Eleven-year-old Fiona isn't allowed in the Fermata woods. And though its unique trees are fascinating, Fiona has no problem following her mother's rules... until the trees begin to sing.
Suddenly, it feels as though long forgotten memories are being unlocked in Fiona's mind. As she nears the woods edge, the trees fall silent, so silent even the leaves stop rustling. Fiona will finally break the rules and venture into the woods. She'll soon find herself traveling through portals to undiscovered worlds. And she'll have to trust her instincts and her quirky new friends to bring back the music or she may get lost within its notes.
Eleven-year-old Fiona isn't allowed in the Fermata woods. And though its unique trees are fascinating, Fiona has no problem following her mother's rules... until the trees begin to sing.
Suddenly, it feels as though long forgotten memories are being unlocked in Fiona's mind. As she nears the woods edge, the trees fall silent, so silent even the leaves stop rustling. Fiona will finally break the rules and venture into the woods. She'll soon find herself traveling through portals to undiscovered worlds. And she'll have to trust her instincts and her quirky new friends to bring back the music or she may get lost within its notes.
The sign at the edge of the Fermata woods wasnât big or bright or loud. It was small, wooden, and obscured by ivy vines. It was about the size of a cat who is curled up for an afternoon nap, and it was held in the ground by a stake that looked as sturdy as uncooked spaghetti. Almost no one knew the sign was there.
Fiona knew though. She recognized the little things. The things that were insignificant to others. Maybe she was one of those things.
Though the sign at the edge of the woods was odd, the problem with it wasnât that it was small or unstable. The problem was that even if the occasional passerby did stop to read it, they would learn little more about the woods than someone who hadnât noticed it at all. The sign read:
Fermata Woods
176 acres
Est.
It was puzzling. Normally, when the letters E-S-T are followed by a period at the bottom of a sign, they are meant to be followed by a date. Est. is an abbreviation for the word established, after all. Fiona knew this because her school had a similar message carved into one of the stones at the entrance to the building. The stone said SONGFIELD ELEMENTARY, SONGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS. EST. 1909. That sign made sense. 1909 was the year the school was built. But the sign at the edge of the woods was different. It had no year after the Est. And it didnât appear as though the year had faded away over time since the rest of the words on the sign were perfectly clear.
Perhaps the missing date was a message. It was as if to say that the exact date at which the woods became the woods didnât matter. It only mattered that they were there at all.
It mustâve taken a great deal of effort to establish these woods. From the bits and pieces Fiona could see of them, they seemed to hold every kind of tree imaginable. There was a graceful silk tree whose thread-like pink flowers dotted its branches like cotton candy. There was a humble silver birch whose leaves collected delicate snow each winter, as if protecting the fragile flakes from the harsh earth. Fiona could only dream of what trees lay deeper in the woods.
And though Fiona did dream of the woodsâquite often in factâno one else seemed interested in them. She wondered if the little sign was to blame. Or perhaps everyone was just too busy to notice how special the woods were.
On this particular afternoon, as Fiona passed the sign on her walk home, she ran her fingers over its rough edges as a way of saying I see you. The sign answered back with a sharp poke to her pointer finger. She winced and held the stinging finger in her hand. A thin splinter lay beneath the top layer of skin. She pushed her thumbnail against the splinter in an attempt to push the pointy bugger out. It didnât budge. Fiona bit her cheek. She would have to pick up the pace now. Her piano lesson was starting soon, and she couldnât practice with a splinter poking into her with every note she played.
Fiona eyed the woods beyond the sign. They were peaceful, shaded from the too-hot-for-fall sun. A light breeze danced through the trees, and the leaves blew a pleasant swishing sound over her ears. Fionaâs home was on the other side of the woods. If she was allowed to walk through them, she might be able to shave ten minutes off her walkânot that sheâd ever tried.
Her mouth pulled to one side. She considered it, just for a moment. She could break the rules. Other eleven-year-olds broke the rules all the time.
But Fionaâs feet remained glued to the sidewalk. She couldnât bring herself to move them any closer to the trees. She wasnât allowed in the woods. And her mom would know if she entered them. Mothers always know. Fiona shifted uncomfortably. She wiggled her toes in her shoes, willing her feet to make a decision. Finally, she turned her focus away from the woods to the path she walked every day. She lengthened her stride and marched around the woods toward home.
