High on a mountainside, Mayka, the Stone Girl, lives with her friends, a menagerie of stone animals. Literally, a girl carved out of stone, Mayka is animated by the runes carved into her body by her creator. These runes define who she is and her purpose in life. The sum total of these runes is her story, which can be read by anyone who knows the meaning of the individual marks and how they relate to each other. Carved by a master carver, Mayka has always understood that she is constrained by her story, just the way humans are constrained by their histories. The only real difference is that stone folks wear their stories on the outside and humans get to hide them inside. But she's always been happy with her story, and the peaceful life it lets her and her friends live.
But there is a problem on the mountain. Their father, the man who carved them all, died many years ago after a long and fruitful life. And while humans age, stone folks erode, their marks getting worn smooth by wind and water and time. Several of Mayka's animal friends have gone to sleep, the marks on their skin no longer providing them with the undefined magical something to animate them. And unless something is done, the rest will join them in time. Mayka is the youngest, her father's final masterpiece. And she sees it as her duty to care for the rest of her family, no matter that her story makes no mention of her being a hero.
Leaving the mountain is a big deal. They know their father came here seeking a sanctuary, although they don't know why. Going down into the valley below means traveling into the unknown, a strange place their father purposefully left behind. But they need to have a stonemason, one of the special people that are capable of making the appropriate marks, to re-carve Mayka and her friends, to deepen and clarify their marks so that they'll continue to live for many more years to come. And since they need one, and they only exist in the valley, Mayka is determined to go and find one willing to come back and help. Given the peril, she is determined to go alone, unwilling to ask anyone else to risk themselves. And equally determined, two of her friends, the birds Jacklo and Risa, fly off with her and refuse to leave her side.
One of the things I love about Durst's YA stories is the unwavering belief of the main characters that people are basically good. Even when in the stories themselves there is abundant evidence that this is untrue. Mayka doesn't know what to expect from strangers but refuses to hide from them. Even after she meets several less-than-sterling examples of humanity, she still treats each person she meets as a potential friend. She isn't foolish; she understands the risks and takes precautions. But she refuses to succumb to fear. And that outlook is key to success, no matter how bleak things may sometimes appear.
Once Mayka and her two companions reach the valley and meet the inhabitants of the city of Skye, they begin to learn something of the society their father had left, and why he felt he needed to. The balance between flesh people and stone people works but is certainly not an equal one. And while it's easy to just wave it off as humans being crappy to anything they see as less than them, it's a bit more complicated, as Mayka finds out as she learns the various accounts of history, none of which agree on some pretty basic events.
On one level, The Stone Girl's Story is a basic adventure. The protagonist goes on a quest, meets enemies and allies, has setbacks and successes, rewrites society, and returns home. But on a much deeper level, The Stone Girl's Story is about who people are at a fundamental level. Mayka's surface story is plain to read on her skin. It doesn't say anything about going on quests or being a hero. Other stone creatures are similar, with simple stories that are supposed to define them, limit them, and control them. But what if we're more than just our stories? What if we get to interpret who we are? Mayka is never anything more than what she claims to be, but necessity makes her take actions beyond her simple definitions. But if you squint and do some hand-waving, everything she does really is defined by her core from the beginning. She just needs to convince herself that it's true.
Sometimes you just have to have the courage to be a better version of yourself than you've thought you were capable of. And when you are, you find that you aren't the inanimate subject of some external story, but the storyteller yourself, always ready to turn to the next page and re-imagine the world for the better.