Firmament - Hardcover

Bowler, Tim

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0689861613 ISBN 13: 9780689861611

Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry, 2004

Synopsis

"Good hands, Luke," Dad had said. "Special hands. Strong and sensitive. You can do anything you want with hands like these. So don't ever put them to bad use."

Luke has good hands. Everybody says so. Good for playing the piano -- just like his father did before he died. And good for climbing -- climbing trees, climbing toward the stars, in search of some peace away from family troubles.Now Skin and his gang want Luke to do some climbing for them. They want him to climb into Mrs. Little's house to look for something to steal. They want him to prove he's a real part of the gang.But nobody is ready for what Luke discovers when he does climb into the house. He encounters something so unexpected that it changes everything -- something that unlocks secrets and helps Luke find out exactly who he is and what it is that he's been searching for.

About this title

About the Author

Tim Bowler has written seven novels for teenagers and is one of the most prominent authors currently writing for this age group. His first novel, Midget, established him as a thrilling new voice in young adult literature. His third novel, River Boy, won the prestigious Carnegie Medal, and his books have also won numerous other prizes. His most recent novels are Storm Catchers and the highly acclaimed Firmament.

Mr. Bowler lives with his wife in Devon, England, and is a full-time writer.

Reviews

Grade 6-10-Luke, 14, is in big trouble. "Skin," a teen with a well-earned reputation for violence, has threatened to seriously hurt him if Luke refuses to break into an old woman's house and steal a beautiful wooden box sure to contain valuables. Luke is trapped, and once inside the house, he's startled by the devastating weeping of a young girl. Worse, Skin isn't Luke's only problem. He's still grieving so hard over his father's death that he can't concentrate and is nearly flunking out of school. He skips classes; fights with his mother, who has a new boyfriend; and is rude and surly to everyone, even his beloved music teacher. Luke feels that the only thing he has left is his music, his gift for playing the piano, just like his father. Firmament is a fascinating coming-of-age story with deeply developed characters. The author's understanding of the way a musician separates notes in his head and the ability to translate them into a dialogue between his hands and his instrument is amazing. However, one disturbing scenario might hit readers hard, especially given recent news stories of abducted children. Once Luke discovers that the mentally retarded child had been found and hidden away by the old woman for two years, he reunites her with her parents but does not notify authorities. Overall, though, the author's lyrical writing will enthrall readers and draw them into a heartfelt story that resonates just like great music. Pair Firmament with Bruce Brooks's Midnight Hour Encores (HarperCollins, 1986) during booktalks. Both titles will be eagerly snatched up and loved.-Susan Riley, Mount Kisco Public Library, NY
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Gr. 6-10. Fourteen-year-old Luke is brilliant in music, but after his concert pianist father's untimely death, his life goes into free fall. He finds himself haunted by sounds--music, a constant weeping, a mysterious rumbling--and by the unseen but deeply felt presence of his father. Worse, he begins to hang out with a local gang, and when, to prove himself, he breaks into the home of a wealthy recluse, he finds something that will change his life. Carnegie Medal-winning author Bowler writes beautifully about music and the emotional pain of loss. His characters are multidimensional and always interesting, but his uneasy mixture of genres--realism, fantasy, and mystery--doesn't quite gel. Nor does he satisfactorily explain Luke's central--and highly improbable--decision to join the gang. On the other hand, the enigmatic elements of his plot are tantalizing, and the novel's emotional intensity will attract an enthusiastic readership. Michael Cart
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Excerpt

Chapter One

He didn't see her; but he heard her voice. It came whispering on the dusk like a dark, dreamy echo: a young girl's voice, so light it was like hearing the voice of a spirit in the trees of Buckland Forest behind him; yet it was coming from the direction of The Grange. He stared at the old house and listened again, then realized with a start that it was the sound of weeping.

He looked at the others. Skin and Daz were still staring over the wall toward the house. Speed was slumped on the ground, eating a doughnut, his fat stubby fingers covered in sugar and jam; but he looked up. "Luke? You okay? You look kind of funny."

"I'm fine."

