I'm a heterosexual guy.
I'd go as far to say I'm a heterosexual man, but my collection of Skylander figures, and affinity for flatulence-related humor, pushes that description such that, on certain days, anything above adolescence is a stretch. The fact that, I'm a guy, and to a certain degree that I am also heterosexual, is extremely important information before you embark on a journey through my feelings on The Firebird, a historical fiction novel by Susanna Kearsley. In short, it may create some biases, both yours and my own.
Putting misogynistic rants behind us, I'm not saying a guy, regardless of sexual orientation, shouldn't read this book. I'm not even saying he couldn't enjoy it, because I did. However, it is my opinion that men and women approach life differently… I know who'd a thunk that. This is no different than people of different ages or cultural groups or religions or … OK you get my point, people can consume and interpret something differently.
To the same point, I think men and women, and all the other groupings we can think of, will write books differently as well. This is especially true when an author writes with more focus on a specific audience or reader, more than centering on telling a story to anyone that happens to find themselves digesting the words. Truth be told, something I can appreciate, as I suffer from this as well. In many ways I prefer it, but the audience has to be a great, if not perfect, match.
To some degree this can't be helped, again taking into consideration all the differences among groups, the simple act of writing pulls in all of a person's life experiences, which again, in my opinion, is different among men and women, and for that matter, different between each individual. There are times though, when an author can add in details that are less universal. Mind you, this doesn't so much detract from the quality, but more so can, at times, unwittingly alienate parts of an audience.
I found this to be the case with Kearsley's The Firebird, which was not a book I picked out for myself. Instead, it was a recommendation, after my girlfriend had downloaded the audiobook version and really loved it. Her enthusiasm was conveyed in several exchanges, one of which involved her trying to convince her brother to read the novel… he hasn't… yet. I on the other hand, bought the pitch, which went something like this…
Some Writer: "So, how are you enjoying the audio book."
Girlfriend: "I love it, you should really read it too."
SW: I hesitated a bit. "Yeah...How come?"
GF: She noticed, and doubled her efforts. "Well it's about these psychics that can touch things and see the past, and there's a lot about history and war.
I was sold, because at this point, I developed my own perceived plot of telepathic agents sent to gain knowledge from historical objects placed around the world. There would probably be some Kung Fu, or maybe some other martial arts. Either way, I was certain there would definitely be some hand-to-hand combat, due to the fact a shadow organization would obviously be bent on exploiting their abilities. I was also pretty sure they would have the full range of other psychic abilities, like force push, maybe levitation, at the very least, telepathy. I was most certain there would be fire, given the title. Instead, I should have paid closer attention to the cover.
Some, if not most of that is hyperbole, my true motivation, even with my inner-geek intrigued, is the more prominent English major element of my persona. That is, the one that can't pass up a chance to read something in a group, have an intellectual conversation at the end, and perhaps even write a review about it. So, I promptly purchased the eBook (Kindle) version, and five hundred or so pages later, here we are.
Before we begin though, I must mention, that The Firebird is a frame story, a genre I've loved since I was first introduced with Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, and most recently enjoyed in David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. I'm partial to this device, and probably can be a bit critical when it's not done just right (Mitchell really bends the borders). If you read enough of my writing, you'll see me lean on a frame quite often, as I like the way it binds the elements of a story together. In fact many a college essay of my own used this just so I could interject some fiction into otherwise boring papers. Sadly, in The Firebird, the application left a bit to be desired.
In Kearsley's novel, the frame shapes the story of Nicola, an expert in Russian art and artifacts, and her companion Rob, a Scottish, everyman - the tall, dark and handsome type. Both have a number of "psychic" abilities including telepathy and psychometry, the proper name give to the ability to see the history attached to object. Of course, I'm not doing that topic justice, for which there is an endless amount of resources an interested individual could pour through, some of which are listed in the acknowledgements at the end of the book. It's important, perhaps only to me though, to note that neither can do a force push, or use their psychic abilities offensively. Perhaps that will be in book three, because Nicola is really just learning to harness her powers in this book.