***
Fionaâs mother freed the splinter from her finger just in time for Ms. Downeyâs arrival. A single stern knock rang in the living room. Ms. Downey was the only person Fiona knew who only knocked once. Most people knocked at least three times. Some knocked with a playful tune. For Ms. Downey, one knock was enough to make her presence known.
Fiona opened the door to see her piano teacher looking as gloomy as usual. She had the constant appearance of someone who had been caught in the rain. Though the weather was perfectly sunny, her hair was flat and heavy. Her makeup was applied in haphazard blotches and in the places where her foundation wasnât thick enough, her skin was pale and drained.
Ms. Downeyâs clothes held no color. She wore black pointed boots, a long wool skirt, and a cardigan whose sleeves draped inches below her fingertips. Fiona couldnât tell whether it was piano lessons she disliked or whether it was the shadow cast over them by her teacher. But at least Ms. Downey never mentioned Fionaâs spots.
Fiona had the feeling her mother felt the same way about Ms. Downey. She always adorned the piano with a bouquet of fresh flowers before Fionaâs lesson. Maybe she hoped the color would bring some life to Ms. Downeyâs gray mood. Todayâs bouquet was a true ray of sunshine filled with daffodils, tulips, and an overbearing sunflower whose stem struggled to hold its large head up.
Ms. Downeyâs eyes flicked up at the bouquet for just a moment before she focused her gaze on the piano keys. She took a seat at the bench and, without looking at Fiona, she said flatly, âScales.â
Fiona hurriedly sat down next to Ms. Downey. She straightened her spine and pushed her shoulders backâMs. Downey hated bad posture. Fiona cleared her throat, hesitant to ask her question. âW-which scales, Ms. Downey?â
âStart with major, then natural minor, and finish with chromatic.â
Fiona forced a small smile though her stomach sank. This lesson was going to be as boring as the last. Sheâd practiced scales practically all summer. Surely she could learn a song by now. But Fiona didnât argue. She rested her fingertips on the keyboard and began to play. Ms. Downey closed her eyes to listen.
By this time, Fiona was so well practiced at scales she hardly had to think of them as she played. Her fingers knew what to do. Her mind was free to wander. But it often clung to places she didnât want to go. It took her to the playground where she first realized she didnât look like everyone else. Where the girl who had finally agreed to play with Fiona was dragged away by her mother who screamedâThunk.
Thunk. Thunk.
Fiona was pulled back into her lesson. She pressed her finger down on a black key. It shifted only slightly before sticking in place. Ms. Downeyâs eyes narrowed. âYour mother has been leaving the windows open again. How many times do I have to tell her? Humidity will make the keys stick.â
Fiona said nothing. She couldnât agree with Ms. Downey without telling on her mother, but she couldnât disagree without lying to her teacher.
Ms. Downey fiddled with the sticking key. âDo you know what note this is supposed to be?â
âItâs a C sharp,â Fiona replied with all the confidence she had.
Ms. Downey pressed her lips together. Fionaâs confidence began to slip away. But she couldnât be wrong, keys and notes were practically the only thing she knew about music.
After another moment, Ms. Downey seemed to decide the silence had gone on long enough. âKeys can be more than one note. You should know that. Itâs the same way you refer to your mother as âmomâ but I call her âVictoria.â This key is both a C sharp and a D flat. I suppose weâll keep working on scales until youâve learned that.â
Once again, Fiona pasted a small smile across her face. It was perhaps less convincing than the first grin. But she was sure Ms. Downey didnât notice. Patience was one of Fionaâs stronger qualities.
âRight, well. I suppose Iâll have to have a talk with your mother. Where is she do you think? In the kitchen?â
Fiona nodded and Ms. Downey left the room. Maybe if the key were fixed by the time Ms. Downey returned, her teacherâs mood would improve. Maybe Fiona could even ask to learn a song. It wouldnât have to be anything fancy. She would be happy just learning âTwinkle Twinkle Little Star.â
Fiona set about fixing the key. She pushed her thumb against the corner of the black key and tried to lift it up. She tapped the white keys surrounding it a few times. Then she pressed her foot on a pedal at the base of the piano and tried lifting the black key again. It stuck. She folded her hands in her lap and sighed.
