Review of A Different Kingdom by Paul Kearney

Paul Kearney is one of the most criminally unknown fantasy writers out there. His early output focused on characters for whom a secondary world held up a twisted mirror to their real world. The works a critical not popular success, his publisher suggested he branch out into serial epic fantasy (which he did, again, to critical success but poor sales). Part of that early wave, A Different Kingdom (1993) is Kearney's second novel, and a gritty, good one.

A Different Kingdom is the story of Michael, a ten-year old boy growing up on an Irish farm in the early 20th century. Raised by elderly grandparents, Michael finds himself especially close to his aunt, a teen closer in age named Rose. The pair work the farm, and in their free time cavort in the nearby woods and streams, sometimes in transgressive fashion. The streams and forests likewise hold a certain unease for Michael. He sees strange animals and shadows moving where they shouldn't, and occasionally has bizarre encounters with a forest girl. Things come to a head when Rose is forced from the farm by Michael's grandparents, leaving him to fend for himself from the wilds of the woods.

A Different Kingdom is an unsentimental, visceral fantasy novel. Where the genre is often known for being airy and aristocratic, Kearney's novel is down in the dirt. It has far more in common with books like Robert Holdstock's Mythago Wood or Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter than Tolkien, Gavriel Kay, Dunsany, or any others who write in classic, romanticized fashion. Michael's coming-of-age transpires in a hard reality—a reality that appears both in our world as well as a more pagan realm. Things get dark.

Kearney's prose is appropriately edgy. He portrays both Michael's world and the one in the forest with terse, declarative sentences that drive the realism—regardless primary or secondary world. He likewise includes hints of Irish history and religion, hints that remain hints, adding flavor to Michael's maturation without agenda. If there are any challenges to the prose, one would be its occasional inconsistencies. There are times the reader feels Kearney could have been a little tighter, a little less loose in descriptions and transitions. But overall, its impact is felt.

Another element to laud A Different Kingdom for is the manner in which it eschews an A-B-C plot. Kearney chops the story up, moving backward and forward at effective waypoints. While some readers may say this blunts the edge of surprise regarding the secondary world, I find it eases the reader in, making it relevant to Michael's real world—the true focus of the novel. It also imbues a touch of mystery upon the story (How does Michael get from here to there?), not to mention offers prosaic counter-point to the real-world scenes at hand.

Despite being published thirty years ago, A Different Kingdom is a novel that holds up well. Where much of the fiction on the market today fades quickly for the zeitgeist it clings to, Kearney roots his story in elements fundamentally, atavistically human—something that never gets old. The fantasy elements supplemental more than fundamental, Michael's coming-of-age has a pagan mirror held up to it that makes for engaging reading precisely for having personal meaning. Thus, for those worried about a happy, rainbows-and-butterflies ending, Kearney again takes the high road, or perhaps better put, the third road between comedy and tragedy. Yes, the book's prose could have been tighter at times, but overall Kearney delivers a good novel, a novel that modern readers could still potentially be interested in giving a try.