Matthew Kirby

The Clockwork Three — (2010) Ages 9-12. Mr. Kirby hopes to write a sequel. Publisher: Three ordinary children are brought together by extraordinary events... Giuseppe is an orphaned street musician from Italy, who was sold by his uncle to work as a slave for an evil padrone in the U.S. But when a mysterious green violin enters his life he begins to imagine a life of freedom. Hannah is a soft-hearted, strong-willed girl from the tenements, who supports her family as a hotel maid when tragedy strikes and her father can no longer work. She learns about a hidden treasure, which she knows will save her family — if she can find it. And Frederick, the talented and intense clockmaker's apprentice, seeks to learn the truth about his mother while trying to forget the nightmares of the orphanage where she left him. He is determined to build an automaton and enter the clockmakers' guild — if only he can create a working head. Together, the three discover they have phenomenal power when they team up as friends, and that they can overcome even the darkest of fears.

The Clockwork Three

Amid the several highly anticipated children's and YA works this year by big names such as Suzanne Collins and Rick Riordan, one can be forgiven for missing the entry onto the stage of Matthew Kirby’s first novel, The Clockwork Three. Forgiven, but no longer excused, for among all those much more hyped releases (though they are often justifiably hyped), this stands out as among the best. There. Now you know. You should get it.

The Clockwork Three follows, no surprise, three characters. One is Giuseppe, a young busker sold off by his uncle in Italy to America where he is forced to give over the nightly coins he receives for playing his fiddle to his villainous padrone Stephano. Another is Hannah, a young girl recently forced by her father’s illness to take up a maid position in the local grand hotel under the villainous manager Miss Wool. The third is Frederick, a young clockwork apprentice to the villainous Master Branch. Just kidding. Master Branch is actually quite kind and paternal (Frederick’s villain is the woman who headed Frederick’s former home, an orphanage/sweatshop).

All three youths have a goal that drives them forward through the book’s action: Frederick to gain his journeyman status by completing a clockwork man, Giuseppe to escape Stephano and return home to Italy, and Hannah to make enough money to keep her family going. All three have a precipitating event that jumpstarts them forward. Giuseppe finds an amazing green violin that enhances his already prodigious musical gift and starts the coins rolling in faster than ever. Hannah’s father takes a sudden turn for the worse. Frederick’s master gets a commission. The three protagonists cleverly and subtly intersect at first, then gradually more often and directly, then eventually become friends who decide to help one another achieve his/her respective goal.

The setting and characters are familiar: some Dickens, with cruel orphanages and Fagan-like exploiters; a little steampunk (very little) patina laid over it all via Frederick’s attempt to create a clockwork man for his journeyman piece; a kind and helpful woodsman, a gentle and helpful old woman with herbs, etc. But the excellence of the book doesn’t derive from its originality so much as its execution.

Hannah and Giuseppe’s stories are the most intense and urgent at first, with their risk of immediate tragedy, but when they become embroiled in Frederick’s completion of the automaton, that strand picks up intensity as well with a late-night break-in, several chase scenes, and a pair of enforcers.

The three children are all highly believable in their actions, speech, interactions, and growth. They edge toward each slowly and shyly, at times with a little mistrust. They make mistakes, act at times without regard to consequence, and put others at risk beyond themselves. In short, they act like young people. Unlike in many children's books, here the adults are present and offer up a spectrum of roles, from out-and-out villain to justified antagonist to kindly helper. And again, the interactions between the adults and the kids are quite believable and often quietly touching. Each of the children has an adult patron of sorts: Frederick has Master Branch; Hannah has her new employer, the wonderful Madame Pomeroy; and Giuseppe, to a far lesser extent, has a local priest. In a nicely heartbreaking twist, though, Giuseppe — rather than have a true adult protector — must himself play that role to a younger, more vulnerable busker.

