Best Children's Books for Kids - Educational Storybooks, Picture Books & Bedtime Reading - Perfect for Gifts, Learning & Family Bonding

I first drafted my review of this enormous novel when I was about two-thirds of the way through. My title, then simply "Fabulous!", was both an evaluation and a description. It described my rapture at the first half of the book at least, even though my first euphoria was gradually replaced by a more intellectual interest. And it celebrated the book itself, a novel clearly of Victorian size and scope but without Victorian weight, borne aloft in a fascination with children's stories, make-believe, and romance. Byatt has always been interested in romance, especially romance with Victorian roots; it was the essence of her Man Booker prizewinning novel POSSESSION, for instance. She has also become explicitly interested in children's stories; her most recent collection, LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF STORIES, is billed as "fairy tales for grown-ups." Sometimes very much for grown-ups; the author seems especially fascinated by the danger inherent in such stories, where the merely scary passes over into the downright traumatic; those who know the sinister eroticism of the storytelling in BABEL TOWER, for instance, will not be surprised.The novel opens in what would become the Victoria and Albert Museum, where a young boy, Philip Warren, a runaway from child labor in the potteries, has taken refuge in a hidden chamber in the labyrinthine basement, emerging only to draw the objects on display -- for despite his early experiences, he has an acute eye and a love for well-made things. He attracts the attention of Olive Wellwood, a children's book author who has come to the museum seeking inspiration, and she takes him to stay with her family at Todefright in Kent (wonderful name!). Olive is a refugee from a mining community herself, and many of her stories are about dispossessed children and underground realms, so Philip's situation strikes a chord. He arrives in time for the Wellwoods' Midsummer party, where he will meet the large cast of children (and as many adults) whose lives will be followed over the next 650 pages.Although beginning in the Victorian age, this is the 1890s, the end of the century. The novel's characters are not merchant princes and defenders of Empire, but artists, craftsmen, eccentrics, socialists, suffragists, pamphleteers, and nature worshipers. Byatt precisely evokes the liberal fringe of society reacting against Victorian industrialization, militarism, and commerce -- especially through the making of art. Philip, for instance, is soon introduced to Benedict Fludd, a temperamental genius who runs a pottery in the desolate Romney Marshes, where the boy gets a chance to produce original work of his own. Byatt, who taught at an art school in earlier life, has long had an interest in the visual arts, and one of the glories of this book are the objects that she conjures with such skill that you marvel at their originality and beauty.Fairy tales have a way of touching on matters that children do not consciously understand, and as the novel probes backwards some very dark secrets come painfully into the light. But primarily the book moves forward; children grow up, lose their innocence, move into a world where fables can no longer sustain them. Many of the outcomes are happy, but with the new century the world itself is moving into a time of mourning a lost innocence that perhaps never existed. It is the age of children's stories; Kenneth Grahame (THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS), James Barrie (PETER PAN), and others were writing, perhaps in retreat from what they saw around them. Byatt handles the historical overview well, but there are places where she becomes more historian than novelist; the chapters describing the Paris Exposition of 1900 or the Munich cabaret scene of a few years later, brilliant as they are, almost lose the thread of the narrative, and perhaps there are too many famous people making convenient cameo appearances: Oscar Wilde, Auguste Rodin, Marie Stopes, and Emma Goldman, to name but a few. By the last third of the novel, the characters seem to be moved more by the tides of history than by their own volition. And the First World War is almost too easy a device for tying up the numerous narrative loose ends -- though Byatt handles the final pages with all her accustomed grace.Behind Byatt's childlike charm there is also a smoldering anger, especially when she writes about women -- for this was also watershed era for feminism. Wealthy or poor, married or single, all her female characters seem to be looking for some truer realization of the self than society will easily allow them. One determines to become a doctor; another finds independent success as an artist. Two others go up to Newnham College, Cambridge, as Byatt herself did; there is a quality of strong personal conviction here, as a battle that needed to be fought then and must still be fought now. Indeed the whole novel, whose scope cannot be captured in a short review, seems the summation not only of Byatt's immense scholarship, but also her passion as an advocate of personal freedom. Words are her weapon, and she knows the power of story-telling to convey things that lie deeper than facts. But she also knows that some facts lie beyond the reach of stories, and that the writer may harm almost as easily as she can heal. Neither of the fictional authors portrayed in this book come over entirely as positive influences, and the latter part of the novel is almost a demonstration of the limitations of fiction. But also of its power.