This story follows a little boy who, together with his grandfather, travels to the forest to scatter his mother’s ashes.  The boy initially takes comfort in his grandfather’s fairystories as he travels through the brutal savagery of the wild forest.  Gradually, however, the stories become more sinister and start to intertwine with the reality of his grandfather’s concealed history, forcing the boy to examine what it takes to be wild and what it takes to remain wild.

This spellbinding story put me in mind of a combination of Eowyn Ivey’s “The Snow Child” and John Connolly’s “The Book of Lost Things”.  Throughout there were vivid descriptions of the beautiful wilderness of the forest such that it seemed to come to life as its own character, making me want to immediately set off in search of the nearest forest to immerse myself in.   

Ultimately though, this is also a tale about trauma; both in stories that are told and in more personal stories that are not told.  The boy’s grandfather, although haunted by his experiences during the war, has maintained a well-practiced composed exterior.  In the depths of the forest, he becomes unable to contain his past and uses stories to examine the long-buried guilt he has carried his whole life but never spoken of, allowing the wild to slowly take him over as he does so. 

“…my papa lived in the tenement all of his life, but he never stopped being wild.  Not really.  He pretended and pretended, and then it burst out of him, and it was roots and shoots and gnarled branches and bared teeth.” 

This is an atmospheric story that really pulls the reader in and absorbs them in the fairytale setting of the enchanted forest, but it’s also an analysis of the role that stories play in our lives and our sense of self.

I loved this book and I have a feeling it will become one that I will reread over and over again.