Paperback ©2019 | -- |
Supernatural. Fiction.
Occultism. Fiction.
Good and evil. Fiction.
Identity. Fiction.
London (England). History. 19th century. Fiction.
Great Britain. History. Victoria, 1837-1901. Fiction.
Jess is living an unconventional life in Victorian England with her mother, who dupes clients as a supposed spiritualist. But on the day Jess receives a real and threatening supernatural message, her mother whisks her to London, where she meets Balthazar, who, she learns, fought such evil with her parents. The evil entity " o has been contacted was, in fact, the cause of her father's death. Balthazar inducts Jess into the League of Ravens, joining his other wards, Emily and Gabriel, who each have their own powers. Now, Jess too might fight to stop the horror M has planned. Both the innocuous cover and the title may draw readers who aren't expecting something as graphic as this is. That M is trying to blame Jews, gypsies, and other "undesirables" for the epidemic he plans needs much more explanation; indeed, the whole book could use more connective tissue as it often skims the surface. But the writing is solid, and for kids who relish some blood and gore, this should fill the slot.
Horn BookJess, assistant to her sham-spiritualist mother, is surprised when she receives an authentic--and sinister--message from the spirit world. Jess, a gifted mesmerist, must use her visions and thought-reading skills to defeat a bloodthirsty villain who wants eternal life for himself. Smith's plot-driven tale, set in Victorian London, plays on horror and the supernatural for its drama; the first-person, present-tense writing is involving.
Kirkus ReviewsJess and her widowed mother eke out a genteel living in Victorian England as spiritualists, claiming to communicate with the dead; when a cryptic message replaces the fake they've prepared for a grieving client, her mother—terrified—insists they flee to London. There, sheltered by her parents' wealthy, half-faerie associate, Balthazar, Jess learns the three were members of the League of Ravens, using their genuine occult powers to defeat Mephisto, a diabolical gang reanimating the dead. Balthazar tells Jess she's a mesmerist, able to enter the minds of those around her. Joining the reconstituted league, Jess moves into a house in London's impoverished East End. Residents include Emily, who can conjure light, and Gabriel, whose gift relies on music—both plucked from a dismal orphanage to combat Mephisto. Jess is stunned, too, by the brutal poverty she sees. Her gift helps her empathize with its scarred victims, now threatened by a mysterious, deadly plague, its rapid spread blamed on communists and immigrants. Fear once prevented Jess from aiding Deepa, an Indian friend victimized by bias and hatred (Jess and the other characters appear to be white); now, she fights injustice in two worlds. Exploring fictional terrain far from the 1930s Alabama so powerfully conveyed in the award-winning Hoodoo (2015), Smith continues to display a deft mastery of worldbuilding and creepy, atmospheric plotting. A gripping tale enhanced by a convincingly detailed setting and drawing on classic fantasy memes. (Fantasy/horror. 10-12)
Publishers Weekly (Fri Oct 06 00:00:00 CDT 2023)Smith-s second novel (after
ALA Booklist
Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books
Horn Book
Kirkus Reviews
Publishers Weekly (Fri Oct 06 00:00:00 CDT 2023)
CHAPTER ONE
England, 1864
A Thousand Shards of Porcelain
Being stuffed into a wardrobe with your hands tied is a dreadful way to start your day.
There's hardly any light, but for the yellow glint of a candle flame through a small crack in the door. Dust tickles my nostrils. Spiders are in the corners too.
I hate spiders.
I breathe out through my nose and try to think of something peaceful--something besides Dr. Barnes sitting with Mother, nervously clutching a handkerchief or glass of sherry, hoping beyond hope that somehow, a message from his dead daughter, Lydia, will be revealed.
That would be through me.
I am the vessel, you see, through which the dead loved one will speak.
Actually, it is all a sham.
This is how it works.
We knew Dr. Barnes had lost his daughter recently, and when he made the appointment, all it took was a few flowery words to begin the ruse:
Dear Papa,
Dab your eyes, dry your tears. I am in the bosom of the Lord, in Whose grace I have found everlasting peace.
Yours always,
Lydia.
What Dr. Barnes doesn't know is that an hour before his arrival, I wrote this very message on a chalk slate and hid it in the wardrobe's secret panel. From there, it became a very simple matter to step inside with a blank one and make the swap. Also--and this is key--Mother is very good at tying slipknots.
Soft murmurs echo beyond the door. I picture Mother with closed eyes, her thin nostrils flaring. On some days, the flames from the fireplace provide enough heat for her face to flush, which makes the act all the more authentic.
I hear the scrape of a chair and then footsteps. Finally. I sigh in relief. I want to get out of here.
I pinch my cheeks for a rosy flush and slip my hands back into the knot. The iron lock of the wardrobe clicks. The door squeaks open. I take a deep breath, force my body to go limp, and then, with an exaggerated gasp, fall face forward onto the floor.
Dr. Barnes leaps out of his chair. I hear his teacup rattle on the table and then crash, sending a thousand shards of porcelain across the brick tiles of the hearth. "Oh, my God!" he cries. "Is she . . . is she dead?"
Mother, being a true professional, plays her part with ease. "No, she is fine. She has been to the other side. Please. Give her a moment."
She kneels and leans in close, then brushes a lock of hair from my eyes. The fresh scent of Cameo Rose surrounds me. It is a lovely fragrance, and one I always associate with Mother, which lifts my spirits whenever I am down--something I feel at this very moment, for I can already feel the bruise swelling on my forehead. She helps me up, unties the thin rope that binds my wrists, and leads me to a long chaise covered in red and blue damask. Dr. Barnes, old chap, withdraws a silk handkerchief from his vest pocket. "There, there, dear girl," he says, dabbing my brow. I almost feel sorry for him. I ease my head back and let out a breath.
Mother picks up the slate from the floor. She gives Dr. Barnes a sharp look. "The dead do not always speak what we would wish to hear," she intones. "And oftentimes, their messages can be confusing . . . or even incomprehensible."
Dr. Barnes exhales a shaky breath. Mother unclasps the two sides of the slate.
The blood drains from her face.
"What is it?" Dr. Barnes asks, drawing closer.
Mother is speechless, her mouth open in shock or confusion, I don't know which.
Dr. Barnes wrenches the slate away and peers over the top of his spectacles. I sit up and read the words written in a crooked script.
Ring around the rosy, a pocketful of posies.
Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!
And below, written in a spidery scrawl, one single letter . . .
M
Excerpted from The Mesmerist by Ronald L. Smith
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
Thirteen-year-old Jessamine Grace and her mother make a living as sham spiritualists—until they discover that Jess is a mesmerist and that she really can talk to the dead. Soon she is plunged into the dark world of Victorian London’s supernatural underbelly and learns that the city is under attack by ghouls, monsters, and spirit summoners. Can Jess fight these powerful forces? And will the group of strange children with mysterious powers she befriends be able to help? As shy, proper Jess transforms into a brave warrior, she uncovers terrifying truths about the hidden battle between good and evil, about her family, and about herself.