Plot/Idea: This thoroughly charming YA shows readers a world—on a planet called Oikos—where tree Houses are gods who make families: once a man and a woman marry, a House chooses them, and, eventually, babies start emerging from the literal woodwork. It's an intriguing life until the heroine, Berry, is stranded by her House when giant moths show up one night, killing Houses and wreaking havoc, in concert with an unwelcome visitor from another world who plans to exploit House resources.
Prose: Wickstrom's prose is lovely, showcasing her
dramatic world building.
Originality: Children of the Wandering House is
truly singular, with astonishing world building: sentient Houses caring for and carrying families about the world, colossal moths, bees with
poisonous prongs for stingers—readers of all ages will find this novel's environment fascinating.
Character/Execution: Wickstrom imagines wondrous and realistic characters in Berry, Invert, Geyser, Blossom, and others. Their unusual names add to the charm, but they also come off as genuine
people with urgent problems that must be solved.
- BookLife Prize
You’ve seen brochures for visiting the planet Oikos. You’ve probably seen the nature videos of the wild wandering Houses. You may even have fantasized about going for a ride in one, or spending a night nestled into its leafy cuddle branches. Let me tell you now – that’s never going to happen. These Houses that you think are so quaint and cute are our gods. They didn’t just create the first people, and then leave them alone, like your gods whom you never get to see or touch. Our Houses literally are the parents of every person you’ll see on this world.
On Oikos, a marriage is a woman, a man and a House. Every person has three parents: their mom, their dad and their House. The House is the most important one. That’s because once a House is married, babies come crawling out of the House’s woodwork. When a House decides to marry and start a family, the man and woman choose each other. Then a House chooses them. Quite simply, you are not like us. You don’t have a House-parent. No House is going to choose to marry you. When a House chooses you, that’s for life. You can’t just stay in a House for a night, like you can at a hotel on your world. You can’t rent one. You can’t buy one. If you touch one without its permission, you’ll be sorry. As I said, our Houses are our gods. You don’t want to be near one when he or she is angry.
I get it. You’re curious. You want to know what it’s like to live in a wandering House and spend your nights in his or her embrace. First of all, you need to recognize that our Houses are not wandering randomly, like you might, exploring our world. They know where they are going and they know why they are going there, at this exact time. The reason for the journey doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the people they’ve given birth to, or the people they’ve married. Houses have their own lives, their own goals.
Here’s another thing that’s different on Oikos – when children grow up and marry, their new family walks away from the Gathering where they met. Once a person is married to a House, that person won’t see their birth-family again, unless they happen to meet at a Gathering.
In other words, if you do manage to befriend a House and get invited aboard, you will have no idea where you are when you wake up in the morning, and no means of communicating. People who are born of a House can send mind-messages to the House, but you can’t. The House can send messages through the hum to nearby Houses and trees. The distance a message can travel is far less than a House can walk in a night. We, who live here, are used to this – but from what I know of your culture, you’ll find this terrifying. In other words, if you do befriend a House and his or her family, there’s no way to know if you’ll ever come back to the place you started your trip. Plus, there’s no way to tell anyone where you’ve gone. You may never go home again.
The children born to a new family might never meet anyone else from their mother’s or father’s family, or their House’s family. And nobody ever graduates from House-School. The Houses always have something new to teach us. House-School, which takes place at the Fall and Spring Gatherings, lasts for the whole season. Everybody attends.
The rest of the year, the Houses walk. Houses stop walking during the day so their people can gather food and prepare meals. But, when night comes, the people snuggle into their cuddle branches, and the Houses walk to their next destination. A House might stop briefly, if a family member asks. Or they might not, as I found out one night. That’s the night when the adventure I’m about to tell you began. This adventure, when my House walked off without me, has allowed me to know more about the Houses on Oikos than almost anybody else. Invert and Hasty could probably tell you as much or more. But I’m the one writing this story.
#
The night is exceptionally clear.
No rain. No clouds. It’s dusk, and stars twinkle clearly over the meadow. My House, Cowlick, is not walking yet. It’s a perfect night to make another drawing for my starmap collection, before the rainy season begins. I know it’s fall because Cowlick has been making her go-to-Gathering thump-song for several days now, and her leaves are tinged red at the tips. If I can find a madder root red enough to make a good dye, I plan to draw the branch that crosses my round bedside window.
Cowlick has three beds. A double bed for my mom and dad, and single beds for me and my sister Tarragon. Every time a House has a baby, it grows a new bed. The bed grows with the child. There’s also a table and benches in the middle of the room where we eat and draw or write. These grow, too, when a new child is born. Our Houses are circular like a tree-trunk, and they have windows on all sides, so there’s always light in the daytime.
I grab my pencils, my charcoal stick and a birchbark sheet from the box under my bed. I know I’m not supposed to leave my House after dark. But Cowlick has let me break this rule before. My parents are already asleep, curled into each other’s arms, wrapped in Cowlick’s cuddle-branches. My sister, Tarragon, whispers, “Come to bed, Berry.”
