Re-read. This is the first installment in Diana Wynne Jones’ epic Dalemark Quartet. I first read this series when I was 13 or 14 (which is the intended age group), and I remember being so swept up in these books, they remained in my “favorites of all-time” for many years afterward and began my lifelong love of epic, multi-volume fantasy. Of course, revisiting something you LOVED when you were in middle school is always a gamble. So, the real question is: did it hold up? Yes!And no.Cart and Cwidder is the story of Moril Clennensson and his family of travelling Singers. Moril is an eleven-year-old musician and daydreamer who lives on the road and performs with his family all over the politically divided land of Dalemark. When the family takes on an arrogant young passenger named Kialan, a chain of events begins that will change not only Moril’s life, but will affect the entire land of Dalemark.I wanted to leave my description as vague as possible, as it is the progression of discovery that makes it so much fun. But I do want to look at the elements I still love. Moril is a fantastic character, seemingly ordinary and likeable, but obviously designed for bigger things. For those of us that spent most of our teenage years in a fog of daydreams, he’s the embodiment of the dreamy but secretly astute creatures we may have believed (or hoped) ourselves to be. Moril sees things, but people rarely realize it, and the look of vague inattention on his face fools those around him into constantly underestimating his abilities. He's an average boy stuck in a not-so-average situation, and he proves himself to be up to the task, but not without some sadness and regret. The emphasis on the lives of itinerant musicians in this first volume gives us an early glimpse at the beautifully constructed world of Dalemark. It is a land divided; there hasn’t been a king on the throne in over 200 years, and the earls that rule the various territories have created a fierce division between North and South that promotes prejudice and keeps the people separate and easy to manipulate. The South is known for being efficient and aristocratic, but also harsh and authoritarian. To the North, people have more freedom, but life is a bit more hardscrabble in the cold and less productive climate. (Yes, I do realize that there are definite American Civil War divisions going on here. Agricultural, repressive south vs. progressive, industrial north is a very old story from many Western nations at this point. But it works.)This being a fantasy series and not simply a work of pre-industrial historical fiction, there is magic and wonder aplenty, but it is done in such a way as to not overwhelm the character-driven nature of the story. Moril inherits a very old and mysterious musical instrument from his father, known as a cwidder which, to the best of my knowledge, resembles a large lute. This cwidder is *ahem* instrumental to the series, both in this volume and later on. When Moril unlocks its magical potential near the end of this adventure, the real story is just beginning.As the first entry in a four-part series, Cart and Cwidder does a very good job of setting up the overarching structure of the whole. It gives us an overview of the land, and insight into the nature of the North-South division. Moril is a living, breathing manifestation of the opposing sides; his father is from the North, while his mother was once a Southern aristocrat. The religious belief structure that comes into greater play in later installments is mostly absent, but it isn’t necessary and is probably better off without it. Jones does an excellent job of creating a solid foundation to build on later, not overwhelming the reader right out of the gate, but prompting a desire to learn more as the story progresses.Now, in what ways does this not hold up to my original perceptions? In this volume, there actually isn’t much that let me down. As I mentioned, this introduction does a very good job of slowly building a world in which the reader becomes more and more involved. I suppose my only argument against it, and would keep it from receiving a full five stars if this were my first time reading it, is Jones’ inclination to rush understanding in some instances. There is a tendency to have characters discover things in a rush, which requires a suspension of disbelief I was much better at when I was a teenager. It’s not entirely unconvincing; the story couldn’t survive if it was, but it can be a little less satisfying than it could be. However, I still love it and to explain, I’m going to lift a phrase from a fellow Goodreader that really captures the essence of my continuing appreciation: “I'm sorta fond of my fond memories of fondness.”* Yeah, that could mean I’m in love with the ideal of my initial reading. But I don’t think, in this case, that it does. My fond memories and my current enjoyment came together quite nicely to create a lovely, nostalgic experience that doesn’t overshadow the story’s ultimate worth.Ultimately, I'm leaving the 5 star rating. As a first time read at the age of 27, it may be more in the 4 range, but if you average my initial response and my current one, it really does still merit 5.(Oh, and my only other complaint: the horrible, childish covers on the British Oxford paperback editions. The library copies I read had lovely covers; these are a travesty.)Old (yay!): New (boo!): *Thanks to Paquita Maria Sanchez and this review http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/... for providing such an astute distillation of my experience.