But then she heard it.
She heard the note the key was supposed to play. It was clear and loud and crisp. Only the note wasnât coming from the piano. It couldnât be. She hadnât pressed the key again. The note lingered, filling the room with its soft hum. Fiona glanced around to see where it was coming from. There were no other instruments nearby. There were no speakers. No computers. No televisions. No one else was in the room with her.
The note stopped abruptly.
Fiona stood. She didnât know why exactly she stood, but the piano was freaking her out a bit. She felt like giving the instrument its space.
Then all at once the sound came again. A different note this timeâa C from the great octave. This time, Fiona searched the room. She lifted the couch cushions. She pulled books off the shelves. She lifted the rug. Surely someone was playing a prank on her. But who and why?
Fiona opened the window, and the note enveloped her. It had the sensation of diving underwater. The sound was warm and heavy. It drowned everything else out. It was as though the note was pulling her beneath the surface of this world and into another one. But where was the sound coming from? Fiona scanned her empty yard. She searched the shadows in the woods. She wasnât looking for anything in particular. She didnât know what could be making the sound. She might know it if she saw it. She looked for anything out of the ordinary. But there was only the woods.
Was it possible�
No. It couldnât be.
But maybeâŚ
Maybe the sound was coming from the trees themselves.
The note stopped just as Ms. Downey returned to the living room. Fionaâs head was still halfway out the window. âSo, itâs you I should blame for leaving the windows open.â Fiona quickly pulled her head inside and slid the window shut. âQuite rude of you to let me reprimand your mother for it. You should have taken responsibility when I mentioned the windows the first time.â
Fionaâs lips parted, but she had no reply.
âAnyway, I overheard you got that key to work but we are out of time for today. Iâll see you at the recital.â
The recital.
An uneasy feeling crept its way up Fionaâs stomach and into her throat. She swallowed. Was the recital tomorrow already? Ms. Downey hadnât told her what she should play. There was nothing she could play. Were there songs that could be made using just scales?
Ms. Downey picked her purse off the floor and made her way to the front door, tripping on the overturned rug as she left.
I had a basic idea of what to expect, but this book really blew it out of the park for me! Not completely life-changing, but it was fun and imaginative, and I found it a great read for children and young teens. The one thing I could complain about is that it never fully explained the villainâs motivations; I wanted to know more about the interference they chose to enact. Plus, the story reminded so much of a mix between Alice in Wonderland, Coraline, and the trees from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Familiar concepts, but a unique way to interact with them!
This book follows Fiona in third person limited. Very briefly it switches to other characters, but the main focus is our main character, who is eleven years old. Her mind is open to things around her even if she doesnât know what everything is, and the writing reflects that.
Fiona is a timid girl at the beginning of the book, but I love how her adventure emboldens her character and helps her evolve. The first real friends she has, Ferris, Arti, Nori, Coda, and others, all help her grow and learn. Such a diverse and interesting cast of characters, providing a bunch of learning opportunities for young readers.
I like that the two main characters donât get along well right from the start. Theyâre friendly, but they have some rough patches to work through. It shows that you can help someone even if theyâre mostly a stranger. Fiona is mainly timid and friendless because of her freckles, which are large and bright red, leading many ânormalâ people to believe she has a horrible disease. When she starts on her adventures, she learns that not only are they not bad, but theyâre a beautiful part of herself. Her new and strengthening relationships teach her that.
DeMaioâs writing is great for young audiences: no complex or unfamiliar words, fun and engaging, witty, and sometimes silly. Sheâs clearly a writer of open thoughtfulness, including a vast range of people and creatures and lifestyles, and ways of thought. I enjoyed the natural inclusivity of her writing and the way it makes you think about whatâs possible.
As I mentioned, this book flew by! It was a shorter novel, only about 50,000 words, but the plot rolled along almost seamlessly from one thing to the next. One complaint is that by the end, it steamrolled a bit too fast, in my opinion. I personally wouldâve liked more explanation about the villain once theyâre finally revealed. It also felt like a very open ending, which makes me excited for a potential sequel, but also not open-ended enough to get my hopes up, haha.
Highly recommended for children and parents of children! Encourages creative thinking, inclusivity, and innovation.