Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (Ransom Riggs)

Posted: November 22, 2014 in fiction
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The concept here seems pretty simple. Ransom Riggs went searching for a bunch of old-timey novelty photographs and made a story out of them. Lest you think the pictures themselves are made up, cracked.com is fairly obsessed with old-timey novelty photographs, and we all know that they are the best source for historical fact. Despite its somewhat gimmicky nature, the story is pretty solid, and Riggs’ descriptions are vivid enough that his book would be interesting without the pictures.

Our protagonist is a sixteen-year-old boy. That doesn’t necessarily make it a teen novel, but the simple vocabulary and sentence structure, the absent parents, the discovery that he has magical powers, and the coming-of-age that involves abandoning his family and former life for a group of friends he just met, do. Ditto the narration that lacks any sort of commentary longer than a single sentence, and the way that the story sidles up close to emotional moments and then runs off to hide in the corner when we get too close. I’m making it sound worse than it is; I don’t mean to. I’ll read the sequel.

So. Jacob Portman is an unpopular kid (Teen Novel Requirement #7) with exactly one friend, a six-foot-five redneck with green hair who disappears fairly early, which is too bad. I thought Ricky had some interesting potential. Jacob grew up listening to his grandfather tell these crazy stories about growing up in an orphanage for circus freaks in Wales and saving the world from monsters. One day his grandfather dies horribly, and Jacob sees the monster who does it. He spends quite some time in therapy, then talks his parents into letting him go to Wales to see the orphanage. When he gets there, he finds the peculiar children, who are kind of like the X-Men, if they were all between six and fifteen years old, and if Professor X were a time-manipulating bird-woman keeping them trapped in a perpetual childhood. They’ve been living in a time-loop for seventy years, so that the bomb the Nazis dropped on their island wouldn’t kill them all. Well, the monsters show up, the Nazis show up, and eventually Jacob goes off to save 1940 from bog-wights and Nazis. Come on, it’s a first-person narrator, you knew he was going to survive, and that he was going to choose to stay where he was accepted instead of going back to twenty-first century Florida.

I pictured my cold cavernous house, my friendless town full of bad memories, the utterly unremarkable life that had been mapped out for me. It had never once occurred to me, I realized, to refuse it.

I grew up in a small town in the South, kind of like the one Jacob is from. When your childhood is unhappy, you don’t see the possibilities for happiness that life can offer. There’s an age when you know everything you need to know for your life, and there isn’t anything other than what you already know. I’m glad that I got out of that town and have discovered that the world is larger, scarier, and more wonderful than I had thought. I’m glad I was wrong, and I didn’t need a magical sideshow to convince me of it.

I slammed out of the Priest Hole and started walking, heading nowhere in particular. Sometimes you just need to go through a door.

I’ve also found this to be true. Sometimes I head blindly through doors simply because they happen to be open, and I need to get away from the current situation. It’s how things get better. I wouldn’t say my life is perfect, or that anyone should take it as a model, but it’s a damn sight better than it was.

Another requirement for the teen novel is the inexplicable crush. I didn’t get these as a teenager, so I think they’re overrepresented in teen novels, but I did get one just a few months ago, so maybe not. I do like the description of what the initial mutual attraction feels like:

I didn’t know what to call it, what was happening between us, but I liked it. It felt silly and fragile and good.

There’s one phrase that I’m really glad he didn’t use, ever: waiting for his life to start. I get frustrated over this phrase because it implies that we don’t live during our childhoods. Each of our lives began back before we can remember; all that stuff when we didn’t have control over our lives continues to inform our actions and attitudes forever.

I used to dream about escaping my ordinary life, but my life was never ordinary. I had simply failed to notice how extraordinary it was.

When I think about all the different things that happen to children and young adults, I’m amazed any of us reach thirty-five. Sometimes I need to be reminded, but my life is a miracle. I should have died of pneumonia back when I was a toddler. There are a few other times I thought I was going to die; there’s also my childhood paranoia that my older siblings were trying to kill me. Then there’s that annoying habit I had for a few years of falling asleep while driving. I once wandered into a Communist rally in a foreign country, and I’ve done things that would get me beheaded in this country if I were to confess them in the right places. Yes, life is scary. But it’s also wonderful. I’ve seen more beautiful places and people than a poor white boy from Down East has a right to expect. I’ve looked at the Sahara Desert from the air, where the patterns in the sand look like giant trees, and climbed mountains in Brazil to find the giant crosses that overlook the cities there. I’ve attended Mass at Notre Dame and seen the Pacific Ocean from a highway in Canada. If the world were as merciless as some people think, I would never have left rural North Carolina.

I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock and, like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After.

This is a phenomenon I’ve often noticed and tried to explain to people. For Jacob, it was his grandfather dying. For me, the first was going to college for the first time. Then there was getting married. Then the birth of my first child. And the second. And the third. And then the separation from them. It always seems to me that everything in my life has been preparing me for whichever transcendent experience happens next. I’ve had enough of them that I fully expect to keep having them, these moments that alter the way I see myself and the world so profoundly that I feel ripped in half.

Someone once told me the story of reading The Lord of the Rings as a kid, when she had to wait between books. How nerve-wracking. I mean, think of the ending of The Two Towers. Sam, convinced that Frodo has been killed by the giant spider, takes the ring and the magical elven flashlight and sets off to throw the ring into the mountain alone. The movies make this moment easier by not ending there. Miss Peregrine ends on a similar journey-beginning moment, and the reviewers on Amazon say that the second one does too. If you’re into that, could be a good thing. I think it’s only good if the author keeps writing stories in the series (cough cough — Fathom’s Five — cough cough), and ends on an ending note when he loses interest/inspiration/momentum. We’ll see how Ransom Riggs does in the future.

Oh, and it’s been turned into a graphic novel, if you’re not as fond of . . . words.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s