The plot involving Nicola and Rob is really a journey of discovery, and a quest to prove ownership of The Firebird, an alleged gift from the Russian Empress, Catherine I to one of Nicola's would-be clients. At least that seemed to be what Kearsely tries to force feed the reader. We are constantly reminded and shown how Rob, the gentle and loving teacher, knows the exact right amount to push (not with his mind, but his words) to give Nicola, stretching and training, her abilities. Quite different than complaining about how she had run into the line of fire on the last death match of Halo 4, costing the team the last game. Instead, he is the perfect partner and mentor. The boyfriend and father figure. But as you might guess, this frightens Nicola.
Why wouldn't it though? Rob is an amazingly attractive and gentle man, he's confident with a perfect physique, willing to travel to the ends of the earth, and whose only flaw seems to be he can read people's minds. He never gets mad, or raises his voice. He's a rescue boat captain, a constable, and I'm sure when he poops it smells like skittles… [spoiler alert: the novel never entertains any topic around feces. This is purely speculation.]
Flavors of the rainbow aside, about the first quarter of the book is really related to establishing the framework. Since much of this part of the book is written in the first person, the reader, in one way or another, takes on the role of Nicola. It is during these interactions I slowly drifted away, as Kearsley attempts to build the reader's attraction with Rob. I could understand it, and struggled to relate. Even when I did, Nicola spent time whining about not wanting to be perceived as a freak.
The fact is, and I know many a guy that would agree, I'd have killed to have everything put together as smoothly as Rob… I haven't… ever. Thus, with Rob embodying everything I'm not, this particular plot line began to lose my interest, and I started to lose hope I'd finish this novel. That is, until we meet Anna Moray. With Anna's introduction, we move past the frame, and into the encapsulated historical part of this fiction. This is where I believe the story really takes shape, and deserves higher marks than I might have otherwise given it.
Anna, the byproduct of the Jacobite uprisings, is a daughter of war, more specifically, the offspring of one of the revolutions most celebrated heroes, and because of this she is on the run, forced into anonymity, else to be used as bait to force her family out of hiding – very much the eighteenth century's version of the witness protection program. As the result of a stoic and selfless act, Anna as a young girl, finds herself in a foster family, spending her adolescence in St. Petersburg, the crown jewel of a struggling Russian empire, well staffed with a range of exiled Jacobites.
Unfortunately, the story continues to oscillate with nearly every other chapter coming back to present day. While this story is moved along reasonably, it seemed more motivated on making sure the reader knows the awesomeness of Rob, and the emotional paralyzation of Nicola. I found it distracting at times, having to jump between the two worlds. In one chapter Anna is meeting the empress, and in another I'm digesting the mundane details about Rob and Nicola's latest meal. It's not in any way poorly written at these points, but rather the juxtaposition of a powerful historical tale and normalcy of everyday life becomes disconcerting, especially since this is the part with what I had hoped was war-mongering psychics.
Luckily, in the last third of the novel, we spend much more time with Anna, and even though the science fiction elements are absent here, the detail that Kearsley provides, and the way she develops Anna as a character is impressive, and ultimately very enjoyable. In fact, the nerf-herder of the novel's later characters and telegraphed as a potential love interest for Anna, seems far more relatable than "Perfect Rob." While even now, I have my doubts of the choices Anna makes near the end of the book, similar to reservations I have had to Anna's motivation as a very young girl, it never slipped out of being believable. More impressive, and this comes to those that stick around to read the historic post-novel wrap-up, Anna, who is entirely fictional, never is out of phase with those characters for which there was extensive written record.
It was this, the believable element of a fictional historical figure, that saved the novel for me, and why I chose to pass judgement more on Anna's story, and less on Rob's and Nicola's. I feel I leave this journey knowing quite a bit about a time period and area of the world I'd only previously skimmed over. Given this, I'd rate this an enjoyable read, as long as you can get past some of the fluff in between. That is, until Kearsley presents what I feel may be the true tale of Rob and Nicola, the one where she's now learned to throw would be art thieves across the room using telekinesis… we'll call it Thunderbird.
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