The bravest little girl in Blight Harbor returns
Lora Senf's The Nighthouse Keeper
Hi, friends,
We thought spring had sprung, but as usual, March had other plans—it’s been snowing since late last night, so I stomped outside early to top off the birdfeeders, and our yard has been absolutely packed with feathery nerds all morning. Goldfinches, grackles, blue jays, starlings, bluebirds, nuthatches, titmice, red-winged blackbirds, at least three types of woodpeckers, juncos, and wild turkeys. It’s a madhouse out there.
I had no idea where to start, but starting was the only thing I could do.
—The Nighthouse Keeper, by Lora Senf
The Nighthouse Keeper is Lora Senf’s followup to The Clackity. Like the original, it’s scary and dark and cinematic and exciting. Also like the original, it’s emotionally honest—for me, those are sometimes the scariest parts? Despite all the darkness and the terror, there’s a thread of hope throughout—and that’s the ingredient that makes this series even more than a ripsnorter of an adventure.
It’s a sometimes-terrifying ripsnorter of an adventure with emotional truth at its core. One that will stick with readers—or, at any rate, with this reader—for a long time.
A few weeks after the events of The Clackity, the house ghosts of Blight Harbor—the seventh-most haunted town in America—start to disappear. At first, the living residents assume that they’ve moved on, which is a normal and natural thing for ghosts to eventually do. But before long, with more and more ghosts disappearing without a goodbye, the living folks start to suspect that something more nefarious is afoot.
Despite promising her Aunt Des that she won’t go through any strange doorways on her own, it isn’t long before Evie Von Rathe is back on the other side—the dangerous, strange world that she thinks of as the Dark Sun Side. The world of the Clackity.
While she doesn’t have the help of any of the adults in her life, she does have her trusty backpack—which, after the events of the first book, is now always stocked with salt and holy water and granola bars and a sweatshirt and various other items that might come in handy on an adventure in a magical realm. More importantly, she has the help of Bird, the sentient tattoo who acts as companion, moral support, cheerleader, conscience, alarm, and sometimes, protector. And shortly after arriving on the Dark Sun Side, she meets Lark—who, as a ghost, is either 11 years old or 111 years old, depending on your perspective.
Together, they head down the path towards the Nighthouse, a lighthouse-like structure where the missing ghosts are being held by a bad, bad lady.
As in The Clackity, almost every time we see Evie face down a new challenge, we see her experience terror, then pause, mentally regroup—actively doing the work of re-centering herself to avoid a panic attack—and then we see her continue to move forward despite her fear. She is so small, and she is so brave. So much so that it’s almost heartbreaking—her bravery is driven in part by desperation, but it’s also driven by hope. Making that choice to move forward, again and again and again, shows that at least a part of her feels—knows—that what she’s doing is worth doing, and that even though the odds are low, she still has a chance of success.
Very important sidenote: Her determination in choosing to move forward despite her fear, despite all the threats she faces, is more heroic than—as much as I have grown to love him!—Ethan Hunt in the Mission Impossible movies. In a contest between the two set on the Dark Sun Side, I’d put all my money on Evie and Bird, every time.
Because it isn’t just the determination, or the choice to keep forging ahead despite the fear. In addition to trees with razor-sharp leaves, with a tunnel built from not-totally dead skeletons, with an endless train full of ghouls, our Evie has to contend with guilt, loss, and grief. She has to contend with the enormity of what Lark has been through in the hundred years she’s been on the Dark Sun Side.
Her empathy makes her path harder to walk, but it makes her a stronger, more formidable person.
It’s a affirming reminder for those of us who are maybe more marshmallowy than we’d like to admit.
This isn’t a retread of The Clackity. Similar structure, sure. But an absolutely different emotional arc. In The Nighthouse Keeper, we see Evie make a friend, and accept the responsibility that friendship entails—it’s Evie’s quest, and in some ways, it would be easier to walk the path alone, but she chooses to travel with Lark. She chooses to trust Lark. She chooses to risk herself to protect Lark. And Lark does the same for her.
All of that is wonderful. All of it made me weepy multiple times, and fully had me crying this morning when I was telling Josh about it.
(Speaking of sobbing: I love all of Alfredo Cáceres’ illustrations in both books—they’re tonally a perfect match—but there is one in particular that absolutely felt like a punch right to my heart. I was weepy when I hit it, but it set off a full waterworks episode. But, you know: In a good way.)
What REALLY wrecked me—what made this such a standout on top of being a straight-up banger of a scary adventure—was that Evie makes the choice to emotionally contend with the repercussions of her actions. There are beings on the Dark Sun Side who try to hurt—to kill—her, and in fighting back, she destroys them. But she doesn’t take that destruction lightly:
It was true that I’d done the only thing I could to save myself and my friends. But that didn’t mean I felt good about it.
I thought it might have been one of those things that changes you a little bit forever.
A few pages later:
I knew it added to my heart and shoulders a weight that would never entirely go away. If these feelings were what people collected and carried with them over a life time, I wasn’t sure growing up and growing old were all that wonderful.
That is, pardon me, some heavy-ass shit for a twelve-year-old to process. Which I love—it shows such respect for the audience, such confidence in their intellectual and emotional abilities in grappling with such tough, thorny ideas and feelings.
Towards the end of the book, Evie makes a discovery that doesn’t just reframe her current adventure—it reframes her entire existence. If I was physically capable of holding my breath until The Loneliest Place comes out in September, I would.
More lighthouses
I hope you’re all doing well—next time I write, in addition to talking books, I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on craft-wise.
Talk soon,
Leila
Those look fanstastic. And, nice to see you back!