Ever since the publication of The Philosopher's Stone, I have been troubled by a niggling concern. It doesn't keep me awake at night but I do regularly accost strangers and ask them, 'Whatever happened to Harry Potter's grandparents?'
Harry Potter was a baby when his parents were killed. His parents look like they were in their twenties, max. thirties. He should have had four of them in this age of increasing longevity. Where did they all go? I don't remember Hagrid telling Harry ''arry, that Voldemort killed your grandparents, you know', although I may have missed that page among three thousand and some. Still, nobody has any grandparents in Harry Potter, except Longbottom, and his gran is just plain scary.
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Few share my concerns and I usually get sent out to make a nice cup of Yorkshire Tea to stop me hassling the guests with bothersome questions.
I have now gleaned the answer. Out of pity, charity and a novelist's curiosity, Karen Wolfe has invited them all to come and stay with her in North-East Yorkshire for an HP adventure all of their own, far saucier than the J.K. Rowling original too, skimpy red knickers 'n' all.
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In her Seers, there are definite echoes of Harry Potter the Saga. A dark force, a woman this time, looms over the magical community intent on sucking out their juices to turn them into zombies in a quest for world domination, or at least for a considerably greater social influence over the lands that lie between the Humber and the Tyne.
She has been spurned in love by Grandmaster Marikkson, and now everyone must pay. And, yes, in her evil megalomaniac plan she is aided by a Peter Pettigrew rat-like character called Larrimer Coy (whom she calls 'Runt') and she pleasurably threatens the unicorns with a life of suffering and abject subjugation. How bad is that?
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Ranged against this relentless and seemingly invincible greatest-witch-of-her-generation-gone-bad, Dalsha, are a slightly difficult old bat called Granny Beamish who very much likes her cuppa and her home comforts but doesn't always get them, a cackle of other old biddies, a stiff old stick of a Grandmaster, an impish forest ranger and a youngish Highmaster with a sweet disposition but an impractical mind \u2013 so it is obvious who will win.
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I warmed to this book almost immediately when a traditional roof thatcher, Theoblod Gobber, stumbled onto the scene much concerned with Granny Beamish's shot brortches, accompanied by his YTS assistant who had been so difficult to recruit that he had been forced to settle for a skinny girl who is allergic to straw, terrified of heights and who smokes like a chimney.
In lesser hands, this portrait, leaked out gradually over a couple of pages, would have been just plain daft, but Karen tells it so well that it had me erupting into spontaneous giggles all the way home.
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Indeed, there are several wonderful incidental characters in Seers including Brassica Bray, the sassy, well-weathered village good-time girl whose breasts weigh considerably more than her heart \u2013 and protrude further too \u2013 and the Secretary of the Guild who carries a clutch of coloured pens, each with its designated function, and who in meetings takes 'not minutes, but hours'.
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I also went for the cat who purrs like a tractor engine and Sham, the starling, who impersonates aural pollution, including fire engines, ice-cream vans and passing helicopters. We used to have a starling who impersonated the phone ringing (Sham does that too). I know exactly what she means.
I soon found myself encouraging the children to play with friends in McDonalds for another hour, much to their surprise, so that I could carry on reading my book, this book. However, knowing that I would be writing this review, I found myself tripping over a new niggle to replace the old one \u2013 how should I categorise or characterise this extravagant slice of fun and drama?
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I am sorry, but the best I can come up with is that it is like Tom Sharpe on his best form has taken over an episode of The Last of the Summer Wine with Nora Batty as the lead zombie. If that doesn't help, how about a recommendation that only human beings between the ages of 6 and 96 should consider reading this, give or take a year or two?
When I started out, I wasn't at all sure what I was getting, but I certainly got much more pleasure than I was bargaining for. Perhaps you will have the same experience.
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| What's Happening? |
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| Chill Out |
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