I'm almost certainly being too harsh and should give four stars. Maybe my experience just suffered from high expectations due to the acclaim this book has received.
I think there was a terrific book waiting to emerge with a good shortening edit. As it was, I ultimately couldn't get a sense of what this book had to communicate. An imperative to shorten this book might have encouraged Saunders to work out what was at the core of her book and what were weeds that needed to be pulled.
It's poignant to read about characters you know from a classic, light-hearted fairytale going through brutal reality. But I'm not convinced Saunders earns that by having anything in particular to evoke or explore.
In her afterword, Saunders says, "I saw (Nesbit's characters) as eternal children, frozen for all time in a golden Edwardian summer, like the figures painted on Keats' Grecian urn... But what if they walked off the urn and grew up?"
Well... what if? What is there other than the maths of it to make Nesbit's children a particularly interesting lens for the world events of their adult years? Or vice versa?
That idea, of the contrast between the eternal child of Edwardian fiction and the modern horrors of WWI; that the very generation of children whose images are so emblematic of childhood whimsy were to become the officers and nurses of the trenches - that's definitely a promising intersection.
I suppose there are two broad hypothetical approaches to having these ideas meet:
One would be to be interested in what these particular characters informed by their particular histories would experience within the wider context of WWI? How might the morals implicit and explicit to Nesbit's stories emerge tested against the darker context of WWI?
The other approach would be to take these children more as symbolic of a generation, to use the iconic nature of these characters to serve as avatars of a generation, heightening the experience of a generation into this idea of four carefree moppets plunged into the worst ind of adult reality.
But I don't think this book really did either ultimately.
The material isn't leveraged to bring the two ideas into any kind of narrative tension. The fantasy isn't steered to highlight the contrast and/or relationship between the ideas.
For example, there is no tension made felt in the relationship between the states of childhood and adulthood in this book. There is ample opportunity for that to be played with in the central fantasy: in Nesbit's own Psammead mythology, only children can see and believe in the Psammead, not adults (except in exceptional cases like the Professor's which is an exception that in itself helps us to understand what is being framed as the major difference between most children and most adults).
And in Saunders' book the four older children from Nesbit's books (Cyril, Anthea, Jane and Robert) have all reached young adulthood, ranging from 16-21 at the start of the story. Their fifth and sixth siblings are a good deal younger, still children as we find them: Hilary/the Lamb (only a baby in Nesbit's books) is 12 as the book proper starts. The youngest sibling, Edie, who Saunders' invented, is 9.
So when the Lamb and Edie find the Psammead anew, the groundwork is there to narrativise the contrast/relationship between childhood and adulthood via these two sets within the sibling group. Indeed I imagined early on when the children met a brief resistance in trying to tell their older siblings about the Psammead that it was going to be a case of the older ones not being able to see or believe in the sand fairy any more.
But no - the whole clan quickly and unquestioningly return to their old engagement with the sand fairy. New adult characters meet him through the book too.
And all right - my version wouldn't have been a terribly original concept; the grown-up who loses the power to see/believe in the fantasy creature any more. I'm sure there are fresher ways to play these elements. My point is that rather than utilising the stuff of the Nesbit stories to explore the ideas that Saunders said she found so striking and interesting, the story actually hastily rids itself of the very elements that might have spoken to those themes.
It is a problem for me that the central fantasy of the book is reduced in a lot of ways to empty whimsy by being uncoupled from any thematic significance it might have had.
But it's not just that the fantasy misses a trick. Nowhere in the book do I really find these two ideas of the Edwardian child and the 1910s adult being brought to bear on each other. There's no difference really felt between the adult characters and experiences and the children's. Older siblings might engage in romance or do tough war jobs but their voices and emotional lives remain as simple, accessible and childlike as the youngsters. There's no contrast felt here between what it is to be a child and what it is to be an adult. I often found myself forgetting to visualise the adult siblings as adults at all.
There's no sharp contrast felt either in the worlds of the original books - that golden, Edwardian, Kentish summer, and the world of a Britain at war. Settings are vaguely or perfunctorally drawn with no particular attention for how they speak to the bucolic pastoral.
These are the contrasts Saunders says she was struck by but they're not there in her text.
The characters' experiences are not terribly sharply drawn and feel generic. That would be fine if the particularity came from the characters' themselves - but they too were rather thinly sketched. All the siblings shared a single voice and only Edie felt fairly distinct from the mass. Again, opportunity is there. This could have been Edie's story, the child lens by which we witness the adult horrors of the war. But it's not anyone's story really. The family struggles are fairly affecting but they're generic without being symbolic of anything wider. And the book swerves whenever it risks encountering anything too sharp. It avoids the grief and fear and sadness and struggle and interpersonal conflict. It's sad to see this character profoundly injured and that character die, but the book is so quick to an assurance that everything is all right really.
I just wonder, what's the point of a book which takes characters of classic children's fairytale adventure and puts them into bleak reality if not to evince the sadness of the latter strongly? Why invoke these particular characters and their background of fun, innocent childhood and put them in wartime unless you were interested in how that contrast communicated... something?
I did like the Psammead having a redemption arc tied to the ways events unfolded in the present. That brought in some of that missing sense of significance. But I think the book could have done with another pass to integrate the ideas more.
Yeah, the ending made me cry, but critically I don't really believe in the Psammead having his heart grow three sizes over this particular event. Saunders hadn't done enough to communicate any emotional connection between the Psammead and the character in question, or the children as a group. It's a nice scene but it concludes no ideas or questions the books has raised.
Saunders' prose style is serviceable and clear but never more than pedestrian so choices are left to fend for themselves with little poetry to carry the day.
In the end I couldn't detect much going on below the (engaging enough) surface.
I know I'm being harsh, but in employing the material of one of children's literature's giants, Saunders has laid claim to some serious ambitions. I can say that the broad idea of these characters encountering the war will stay with me and provoke thought and feeling. It was a good idea to have, even if I didn't get much from its execution.