The writing throughout The Clockwork Three is tight and sharp, vivid and evocative. While Giuseppe plays his violin for a group of factory workers, “he freed them from the city like pigeons from an opened coop, and they took to the sky in droves.” When Hannah looks at her despairing mother at one point, “behind her eyes it was like someone had set fire to an empty building.” There are some simply beautiful lines and the writing is so tight and the pacing so well-handled that when I told my 9-year-old (and my wife) that this should be their next book, I said it was about 200 pages long. I was shocked when I picked it up to hand over and realized it was nearly 400. There’s no scene I’d remove, and it isn’t often I say that. The Clockwork Three is a book with soul and heart, conveyed by crisp and at times poetic language. Highly recommended. —Bill Capossere

Icefall — (2011) Ages 9-12. Publisher: Matthew J. Kirby, author of THE CLOCKWORK THREE, deftly weaves a brand-new tale with chilling cleverness and subtle suspense that will leave readers racing breathlessly to the end. Trapped in a hidden fortress tucked between towering mountains and a frozen sea, Solveig, along with her brother the crown prince, their older sister, and an army of restless warriors, anxiously awaits news of her father's victory at battle. But as winter stretches on, and the unending ice refuses to break, terrible acts of treachery soon make it clear that a traitor lurks in their midst. A malevolent air begins to seep through the fortress walls, and a smothering claustrophobia slowly turns these prisoners of winter against one another. Those charged with protecting the king's children are all suspect, and the siblings must choose their allies wisely. But who can be trusted so far from their father's watchful eye? Can Solveig and her siblings survive the long winter months and expose the traitor before he succeeds in destroying a kingdom?

Icefall

Last year I wrote this about Matthew Kirby’s novel The Clockwork Three:

“Amid the several highly anticipated children's and YA works this year by big names such as Suzanne Collins and Rick Riordan, one can be forgiven for missing the entry onto the stage of Matthew Kirby’s first novel, The Clockwork Three. Forgiven, but no longer excused, for among all those much more hyped releases (though they are often justifiably hyped), this stands out as among the best. There. Now you know. You should get it.”

One might imagine, therefore, that Kirby’s second novel, Icefall, would have a difficult time matching the quality of the first. Darned if he didn’t just do it though. Before I’d even finished it, Icefall was already on my list of top ten children’s novels for 2011 and by the time I was done, as I suspected might happen, it made its way to my top ten fantasy novels in general. And fair warning to all those books coming out in the last few months: it’s going to be hard to knock Icefall out of either list. Now you know. You should get it.

According to its publisher, Icefall is a middle grade book, for ages 8-12. I can tell you my nine-year-old son loved it, devouring it in a single sitting. I’ll just point out, however, that I did the same (age 49) as did my wife (age 46). In other words, don’t let its targeted age group deter you from picking it up; Icefall is easily better than 95 percent of the fantasy novels I’ve read this year, in any age category. Easily.

The time period is ancient Norway and the only setting is a small fortress where a Viking king has sent his three children (Harald the young prince; Asa, the beautiful older daughter; and Solveig, the plain-looking overlooked middle child) for safety before he heads off to battle a rival warlord. Along with them are Per, head of a small group of soldiers; Bera, their cook; Raudi, Bera’s son and Solveig’s childhood friend; and Ole, a thrall captured in battle years ago and now sworn to the king. Stuck between the glacier-topped mountains and the icy fjord that leads to the keep, with winter nearing, they look every day for news of their father’s hoped-for victory. Instead, just before the fjord freezes completely and confines them there for the winter, a single ship arrives bearing the king’s skald Alric and a select group of Berserker warriors, led by their Captain, Hake. They have been ordered there by the king as further protection.

Soon, though, the fortress is beset by mysterious misfortunes, and it eventually becomes clear that there is a traitor among them, one who will stop at nothing to weaken and/or kill them. Trapped by geography and weather, stalked by hunger, death, and perhaps the worst enemy of all — mistrust of each other — they must make it through the winter and hope that when the fjord is free of ice, it will be the king’s warships and not his rival’s that greet them.

