book #25

My Book #24 was one that I'd first encountered on cable tv as a movie aimed at young adults; by coincidence, the same is the case here. The most important difference in the two scenarios is that the movie Hoot is (like the Carl Hiaasen novel upon which the movie's based) a pretty damn' fine one, while the movie of The Thief Lord is, um, searches for some kind words, not so good. What then, I thought, might Cornelia Funke's novel The Thief Lord (2000; translated from the German by Oliver Latsch 2002) itself be like?

The other prime difference is that, by the time I saw the crummy The Thief Lord movie, I'd already bought the book. In the case of Hoot the movie spurred me on to buy the book. In the case of The Thief Lord it was the opposite: the book sat on the shelf and, because of the movie, every time I looked at the shelf I cringed. This went on for some years. I often worry about how many people saw the 1984 movie The Neverending Story and as a result never read Michael Ende's rather good 1979 book upon which it was based.

Hum-de-ho. I'll come quietly, Noiss. So, anyway . . .

Orphans Prosper and Bo have fled from Germany to Venice to escape their vile Aunt Esther. In Venice they fall in with a small "family" of other orphans whose gang leader is the self-styled Thief Lord, Scipio. The kids live in a deserted movie theatre, fence their takings through the crook Barbarossa, and assume all will be well forever. Of course, it won't be. Scipio isn't who he seems. Luckily, neither is Victor, the detective Aunt Esther has hired to hunt down Bo -- who she wants because he's angelic; Prosper can rot for all she cares. And neither is the elderly Conte who has just, through Barbarossa, hired the Thief Lord and his gang to pull off their most audacious heist yet.

Next comes a ride on a merry-go-round which, in one direction, makes you older but which, in the other, has the opposite effect . . .

Back in the days when I was writing book reviews as opposed to merely jotting notes here for my own later interest, I'd probably have spent some thousands of words on The Thief Lord, which, despite its difficulties, is a serious novel that merits proper critical analysis rather than this idle wittering.

Funke is evidently one of those writers who (all credit to her) writes in a white-hot fervour of creativity; there are several examples where it seems clear that, in response to a copyeditor or other reader, she's inserted a plot-Bandaid. On page 319 of my copy, for example, the wonderful character Ida says, "I would normally have Giaco do it for me, but ever since Prosper told me it was he who sold the floor plan of the house to the Conte I'm not sure I can trust him any more" -- a distinctly half-hearted last-minute piece of sticking plaster which (I ratiocinate) despairingly hopes to cover the fact that for the previous hundred pages or so we've all been wondering how the hell the Conte could have learnt about Ida's floor plan!

Because the rest is so good, it's easy enough to excuse the occasional minor plotting hiccup like this one. I found myself less willing to accept a long, flaccid section of the book between the setpiece when people ride on the merry-go-round and the story being picked up again. For some 40-50 pages (out of about 350) we wade through scenes of the type that far too many adults think kids enjoy and that far too few kids (and, gawd'elpus, grownups) actually do enjoy. It's the only time Funke really loses track of her intended readership; but, oh dear, she does so in a big way.

Fortunately, once more, the rest of the book is so much fun that one . . .

Actually, I'm not sure that in this instance one does. But it's tolerable, just.

According to the author bio on the back flap, Cornelia Funke is the third most popular kids' author in Germany after J.K. Rowling and R.L. Stine. Hm. Based on what I've read of those other two authors and comparing it with The Thief Lord, I'd say Funke might be being robbed of a rightful recognition. She's not as good as Diana Wynne Jones or Alan Garner or Tove Jansson or for that matter Terry Pratchett, but she has claims to be considered among their number. I don't think one might say this of Rowling or Stine.