Dreamquest

Let me confess up front, I find the consolatory, self-indulgent nature of much recent middle grade and young adult fiction troubling. I started reading novel-length fiction when I was 10 or 11 years old, the same age as the protagonist of Brent Hartinger's Dreamquest and the age of its intended audience. Before I reached age 12, I had lived six impossible lives and more. I had been dragged from my sedentary middle age to assist a band of dwarves in recovering stolen property; worked with a group of rats to save my cinder block home for myself and my children; assisted a mute swan in finding true love; escaped those who refused to understand my love of music and impressed a fair of fire lizards; was given the job of assistant pig-keeper (which to a city-dwelling child seemed impossible); had been the smartest child in the world (something that certainly was impossible) who was yet tricked by adults into winning a war in space; and yes, I had gone down a rabbit hole and discovered a land of wonders at the other end.

These books that have lingered in my memory all have something in common. Because, as works of fantasy fiction, they deal so centrally with the impossible, none of their protagonists could ever be an exact match for me or any other reader. Some stretch of sympathy, some imaginative striving to meet the other half-way and understand their situation and worldview, was always required. This in turn informed my understanding of the potential of fantasy fiction: that it could foster in readers -- particularly younger readers, whose sense of the world is just beginning to emerge -- a disposition toward understanding others, an inclination toward thinking beyond ourselves.

It is this aspect that is wholly absent from Dreamquest. The main character, Julie Fray, is an 11 year old girl caught in a war between her parents. Julie's father, a Hollywood producer, invites her to a film screening; Julie's mother, a consumer product demonstrator, responds by inviting her to a product convention the same day. Julie's mother prepares a special dinner; Julie's father tries to convince Julie to have a snack beforehand so they'll be less hungry. Julie's parents "hated each other very much," she knew, yet "were staying together for her sake." Because of the constant tension, Julie is beset by nightmares in which her parents see her as a pawn in a game of chess they're playing, see her as a meal to carve up between them, and finally fail to see her at all as they argue over who will vacuum a room -- not realizing that their dueling vacuums are pulling a shrunken Julie apart.

And so things come to a head: Julie awakens from the last nightmare to discover that she's been sucked into the realm where her nightmares are made (called "Slumberia"), a realm that looks very much like a movie studio. Here she encounters a dream production assistant, the dream writer, the dream producer, and others who aid or hinder her quest to put an end to her nightmares. Julie must race against time before the Slumberian day ends and she is trapped in the dream realm -- and before Vivian, the actress who plays Julie in her nightmares, ruins Julie's life in the waking world.

It's a clever concept, a setting with a simple yet powerful central twist that offers many wondrous possibilities. In fleshing out the dream realm, Hartinger borrows equally from classics such as Alice and Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz, and more contemporary works such as Piers Anthony's Xanth series and Neil Gaimain's Sandman (not to mention the Castlevania video game series). Indeed, in the first half of the novel there is a touch too much derivative material in the details, too many nods to older works that water down the original concept, and not enough of the creativity found in, say, Gaiman's Coraline or Miéville's Un Lun Dun. The second half of the book fares better in this regard, as Hartinger allows several of his own creations to come to the fore. In particular, he has a good eye for inventive species such as the armored knight-birds, and the Moon People with their hidden faces.

The language of Dreamquest is clear but not dumbed-down, important for this age group of new novel readers. There were two or three isolated writing problems, but nothing serious; a general lack of description pervades the book, but this just makes clear that the focus of Dreamquest is Julie's quest. Unfortunately, this is where the novel's problems are centered.

What we know about Julie is that her parents are warring, she is caught in the middle, and this gives her nightmares. She has one friend at school whom we learn nothing about (aside from the fact that they are both predictably scorned by the most popular girls: one wonders what the impact is, on people and on reading, of the constant demonization of popular children in books -- certainly there's precious little encouragement in most books for popular people to read). And that's it. There is no effort made to give Julie thoughts, interests, hopes or dimensions other than those centered around the battle of her parents and the resulting nightmares, and the story itself is likewise focused entirely on resolving the problem. Along the way, Julie meets people who seem to exist solely to help her (the good characters) or hinder her (the "unquestionably evil" characters) on her journey. While Julie struggles to adjust to the idea that her dreams are produced by the dream realm, there is no awareness of the parallel paradigm shift that the residents of the dream realm must undergo, the realization that there is a world outside the dream realm, that Julie is a real person. All aspects of the book are so self-absorbed, so focused on Julie's problem, that it's difficult to imagine the book being of interest to anyone not struggling with the same problem. There's just not enough of anything else in the book.

Certainly I don't begrudge any middle grader with a difficult home life what relief they can get. I do wish, however, that Hartinger had striven a bit harder for universality in his treatment. As one book stacked up against those I mentioned previously, Dreamquest is somewhat mediocre but largely harmless. As an instance of a wider recent trend, well, I wonder what happens to children who grow up reading mainly books that deal with direct analogues of their own lives, where they are "the main character," the most important person in a realm where everyone else automatically understands them "exactly" and can be neatly split into those who help and those who hinder. I wonder what happens to the development of their imagination and their understanding of other people, and in turn their own self-awareness.

To his credit, Hartinger does not offer up the sort of easy resolution where Julie's parents realize what they're doing and everyone lives happily ever after: Julie is struggling for control of her dreams in this book, not her waking life. Indeed, in terms of up-front messages, Dreamquest has some good ones: worry first about controlling yourself rather than what you can't control; a diverse group of friends can be wonderful to have. It's the subtext that is more problematic. How can someone learn to control their own hopes and dreams; how can someone learn to make friends? Vivian, the actress who plays Julie in her dreams, escapes into the waking world and easily manipulates both Julie's parents and teachers, while also making inroads with the popular girls. Vivian is very much Julie's doppelganger, her shadow, but Julie sees her as purely a physical adversary to be "taken on" and "beaten," without any awareness of the choices she represents. Similarly, confronted by the tortured agonies of the dream writer, by the mess of the whole dream production system, Julie gains no added insight into her father, doesn't ever seem aware of any connection. In fact this connection underscores the problem of the novel. In the first chapter, speaking of the Hollywood films made by her father, Julie bemoans how "what happened out in that land of make-believe was far more interesting to her father than anything real" like his family. Yet within the novel, the "real" is presented in one-dimensional caricatures and bare brush strokes, while it is Slumberia and its residents that are depicted as having multiple dimensions, past histories and future aspirations -- with no connection made between the two realms. And so which are we as readers supposed to prefer? Which is Julie? In her own way, by the end of the book she is in much the same place as her father.

Hartinger's bio page mentions that he's working on a sequel, which may address some of these points. Certainly the ability to dream your own dreams, to have a vision of the future to aspire to -- the topics this novel attempts to cover -- are important first steps towards a more satisfying resolution. And Hartinger has created some good raw material to work with. But as a novel, as a stand-alone story, Dreamquest plays too heavily on the childhood need for importance without enough acknowledgment that we develop as people -- and resolve problems -- in large part by understanding others. Instead, what Dreamquest seems to say is that if you want relief from a troubled home situation, your best bet is to just go to sleep early and dream happy dreams.

-- Matt Denault