Thornhill

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

As she unpacks her new bedroom, Ella is irresistibly drawn to the big old house that she can see out of her window. Surrounded by overgrown gardens, barbed wire fences and 'keep out' signs, it looks derelict.

But that night, a light goes on in one of the windows. And the next day she sees a girl in the grounds.

Ella is hooked. The house has a story to tell. She is sure of it.

Enter Thornhill, Institute for Children, and discover the dark secrets that lie within. But once inside, will you ever leave?

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Publishers Weekly Review

Near the start of British illustrator Smy's harrowing debut novel, Ella Clarke and her father move to a house that overlooks a dilapidated former orphanage, the Thornhill Institute. Ella's father is never home, so when the lonely teen spies a girl wandering Thornhill's grounds, she decides to crawl through the gate and introduce herself. Thirty-five years earlier, in 1982, 13-year-old Thornhill resident Mary Baines is being tormented day and night by a fellow orphan. When the facility begins "rehoming" children and laying off staff as part of a planned closure, her bully's persecution intensifies, and an increasingly miserable Mary contemplates revenge. Her actions will have ramifications for decades to come. The girls' stories intertwine as they unfold in tandem; heartbreaking entries from Mary's diary alternate with eerie b&w illustrated sequences, which silently follow Ella's exploration of Thornhill and her interactions with Mary's ghost (newspaper clippings and other bits of text provide context for these otherwise wordless sections). Smy uses this hybrid format to weave a chilling tale that highlights the importance of kindness and child advocacy while emphasizing the lasting damage wrought by abuse and neglect. Ages 10-14. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

School Library Journal Review

Gr 5-9-This illustrated debut novel brings the dead back to life. Mary's story, told through diary entries, takes place in 1982 over a seven-month period at the Thornhill Institute for Children, an orphanage on the cusp of closing its doors forever. Mary has selective mutism and has turned to the art of doll-making. Her odd hobby and quiet persona make her a target for bullying. After many of the other orphan girls have been "re-homed," Mary is left alone with her main tormentor and decides she has had enough and will get revenge, no matter what the cost. Flash forward 35 years to Ella, who has moved to a home near the now abandoned Thornhill Institute and whose experiences are depicted through eerie, detailed drawings. After seeing a girl in the neglected lot and hoping to make a friend, Ella sneaks in and discovers that there is much more there than meets the eye. In Mary's old room, Ella reads the poor orphan girl's diary. Ella writes a letter to Mary asking if they can become friends. The striking juxtaposition of Mary's prose and the illustrations portraying Ella's life will draw readers into this intriguing ghost story with an ending that chills to the bone. VERDICT The combination of diary entries and artwork makes this an excellent selection for middle schoolers and reluctant readers.-Stephanie Wilkes, Good Hope Middle School, West Monroe, LA © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Booklist Review

Dual stories set decades apart unfold together in this hybrid novel told in diary entries and eerie grayscale illustrations. More than 30 years ago, Mary Baines kept a diary about her life at Thornhill, an orphanage, and the cruel torment she experienced at the hands of another girl there. Meanwhile, in the present, Smy's cinematic artwork shows lonesome Ella curious about the dilapidated former orphanage outside her window and the newspaper clippings she finds about a girl who went missing there, named Mary Baines. As Mary becomes more and more tormented for her love of books and the strange puppets she makes in her room, Ella sneaks onto Thornhill's grounds and finds remnants of Mary's dolls, which she takes home and lovingly repairs before returning them. The interplay between Mary's diary entries and the images of Ella's investigation builds depth in both girls' narratives, though Ella's can be a bit harder to decipher. Still, the enigmatic narrative, believable horrors, and haunting conclusion will be riveting for fans of ghost stories.--Hunter, Sarah Copyright 2017 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

Decades after the tragedy at and closure of gothic Thornhill Institute, a new girl in town is drawn into its story.The past storyline is told through white, orphaned Mary's diary entries (dated in the early 1980s); white preteen Ella's modern, voiceless story unfolds, Wonderstruck-like, in intercut, illustrated, wordless sequences (frames of which occasionally have text, such as newspaper clippings). Selectively mute Mary is a puppet-making, literature-loving outcast at Thornhill, her situation complicated by the return of her chief tormenter and the ringleader of the other girls, back from a failed foster placement. These are Thornhill's last days, the girls being sent to new placements so the property can be developed. Stoic Mary thinks she just wants to be left alone, until a taste of irresistible friendship turns to cruelty. In the present, lonely Ella is intrigued by Thornhill, especially the girl she sometimes sees beyond the locked walls. She sneaks onto the grounds, finds puppets, and repairs them before returning them, striking up an odd, at-a-distance friendship with the mysterious girlwho, she realizes, is likely the dead girl from the orphanage's past. The puppets and doll figures take a familiar creepy motif and make it a source of joy and comfort. The striking monochromatic art is atmospheric and emotional in an understated way that gives it more power rather than less. It's capped by an ambiguous climax and chilling denouement. Beautiful, moody, sad, and spookyall at once. (Horror/graphic hybrid. 10-adult) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.