Conceptually similar to many stories of "(presumed) orphan goes to live with crazy relative in big house," Toalson has managed to attach a unique twist to the trope through a connection to a real-life tragedy, a mysterious fantastical edge, and--unexpectedly--a steampunk army. We follow 1947-Texan Lenora as she journeys to Stonewall Manor, her ancestral home, with a vast burden of grief on her shoulders, and as she comes to explore the seemingly impregnable secrets that inhabit it. She makes for a plucky young hero, both overwhelmed by her recent traumatic experience and irresistibly drawn to the glimpses of an old mystery within her family. Her caretaker is officially Uncle Richard, a grouchy, steampunk scientist with few words and much to hide; but unofficially it is Mrs. Jones, the cook, who quickly establishes herself as the character with the most to offer to the Manor's new occupant. When Lenora inevitably finds herself entering the forbidden woods, a new world devoid of sorrow appears, and she becomes pulled between what exists for her at Stonewall Manor and what might await her in the woods. Inner and external turmoils ensue, tying into those of her withdrawn uncle and the workings of his (not-so) secret lab.
Summary now aside, let's dive into what happened here.
The most burning, concise thought I have about this book is that it needed a more attentive editor. If you pick this book up in a library/shop and think, "what a tome!" you'd be right! Plainly put, it shouldn't have been a tome. The tale's length could've been reduced by a quarter to good effect, mostly being achieved by cuts to repetitive dialogue and unnecessary plot stalling. It didn't take long for me to become frustrated with the secrets being withheld from Lenora, so unnecessary did their hiding seem. It doesn't take long to realize that if only Uncle Richard trusted Lenora with the truth of things would everything go much, much better in both their lives. A lot of time is wasted on the holding of secrets which, to the reader, appear obvious, and which, to Lenora, would have proven useful. Connected to wasting time is the brevity of the chapters; it seemed to me a way to give the illusion of forward momentum in a story that needed editing to actually achieve it. In reality this tactic achieved nothing but interruptions in the reading experience and greatly contributed to the book's girth.
Turning aside from pacing and to Toalson's writing itself, it was an enjoyable, but imperfect, read. Being a story of inner sorrow tossed back and forth between its cast, we get a few too many eye/hand/facial movements that betray pent up emotions.
And crying. Lots of crying.
Now, admittedly, there have been great, bonafide tragedies in the lives of all three main characters here; but repeatedly sparkling eyes tend to lost their shine at the quiet dinner table when no one is actually talking about what's making them sad. Between Lenora's insistence that her family is alive and her uncle's insistence that the past shouldn't be spoken of, I found myself flipping the pages a little faster as a way to move the plot forward.
Leaving the human side of things, there are, as mentioned, a few spec-fiction angles here. The first is the woods itself. Upon traversing its leafy depths with Lenora, we're met with something out of Cameron's "Avatar" crossed with Wonderland. Indeed, there's actually a blatant reference to Wonderland that might feel out of place in another story, but not so here, as the entire magical woodland is basically a hodgepodge of bizarre flora and fauna. Bright, bioluminescent colors abound in a place full of strange creatures, dancing trees, and a pool (the "Waters of Aevum") that can tell the future. Lenora is guided through all of this by a giant, fur-collared, pink salamander named Bela.
Let me tell you: this was a lot. The only piece of continuity between all these fantastic things was that they were like the fever dream of a 19th-century naturalist on opium. To make things weirder, I constantly found myself unsure of the nature of the woods' reality: Bela was speaking of an ancient history (though he also said the woods were only 200 years old), while Toalson provided italicized inter-chapter segments that clearly told the reader of a malign human presence in the forest that, essentially, made it evil. Which was it? Were the woods good and bad? Just bad? Is there a lore? Are the "Waters of Aevum" named because of some deep history, or did the bad guy just assign them a name he found at a D&D session? At the end we learn that the woods are indeed the creation of the bad guy; but that answer felt false, and I left the story with tons of unanswered questions.
Continuing briefly with the spec-fiction note, I before described Uncle Richard as "steampunk." That was wholly purposeful. He wears a top hat (the setting is still 1947 Texas, mind you), gear-goggles, and creates giant copper "robots" in his lab. Among the humanoid robots is also, most notably, a gigantic robotic rhinoceros. That breathes fire. We get to see it in action in the woods in the climactic scene, and it does what it promised to do: burn stuff down. Why a rhino? Never addressed. Uncle Richard also boasts a cane which spouts not normal fire, but magical fire. How does he make this? Never addressed. Especially when combined with these two elements, the whole notion of an "army," as he describes his robots, feels a bit ludicrous, as the rest of the story is deeply concerned with inner tragedy and dark magics. And lest we forget the final piece of his bewildering scheme, Uncle Richard somehow manages to transport Lenora's actual HOUSE from her demolished town (twenty miles away, I believe) to Stonewall Manor, and then into the woods, and then blow it to pieces. You'd think Lenora would've noticed her literal family house on the grounds, or been upset with its literal explosion (especially seeing as her family was blown up to begin with), but neither is the case. "My home saved us," she says at the end of everything. Well, that's one way to look at it. I didn't know how to look at it, personally.
There are other things I could mention: how Lenora is constantly running to the woods, away from the woods, to the woods again, etc. How neither Mrs. Jones nor Uncle Richard really do much to restrain Lenora from going into that officially evil place. How there's no legitimate reason given for why the Master is specifically stealing children from the Cole family. How it felt like the curse of Stonewall Manor was a European fairy tale forcibly merged with a personal American tragedy (a Texan one, at that).
The more I write in this review, the more I realize that this book was, unfortunately, a mess. Which is a shame, because the author clearly (see Author's Note and Acknowledgments) put her heart into it. Even if there had been a more attentive editor, I can't help but feel that the disparate pieces of this story simply didn't belong together. But Toalson does have an overall enjoyable writing style, and clearly wants to write stories that both mean something and provide a sense of wonderment, both things I can get behind. I'll look for more to read by her in the future, with the faith that it will only improve.