It was obvious none of the other boys had heard the voice. Speed had turned straight back to his doughnut and the other two hadn't even glanced around. Their eyes were fixed, as they had been for the last hour, on the front of the house, Daz's ferrety features twitching but Skin's dangerously still and his face as fierce as fire. Luke hesitated, then spoke again.

"Can anybody hear anything?"

"Speedy burping," said Daz, not looking around. "But that's nothing new."

Luke frowned. The girl's voice seemed so clear now. Why couldn't the others hear it? He inched closer to the wall and peered over. Before him the garden of the Grange stretched away with its great untended lawn and flowerbeds and broken-down sheds, and beyond that, over to the left, the house itself, tall and gaunt in the failing light.

"Any sign of Mrs. Little?" called Speed from below the wall.

"Not yet," said Skin.

"Maybe she won't come out tonight."

"She will."

"You can't be certain she's going to come out. I mean, she hardly ever leaves the place." Speed took another bite from the doughnut. Skin flashed an angry glance at him, then turned back to the house.

"She'll come." He narrowed his eyes to slits. "She always goes to the village shop on Friday evenings and she'll do the same tonight. Just watch."

"Well, she'll have to hurry up," said Speed. "Or it'll be closed."

"It's late-night opening. She's got time." Skin stiffened suddenly. "There she is. Keep still and get ready to duck if she looks this way."

Luke held himself rigid and watched as Mrs. Little emerged from the house with her shopping bags, closed the front door behind her, and made her way toward the gate. Daz shook his head. "That is one seriously ugly old woman."

It was true. She had to be the most repulsive-looking woman Luke had ever seen. She was certainly the most unpopular person in Upper Dinton. It was hard to believe there could ever have been a Mr. Little, not that anyone in the village knew anything about him. They didn't know much about her either, except that she'd lived at The Grange for about two years, all by herself, and that if anyone came near the house, she snapped at them and told them to get lost. It was as though she hated everybody in the world, especially fourteen-year-old louts, as she clearly saw them.

But now it was payback time. Now they were going to get her back for all the times she'd mouthed off to them. Because Mrs. Little was rich. No one knew exactly how rich but it was obvious she was loaded. The Grange was the most expensive property in Upper Dinton, a beautiful old house, set apart from the rest of the village and with a great walled garden stretching right up to the edge of Buckland Forest - you had to have plenty of money to buy a place like this. But it wasn't money Skin was after.

It was the box. Money would do, too, of course, if there was some lying around, but what Skin wanted - to the point of obsession - was the box he'd seen the old woman holding that time he peered through the window to check the place out. There had to be something really valuable inside it, jewels probably. Not that he'd seen any; but that didn't matter. Whatever was inside, it was worth going for. The way she'd cradled the box and looked about her as she checked the contents, like a miser guarding her hoard - even if it wasn't jewels inside, it had to be something pretty important to Mrs. Little, so it was worth swiping for that reason alone.

"She's going," murmured Daz.

Luke watched the old woman's figure disappear up the path toward Nut Bush Lane, then turn down it in the direction of the village. He felt Skin's eyes upon him.

"Right, Luke. Over to you."

"I don't know if I want to do this anymore."

"Sure you do." Skin looked him over. "We've been through this. You want to be part of the gang. And we want you to be part of the gang. But we need to know we can trust you. We need to know you've got the guts." His eyes hardened. "Because if you haven't, we don't want you and you can clear off back to your piano playing and your music lessons."

Luke looked back at the house and again heard the sound of weeping. Skin's voice came darkly back. "You're either for us or against us, Luke. And you don't want to be against us. If you get my meaning."

Luke stared into Skin's eyes and it was like looking at two black flames. Close by, he sensed Daz and Speed watching his face. He bit his lip and tried to shut the weeping from his mind.

"Okay," he said.

"Good boy," said Skin.

They scrambled down to the path and ran along beside the wall as far as the gate. Skin stopped suddenly and glanced quickly around. All calmness was gone now; his face was as keen as a hunting dog's. From the forest end of the track came the sound of horses' hooves.