“I won’t be long,” I whisper back. I must draw those stars.
Cowlick gives her bedtime warning: Thoomp. Then crunk, thwack, clop as she lifts her stairs. Finally, she makes a scratchy groan as she retracts her rootstalk from the soil beneath us. Goosh. The soil must be damp. I don’t hear clumps of dry dirt hitting the underside of her floor. This nightly routine usually makes me feel drowsy. When I hear these familiar sounds, and feel these jiggles, I burrow into Cowlick’s cuddle branches, and relax as she pets me with her gentle leaves. But, I’m not going to bed until I’ve finished my starmap. I lean back on the porch swing, bend my knees, and prop a piece of birch bark against my thighs. The swing rocks side-to-side as Cowlick begins her night-time lumbering. The ground is level. Her evenly paced steps don’t disturb my hand as I inscribe the marks on my sketchpad. I remember these stars, but I’ll have to wait until daylight before I can compare this sketch to others in my collection.
Trees at the edge of a woods tower toward my right. We must be near the Gathering site. Fall Gatherings are always in a meadow surrounded by forest. We have Gatherings during the rainy season, so we are together and can help each other if there’s a flood. It’s not going to rain tonight. The sky is clear. But, I won’t be able to see stars through the canopy of leaves in the woods. Cowlick strolls between trees, singing her Gathering lullaby. Leaves flutter on overhead branches, blocking my view. I want to finish this starmap. Once the rainy season starts, nights won’t be clear enough for me to draw. I grab my drawing tools and ease my way out through Cowlick’s highest window. I hear one of my pencils scratch the frame as I pass through. This window is on the side opposite the porch. Cowlick won’t be able to stop me with her railing.
Cowlick thumps, calling me back. Bumpa – boomp, like a big bass drum. Houses speak two languages – their own which is low musical tones, and mind-messages, which are words people understand. Houses speak directly inside our minds – mostly they send messages of love, but sometimes they are bossy. They also use their tonal language when they give orders. Tones are faster, and more emphatic than words. I’ve tried to match the tones, when I speak to Cowlick, but I must be doing it wrong because she ignores me, as if I’m babbling nonsense. “Please wait, Cowlick,” I plead. “I won’t be long.”
Bumpa-boomp.
I ignore her and cling to the trunk of the nearest tree.
I stuff my charcoal and pencils into my pocket, squeeze my birch bark sheets between my elbow and ribs, and shinny upwards. When I’m above Cowlick’s roof, I pause to rest with my feet on a tree branch. I need to climb to the top of the canopy so I can finish my map.
Cowlick pauses. I climb. I’ve done this before. Cowlick always waits for me.
Bumpa-boomp.
I call back in my mind: “I’ll hurry. I’ll hurry.”
Soon I’m so high I don’t see Cowlick when I look down. But I don’t yet see stars when I look up. I love the earthy green scent of woods at night. But there’s something else in the air, now. Something unsettling like the dust on moth wings. I don’t like it, but I continue climbing.
Bumpa-boomp. Cowlick’s thumping call is farther way than it should be. She sounds frightened, but that makes no sense. Nothing could frighten Cowlick. She is a god. Maybe she doesn’t like the mothy smell, either. But, she wouldn’t walk off without me. I climb higher and higher. Finally, I see stars. More stars than I’ve ever seen before. I expect Cowlick will nag me again. I have been gone a long time, even for me. But I receive no mind messages. No drumbeat tones. The only sound I hear is wind rustling the leaves at the top of the canopy. Maybe Cowlick knows that nagging me tonight won’t get me down faster.
I finish the drawing, pinch the bark sheets between my elbow and ribs, and work my way down to the springy ground. Dry leaves crackle under my feet. Cowlick is not where I left her. I don’t see her anywhere.
#
Houses look like short wide trees. Night in the woods is too dark for me to pick out a House among the trees of a forest, even if she was just a tree or two away. Cowlick is a bit wider than even the widest tree, and she’s shorter, but in a woods at night, I can only find her if she’s moving or making noise.
I put my ear to the ground. I’m sure I’d recognize her footsteps, or even her fidgety stomp. The only sound I hear is the regular hum of the ground. Cowlick has never gone out of hearing-range before. I try to send her a mind-message, but she does not respond. Did something happen to her? Is she angry with me? I know my mind can come up with lots of scary stories that never help. The best thing is to get some sleep, and try not to worry.
I’ll have to wait until morning before I can follow her footprints in the forest floor. I burrow into a bed of leaves, and lie as still as I can, listening for her steps as I try to doze. I’m sure I’ll be able to find her in the morning. She’ll stop walking at daylight. And even if I don’t catch up tomorrow, I’ll find her at the Gathering where she’ll stay for the whole rainy season. Mom, Dad and Tarragon will be busy in House-School, and Cowlick will chat with the other Houses. Mom will teach herbs. Dad will teach weaving. Tarragon will help with Dad’s class – she made the skirt I’m wearing.
