"While your children and grandchildren are away, I like to think that they're visiting a fantastic place, somewhere where they aren't restrained by an illness or held back by their own emotions, a place where there is nothing but health and happiness to greet them."
Once upon a time, Oliver wakes up in a Forest full of magic and monsters, not quite dead, but not quite alive either. He wakes with three other people whose lives have been cut short, each more tragically than the last.
Together, they embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the Forest, where they will have to face the ghosts of their pasts and their long-hidden secrets. Secrets that will force Oliver to choose between finding a new life in the trees and finding a way home.
Welcome to the Paper Forest.
"While your children and grandchildren are away, I like to think that they're visiting a fantastic place, somewhere where they aren't restrained by an illness or held back by their own emotions, a place where there is nothing but health and happiness to greet them."
Once upon a time, Oliver wakes up in a Forest full of magic and monsters, not quite dead, but not quite alive either. He wakes with three other people whose lives have been cut short, each more tragically than the last.
Together, they embark on a journey that will take them deep into the heart of the Forest, where they will have to face the ghosts of their pasts and their long-hidden secrets. Secrets that will force Oliver to choose between finding a new life in the trees and finding a way home.
Welcome to the Paper Forest.
Once upon a time, I awoke in a strange place. It was clear that this place was not my home.
The sun hasnāt risen when I sit up and rub at my bleary eyes, surrounded by an almost familiar cold darkness and the stale aroma of dirt. Trees tower over me, almost one hundred feet tall, and the bark is as smooth as ice. The canopy of leaves is dark enough to be mistaken for black. Dried mud from the day before leaves smears across my clothing. The vegetation consists of only trees and sparse patches of dead grass. Everything around me looks different from yesterday; I think the world resets when Iām sleeping.
There may be no living grass, no flowers on the ground, but there are three sleeping people, all wrapped up in their dreams. Theyāve been here for the past few days, the rise and fall of their chests being the only evidence that they were still alive. They are the only things which have remained the same since I woke up here, surrounded by unfamiliarity.
The sleepers lie in a triangle. Thereās a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, with stubby brown braids and a cornflower blue raincoat. One of her hands clasps at her zipper while the other is curled into a fist by her face, her thumb tucked into her mouth. The other two sleepers are both teenage boys dressed in jeans and oversized band t-shirts. One is pale with hair like raven feathers and soft features. The other has a face made from sharp angles rather than curves, with skin like bronze marked with bruises and a mane of mahogany curls.
As much as I want to wake one of them, I resist the urge and walk through the trees instead, taking a mental note of the scenery so I can find my way back to where they rest. Waking one of them might change this world even further.
Seemingly endless, the Forest stretches out for what could be miles in each direction, every tree the same distance apart, organised as if they are soldiers about to step into battle. Everything is identical, but the spot where I woke up is the anomaly. There, the trees space out further and I slip on mud wherever I step, even though there is no sign of past rain or water nearby.
āHello?ā
I stop walking.
āHello? Is someone there?ā
Itās the first sound Iāve heard in days other than my breathing and my shoes sticking in the mud.
āI canāt see you. Can you come closer? I donāt have my glasses.ā The raven-haired boy is sitting up, rubbing at his dirty face. His wide eyes and round cheeks donāt match his scrawny frame. Although hunger and thirst no longer affect us here, his body looks as if heās been starved almost to death.
He squints in my direction, shielding his eyes with his hands even though thereās no sunlight to disrupt his view. I step into a patch of moonlight so he can see me better.
āMy name is Ansel,ā he says hesitantly to fill the silence, and I realise I havenāt responded to any of his calls.
āIām Oliver.ā I scratch at my arms. The tiny dents and scabs that linger beneath my fingertips remind me of the last few moments of my life. The marks from the belt still havenāt faded. They never will, not here. Iām frozen in the moment of my last breath. āBefore you ask, I donāt know where we are or how we got here. I woke up a few days ago. It changes every day.ā
āIt changes?ā
I nod. āThe Forest changes everything but your clothes. On the first day, it was a rainforest. The second, it looked like something straight out of a Tim Burton film. Now,ā I pause while I look around, āitās just a muddy forest.ā
As I say this, Ansel peels himself from the ground, his clothes squelching as they pull away from the mud. His face distorts in disgust as something cracks beneath his weight: his glasses. He curses, fumbles around for the remains, and then hurls them away as hard as he can. Here, thereās nothing we can do to fix them.
We stand on opposite sides of the clearing, leaning against the trees and waiting as if weāre wanting the other person to step forward and take charge, the one who will watch over the remaining two sleepers and find our way home. Thereās nothing we can say to each other, not until he realises why heās here. I know why I am.