"Quick!" he said. "Round the side of the house!"

They climbed over the gate, sped around the building to the back, and waited, pressed against the wall. The sound of the hooves grew louder as they approached the house. Luke peeped around the side of the wall.

"Who is it?" whispered Skin.

"Miranda Davis and her dad," he said, watching the two riders disappear from view in the direction of Nut Bush Lane.

Speed chortled. "Luke's girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," said Luke.

"Oh, yeah? I've seen you two yakking at school."

"Shut up!" said Skin. "We've got things to do."

He led them farther round the back of The Grange and stopped on the lawn. The house now looked sleepy in the half-light; the curtains were drawn across, both upstairs and down, and there were no lights on that Luke could see. Skin pointed to the nearest window on the ground floor. "That's the sitting room. That's where she was when I saw her with the box. Only I was looking in from the other side. I managed to climb up the wall by the track and see over."

"Maybe that's where the box is now," said Daz. "In the sitting room."

"Doubt it. She'd keep it somewhere out of sight if it's really valuable. But we can check the room out. See if you can find a gap in the curtain to look through."

Daz ran over, found one at once, and put an eye to it.

"Bit of a weird place," he said. "Full of funny ornaments and stuff." He went on peering through the gap. "And it's really dusty in there. She doesn't do a lot of cleaning." He gave a snigger. "At least Luke'll feel at home. It's got a grand piano. He can play us some classical music while we're looking around."

Luke ignored the sneer.

"Any sign of the box?" said Skin.

"No," said Daz.

"Let me try." Skin walked up to the window, squinted through the gap for a few moments, then spoke again. "No, can't see it either. Doesn't matter. We'll have a better look around once we're inside." He straightened up and turned. "Right, it's time for Luke Stanton to deliver."

Luke felt all eyes fix upon him. Skin walked up and put an arm around his shoulder. "Come with me, Lucky Luke. I'll show you something me and Daz spotted from behind the wall while Speedy was gobbling his doughnut and you were staring into space." He led them farther round the back of the house and pointed upward. "There."

Luke followed the boy's eyes, half expecting to see a weeping girl, but instead he saw a drainpipe running up the wall, and two open windows, one a skylight in the roof, the other a window on the first floor below it.

"Now we've made it easy for you," said Skin. "Since it's your first job. And you've got to admit it's a cinch. She's even left you a nice metal drainpipe."

Luke put a hand out and tested it. It seemed firm enough and Skin was right: It wasn't a difficult climb. Even the others could probably manage it, apart from Speed, obviously. But Luke knew well enough that this evening was not about testing the others; it was about testing him; and, of course, getting the box. Skin nodded toward the drainpipe. "Off you go, then."

Luke hesitated, looking from face to face. Skin took a step closer. The flames in his eyes now seemed darker, deeper, hotter; yet his voice was as cool as a knife. "I said off you go, Luke. We're counting on you. We need you. You can climb better than any of us. Better than anybody I know. Do this one right and there'll be other jobs. Nice easy jobs, just like this one. No danger, no fuss. Stick with us and we'll all benefit. You wanted to join the gang and have a go at Mrs. Little - here's your chance. So get going. And remember what I told you - don't hang around once you're in. Just let us through the front door and we'll do the rest."

Luke ran his hand over the drainpipe, feeling more and more reluctant to get involved; yet he knew he had gone too far now to turn back from this; and refusal would bring terrible consequences. Everyone knew what Skin could do. He started to climb. It was a relief to leave the others below, yet somehow he felt more frightened than ever now. What would he find inside this spooky old house? He reached the level of the first-floor window and stopped for a moment, clinging to the drainpipe. From below came a scent of honeysuckle; from above, once again, the sound of weeping. And it seemed more desperate, more urgent than ever.

Who was this girl? And where was she? And why was she crying? He went on clinging to the drainpipe, trying to think and at the same time fight his old familiar doubts. What if this weeping was just his imagination? He knew his hearing was acute, much more so than most people's, and that he heard things long before others did, but he also knew that he heard sounds that no one else seemed able to hear at all; so much so that he was starting to suspect that they were just part of this imagination. And maybe this weeping girl was his imagination too. Whatever the truth, he knew he had to go through with the break-in. The retribution Skin would exact for failure would be worse than anything a weeping girl - real or imaginary - could do to him. As if to prompt him, Skin called out from below. "Go on, Luke! Get a move on! Even Speed could have got in by now!"