Like The Clockwork Three, Icefall is wonderfully tight. I wouldn’t remove a single chapter and doubt I’d take out many single sentences or even words. This alone is nearly enough to make me weep in appreciation, as this seems to be a rapidly disappearing concept, this idea of using exactly as many words are needed and no more. When I’m consistently writing in review after review how many hundreds of pages could and should be removed from a novel to improve it, Kirby’s concision and efficiency is like an oasis in an ocean of sandy verbiage. The prose is sparse but lyrical, as when he very early on describes an overcast sky as looking “like a burnt log in the morning hearth, cold, spent, and ashen” which not only describes the visual, but sets the mood for the entire book to come. He also has a nice sense of rhythm and space:

There was so little time for preparation before Father sent us away and went to war. He promised a boatload of food, clothing, and blankets, but we have seen no ship.
And none today.
And the fjord is freezing over.

The novel has an dual structure, employing an alternate chapter construction. The longer chapters relate ongoing events from Solveig’s first-person present-tense point of view. The shorter chapters are tiny flashbacks, also from Solveig’s POV but told in the past tense. These vignettes (rarely more than a single page) often focus on her relationship with one of the other characters. One such chapter, for example, relates how her sister consoled her one night when she was miserable, another tells of the shame she felt when her father seemingly forgot about introducing her to someone. In a really masterful touch, the vignettes also move forward in time, until two-thirds of the way through they mesh with the present time and are dropped altogether. Complicating the structure, adding a more subtle third thread woven right into the action and dialog rather than separated out like the vignettes, are a series of Norse myths, some told by Alric and others by Solveig as she considers becoming Alric’s apprentice. The movement among these three different strands is quite fluid, with each strand typically resonating with the others in terms of theme, character, plot, or imagery. It is a deft piece of work.

Along with emphasizing themes or character, the interruptions serve another purpose: they allow for the slow build-up of suspense as the traitor performs one attack after another, each more damaging than the last and as mistrust gradually seeps like its own poison into the fortress. The setting enhances this feeling throughout — the claustrophobia of such a small, single setting, the frozen landscape, the harsh weather and cold light, the haunting groans and moans of the glacier above them. It’s almost an old country house murder kind of story — the lights go out in an isolated mansion, someone dies, the lights come back on, and the survivors are left looking at each other wondering “Which one is it — you? You? You?” It’s worse than that, though, for this is no group of strangers but people who have known and trusted, and even loved, each other for years if not their entire lives. Seeing this from young Solveig’s eyes makes this even more wrenching, for where is she to cast her own suspicion: the woman who raised her as if she were her own child? Her childhood best friend? Her sister? The captain who was trusted so much by her father that he was sent to watch over his entire line? Kirby dangles enough clues that one can figure out the traitor, but he also drops enough red herrings that it’s easy to get the traitor wrong. The truth is, you suspect several throughout.

As readers, each of these characters is drawn so fully, even if extremely concisely, that we not only feel Solveig’s pain that one might be — must be —a traitor, we don’t want it to be true ourselves. Solveig is clearly the most detailed character, but Kirby does an excellent job of bringing most of the others to life as well despite their lack of page-time. This is especially true of Hake the Berserker captain and Alric the skald. But Solveig simply shines; this is her coming of age story, her slow blossoming that makes us care so much what happens, her voice that carries us throughout.

And it is literally her voice that she must find as she trains to become a skald under Alric’s tutelage. Not only is this a brilliant metaphor for the coming-of-age story, it also allows Kirby to examine the nature and power of stories and storytelling itself. As when Alric tells Solveig:

A story is not a thing. A story is an act. It only exists in the brief moment of its telling. The question you must ask is what a story has the power to do. The truth of something you do is very different from the truth of something you know... My tale last night. Did it comfort you?
Yes.
And was the comfort real? Was it true?
I thought it was.
Then the story was true... whether Thor’s chariot is really pulled by two bucks or not.

Icefall’s conclusion is as emotionally harrowing as it is suspenseful and action-filled. How does Solveig’s story end? Like all life stories. In happiness. In sorrow. In triumph. In grief. In joy. In bitterness.

