The Magic Library of Waterfall Way – by Julie Abe
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2026
Imagine that you’re a child whose fate will be determined by your membership in one of the following categories: Extraordinarily Remarkable, Quite Remarkable, Slightly Remarkable, or Unremarkable. Of course, those harsh judgments often seem to be part of any childhood. In Julie Abe’s middle-grade novel, Lyra Hunt is an orphan on a quest. In order to avoid the dreaded fate of her status, she will need to find a guild that will accept her. As in many of the classical works of children’s literature that seem to have inspired the author, Lyra’s sensitive and bookish nature is paired with courage. With the help of mentors and friends, she will determine her fate.
Guild matchers are responsible for placing everyone in the Alterran Empire in their appropriate niche. With each child’s status unalterably decided by the age of one year, at a Prophecy Reveal event, there seems to be no escape from this rigid practice. Not surprisingly, high-status people seem to perpetuate their own privilege, as the Slightly Remarkable but utterly inept boy who is accepted into the Guild of Warriors when his parents make a donation. Lyra has no such option available. Her parents had been members of the now defunct Guild of Paperweights; even the lowly Guild of Pinecone Collectors rejects her.
This dismal scenario is rendered even more difficult by the constant propaganda emanating from the Guild of the Crown News, an official organ of the regime. Some chapter titles are derived from its lies, while others are countered by the truth. “Books must be protected at all costs. And I must protect those who will read them, too,” is The Chronicles of Lyra Hunt. Books matter, and so does having the courage to speak out and defy authority.
Sensory descriptions of the idyllic magical village where Lyra finds refuge enhance the narrative. (“From the bakery across the street, a whiff of freshly baked baguettes washed over us.”). Judicial use of magical elements also lends a cinematic touch, with inanimate objects assuming lifelike powers: “’The faucet’s upset. My apologies.’ When it noticed me, the water began to stream ominously.” Brief, but powerful, statements reinforce the source of Lyra’s strength, as when the generous and wise Gemini, Master of the Guild of Scholars, explains that books have been a key to her survival, especially in a world where “most prefer the, well, simplicity of the Guild of the Crown’s newspaper and books.”
By the end of the novel, Lyra and those who support her quest have subverted categories and gone some distance towards replacing acceptance with skepticism, both about official lies, and the sense of helplessness those lies are meant to engender.
Imaginary Elevators 