The Captive Reader

Sometimes after reading a book, I become incoherent with delight and utterly incapable of forming a response much beyond “this is the greatest book ever and you must read it now.”  When these moods strike, I try to wait a while in the hope that I will eventually be able to better articulate myself.  Well, I’ve waited a few weeks since reading The Dragonfly Pool by Eva Ibbotson so let’s see if I am now able to lucidly explain why this book is amazing.  It is delightful in so many ways and very recognizably Ibbotson’s work, from the doting aunts to the domestically-minded heroine to the scientific interest shared by her most admirable male characters.

The book begins in 1939, in the spring.  Tally Hamilton has been awarded a scholarship to Delderton Hall, a boarding school in Devon, under the influence of one of her father’s grateful patients. And though Dr. Hamilton and his sisters, who have helped raise Tally since her mother’s death, and all the neighbours and patients who love the kind, cheerful and very considerate eleven-year old, are upset to be losing her, the threat of war hangs over the city and everyone agrees that the country is the safest place for their beloved Tally.  Everyone, that is, but Tally herself.  Tally is terrified by the prospect of boarding school, especially after hearing what her priggish cousins have to say about the many rules at their own schools.   Even Tally’s aunts are a bit anxious, after reading a number of girls’ boarding school novels to prepare themselves for Tally’s future, causing them to worry “about how Tally would get on, having to say ‘spiffing’ and ‘ripping’ all the time, and shouting, ‘Well played, girls!’ on the hockey field.”

But then Tally sets off for Delderton and, meeting her new school mates on the train, realises immediately that this is not going to be the kind of school written about in books and certainly not the kind her cousins attend.  It is a school without uniforms, where you are not required to attend classes if you don’t wish to, where biology lessons can start at four in the morning and where teachers are as likely to cry themselves to sleep with homesickness as the students.  Tally settles in wonderfully, making eccentric but close friends.

And then one day at the cinema, she sees a newsreel about the little kingdom of Bergania, whose king has just defied Hitler, refusing to let the German army move through his neutral country.  She feels an immediate connection to the beautiful, alpine country and its brave leader so when the chance comes to attend an international children’s folk dance festival there, she is determined to go.  For Tally, whose selfless father and kind aunts have taught her to believe in man’s responsibility to stand up for what is right, to defend the weak against the strong, to champion good in the face of evil, Begania is a symbol of those values.  So, after gaining the headmaster’s permission, convincing her friends to form a dance group, and somehow teaching the group a sort-of Morris dance, off the children go to Bergania, with their much-adored and mysterious biology professor Matteo uncharacteristically volunteering as one of their adult escorts.

Meanwhile, in Bergania, crown prince Karil spends his days inside the palace, surrounded by stuffy adults and no children.  Even his adored father doesn’t seem to have much time for him anymore, always being pulled away by one crisis or another.  When children from around Europe begin arriving for the festival, all Karil can do is watch them play and laugh through his telescope since he is not allowed to go play and laugh with them himself.  But Karil and Tally stumble across each other in the hills one day and instantly form a crucial bond that will change their lives in the days to come.

This book has everything.  It begins as a boarding school novel, and I always love those, and then turns into a first-rate, old fashioned adventure novel, which I adore.  With assassins, the Gestapo, and a race across Europe, the book is far from dull.  The final section of the novel, with Karil once again separated from his new friends, is much quieter and can’t match the earlier bits for intrigue or excitement, but is no less interesting or satisfying.

But mostly, I love Ibbotson’s optimistic view of the world.  Have faith in your fellow man, she implores, and they will help.  There are definite baddies here – what would a children’s novel be without villains? – but they are outnumbered by those who want to help.

I would have adored this book as a child, perhaps even more than I did now as an adult reader.  I would have adored the Prisoner of Zenda-esque adventure but, more than anything, I would have adored Tally.  Indeed, when I started reading Ibbotson’s adult novels when I was eleven or so, a huge part of the appeal was her heroines.  I’ve read so many stories with heroines who are too passive and many, many more that are cursed with the dreaded spunky heroine, the kind of girl who spends all her time talking back, who always wants to do what the boys are doing, and who is supposed to win your affection by being more than a bit offensive.  I always longed for someone who fit in between those extremes and that is the kind of heroine Ibbotson writes.  Her girls and women are clever and brave and loyal and would generally rather be helpful and of some use than rush into a dangerous or upsetting scene.  They worry about how to solve other people’s problems since, being loving, loved sorts, they don’t usually have many personal problems of their own – until, inevitably, they do and all the people who’ve helped come back to assist.  An Ibbotson heroine is capable of great adventure and drama but would be much happier making cocoa, studying her favourite subject and counselling friends.  She is recognizable as someone who we would like to know and as someone we would rather like to be.