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  • Taylor Five
  • Written by Ann Halam
  • Format: eBook | ISBN: 9780375890468
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Taylor Five

Written by Ann HalamAuthor Alerts:  Random House will alert you to new works by Ann Halam


List Price: $9.99


On Sale: March 09, 2004
Pages: 192 | ISBN: 978-0-375-89046-8
Published by : Wendy Lamb Books RH Childrens Books
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A gripping, deeply moving adventure raises startling questions about what it means to be human.

Taylor Walker seems like any ordinary 14-year-old. Ordinary—if you overlook the fact that she lives on the island of Borneo, on a primate reserve run by her parents, and knows how to survive in the jungle. Obviously, Tay isn’t just like everyone else. But she is like one other person. She’s exactly like one other person. Tay is a clone, one of only five in the world, and her clone mother is Pam Taylor, a brilliant scientist.

When rebels attack the reserve, Tay escapes with her younger brother and Uncle, an exceptionally intelligent orangutan. As they flee through the jungle, Tay must look within to find her strength: Pam’s DNA, tempered by Taylor’s extraordinary life. And she looks to Uncle for guidance—for Tay knows that the uncanny bond between Uncle and herself is the key to their survival.

From the Hardcover edition.



Mum and Dad couldn't come to the airport to meet Donny, but that was okay: he would understand. Lucia Fernandez the graduate student came with Tay instead. They were in luck on Airport Road and got through the police checkpoints with no delay, which meant they had ages to wait before the plane from Singapore arrived. Lucia found someone to talk to. Tay walked around, looking at the familiar souvenir shops, sniffing the spicy-food scents from the cafeteria bar--a thin girl with golden-brown hair, wearing a blue cotton dress, a Yankees baseball cap and desert boots. She felt nervous. This was the first time she'd been in a public place since the story broke. No one was supposed to know who she was, but she almost expected a horde of journalists to leap out, waving cameras and microphones. Thankfully, no one paid any attention. Here in the sleepy quiet of a tiny tropical airport, no one knew or cared that Taylor Walker was one of the five teenagers whose existence had just been announced, who were the most astonishing people on the planet.

Donny and Tay had lived in Kandah State, a small independent country on the north coast of the giant island of Borneo, since Donny was five and Tay was seven. Their parents were the wardens of an orangutan refuge, out in the wilds of one of the last great rain forests. Ben and Mary Walker both worked for an international company called Lifeforce, which financed the refuge. To some people it would have seemed a hard and lonely life for the two English children, but they loved it. The forest was such a fantastic place to live. It had been a cruel blow when their parents had decided Donny had to go to school in Singapore, but it was fine now. They just looked forward through each term to having a brilliant time together in the holidays.

Would things be different this summer?

Tay visited the cheap stalls, with the stacks of ugly imitation Dyak carvings that never seemed to get sold; and the instant tailoring shop, where the Chinese tailor women whizzed the cloth through their sewing machines at incredible speed. Donny won't be different, she kept telling herself. He won't care. But she had butterflies in her stomach.

There was a sarong that she would really have liked to buy for Mum, in Mrs. Su's Genuine Dyak Crafts Centre. It was heavy and handwoven, with swirls and thorny curves in gold thread, on shades of dark red silk. Tay's mum hardly ever got a chance to wear anything but jungle kit, but she loved beautiful clothes. Mrs. Su, the Chinese lady who owned the shop, came over as Tay stroked the shimmering folds, with a smile that showed all the gold in her teeth. She took the sarong and deftly unfolded it.

"Ve'y nice? Eh?"

"It's lovely," sighed Tay.

"You old customer, young lady. I make you a special price. Not New York price, not airport price. Nah real price."

Tay knew that even the "real price" of the best handwoven gold-thread work was way beyond her means. "I can't afford it, Mrs. Su. I've only got six hundred dollars left in my bank account, and I owe most of it to my dad."

Six hundred Kandah dollars meant about fifty English pounds. "Ha," said Mrs. Su, and shook her head. "Okay, you tell your daddy, huh? Mrs. Su got the best silk work, special price. You here to meet your brother, home from school, eh?"

Tay grinned. "Yes." Most of the foreigners who lived in Kandah were oilies, oil rig people, or chippies, which meant they worked for the logging companies; and they didn't stay long. The Walkers had been at the refuge for seven years. Mrs. Su knew Donny and Tay well. Whenever they came to the airport they came into her shop, to talk to her: and she gave them strange, hard Chinese candies.

The old lady folded up the sarong. "Why you never go to school, Tay, you so grown up now? Don't want an education?"

