The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune
This is the story I wish I had written. Like its characters, The House in the Cerulean Sea is more than the sum of its parts. It’s magical, but, like its characters, magical in a good way, in a way that advocates inclusion, universal care and concern, truth, justice, and the recognition that all individuals deserve “hope and guidance and a place to call their own, a home where they can be who they are without fear of repercussion.”
There is not a wrong note in this glorious, wholesome novel that showcases the connectivity and singularity of humanity. We meet Linus Baker, a forty-year-old career caseworker in the Department in Charge of Magical Youth (DICOMY), who lives by the RULES AND REGULATIONS, shuns curiosity (“It does me no good…I deal in facts. Curiosities lead to flights of fancy, and I can’t afford to be distracted,”) and believes that his job should focus on making sure the DICOMY-managed orphanages are kept in tip-top shape, and nothing more. He has closed orphanages, but he certainly doesn’t think it’s his job to worry about what became of the children in them: that’s a job for Supervision!
One day, Extremely Upper Management summons him and sends him on a special assignment – investigating an orphanage on a remote island (Marsyas), where DICOMY sends their most “extreme” cases. (For example, the Antichrist.) It will be Linus’s job, over the course of the month he will spend on the island, to report back everything he can learn not only about the children but also about the headmaster of the orphanage, Arthur Parnassus.
Before this assignment, Arthur lived in a bubble in which he followed a routine that never varied. This new assignment throws his life into a tailspin, because he is forced to “leave his comforting (if soul-destroying) routine and venture into the unknown, with children who are deemed dangerous, in a location far away from anywhere he’s ever been.” When the train drops him off at the station nearest the island, the caretaker of Marsyas, Ms. Chapelwhite, arrives to drive him to the village to catch the ferry. It is while driving through the village that Linus gets his first taste of what the orphans experience.
Linus had been on the receiving end of many looks of disapproval in his life, but never ones filled with so much hostility. People in board shorts and bikinis and rubber flip-flops turned to glare at them openly as they drove through. He tried waving at a few of them, but it didn’t do any good. He even saw a man inside what looked to be a seafood shanty reach up and lock the door as they drove by. [p. 65]
When he asks Ms. Chapelwhite why people are behaving as they are, she responds:
“I don’t pretend to know the minds of men … They fear what they don’t understand. And that fear turns to hate for reasons I’m sure they can’t begin to understand. And since they don’t understand the children, since they fear them, they hate them. This can’t be the first time you’ve heard of this. It happens everywhere.” [p. 65]
Linus arrives at the orphanage and one by one, meets the mysterious, charming, witty, and smart children that call it their home. The first to greet him is Talia, a slightly grumpy, bearded gnome:
“Are you Mr. Baker? If you are, we’ve been expecting you. If not, you’re trespassing, and you should leave before I bury you here in my garden. No one would ever know because the roots would eat your entrails and bones.” She frowned again. “I think. I’ve never buried anyone before. It would be a learning experience for the both of us.” [p. 75]
Living at the orphanage challenges Linus’ preconceived notions about who the “orphans” are and what they are capable of. He begins to observe the children: their optimism and resilience to the micro- and macroaggressions from individuals on the mainland. He observes Arthur giving the children autonomy, responsibility, adventures, and time and space to grow. Slowly and sometimes uncertainly, he begins to step out of his bubble of routine, ignorance, and fear. How can he not, after experiencing Phee’s flower growing moment?
Phee’s wings began to flutter rapidly, light refracting off them in little rainbows. She pushed her hands into the soil until they were covered completely. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose onto the ground. Her brow furrowed. She sighed as she pulled her hands from the ground.
Linus was speechless when a green stalk grew from the earth. Leaves unfurled, long and thin. The stalk swayed back and forth underneath Phee’s palms, her fingers twitching. He was stunned when a yellow flower bloomed, the petals bright. It grew a few more inches before Phee lowered her hands.
“It’s not a sunflower,” she said quietly. “I don’t think they’d survive here for long, even with the best of intentions. It’s called a bush daisy.”
Linus struggled to find his voice. “Did you … was that … did you just grow that?”
She shuffled her bare feet. “It isn’t much, I know. Talia is better with flowers. I prefer trees. They live longer.”
“Isn’t much?” Linus said incredulously. “Phee, it’s wonderful.”
She looked startled as she glanced between Linus and Zoe. “It is?”
He rushed forward, crouching down near the flower. His hand was shaking when he reached out to touch it gently, half convinced it wasn’t real, just a trick of the eye. He gasped quietly when he rubbed the silky smooth petal between his fingers. It was such a little thing, yet it was there when only moments before there had been nothing at all. [p. 196]
