Barnhill wants us to see ourselves in this mob, herding like sheep behind the mayor’s slogans...But her implication is less that people are pulled to darkness and more that they are dazzled by the wrong kind of light ... In bright and dexterous prose, Barnhill assures us that the curse is broken, the warmth of Stone-in-the-Glen restored. And yet there’s a lingering unease. Dragon Man may be gone, but fires like his have a curious way of restarting.
Barnhill tells her story in loops and layers, delighting in invention and magic, in the preening personalities of crows, the mysterious knowledge of cats, in oak trees that tell stories and libraries that hold an infinite number of books.
Barnhill’s gift for storytelling immediately draws readers into this character-driven tale where dragons lurk, crows prove great friends, and an unusual narrator relays events with a unique perspective. These fairy-tale trappings cloak modern lessons and timeless ideals that readers will do well to take to heart, no matter their age.
The story’s told from a broadly omniscient perspective through slow, thoughtful pacing. Readers will make connections before the characters do—especially regarding the true nature of the villain—and they are given narrative assurance of a happy ending. This offers young audiences security as they grapple with nuanced, realistic portrayals of people who are neither all good nor all bad. It also gives them space to form their own opinions on the book’s philosophical and thematic questions ... Combines realistic empathy with fantastical elements; as exquisite as it is moving.
Employing a benevolent, omniscient narrator and a slowly unfurling, deliberately paced telling, Newbery Medalist Barnhill incorporates ancient stories, crow linguistics, and a history of dragonkind into an ambitious, fantastical sociopolitical allegory that asks keen questions about the nature of time, the import of community care, and what makes a neighbor.
