Under Plum Lake

Thousands of books about being a reader, the lonely kid, the kid in another world, the kid who is ten going on thirty, the kid who loves books as intensely as anything in the world, the kid who has to live with an experience that cannot be shared, populate my shelves. This is not an exaggeration. I collect them. Avidly.

Until I read this book, I had never read one that so perfectly captured the sorrow of being the one who glimpsed something beautiful, something noumenal and fundamental and fully, clearly, loveable, inside an experience that cannot be shared.

When I was a child, every book I read made me ache for a friendship I could not have with a child who had read the same stories, who had been as far as Erebor and Archenland, Tara show more and the walking stones, Avonlea and Alexandra's Nebraska and Benjamin Gunn's island and to meet Grendel, Anansi, the Basket Woman, Artax, Daphne, the Golem, Queen Esther, and Orlando. I never found another. I share books with some people in my life now, but no one person understands how much it still hurts never to reminisce, always to dream.

It breaks my heart to think that Lionel Davidson knew, but never knew I'd know.

There is one book for grownups that has a glimmer of the light under Plum Lake, and that one is my favorite book to give to grownups, as well as my relief when the sorrow of being a grownup burns so hot in me that I become afraid others can see it. But I've never met a child under the age of twelve who would feel the balm of that grownups' book.

At last I have a book for the children whose weary thirst can be slaked only with some faint, familiar taste, and this book, Under Plum Lake, is the drink I will give them when they come to my shade. It will be my message, remote and strange and thrown in a bottle from the shores of adulthood, but if they are indeed children who know the sadness of never meeting eyes as old as their own, they will have the message. Someone else knew. You missed him, but he was there too, so someone, someone understood. You are still alone, but you are not without kindred.

Little consolation. Yes. But where you are, another lived, and sometimes a ghost has to be enough. show less

I had to take my Grandmother to the doctors (she'd broken a small bone in her arm when she fell in the front yard. Nothing major, just sore.), and so I picked up a kid's book I found several months before. Under Plum Lake, and I found I literally could not put the book down. While I waited to pay the bill at Waffle House, I read pages of the book.

When I finished it, I went immediately for the Internet to find out more about the author and his work. What marvels of sci-fi and fantasy might be actually hidden on bookshelves just waiting for me? The answer is, none. Lionel Davidson is most known for Israeli-Middle East Spy novels. His few children's books are written under a different name (David Line) and are reality based adventure show more books. There's a distinct pattern here. I can name quite a few Mystery/Thriller authors that write one amazing children's fantasy novel, which reach right into the core of Faerie, to the magical unknowns of the subconscious world, and then for some reason, never write another. My prior review of The Magicians by Grossman, talks more about that.

I wish I could describe the intensity to which I flew through this book. It tells the adventures of a boy, Barry, and his discovery of an underwater realm where people are giant, live hundreds of years, and experience every type of fun and pleasure available. His guide through the world is Dido, the son of the ruler of Egon. But that's all I'm gonna say about it, because you have to experience it for yourself.

I've read more than one review that likens the book to a wild LSD trip. I won't disagree with them. The book is a sensory overload with sparse language and very bare emotions. So very well written, and it is an utter shame that Davidson only wrote one book that fits into the science fiction genre. And doubly so that the book is out of print. There are accounts of people (prior to the Internet) searching for a copy for years, making it one of their most prized possessions. I can understand why. Now you can order a copy (at Borders.com) easily, and have a copy of your own. I wanted to share the book with people. Order copies and say, "Here, you must read this book!!" And so I will tell you, "You must read this book!!" show less

I have this terrible, worm-eaten edition of this book. I first read it when I was probably about ten, and have read it several times since then. I love this story, its weird world below the sea, and the way every chapter ends with a cliffhanger. I love the description of humans, how we have evolved to be animals mostly concerned with buying and selling things to each other. I love the idea of a submarine that can turn into a car or become invisible. Way to go fantasy.

I might have liked this more when I was a tween. Or I might not have. Describing all the adventures and scenery took far too many pages, and then the foreshadowing took a bunch more. The meat of the story, the melancholy yearning for another world, would have made a decent short story. The art is good, the characters are cardboard, the SF science is unlikely, and so in balance the story was just barely 'ok' / just barely two stars.