Thumps vibrate the ground beneath me. I look up, eagerly. A House is approaching – the sound is unmistakable. But these are not Cowlick’s footsteps. She has not returned for me. I wish I had a way to send a message to Cowlick and the rest of my family.
This House has a heavy, uneven step, like a sapling House toddler. It must be on its way to its first Fall Gathering, hoping to find a couple of people to marry so it can start a family. Maybe this House will give me a ride to the Gathering site where I can rejoin my family.
The young House is coming closer. Spots of sunlight dapple the forest floor. That’s all the light I need to know that it’s morning in the forest, but it’s still too dark for Houses to stop walking. Even in the dim undergrowth, I can see that this is no ordinary House. Its step is uneven because its right front leg is longer than the other three. All its legs are much thicker than those on any House I’ve ever seen. Its porch goes all the way around its girth, instead of protruding only at the door. The House looks silly, but I don’t laugh. Young Houses are easily upset. They are just coming into their powers.
I wonder if any people will want to marry it. Even in this near-dark, I can see its door. The porch railing goes straight across the doorway. This House doesn’t have steps. Its windows are oval instead of round.
The young House stops walking and dips its porch toward me, in greeting. I pound the porch railing, making the thumps that spell my name in House-speech. I’m Berry. For some reason, that’s a lot of taps. My sister Tarragon’s name requires only two thumps. The House repeats the tones for my name, and bows to me. Then I hear one word in my mind: Skew. This must be the House’s name in people-speech. I think it’s mean for a House’s mother tree, or mother House to name a child after something that makes them look funny. But I don’t understand the ways of Houses. Skew sends me a mind-message. He’s inviting me in.
I grab the House’s railing and hoist myself up and over, onto the porch. Skew resumes walking. He’s heading toward the edge of the forest, where Cowlick entered. Skew is not going to the Fall Gathering where I could reunite with my family. I wish I had a way to tell my family where I am. The thought occurs to me – I may never see them again. All my life I’ve been prepared for the day when we’ll separate. When you marry, your new House is your family for the rest of your life. Your new family walks off in a different direction from your childhood House. But I’m not getting married to Skew. I have learned the skills to live on my own, but I don’t feel ready, yet.
I enter Skew’s living room. It’s totally dark. In this deep woods, the forest floor is dappled, but not even a sparkle of sunlight sends a beam through his windows. As I feel my way along the nearest wall, I bump into a half-grown bed, with just one cuddle-branch, sticking out into the room. Unless there’s a two-person sized bed somewhere else, Skew isn’t ready for marriage, either. Everybody knows a marriage is a woman, a man and a House. The man and the woman share a bed, held safely together in the House’s cuddle branches. I’ll be able to see more of Skew’s living quarters when reach the meadow where we’ll join the Gathering. I’m sure Skew has survived many rainy seasons, but this will be his first in a Gathering with other adult Houses.
I lie down on the half-grown bed. Skew wraps his cuddle branch around me. His leaves gently brush my shoulders to help me relax. I’m comfortable, but I can’t sleep. I want to talk to my mom, my dad, my sister, and my House. It’s not fair, really. My House walked off without me, without the blessing ceremony or any sort of good-bye. I’ll never get to talk to my family again, unless sometime in the future, we wind up at the same Gathering. I can’t even tell them I’m safe, and I’ll be at a different Gathering this year.
Why didn’t they wait for me? My mind races in circles – could have – should have… Doesn’t Cowlick love me?
Skew is still walking when light beams weakly through the oval window nearest my bed. I don’t feel rested, yet, so I linger in Skew’s embrace. The House is still dark inside, so it’s easy to lie in bed if I close my eyes. Skew continues to cuddle, his branches wrapped gently around me.
I wonder why Skew hasn’t stopped walking at first light, like Cowlick always does. His limp has made sleep difficult. I know his cuddle branch is holding me safely, but I’m still scared of falling to the floor from this narrow bed. It’s smaller than the bed Cowlick grew for me. Finally, sunlight beams through the oval window across from me. Now, I can see Skew’s insides clearly. Skew has five oval windows, and three half-beds, plus a central table and benches, just like Cowlick. We are definitely in a different forest than the one where he found me last night. Or the one Cowlick walked through yesterday. This one is hilly, and we are following a swooshing stream. Up ahead, I see a meadow where a Gathering of short, squat Houses is forming. No wonder Skew didn’t stop at dawn. We are so close to the Gathering site. There was no point in waiting until tomorrow to get here.
I look around Skew’s living room. Skew isn’t ready for a family. In House-School, they taught us that a House is supposed to grow one full-sized bed big enough for two people, so it can marry them. And if children are born, then it’s supposed to grow more beds. Those new beds will get bigger as the children grow. That’s what I’m told Cowlick did. But I’m the youngest, so I didn’t see Tarragon’s bed grow, and I didn’t notice when mine did. It was always the right size for me to sleep in. I don’t know why Skew picked me up. Did he adopt me? Does he want to marry me? Does he expect me to move out once we arrive at the Gathering, so he can marry someone else?
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