"I'm getting an education," said Tay. "I work at home, that's all."

"Huh. A smart girl like you: ought to be in school. Got to learn to compete, make your way, be tough. Some things you can't learn from books."

That will never be me, thought Tay. I will never be like other girls, going to school, hanging out, being normal. I'll always be different, always hoping people don't find out the truth--

"What wrong?" said the old lady, peering at Tay. Mrs. Su didn't miss much. "You don't take offense at old Mrs. Su? You got a pain?"

"No, Mrs. Su," said Tay. "I'm just worried about something."

Mrs. Su sighed and nodded as she put the sarong back on the display shelf.

"Ah, understand. Your mother and father worried, everyone worried, even children now. Hard times for me too. No one buying. Hard times for everyone."

Tay went out of the shop, but not before Mrs. Su had insisted she take a handful of brightly wrapped sweets from the jar by the cash register. The afternoon plane from Singapore had arrived, and the passengers were streaming into the arrivals hall. For a moment Tay felt a weird jolt of fear. Something had gone wrong, because she couldn't see Donny. . . . But no, she was being stupid. There he was, talking to some people he must have met on the plane. He saw her, and his whole face lit up.

"Hey! There's my sister!"

He came bouncing out of the crowd and leapt up to her, grinning from ear to ear, a twelve-year-old boy with blue eyes and black hair and the personality of a crazy puppy. They hugged and backed off so that they could look at each other.

"I'm taller than you!" he crowed. "I knew I'd be taller than you, these holidays."

"Nearly," said Tay, measuring, and finding her nose still about half a centimeter higher. "Nearly as tall, and twice as daft." They gripped hands, did the special Tay and Donny twist of their locked fists, broke the grip and knocked knuckles. It was a ritual they had invented years ago, which always had to be used at important moments.

From the Hardcover edition.
Ann Halam

About Ann Halam

Ann Halam - Taylor Five

Photo © Trisha Purchas, Archer Photographers

“I love reading unexpected books, strange books, old books. Can I have a (waterproof) sea chest wash up, with a random selection of strange, old titles, fiction and nonfiction? . . . For this, I would trade my favorites.”–Ann Halam

In addition to writing children's books, Ann Halam writes adult science fiction and fantasy books under the name Gwyneth Jones.



Q. Here’s an old question that is particularly appropriate and a good way to get to know you. If you were stranded on a desert island, whom would you want to be stranded with?
My husband, and our cat. I’d say my son, too, but I think that would be tough on him. He’s fifteen . . . suppose we were there for years? I think he’d better have stayed at home, with his cat, and they can seek their fortunes together.

Q. Which books would you want to have?
Remembrance of Things Past, Marcel Proust; The Tale of Genji, Murasaki Shikibu (Edward G. Seidensticker translation); Gravity’s Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon. These are my three bedside books. They’re all pretty long, especially Proust. I read them in turn and then start the cycle again. I’ve been doing this for many years. There’s so much in each of these great novels, I’ll never tire of them. Oh, and all the Moomin books [by Tove Jansson], which I love. Another idea . . . I love reading unexpected books, strange books, old books. Can I have a (waterproof) sea chest wash up, with a random selection of strange, old titles, fiction and nonfiction? In English or French. Or maybe some other language, only with a dictionary and a grammar for each language included in the collection, please. . . . For this, I would trade my favorites.

Q. What kinds of food would you crave?
Parmesan cheese. Ice cream (not mixed together). And bread. Maybe I’d miss bread most keenly, because it is my staple food. Bread and cheese is my favorite everyday meal–with salad maybe, but I expect there’ll be some kind of edible greens. I don’t know how big this island is. If it’s big enough, and we’re there for long enough, we could figure out by trial and error which roots to dry or grass seeds to harvest, and beat them into flour. I bet we could manage something of that kind, but I wonder what we’d do for yeast. Maybe we could make a sourdough, with slightly turned coconut milk? Or goats’ milk. Are there goats?

Q. We’ll see what we can do about getting you some goats. In the meantime, tell us about your writing process. How do you begin?
I start with an idea rather than an outline: a situation, a proposal, what they call in science fiction the “What if?” In the case of Dr. Franklin, I think the idea came because I’d seen teenage children’s fiction about magical transformations into animal forms, usually involving some kind of superpowers, and I’d been reading about the wilder possibilities of genetic engineering for other reasons. I thought, “What if you were to treat that theme realistically? What if you were to describe the process?” From there I went on to wonder why someone would be doing this, and because I’m interested in the future of space exploration, it dawned on me that this would be a reason. And maybe someone, sometime, is going to have to be the first to take that incredibly dangerous big step.

