Book Report: Clay

Book Report: Clay
By David Almond

'Almond revisits the English north country of his youth to spin this metaphysical tale of boys in conflict. Davie and his friend Geordie are altar boys, but are beginning to doubt the value of their long-held religious beliefs. They live in fear of the bullying Mouldy, a hulking, drunken lout from a neighboring village whom they're sure is out to kill them. Enter Stephen, a slightly older boy whose father is dead, whose mother is mad, and who was reputedly kicked out of priestly training for some kind of trouble related to devil worship and performing a Black Mass. A talented sculptor, he proceeds to scare Davie silly with his talk of creating life, of creating, in fact, a monster that will wreak revenge on Mouldy. Davie sees Stephen's clay figures move. Is it hypnotism, faith, or madness?'
-Schools Library Journals


First paragraph:
"He arrived in Felling on a bright and icy February morning. Not so long ago, but I was a different age. I was with Geordie Craggs, like I always was back then. We were swaggering along like always, laughing and joking like always. We passed a Players back and forward between us and blew long strings of smoke into the air. We'd just been on the altar."


Clay caught my attention because the spine reads (from top to bottom) 'almond clay' and I couldn't decide which was the title. The cover intrigued me with the ghostly, featureless face, so I read the back and was rather proud by my find. Plus, it's got a reader's guide in the back so I knew it would be worthy of discussion. The only drawback: Another teen fic. *sigh*

I read Clay in two days. It is rather simple and straightforward, but the issues are deep and thought-provoking. The tone is that of a ghost story--a Catholic ghost story--interwoven with a Secret Life of Boys type theme. Through Davie's well-balanced persona, we are introduced to Stephen, the new boy who seems innocent enough at first but quickly becomes one of the scariest characters I've met. He holds a quiet, haunting malice:

"The moon was huge, right at the middle of my window. It was round as a communion host. I lay there in its light. I stared into its face. I made out its craters, its waterless seas. I heard a voice.
"Davie! Davie!"
Was I hearing things?
"Davie! Davie!"
A rattle at my window like tiny pebbles, grit.
"Davie! Davie! Davie!"
I went to the window and stared out and there he was. Stephen Rose, face like wax, reflecting the moon. He raised his hand. He beckoned me. I shivered. I drew the curtains. I went back to my bed."

But aside from his creepiness, Stephan has a talent. He can, with a magic not of this earth, give life to the lifeless:

"Watch this," he said.
The figure was tiny, delicate, half formed, not like the other formless soulless lumps, but like a baby, half made. He lifted it to his lips.
"Move," he whispered to it. "Move, my little one."
He sighed and smiled.
"There. Did you see, Davie?"
"See what?"
He breathed the words again.
"Move. Live, little one. See?"
I moved closer, gazed down. There was nothing.
Stephen held the child in one hand, and stared at me. He passed his other hand before my eyes once, twice, then again.
"Look again," he whispered. I looked down into his hands, to the baby lying there. "Move," he whispered. "Live!"
He sighed with pleasure.
"Look, Davie," he said. "Look deep. Look with the eyes of the spirit, Davie. When I say you'll see it move, you will see it move."
He lifted the child towards me. He passed his hands before my eyes again.
"Now, Davie," he whispered. "You will see it move."
And I did see, and I nearly cried out with fright, but he stopped it dead. He dropped the child onto the bench, clapped his hand across my mouth.
"You got to tell nobody, Davie," he said. "You got to promise. Promise me now."

One of Davie's biggest sources for character development is the very minor character, Prat, the art teacher. After seeing Stephen's incredibly lifelike and beautiful sculptures, he encourages the class to try their hand at sculpting. Davie perceives Prat as being exactly that, a 'prat'--too grandiose and serious for the children to relate to or even like. But as Davie matures over the course of this story, he talks with Prat in code:

"Last lesson of the day, and Prat's all blather again. Clay and creavitiy and striding about the classroom and closing his eyes and staring at the sky and clay pellets and jelly babies flying about his head...
"You can go too far," I say when he's in midstream.
He blinks and looks at me.
"Sorry, Davie?" he says.
"You can go too far. You can create too much."
He comes to my table, leans over me, delighted.
"For example, Davie?"
"Well..." I look down. I stumble over the thoughts, the words. "Some of the things that we create are..."
"Are?" he prompts me.
"Some of the things that we create are... destructive."
"Exactly!" He punches the air and spins away. "The things that we create--some of them, many of them!--are themselves destructive!"
He looks around the room, scans the faces.
"Such as?" he says.
"Guns," he is told.
"Bullets," he is told.
"Poisons."
"Nerve gas."
"Bombs."
"The nuclear bomb."
"War itself."
"Exactly!" says Prat. "Exactly! Exactly! Exactly!"
He closes his eyes. He taps his forehead. We know he's about to tell us something he thinks is dead profound.
"It is the human paradox," he says. "We are creative beings. But our passion to create goes hand in hand with our passion to destroy." He claps his hands together, makes a double fist. "And the passions are linked as tight as this."

Again, this book it not too hard to figure out or understand the deeper meanings. It is written for teens, and written well. Not too much attention to detail, but the story is soaked with fun to read Irish dialect:

"You know that Stephen Rose, don't you?" she said.
"Aye."
"He went away, didn't he?"
"Aye."
"There's tales about him, aren't there? Are they true?"
"Dunno."
"People are full of blather, aren't they?"
"Aye," I said.
"Is he friendly?"
"No."
"Is he weird?"
"Aye."
"Nice weird or creepy weird?"
I thought about it.
"Both," I said.

Overall, I thought this book was great. Almond totally immerses the reader in the Irish Catholic culture, and Davie is a very level-headed and likable character. His personal growth is profound and complete. The reoccurring Angel motifs won me over, as well as the Irish dialect and the hint of spooky magic that provokes the imagination. While the look of the book is deceptively simple, the weighty content of the plot and its accompanying themes are chilling, indeed.
Five out of five stars