In two books, Matthew Kirby has, in my mind, cemented himself as one of the best fantasy writers going today. And I’d be perfectly fine if someone wanted to take out the “fantasy” part of that description. A complicated, sophisticated structure. Vivid characterization. Gripping tension and suspense. A story about the power of story. Prose that glitters like ice. A main character whose painful awakening out of innocence would melt the heart of the coldest glacier and whose self-discovery is like the coming of spring after winter. This book should be on everybody’s top ten fantasies list by the end of the year. It should be in your hands before then.

Here's what my nine-year-old son Kaidan had to say about Icefall:

"I would give Icefall five stars or a 95 out of 100. I liked the plot, the suspense, all the characters (especially Hake). I ranked it my third favorite out of the 68 books I read in the past year. It was really suspenseful. I wanted to know what happened, if Solveig’s dream was going to come true, would the evil come, and especially who the traitor was. I suspected several different characters, including Ole, Per, and Asa, but I was never sure. My favorite scene was the conclusion. I did think it began a little slowly and I could have done without all of the myth stories — I thought there were a few too many — but overall Icefall was the best book I’ve read in a long time." —Bill and Kaidan Capossere

Icefall

And how I fear that day, for I know that when I look into my betrayer’s face, I will see someone I thought I knew. And I will still love them.

A Nordic king has gone to war. To protect his three children while he is away, he has sent them, with a small household, to a remote steading. Later, just before the fjord freezes over and shuts the steading in for the winter, he sends reinforcements: a force of berserkers who exist uneasily alongside the others who dwell there.

Our heroine is Solveig, the middle child of the king. Her beautiful older sister Asa will bring a great alliance when she marries. Her younger brother Harald will be a warrior and become king one day. Solveig, plain and seemingly unremarkable, feels overlooked by her father. She is, however, a talented storyteller, and the king’s skald, Alric, takes her under his wing and begins teaching her the art. This training provides much thought-provoking debate on the power of stories and the role of a skald, and as Icefall progresses, Solveig wonders if she will need to challenge Alric’s teachings in order to be true to herself.

For Solveig, and everyone else at the steading, is in mortal danger. The group is now shut in by the ice, and a traitor lurks in their midst. Matthew J. Kirby perfectly creates an unbearable tension. Murder and sabotage stalk the hall. Everyone suspects everyone else, even their own loved ones. Food is scarce, and the only thing that alleviates the food insecurity is when people die, leaving more for the others — food that is now salted with guilt. And as terrifying as the winter is, Solveig has had a nightmare that seems to predict even worse disaster when the spring thaw comes. Intertwined with the main narrative are flashbacks in which Solveig tells anecdotes from her past, reminiscences that tell us more about the characters — the suspects — and why they are so dear to her heart.

The characters are well-drawn. Solveig has a fantastic coming-of-age journey, beginning as an insecure girl and becoming a heroine worthy of legend. I also can’t go without mentioning Hake, captain of the berserkers: gruff and dangerous, but with layers upon layers of depth beneath the surface. Every major character is complex. Even characters who do despicable things are portrayed in three dimensions and have realistic motives for what they do, and realistic weaknesses. They may be the villains of Solveig’s story, but they see themselves as the heroes of their own — an idea that Alric touches upon in his teaching.

All of this great storytelling and characterization is enhanced even more by beautiful writing. Kirby has a great ear for metaphor: All of the sky looks like a burnt log in the morning hearth, cold, spent, and ashen. There’s a good rhythm to the prose, too, making it feel like a story Solveig is telling us by the fire.

I very nearly missed out on Icefall twice. I received an ARC last year, but was swamped and knew Bill was a Kirby fan and passed it along to him, and then after reading his stellar review, selfishly wished I’d held on to it! Then, recently, I checked it out from the library, but kept not getting around to it, until I got an overdue notice and decided to hurry up and read it before I took it back. I’m so very, very glad I did. Don’t make my mistake, people — don’t put off reading this book. Icefall is stunningly good.
—Kelly Lasiter