The most charming thing about the book, to me, is how English it is. There are little hints of England in offhand cultural references (talk of Mrs. Thatcher, Welsh rarebit for supper, windows without screens) and occasionally in vocabulary (football, telly, snooker, quid, rang up), but it’s the dialog that really and consistently transports you to England. I tried to read it with an American accent but found it couldn’t be done.
The book also consistently features a wonderful literary device that I’ve never been able to put a name to, unless it’s simply dramatic irony. It happens when the same phrase or line of dialog is repeated in different contexts, the characters unaware of the irony but the reader fully aware of it. It also happens with double entendres, again the characters hearing only one meaning but the reader aware of both possibilities. Dick King-Smith seems to construct scenes in order to give this dramatic irony the greatest possible play, and it works beautifully, especially when read aloud. I haven’t read any of his other books, but the back flap claims he was regarded as a master storyteller, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this very quality was the reason.