It is clear from the beginning of her story that Josephine O’Brien writes well. The opening paragraph pulls you in: “The faces just didn’t match.” The descriptive detail is mood-sensitive, rhythmical and perceptive: “Sunlight forced its way off the London streets through the Venetian blinds, painting the room with dull yellow bands of dancing dust.” Any reader will feel in safe hands, even if they aren’t conscious of the craft behind the art – assonance, alliteration, 2.9 blank verse lines masked as effective prose – which to me means there is magic in the air.
I am not a reviewer who plods you ponderously through a story much better told by the author, but perhaps some context is permissible to whet the appetite. Gaiah Hansfort has recently turned 18, and is understandably troubled by certain circumstances in her life to date: some of them identifiably, sadly, predictably human, and some of them not. She is an interesting character, and I was conscious of my own desire to read quickly in order to discover more about her.
The story develops rapidly, and she finds herself heading north to re-establish contact with grandparents who vanished from her life and the life of her still grieving father shortly after her mother died eleven years ago. They had all been so close, and then her grandparents simply weren’t there any more, adding to the terrible loss of her mother. Her father hadn’t even been able to find their house. Now, however, suddenly and apparently inexplicably, the grandparents are easily contactable by a female police officer on Gaiah’s case. They tell her they have always been there, but were denied access to their granddaughter by her father, who had “gone off the rails” after their daughter died. The plot thickens...
The number three has always had magical connotations: trinities abound in religions and mythologies, and are central to this story. Gaiah’s father actually describes himself and his wife and daughter as more than just a family: they were “a trinity”. We learn that Earth is but one part of a trinity of universes in parallel dimensions. The other two have some of the connotations of Heaven and Hell: occupied by beings constructed of energy but able to manipulate matter in order to assume human shape. Inhabitants of these universes can shift between the dimensions and have sojourns on Earth in human shape with the power to influence events. Humans, as you well know, do not have the power to shift, and most are only aware of the influence of these dimensions in story form: myths and legends, ghosts and spirits, Gods and wizards, and apparently inexplicable phenomena like the Bermuda Triangle and the large number of vitrified stone forts in Scotland.
Or’ka is a dimension dominated by evil, and those who shift from it to Earth are bent on world-domination by wicked means. Those who shift from Gaiana – a dimension entirely dominated by good - are bent on preventing the Or’kans from succeeding in blighting the whole world with wickedness. Gaia, now she has reached the age of her maturity, has a special (though as yet undefined) significance in this chain of events. She is the melding’s child of Nia Shaman of Gaiana and Andrew Hansfort of Earth. Such children have extraordinary powers...
There are some editing and formatting issues that can easily be put right, and I will contact the author directly and privately to point those out; but I was also left with some questions about the way the story and the characters unfolded. Some of them may be age-related, as I identified most closely with the grandparents in this story, and was more interested in the progress of the mission than I was with which choice hunk of boy in her new school Gaia was going to be sidling up to first. I’m sure the YA readers will lap all that up; and to be fair, the boys involved ARE an integral part of the plot.
However, I was puzzled by the sideways-shifting into this amazing parallel dimension where there is no evil and all kinds of fascinating utopian possibilities to contrast with the dystopian Or’ka in order to sample a Gaianan take on a fruit sorbet currently being marketed by a friend of the grandparents in his new shop. Is the point that beings occupying a planet where there is no evil to be fought simply have a different sense of priorities?
The Gaianan girl Renny – who has been shifted earthwards to provide some sort of extra protection for Gaia while she was in school – appears similarly unfocused in that she also seems much more interested in which Earth boys they were both going to be getting up close and personal with. “Our world is at stake here girls,” I heard myself cry in frustration. “Get those hormones in check and some kind of a grip on the mission to protect humanity from despotic domination by psychos.” I heard an echo of Dale Arden reminding Flash Gordon: “...we only have 24 hours to save the Earth!”
Gaiah and Renny are – it appeared to me - frustratingly crap at communicating their several concerns to those who matter, which means they go haring off in different directions with different bits of the puzzle. This eventually results in the spaced-out, well-meaning grandparents - with whom I had initially identified - accepting the ill-informed opinions and fears of dippy teenager Renny as enough reason to get together a lynch party and go out and murder someone.
Of course they’re dreadfully sorry when they find out what a monumental booboo they would actually have committed had not our hero been fortuitously clad in shotgun pellet-deflecting metal sheeting: the whole future of the Earth could have gone up in flames right there! ‘These are the people on whom the future of my planet depends,’ I found myself thinking. ‘I do hope they get a better grip on the mission in Book 2.’
Does the author have something deeper going on here that will be more clearly revealed in Book 2? Since the death of her mother, Gaiah’s father is also frustratingly crap at being a decent dad. It’s as though contact with one of these utterly good bundles of energy made flesh is sublime while it lasts, but once lost it robs you of the strength and resolve to fulfil your basic parenting obligations towards your similarly devastated child. Gaiah so needed a cuddle and all she got was this grieving father wrapped up in his art, so depressed by how much Gaiah reminds him of his dead wife that he shuts himself away for two weeks at a time:
“Dad, can we talk?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry Gaiah, I just can’t... I don’t know what’s happening.”
No, neither did I.
None of which seems to have bothered any other reviewer; so it is almost definitely curmudgeonly, septuagenarian me! I strongly recommend that you buy it, read it for yourself and make up your own mind. Rather like my own series, this is but Book 1, and a very promising, very well-written story is only just out of the blocks...