The sun rises and sets again before another sleeper awakens. This time, itās the other boy, closer to my age than Ansel. He doesnāt say anything. His paint-splattered hands tremble as he rubs at the bruises which decorate his skin, purple and blue roses against a brown canvas. One hand drifts towards his neck and he fumbles with the collar of his shirt as if heās looking for something. He drops the hand in defeat. All emotions evaporate from his face. His focus is somewhere behind me, as if I donāt exist to him.
In another world, he could be beautiful.
In this world, heās a ragged thing, a boy tilting too close to monstrous.
I want to be afraid of him, but Iām not.
āWhatās your name?ā Ansel asks. The boy does not move, but Ansel must close the distance between them to make out his features. He gets no reply, so he doesnāt bother asking again. Itās not like weāre under a time constraint.
Timeā¦I count seconds, then minutes, until I reach an hour. The sun appears over the horizon as I reach my target, almost as if the new world is listening to me. Today, the sunrise is beautiful, with orange-hued rays kissing candyfloss clouds and bringing warmth to the air. I donāt have the chance to enjoy it.
The little girl wakes up as soon as the sun has fully risen. When she opens her eyes, she screams, a sound that seeps beneath my skin and is painfully wrong in such a childish voice.
I run towards her before my brain can register why. Ansel reaches her first, dropping to his knees and pulling her against his chest. She pushes him away and presses herself against the ground, each scream looking as if it is about to tear her body in two.
Nothing we say can console her, so the other boy and I keep our distance. I return to keeping note of our surroundings. A golden trail of sunlight illuminates a string of orange daisies sprouting up from the mud. They wind into the trees and out of sight.
Now that everyone is awake, weāll be able to start moving. There must be a way of figuring out where we are and how we can get home.
āItās okay,ā Ansel murmurs when the girl has calmed down enough to take a breath, wrapping his arms around her as she shakes. In this moment, he looks like an older brother trying to comfort her after a bad dream. āItās over now.ā
She looks up, not at Ansel, but into the canopy of the Forest above us. Her wide eyes lack the childish innocence that Iāve seen in my siblings.
āNo, itās not,ā she whispers back. āIt hasnāt even begun.ā
*
We have been following the daisies for hours when the girlāGracie, not Grace, she tells me firmlyāruns up to me and grabs my hand. Her palms are cold and clammy, and I resist the urge to pull away. She quickens her pace to keep up with me; three of her steps are equal to one of mine.
āI feel strange,ā she announces after weāve passed a few dozen trees. Her pink Velcro trainers stumble across protruding roots, so I slow down for her, casting an eye around to see where the others are. Ansel is striding confidently ahead of us, no longer disorientated by his broken glasses. The other boy is somewhere behind. I canāt see him, but I can hear his heavy footfall crushing fallen twigs.
āWhat do you mean by āstrangeā?ā I ask, turning my attention back to Gracie. She stops walking and crosses her arms across her chest, crinkling the plastic of her raincoat. Her lips curl into a pout.
āI should be hungry. I havenāt had my breakfast.ā With that, she turns away and stomps ahead to catch up with Ansel. Sheās found comfort in him since this morning.
I understand what sheās feeling. I woke up four days and I still havenāt adjusted to the effects this new world has on me. My first instinct was to search for food and water, but I realised I didnāt have an appetite by the time I found some. I carried berries around with me all day until the world reset and my pockets emptied. Hunger never found me. Neither did thirst.
As we walk, I hear snippets of Ansel and Gracieās conversation, occasionally broken by the other boyās movements like static.
āHave your parents told you the story of Hansel and Gretel?ā Ansel asks. Heās holding Gracieās hand and swings it with each step.
āNo.ā I catch a glimpse of her screwing up her nose. āWhatās that?ā
Even from this distance, I can see his body tense. He hesitates as if he didnāt prepare for this scenario. āHansel and Gretel were the children of a woodcutter. One day, they were playing in the woods while their father was working, but they got lost.ā
āOh.ā I hear the disappointment in Gracieās voice. If I were Ansel, I wouldāve told her the authentic version of the story, the one with the parents selling the children and the witch fattening them up to eat.
āIf you think about it, weāre like Hansel and Gretel. Weāre lost in the woods and we canāt find our parents.ā
āYouāre Hansel because your name sounds like Hansel.ā
He nods. āAnd youāre Gretel.ā
Gracie stops in her tracks, tugging her hand back to herself. āNo, Iām not,ā she insists. āGretel is an ugly name.ā
*
Another hour passes before we decide to stop for a break. Exhaustion and fatigue donāt seem to affect us anymore, but looking at nothing but trees for hours has bored Gracie and she needs time to rest her mind.