Luke glanced back at the window. It was a little farther from the pipe than it had seemed from below but he should just be able to make it. He stretched out his left foot and positioned it on the window ledge, then caught hold of the frame and pulled himself across so that he was crouched on the ledge, square to the window. Through the opening he could see a small study with a writing desk and a swivel chair, and shelves covered with grotesque figurines that seemed to shriek at him as he peered in. Again he heard Skin's voice, now spitting with impatience.

"Get a move on! We're wasting time! Go down and let us in!"

He pulled himself into the room, glad to be out of sight of the others, but uneasy now that he was inside the house. The sound of weeping was louder than ever and it seemed to be coming from somewhere above him. He tiptoed to the door of the room and put his head around. A broad, unlit landing ran on either side of him. To the left were three closed doors and one - half open - at the end; to the right was a stairway down to the hall and, just beyond, at the other end, a small closed door raised slightly in the wall. Again he saw shelves bedecked with strange statuettes: figures dancing, figures playing musical instruments, figures making faces. He frowned. Best just to run downstairs, open the front door, and get the thing over with. Let Skin find his box. As for the weeping - it didn't exist; it couldn't exist. No one else had heard it so it was just his imagination playing tricks, like all the other noises he'd heard - or thought he'd heard - over the years, especially since Dad died.

He ran to the top of the stairs and started to hurry down. A loud sob, somewhere above him, froze him to the spot. He stood there, trembling, and listened. It's not real, he told himself. It's just my imagination. Mrs. Little lives alone. Everyone knows that. She hates people. There's no one here. He heard another sob above him, so loud this time it was almost a scream. He looked up to where the sound seemed to have come from and tried to picture the outside of the building and what was up there.

The open skylight. It had to be that. The Grange must have some kind of attic room. His eye fell on the little raised door at the far end of the landing and he stared at it, trying to find a reason not to go and inspect it; but he knew he had to. Breathing hard, he climbed back to the landing, walked over to the door, and pulled it open. Before him was a narrow flight of steps twisting upward. He stared at them, his mind a confusion of voices: voices shrieking at him to turn back, let the others in, get away from whatever this was; and other voices, urging him to go up and find out where this weeping was coming from. It might not be imagination. It might be real. There might be someone here, someone who needed his help. Clenching his fists, he started, as softly as he could, to climb.

The steps didn't run far and he soon found himself at the top, facing a small landing with two closed doors. There were no lights on and the air was dusky and gray. The crying was louder now and clearly came from one of these rooms. He stepped up to the first, braced himself, then turned the doorknob and pushed. It was a small bathroom and someone was obviously using it: he saw towels, a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, and other things; but no one was here. He turned to the other door and reached out his hand.

At that moment the weeping stopped.

An eerie silence fell. He stood there, motionless, his hand touching the doorknob. He must have been heard. He'd moved as quietly as he could but the girl must have picked up some sound, perhaps the slight click as he'd opened the bathroom door. Why else would she have fallen silent? And what was she doing now? He listened for some sound of movement. The girl, too, seemed to have frozen, yet he sensed her just behind the door, listening for him, no doubt, just as he was for her. Probably she was even more frightened than he was. He leaned his head closer to the door. "I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I promise I won't hurt you."

Still the eerie silence. It seemed to go on and on and on, and as it continued, it grew deeper and more frightening. He thought of Skin fuming outside with the others. They would be mad at him by now and wondering what the hell he was doing.

Continues...

Excerpted from Firmamentby Bowler, Tim Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.Copyright © 2002 Viking Press
All right reserved.

Edition details

• Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry
• Publication date: 2004
• ISBN 10: 0689861613
• ISBN 13: 9780689861611
• Binding: Hardcover
• Language: English
• Number of pages: 320