Wild Boy by Rob Lloyd Jones (review)

Unnamed and abandoned in a Victorian workhouse, a hair-covered little boy reaches the age of eight with nothing but a history of abuse from the other orphan boys and uncanny observational skills, honed by watching life pass outside the workhouse windows. Showman Augustus Finch, to all appearances even more menacing than the workhouse staff and residents, offers to take the boy off the charity rolls and put him to work as a freak in a seedy circus, a move the newly dubbed “Wild Boy” welcomes as a change in scene and opportunity. However, apart from a friendship with his legless fellow performer, Sir Oswald, Wild Boy is not one jot better off. In fact, while hiding from an imminent storm of abuse from Finch, Wild Boy is framed for a pair of murders that are somehow connected to the circus and a mysterious stolen “machine,” and his only sources of support are Clarissa, a tart-tongued acrobat with whom Wild Boy shares a mutual loathing, and Sir Oswald. It isn’t giving much away to reveal that Sir Oswald isn’t all he appears to be, since most readers will work this out handily on their own. This is all about the chase—the relentless dashing and dodging through London sewers and secret passages and creepy mad-scientist-style labs, with Wild Boy hobbled by his perpetual anger and his need to hide his freakish condition. The plot is largely implausible: it seems pretty obvious (if, admittedly, somewhat insensitive) to suggest that many of Wild Boy’s short-term problems could have been solved by shaving soap and a decent razor, allowing him to hide in a London is on the lookout for a hirsute human anomaly. The book therefore slides past any serious consideration of human oddities and exploitation, but those who simply want atmospheric action and loads of it can queue up for a peek at this title and wait for the forthcoming sequel.