Time also works differently here: it goes faster. It was only a few hours ago when Gracie woke up just as the sun finished rising, but itās already dipping below the horizon. I wonder if weāre in a northern country with short winter days and long nights, although the chill in the air isnāt quite cold enough. Itās like weāve been snatched off the surface of the Earth and dumped into a world made just for us.
Gracie seems to grasp this concept a lot faster than the rest of us, maybe because sheās still young enough to believe in stories of magic and fantasy worlds. She darts through the trees like a bird, spouting out random theories and eruptions of knowledge she must have invented during the first part of our journey.
āWeāre not the only living things here. There are prettier plants and animals and people if we keep walking.ā She takes off her coat and ties the sleeves in a knot around her shoulders like a cape. āWeāre going to catch up to everyone else soon and weāll all be together. We have to be together so we can be safe.ā She runs into gaps between the trees, twirling and spinning with each step. āThere are monsters here, too. Theyāre going to find a way to stop us.ā
āHow do you know that, Gracie?ā I ask. Itās impossible to smother the concern in my voice, but she doesnāt miss a beat.
āThe voices told me.ā
Thatās when I make eye contact with Ansel and realise weāre both thinking the same thing: the Forest is affecting more than just Gracieās body. If sheās already speaking to voices in her head, who knows how her mind will deteriorate over the next few days.
Anselās eyes fix helplessly on me. He doesnāt have a story that can fix this situation and make it nothing more than a fairytale.
I clear my throat. Gracieās gaze shifts in my direction, but her eyes donāt quite reach mine. āWell, donāt let the voices drive you insane.ā
āOnly some of them can drive,ā she says absentmindedly. āMost of them are underage.ā
With that, we set off into the trees. I canāt help but notice that the sun doesnāt fully set.
Paper Forests follows the story of four childrenāOliver, August, Gracie and Anselāwho wake up in a mysterious, ever-changing forest. It soon becomes clear that the children are in the forest because they are all on the verge of death, caught in purgatory. They begin to explore, hoping to find their way home, but in doing so learn that there is much more to the forest than meets the eye. The forest is ruled by a tyrant queen, Lilac Bonneville, who imprisons children to do her bidding. Oliver, August, Gracie and Ansel must decide what is more important: saving themselves or saving the children in Lilacās clutches. At the same time, they must battle their own emotional and physical wounds spilling over from the real worldāone that is slowly slipping away with every second they spend in the Paper Forest.
Paper Forests is an emotional story, filled with darkness and beauty. It has a beautiful cover that draws the reader in instantlyāI will definitely pick this cover up on the shelves! The idea of the Paper Forest comes from the concept of a Paper Town:
"A fake town created by mapmakers to protect their copyright. As this forest cannot be proven to be real, it can be identified as a Paper Forest." (Page 83).
This is a wonderful concept, which provides the story a unique premise and a fantastical setting. Tegan Anderson writes whimsical, eloquent prose, bringing the dreamscape to life.
āThe soft crystals find their way into my clothes and slip down my neck and stomach, turning my skin icy. I raise a hand to shield my eyes. The wind is ferocious, and the light reflecting off the ground is blinding. All I can do is bow my head until my chin touches my chest and continue walking.ā (Page 130).
In other scenes, the terror of the characters can be felt through the writing, as they fight to fend off the abominations created by the mind of the tyrant queen. The dark, misty backdrop of the story creates great tension, adding to the overall feeling of despair that sits behind the light-hearted dialogue.
The narrative itself was enjoyable and interesting, keeping the reader wondering what will happen next. While the romance aspect of the story could have been stretched out a bit more to build up the emotional tension, the pacing for the rest of the story was well done, leading up to a chilling finale and a good setup for a sequel.
The characters are interesting and complex, each with a back story that seeps into their actions throughout the book.
Oliver, the protagonist, fights the insecurities that stem from his tragic home life and drug addiction. Little details of his life are revealed throughout the book, helping the reader piece together the life that he is fighting to return to.
August struggles with his identity, which he lost after his loved ones couldnāt accept his sexual orientation and forced their beliefs onto him. This leads to tension between him and Oliver, as August cannot fully commit to the expectations that Oliver places on him throughout their journey.
One character that could have used more development was Augustās best friend, who often appears in flash backs. This is an important character who helped shape Augustās identity before he arrived in the Forest, but little is revealed about this person (not even their name). More details would have helped the reader connect better to Augustās past.
My main critique for this book is that the themes and writing may not fully suit the YA category. While the themes are handled carefully, I believe it is better suited to readers of at least sixteen and up. It is definitely a book that can be enjoyed by adults too.
Overall, a book worth reading that deals with important themes of identity, addiction, loss, and the meaning of masculinity in a world that still forces unrealistic expectations onto young men.
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