This will be the second of my re-reads and reviews of the entire Deltora series. While I have not yet read any of the sequel series, this will be my third time reading the original series – once during my childhood, a second time a few years ago, and now a third time for these reviews. I'll be keeping these reviews free of spoilers for future entries, revealing only what is in the book being reviewed and the preceding ones. I encourage you to check out my review for the previous book, The Forests of Silence, to get a more complete picture of my thoughts on the series.
Going back through Lake of Tears is a pleasure. This is the first book in which Rodda fully shakes off the shackles of conventional fantasy in favor of her own wild imagination, and although it doesn't achieve the consistent heights of certain later books, it is no doubt a worthy addition to the inimitable world of Deltora. I think this book makes the series' true theme even clearer than the Forests of Silence did: nothing is ever what it seems. Keeping reading, and I think you'll start to see it everywhere.
Right off the bat, Rodda has already begun indulging her tastes even more thoroughly than in the previous book. The very first incident our heroes find themselves in is, to me, one of the most memorable in the whole series (I'd be inclined to say every incident in this series is memorable, except that I have in fact forgotten quite a lot about the later books in the series – all the better to experience them all over again, I say).
The trio are confronted with a chasm and a rope bridge, with a supernatural guardian who asks them questions in order to cross, in the style of Monty Python and the Holy Grail – or, more accurate to the series' roots, the myth of Oedipus and the Sphinx. The first two questions are common riddles which would only be unfamiliar to children (the same children these books are meant for, so I don't fault Rodda for that), but the third is a wickedly clever little creation. To summarize, the guard tells the following rhyme:
Thaegan gulps her favorite food
In her cave with all her brood:
Hot, Tot, Jin, Jod,
Fie, Fly, Zan, Zod,
Pik, Snik, Lun, Lod
And the dreaded Ichabod.
Each child holds a slimy toad.
On each toad squirm two fat grubs.
On each grub ride two fleas brave.
How many living in Thaegan's cave?
Lief appears to answer correctly: 105. But the guard promptly informs Lief that he is off by 1, because Thaegan's favorite food is a raven – swallowed whole, and thus still alive in her stomach. For getting his answer wrong, Lief must die. His method of getting out of this situation is nearly as a clever as the mistake that got him into it.
What a brilliant concoction this scene is! But I haven't yet mentioned the further details that add so much – like the fact that the group is itself accompanied by a raven who has a personal grudge against Thaegan, or that the guardian is soon revealed to be a bird himself, transformed into a minion as a punishment from Thaegan (both details which pay off excellently during the climax of the book, which again features a masterful, intricate confluence of events like that of the previous one).
The next encounter, in which the trio walks straight into the illusory trap of Jin and Jod, sets the tone for much of the series to come, although I never found it quite as compelling as the previous threat. Nonetheless, most of the things I could criticize about it aren't really fair – sure, Jin and Jod's trickery is blatantly obvious and even a bit goofy, but this is a series for young kids (and even the characters point out some of the more ridiculous stuff). But above all else I enjoy it for being a sort of Deltoran homage to the age-old tale of Hansel and Gretel, and I wonder if other parallels will show up as the series goes on. It also works well to further build up to the eventual appearance of Thaegan and the rest of her children, as well as a great way to introduce the magical powers of the Belt and make it a credibly useful item rather than just a vague MacGuffin.
Speaking of credibility, I find myself appreciating the relative realism of how Rodda writes her protagonists. A surprising amount of focus is put on how tired and scared Lief frequently is through his adventure, and he's not the only one. Though I tend to harp on the darkness throughout this series, and it is indeed constantly present, this particular choice serves to make the story even more inspiring: in spite of their suffering, Lief, Barda and Jasmine never back down from seemingly insurmountable odds.
Indeed, I appreciate how often they put themselves into unnecessary danger for the sake of a good deed that more pragmatic heroes might have ignored, like rescuing Manus from the Grey Guards. Rodda may portray cruelty and tragedy, but she doesn't indulge in it, and her heroes resolutely oppose it at every turn, and this lets us appreciate them not only as clever problem-solvers but as brave and virtuous people, worthy defenders for Deltora.
If I have one major sticking point with this book, it's the Ralads. I appreciate that Deltora is not just populated by normal humans, but the Ralads strike me as being a touch too idealized, giving some scenes a patronizing tone as the trio fawns over how lovable these little blue people are. If anything, they can come across as being more of a MacGuffin than the gems themselves, a convenient boon the heroes find along their way, make use of and leave behind.
But don't let that issue make you think I disapprove of the book. Even the Ralads have plenty to offer this story, and I especially like their contributions to the Deltoran staple of drawn symbols found on the page itself, as a result of Thaegan's curse of silence.
Lastly I'd like to mention Soldeen, the guardian of the titular lake. This is one case in which McBride's illustrations don't match the text very faithfully; he draws Soldeen as an enormous, green and sharp-toothed but otherwise normal catfish, whereas Rodda not only goes on about his repulsive appearance for some time but curiously never describes him in aquatic terms at all. This isn't a criticism of the prose or the picture – McBride's illustration is iconic on its own (there are further drawings of him in the Deltora Book of Monsters, if you're curious), and Rodda's writing of Soldeen is compelling. Really, I'm just curious what a more accurate portrait of Soldeen might look like. Perhaps too horrifying to bear?
As for Soldeen himself, in typical Rodda fashion he's built up in one role, only to end up being something quite different. While I can't say his eventual defeat is quite as intuitively neat or satisfying as the rest of the book, it's more than compensated for by his fascinating personality and the exceptionally satisfying fate of Thaegan, which is like something straight out of an old folktale.
Next time, join me as I delve into the City of Rats, which in my view is the series' first masterpiece – and hopefully not its last.