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Narrated by Joanna Wyatt
Richard MosherUnabridged — 8 hours, 31 minutes
Narrated by Joanna Wyatt
Richard MosherUnabridged — 8 hours, 31 minutes
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Zazoo is Vietnamese by birth but feels entirely French. She has lived with her adoptive Grand-Pierre in France in an old stone mill between the river and the canal since she was two, sharing poetry, adventures, and the predictable rhythms of the seasons. Then one misty October morning, a young man on a bicycle rides into Zazoo's small village and asks a question from which many stories begin to unfold. A love story within a love story.
Set on a French canal, this novel stars a Vietnamese-born girl who excavates secrets from when the Nazis invaded France. "Readers will be swept away by the evocative images and emotive scenes in this story, offering a mix of bitter and sweet," wrote PW in a starred review. Ages 13-up. (June) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
The quiet banks of a French canal, where this book is set, perfectly matches the reflective quality of Mosher's (The Taxi Navigator) resonant prose. With exquisite tenderness, the author explores the revelations of a Vietnamese-born girl raised by her adoptive grandfather, Grand-Pierre. A chance meeting with a mysterious Parisian boy sets 13-year-old Zazoo on a course to excavate secrets from the "Awful time," when Nazis invaded France. The horrors over a half-century ago echo the disturbing changes Zazoo now experiences, like the chronic ache in her chest and Grand-Pierre's failing health. Metaphors from nature the deceptively calm river, a "sad gray cat" from long ago and an ancient owl symbolize connections between past and present and emphasize the dull pain of longing still lingering with Grand-Pierre and other villagers. Despite the novel's somber undertones, there is a promise of rebirth as love, compassion and forgiveness help heal old wounds. The author's intelligent yet accessible wordplay on French vocabulary also leavens the narrative. Readers will be swept away by the evocative images and emotive scenes in this story, offering a mix of bitter and sweet. Ages 12-up. (Oct.) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Gr 6-10-Brought from her Vietnamese homeland when she was a toddler, 13-year-old Zazoo lives with her adoptive grandfather in France. Their home is an old, stone mill and together they work as lockkeepers on the nearby canal. From the girl's earliest memories, Grand-Pierre has composed poetry with her. Zazoo swims late into the autumn and she loves exploring the local waters in a boat the old man has made for her. Just as soon as the ice is set, they skate by moonlight on the canal. However, Grand-Pierre is undeniably slowing down and with his memory failing, Zazoo has assumed the role of a caregiver. She listens in the night to steer him away from the closet when he needs the bathroom and she spends hours with him, gazing out onto the canal, reminding him of the poems they once recited together. During an early-morning swim, Zazoo meets Marius, an intriguing 16-year-old stranger who questions her about the village pharmacist. The girl befriends the cultured and kindly Monsieur Klein, who holds the key to unlocking the hidden conflicts of her grandfather's younger years. Considered a hero of the Resistance, Grand-Pierre knows the folly of such labels. His story of trauma and loss unfolds through Zazoo's gentle questions and through her growing friendship with Monsieur Klein. As she sorts through the emotions that past tragedies resurrect, she also holds out hope for future meetings with Marius. Zazoo is a beautiful and lyrical novel, with poetry woven throughout. It is a story of love, devotion, and unwavering commitment that bridges generations and cultures.-Alison Follos, North Country School, Lake Placid, NY Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
A slow and almost dreamlike exploration of the myriad ways that the past-especially a cataclysmic past-informs the present. Zazoo, almost 14 at the opening, was adopted from Vietnam at the age of two and lives in an old mill by a French canal with the man she calls Grand-Pierre; he's the lock-keeper. As Grand-Pierre's memory fades, a mysterious and attractive young man bicycles into Zazoo's life, asking questions. Soon Zazoo finds herself probing the past that created her Grand-Pierre, M. Klein, the elderly Jewish pharmacist who alone among the villagers shows no love for Grand-Pierre, and herself, orphaned by a landmine in a later war. Mosher's (The Taxi Navigator, 1996) sense of setting is luminous, and the descriptions of life along the canal evoke Wind in the Willows in their watery beauty. The slow revelation of the many intertwined personal histories is truly elegant, and the several love stories that emerge are almost painfully romantic. Zazoo's voice is honest and distinct as she tells her story; the secondary characters develop with real three-dimensional complexity as well. This is a story of memory and contemplation, not action, with most of the elements unfolding slowly over the course of a year through dialogue and reminiscence. It is perhaps over-constructed in its piecing together of the various plot elements and its drive to tie them up neatly by the end, but patient readers will find themselves forgiving this and the slow pace in their involvement with the language and the characters' evolving relationships, particularly the glorious symbiosis achieved by Zazoo and her Grand-Pierre. (Fiction. YA)
| BN ID: | 2940169149494 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Random House |
| Publication date: | 07/23/2002 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
1. Soon
The boy on the bike came and went. And he was like the gray cat in one
way: when he was gone, I remembered everything about him, yet I couldn't
be sure, absolutely sure, he had been there at all.
It was a wispy October dawn, with scraps of mist waiting to be
burnt off the canal once the sun cleared the far hills. A school day but still
early. I was out in my flat-bottomed boat, one oar dragging and one up,
dripping just off the surface. The blade's wooden tip patiently plip-plip-plopped
as I watched the willows shift along the canal. There was only the chorus of
autumn birds, calling wake up—wake up—wake up, and the faraway bark of
a dog. Insects were asleep or gone for the season. Our corner of France lay
dozing except for the treeline chatter, wake up—wake up—wake up—
Then came a faint whirring of tires around the towpath bend, the
spinning of an old bicycle, and there he appeared among the far sycamores,
scanning the canal as he came. Before he could spot me, I shook off my
sandals and sweater and slipped over the stern to sink into the green of the
canal, taking in one last deep breath as I went.
