The Fire-eaters [Hardcover]

Continuing his tradition of strange and wild novels for young adults, David Almond, in The Fire Eaters, introduces a bizarre character making a sparse living as a self-mutilating, fire-swallowing street performer. McNulty's existence shakes young protagonist Bobby Burns to the core as he contemplates the end of the world (the year is 1962 and the US and Soviet Union seem to be heading toward nuclear war), power, pain, class and death, as well as friendship. The menace and sweetness in Bobby's life parallels the worlds, big and small, he inhabits. A loving family, seaside home and good friends form the foundation. But a crack in that wall is spreading: Bobby's father is ill, class differences are separating him from his best friend, and a ruthless schoolmaster is forcing Bobby to understand that everything has a price. McNulty's growled refrain--"Pay! You'll not see nowt till you pay!"--reiterates the lesson for the often bewildered, but ever stronger boy. Readers familiar with Almond's other haunting books, including the award-winning Skellig, will welcome this rich, challenging novel. As always, Almond refuses to shy away from the big topics, resulting in a novel dappled with light and dark, filled with wonder and mystery. --Emilie Coulter, Amazon.com --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

David Almond is a fine writer, one of the very finest we have. He is simply incapable of writing a bad sentence. In THE FIRE-EATERS, his sense of place is unerring. ... It is for me David Almond's best book - yes, more compelling than SKELLIG. For this is a complete book, masterful in every aspect. Almond has never been so self-assured... There is the intensity of family life, wonderfully observed and delicately drawn... fear pervades this book, fears we all know, but there is hope too. And we need that. How we need that. (Michael Morpurgo, Financial Times Magazine 20030719)

'Once in a while a book comes along that takes over your head and your heart. David Almond's The Fire-Eaters is such a book ... The writing is lyrical and atmospheric and establishes a strong sense of place. The novel engages many emotions and lets you, for a while, live with, and know, this sensitively drawn community.' (Wendy Cooling, The Bookseller 20030719)

'Almond makes familiar issues fresh; his characters are finely drawn and his depiction of place perfectly realised.' (Julia Eccleshare, The Guardian 20030719)

David Almond's The Fire-Eaters is an exceptional novel. Precisely written, it hauntingly evokes the life of a small community at the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. (Lesley Agnew, The Bookseller 20030719)

'Written in Almond's very particular style that is both spare and poetic, his powerful evocation of time and place where personal relationships reflect wider issues, will not appeal to thrill-a-minute readers but will engross the more mature 12-year-old plus.' (Dinah Hall, The Daily Telegraph 20030719)

'a tale so marvellously told that it seems a shame to to label it as only for children... Almond is exceptional in his ability to make happiness real, at the same time as suggesting its fragility.' (Justine Picardie, The Telegraph - Arts section )

SKELLIG: 'Gripping, beautifully and brilliantly written. Everyone is raving about this unforgettable book.' (The Sunday Times )

KIT'S WILDERNESS: '...this superb piece of lyrically-written literary fiction captivates children and their parents alike.' (The Guardian )

SECRET HEART: 'This gripping book will enrich your soul and fire your imagination.' (The Daily Telegraph )

HEAVEN EYES: 'David Almond understands the joy and fear of being alive better than most - Heaven Eyes is a mysterious gift of a novel.' (The Times )

KIT'S WILDERNESS: '...this superb piece of lyrically-written literary fiction captivates children and their parents alike.'

SECRET HEART: 'This gripping book will enrich your soul and fire your imagination.'

'Almond makes familiar issues fresh; his characters are finely drawn and his depiction of place perfectly realised.'

There he was, below the bridge, half-naked, eyes blazing. He had a pair of burning torches. He ran them back and forth across his skin. He sipped from a bottle, breathed across a torch, and fire and fumes leapt from his lips. The air was filled with the scent of paraffin. He breathed again, a great high spreading flag of fire. He glared. He roared like an animal.



That summer, life had seemed perfect for Bobby Burns. But now it's autumn and the winds of change are blowing hard. Bobby's dad is mysteriously ill. His new school is a cold and cruel place. And worse: nuclear war may be about to start.



But Bobby has a wonder-working friend called Ailsa Spink. And he's found the fire-eater, a devil called McNulty. What can they do together on Bobby's beach? Is it possible to work miracles? Will they be able to transform the world? (20030705)

A challenging and exciting new novel from one of the best literary writers today – whose books have sold over half a million copies to date.

