Why do you build me up...?

The build-up has begun properly.

The time has come, where Darwin starts slowing down, and people start leaving. The end of this month will also bring about the end of the Mindil Beach Market, and the Deckchair Cinema for the year. Just in the last few days, I've already encountered a number of people who are planning their escape to less-humid climes down south, "for a few months" to escape the impending madness. My air-conditioning unit is already getting a thorough work-out, and my sleep is becoming more restless.

Of course, I'm determined to keep a positive frame of mind amongst all this. Yesterday, I braved the morning humidity for a 30-minute stroll down to the Parap Market, where I had my breakfast of fresh pawpaw drizzled with lime juice. And whilst the humidity is oppressive on my skin, my other senses remind me that it's not all bad. The taste of fresh tropical fruit, with mango season only weeks away. The smell of the thick, humid, tropical air, where everything seems more alive and wild than ever. The rumble of clouds, and the croak of frogs, relishing the moist air, awaiting the teasing promise of rain that never comes. And the lush green of everything around, thriving on the growing moisture in the air. It's a beautiful time of the year.

If only I didn't have such an adversity to humidity.

Last week, I made the foolish decision to walk into a bookstore. And there they were, sitting face-out on the Young Adult shelf - Where the streets had a name, by Randa Abdel-Fattah, and Finnikin of the Rock, by Melina Marchetta. I had promised myself that I wouldn't be buying any more books, however, I felt justified in a purchase, reasoning that it was important to support Australian writers, and that my local public library would, unfortunately, take a couple of weeks to have either title added to their collection.

And so, I now have two more books added to my bedside pile of books, with which I escape the outside humidity.

And let me tell you - both are astonishingly good. Both these titles, from two of Australia's more successful and accomplished YA writers, are a significant departure from their previous works, and yet they still have so much in common.

Where Abdel-Fattah’s previous YA novels deal with teenage Muslim women coping with the trials of being a misunderstood ethnic minority in Australia, Where the streets had a name brings it back to the homeland, focusing on a teenage girl and her displaced Palestinian family living in the West Bank under tragic circumstances. However, whilst it might be tempting for this book to go down the path of over-emotive “misery lit”, Abdel Fattah lets the setting speak for itself, which it does powerfully, and instead focuses on the hopes and dreams and reminiscences of her central characters. It also feels very balanced for what some might dismiss without reading as anti-Zionist propaganda – never keen to place blame, but rather describing the circumstances and leaving the reader to decide. Yes, it has heartbreaking moments, but this novel reminds the reader not to dwell on the injustices of the past, but live in hope for the future.

Marchetta’s Finnikin of the Rock, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly divert farther than her previous Sydneysider schoolgirl novels. It’s a fantasy epic, following 19-year old Finnikin, who is journeying through the land of Skuldenore, and documenting the whereabouts of his displaced people, of Lumatere, scattered across the land after escaping a curse that devoured his kingdom. Accompanied by the former First Man to the kingdom, Sir Topher, they are entrusted to protect Evangelin, a young woman with a mysterious past, who claims to be able to lead them to Balthazar, the rightful heir to the kingdom of Lumatere. I have to admit that I was a little sceptical when I started reading, hoping desperately that it wasn’t going to be a dud. After all, there’s only so much David Eddings, Robin Hobb and Robert Jordan that one can read until it all just becomes more of the same. But fortunately, Marchetta delivers in this fast-paced medieval epic. Sure, the plot feels a little clichéd, but that doesn’t matter, as this is a book with plenty of heart. Like Abdel-Fattah’s novel, this is also a story of dispossession, of family, and of hope. It’s a story about identity, and remembering who you are, and remaining faithful to it.

And on top of that, it’s an excellently-crafted rollicking adventure.