I remembered loving Cart and Cwidder when I was a kid and basically new to Diana Wynne Jones. So was afraid it wouldn't really stand up to adult levels of scrutiny... or worse, I'd become one of those adults she talks about who need everything explained twice!I still don't know which better explains my lukewarm reaction on my reread. I can only state my general complaint is its unformed-ness, perhaps attributable to the fact that the first three books of the Dalemark Quartet were completely early in her career (Cart being her first foray into 'high' fantasy).Moril and his family are traveling musicians, who bring not only entertainment, but also important news and messages to the towns they frequent throughout divided Dalemark. Moril can't remember any other life and his only foreseeable future involves better learning to play the cwidder-- that is, until his father comes under the suspicion of being a spy and his family is thrown into the conflict between squabbling earldoms.Jones starts off all her plots vaguely. But Cart is even vague when I expected the story to 'go in for the kill'. Though her protagonist Moril is very nicely drawn, other characters vary from quickly-sketched to mostly inscrutable-- subsequently detaching me from the book's many emotional shifts even while I intellectually admired their complexities. The character that most suffers from this is Dalemark itself, and while some of this is probably intentional, the history of Dalemark is not rich enough to provide context for all the political intrigues.Don't get my wrong, I still enjoyed the better part of Cart. The narrative just isn't quite able to zero in on the story at the same time as the characters are (discovering the nature of the conflict). Ultimately, what is meant to be open-ended, really seems to be punctuated by a giant question mark. Rating: 3 stars (Reread 8/26/2009)
What do You think about Cart And Cwidder (2001)?
I nearly had an intense debate with myself about whether this was a four or five star book for me, but I decided not to discourage myself from reviewing it with that dilemma. (Although,it does seem that intense debate is going on slowly will-I-nil-I underneath my current thoughts). My complaint about Cart and Cwidder is the same complaint I always have about Diana Wynne Jones's books. Serious things happen yet they don't seem to be taken seriously. This isn't quite the best description for the problem, however. I can think of some books where it's a real problem that renders the whole story ridiculous and low-star-ish (for example, if someone's mom gets eaten by a mythical beast and the next day the kid is exactly the same as he was the day before). But in this book that is not really the problem; the serious things that happen (and there are quite a few) have serious consequences on the characters and the plot. What makes it feel problematic is that the narrative style doesn't change. Jones's writing has always seemed just a little vague to me--like the narrator is mildly concussed. And I always expect in moments of crisis that this type of fuzzy writing will be replaced with something more clear and certain, but it never is. The more I've read of her books, the less uncomfortable this denial of expectations has made me. Possibly because I'm coming to expect it, but possibly because it works better in some of her books than others. If that's the case, I think it works especially well in Cart and Cwidder. In fact, the main character, Osfameron Tanamoril (don't worry, you can call him Moril for short), even sheds some light on this characteristic of Jones's writing. Moril is a vague and dreamy kid to most observers--lost in his own world. But it's through this outward appearance of dreaminess that he is actually able to be keenly aware of the things and people around him. Maybe her own slightly-out-of-focus writing is what makes Diana Wynne Jones such a great story-teller.
—Megan
A deceptively simple fantasy about the children of an itinerant singer discovering, after his murder, that they are harboring a political fugitive.I liked this. It's straightforward and old-fashioned, but with that DWJ way of passing lightly but complexly upon death and power and growing up and living in your own truth. This is one of those books where the magic isn't awoken by feel, it's awoken by thinking very hard and speaking truth to yourself. And like a lot of DWJ books, it kept me engaged the entire time, even when what I was engaged in doing was vigorously arguing with this book's definition of honor. (For the record, my definition has a lot more self-respect in it, and specifically doesn't include a wife denying her happiness and desires in deference to her husband's political views, which she does not share). Or chewing uncomfortably over a passing reference to coercion that I found exponentially more creepy and awful than the book did. But I liked it for all that, which tells you something.
—Lightreads
I wasn't sure I liked this all tha tmuch, right up until the last third. I think it's fairly obvious this is an early book of DWJ's. The first two thirds is really all set-up. First she sets up this travelling family who act as a performance troupe, and the general politics of Dalemark (North v. South), then tragedy befalls said family, and the three children (and the person they were taking north) have to fend for themselves. (view spoiler)[Obviously the person turns out to be the Prince of the North that they're smuggling back home. And a truly fabulous character in the second half of the book, when his identity is revealed. And the instrument the second son Moril (aka the Cwidder) has been handed down by his father is magical. Oh, and their father was a legendary spy for the north. Who was an excellent spy by living such a public life, no one would have ever suspected him. (hide spoiler)]
—Andree
