Gripping, suspenseful novel, based loosely on string theory, with a surreal and chaotic Neverending Story feel.

Walter Sorrells.  Erratum.  Dutton Children’s Books, 2008.  298 pages.  Age 10 to 14.

Metafiction makes me swoon.  When I found Erratum pulling a self-reference in the first chapter, I knew I was going to love it.  Well, 88% chance, anyway.  Here’s what happens:  under strange circumstances, Jessica comes into possession of a painfully-detailed book written about her life, except it keeps changing in length and content, per butterfly she either steps on or doesn’t.  (Metaphorically.  There are no actual butterflies in the book.)  None of this ever makes sense, but is it not a testament to the quality of a book when the premise is completely ridiculous and you just don’t care?

Books are machines.  Make sense of that.  They clearly aren’t made of “gears and crankshafts and duct tape and stuff” as Jessica’s friend Dale suggests machines should be; but according to Lingual Engineer Elwig P. Craven III, who was once hospitalized upon suffering a blow to the head by the word octagonal, it’s all about string theory, and its 29 dimensions, and inter-universal, um, connections? ^[1]  Jessica isn’t buying it.  “It was obvious the man was one of these grown-ups who thought it was hilarious to say dumb things to kids.”  And, really, who is this Dr. Craven but a quirky linguist?

The questions keep coming, and the answers are few.  Why is the error-laden copy of Jessica’s book, Her Lif, more valuable than its reprints?  How has everyone but she read a copy of it?  What was the continually-referenced battle of Bluntwick, and why is it significant?  Somewhere in all this, we learn that Jessica is the protector of our universe, but what does that mean?  The novel is purposefully disjointed, and many may find the resolution (if you want to call it that) unsatisfactory.  We’re talking textbook anticlimactic.

It’s a must.  If I haven’t sold it yet, I leave you with a (hopefully not copyright-infringmentally long) passage that, if you are meant to read this book, should prove irresistible:

Absurdly dangerous abandoned rock quarry!!!
DO NOT ENTER!!!!!!!
This means you, you complete moron!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Whoever wrote that, they sure like exclamation points,” the tiny person said.

Elwig Craven made no comment.  Elwig Craven had, in fact, written it himself.  And it was true, he did like exclamation points.  In fact, he liked all forms of punctuation—though the dash—because of its sinuous versitality—was—surely!!!!!—his favorite.  After a minute, they broke out of the woods, arriving at the top of a large cliff.

[ . . . ]

The tiny old person looked down at the water.  “There’s no time like the present,” he said.

“Strictly speaking,” Elwig Craven said, “that is false!!!!!!!!!!  String theory—in fact—tells us that there are an infinite number of times which are—in many respects—identical to the present.”  In his mind, Elwig Craven saw all the dashes and exclamation points in the sentences and savored each one of them.  Elwig Craven felt about punctuation the way some people feel about ice cream or chocolate or French wine.

“Oh, shut up, Wiggy,” the tiny person said.  “Just do it.”

“Right, then,” Elwig Craven said.

And with that he threw the tiny person off the cliff. (p. 61-62)

^[1] I couldn’t crack the significance of the number 29.  It’s a prime number, but other than that…  I know, I know, I should just accept it as arbitrary.