The "Crosses" of Malorie Blackman's fictional world are a privileged ruling elite. They hold all positions of political power, control the media, have access to the best education and transmit to their young a view of history which focuses exclusively on their own attainments: from earliest times they have been the dominant race on Earth. By contrast, the "Noughts", while no longer in a state of total enslavement, are in apparently permanent subjection. Theirs are the menial jobs, the impoverished housing, the regular exposure to all sorts of degrading discrimination. But, more significant than any of this, these "Noughts" are white, these "Crosses`' are black.
By turning on their heads the more usual motifs of white supremacy and black servitude, Blackman creates a fable which is always challenging and frequently disturbing, not least in its telling corroboration of the view that societal change of attitude to matters of colour and race is a slow and usually blood-stained business. As the book ends, Callum, its young white narrator awaiting his execution, speculates with Jack, his black gaoler, as to whether his story would have been different if Nought and Cross positions had been reversed. "People are people. We'll always find a way to mess up, doesn't matter who's in charge," is Jack's verdict. It is a conclusion which the bleakness of the preceding narrative would seem to justify - but not entirely. As in much writing for a young adult readership, it is left to the young themselves to strive for some betterment in the state of affairs which they have inherited and to which they are reluctant subscribers.
Predictably, perhaps, what ensues a variation (complete with its own balcony scene) of the Romeo and Juliet story: the individual destinies of Callum and Sephy, a black girl whose father is a prominent member of the Crosses' parliament, are traced against a background of familial dissension and national violence. Callum and Sephy have played innocently in their childhood,
Callum's mother was Sephy's nanny and when the two families were on amicable terms. But with the arrival of their children's adolescence, this parental friendship has waned. The young people can now meet only in their "secret place" on Sephy's private beach or, more publicly, at Sephy's school, which Callum, as a token Nought, has been allowed to attend. These locations provide Blackman with some of her most successful scenes; the bristling intimations of adolescent sexuality brilliantly counterpoint the tension-filled atmosphere of the classrooms. United initially in their inability to understand why there have to be such obstacles in the way of their happiness and fulfilment, Callum and Sephy eventually find themselves tragically ensnared in wider political developments which enforce a completely new relationship. There are tears to be shed here - and not just Sephy's - "for all the things we might've had and all the things we're never going to have". But, as the touching final page of this ambitious and impressive novel suggests, even out of such despair something more hopeful may indeed be born.
Robert Dunbar lectures in English at the Church of Ireland College of Education, Dublin
Malorie Blackman will be taking part in the Children's Literature Summer School at the Dublin Writer's Museum next month. Entitled `Once Upon a Summertime', the event is organised by Children's Books Ireland and runs from May 18th20th. Kevin Crossley Holland, Margaret Mahy, Daithi O hOgain and Siobhan Parkinson are among those taking part. Essentially for adults, children can, however, hear some of the writers taking part at a special event on the 18th. Details from O18725854.