David Almond is twice winner of the Whitbread Children's Book Award. His first novel, SKELLIG, won the Whitbread Children's Award and the Carnegie Medal. His second, KIT'S WILDERNESS, won the Smarties Award Silver Medal, was Highly Commended for the Carnegie Medal, and shortlisted for the Guardian Award. THE FIRE-EATERS won the Whitbread, the Smarties Gold Award and was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal. David is widely regarded as one of the most exciting and innovative children's authors writing today, and his books are bestsellers all over the world. He lives with his family in Northumberland. (20030516)

The sun was low over the moors to the west. It cast shadows into the hollow where McNulty’s shack was. His fire smouldered outside. We watched and waited, but saw nothing. We walked down. The only window was broken and an ancient tattered curtain hung inside. The timbers were bleached as dry and pale as bone. The twisted door dangled from a single hinge. SWEET HOME was carved into it, and the remnants of some old bird and flower pattern. Sand was heaped up on the threshold. Deep footprints led inside.
We hesitated, a few yards away. The sun sank and the shadow fell across us.
‘Mr McNulty!’ I softly called.
‘We’ve brought some food, Mr McNulty!’ said Ailsa.
Nothing stirred down here. High above, a flight of gannets headed north. A fox barked somewhere. The sea turned and groaned.
‘We could just leave it in the doorway,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Ailsa, and we moved forward again.
Then the curtain moved, his face appeared, and we stood dead still. He stared. The lighthouse light swept past and lit the air above our heads.
‘Come nearer, bonnies,’ said McNulty through the broken glass.
We didn’t move.
‘We brought you food and light,’ I said.
He stared. I wanted to drop our gifts, to grab Ailsa’s hand, to run back home again. He raised his hand.
‘This is the one I know,’ he said. He beckoned me. ‘Come closer, bonny lad.’ His face softened. ‘There was an angel at your side.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I helped you. I held the casket, I collected money. It was in Newcastle, at the quay.’
Ailsa held the package out.
‘You must be so hungry,’ she said.
He closed his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is a time of great hunger, famine, waste and want.’ He tilted his head. ‘There it is. You hear it? You hear the wailing and weeping that’s all around?’
‘Yes,’ said Ailsa. ‘Mr McNulty, will you eat the food we’ve brought?’
‘Come inside, my bonnies. Come in through the door.’
At first we didn’t dare to move, then we caught each other’s eye. We nodded. I lifted a stone as we crossed the threshold, waded through the deep soft sand there. There was a tiny dark hallway, then another door into the room where he waited for us. As we entered it I looked through the window and saw the final sliver of the sun go down.
Inside, everything was vague and lumpy: a mattress, a broken table, a ruined armchair. The floor was inches deep in sand. McNulty stood in the far corner.
‘Be at home,’ he whispered. ‘McNulty will not scare you.’
I lit the candles and stood them in the sand. Ailsa opened the package.
‘They’re jam tarts,’ she said. ‘And there’s tea. Drink it while there’s still some heat in it.’
At first he wouldn’t touch anything, then he crouched beside us and crammed the tarts into his mouth. He sighed at their sweetness. He gulped the tea. His face glowed in the candlelight.
‘Such lovely bonny bairns,’ he said. He licked his lips. ‘I been eating seaweed. I been catching crabs and roasting them. I been glugging water from rain butts. But jam’s the thing. Jam and tea.’
I saw there was another window in the back wall of the room, but the dune had grown over it. Behind the glass were sand and soil and roots. There were seashells and stones and bones. He saw me looking.
‘It’s deep as the grave in here, bonny,’ he said. ‘We’re down where the dead live. You want to see the needles and the skewer stuck in?’
He leapt for his casket, that lay in a corner on the sand.
‘No,’ I said. ‘We need to go, Mr McNulty.’
I knew that people – Losh and Yak, my dad if he was able – would come searching for us now that McNulty lived beside us in the dunes.
He grabbed my wrist with bony fingers.
‘You want to see the chains?’
I shook my head. I clenched my stone.
‘Ailsa,’ I said.
He held me tighter.
‘The world’s afire!’ he gasped.
We turned our faces to the shattered window. The sky above seemed filled with fire: great streaks of red and orange like flame and streaming larva.
‘It’s just the sunset,’ I said.
‘Then what’s all that weeping and that wailing, bonny?’
‘It’s just the sea, Mr McNulty.’
Ailsa touched him.
‘Yes,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s just the sea.’
‘We’ll come back,’ I told him. ‘Take care. Be careful of who comes looking for you.’
‘Just the sea?’ he said. He listened. ‘No, more than that.’ He held us for a moment. ‘Hurry home, children. Hurry to your beds and to your sleep. Oh, but then there’s nightmares. What’s to be done? Hurry home to your mummies and daddies and hold them close.’
He let me go. We backed away. He came with us to the door. His face burned, a wild reflection of the sky. We hurried away into the deepening dusk.
‘Get your shelters dug!’ he yelled, as if to the whole world. ‘Dig down to where the dead live! Cover yourself with the earth. The world’s afire! The sky’s ablaze! There’s no more night!’
We ran. His voice echoed after us. He howled like an animal in pain. We ran through the pines. We kept stumbling, and crashing into tree trunks. At last we reached the beach. We laughed together at the fear and excitement we felt. The lighthouse light swung beneath the fiery sky.
‘Tomorrow,’ we whispered. ‘We’ll take him more.’