Q. When you write a book, do you know what’s going to happen, or do you develop the story as you go along?
Before I start writing, I sit down with my idea and knock it into a story-arc shape: a series of events, happening to people, that will transform my situation into . . . another situation. I often feel I’m making huge changes when I actually write the book, but strangely (at least, it seems strange to me), I usually find that the sequence of events stays the same as in that first rough arc. The same things happen, but for more complicated reasons than I first imagined, if that makes sense. It’s the characters who make the difference. Miranda’s vulnerability and Semirah’s secret toughness developed like this, and enriched the plot–but these qualities are implicit in them from the start. You have to be tough to be shy (don’t ask me how I know this, I just know). I do a lot of revising and editing, right until the last minute. I find it very hard to let a book go, and I’m always convinced I can perfect every sentence even further, with a little more tinkering. But on the other hand, I instinctively value the passages that come “right first time” very highly: it’s a paradox.

Q. You tell us that Dr. Franklin’s Island was partly inspired by H. G. Wells’s The Island of Dr. Moreau. What did you draw from Wells’s story?
Dr. Franklin’s Island is sort of an argument with The Island of Dr. Moreau. When I started thinking about my transformation story, The Island of Dr. Moreau immediately came to mind and set the scene on the “desert island”–the isolated place where the mad scientist could do his will, undisturbed by public opinion. When I reread the story, I found I didn’t like the ideas in it at all. This is different from not liking the story. I think it’s a great story, but I didn’t like H. G. Wells’s ideas about animal nature versus human nature. Part of what happens in Dr. Franklin (though this isn’t Dr. Franklin’s intention!) is the wonder and joy of being reunited with the animal kingdom, rediscovering the delight of being an animal, at home in the living world–but still this special kind of self-aware, conscious animal that is a human being. H. G. Wells comes to a very different conclusion about his “beast men.” I won’t try to explain it; read the story and make your own judgment. In short, I like H. G. Wells’s terrific stories, but I’m not much of an admirer of his opinions.

Q. A detail not provided in the novel is the reason why the plane crashed. Could you tell us now?
It’s a lot harder than you’d think to be a good eyewitness, especially when you’re trying to remember what happened in an emergency. When Semirah and Miranda and Arnie are trying to decide what happened, on the beach, they can’t agree on a story, and that’s the way I’d like to leave it. When they realize that they can’t reach any rational explanation, it brings home their helplessness, and the way they’ve been dumped out of the world. One of the things I wanted to say in Dr. Franklin is that terrible things do happen, and the people who suffer often never find out the “real story.” “Why me?” is a question that doesn’t get answered. Maybe Semirah was wrong and there was no hijack, just a tragic accident. Or maybe it was all a setup, organized by Dr. Franklin. I don’t know everything that goes on in my books. If you want my opinion, I think there was a hijack attempt that failed, and it didn’t have anything to do with Dr. Franklin.

Q. Semi and Miranda develop a truly special friendship. Can you describe their relationship? What level of trust do they achieve? In the coda, does Semi reveal a sexual component to the relationship?
I wondered about that myself. I think the possibility of a sexual relationship is there, but I don’t know if it would happen or not, and in ways I’ve a feeling it wouldn’t, because their intimacy has already been so deep without any sexual component. I think you’d have to follow them further, and it would depend a lot on the circumstances. I do believe, however, that for some people the most important, central relationship in their life is a friendship, maybe with someone of the same sex, but not a sexual relationship, and maybe that’s the way it will be with Miranda and Semirah. They’ll have romantic relationships, heterosexual or same-sex partners, families–but this lifelong friendship will always be stronger.

Q. Semi narrates the novel. We see everything through her eyes, and yet, up until her transformation, her vision is limited and often blurred. How much are we to trust her perceptions?
Semi’s shortsighted because I am, and I remember coping without my contact lenses or eyeglasses in similar (though not so drastic) situations. I didn’t mean to make Semirah an untrustworthy narrator. I think she’s very trustworthy, precisely because she knows she’s not seeing the world clearly. She’s a scientist.

Q. You’ve created a character, Miranda, with remarkable instincts for survival in the wild. Most authors write from experience. Is it so with you? Are you as resourceful as she is? Have your survival skills ever been tested?
I grew up on Swallows and Amazons [by Arthur Ransome] and other outdoor-adventure books, and we had a young uncle who took us camping and cooking in such corners of wild country as can be found in the urban northwest of England. I like living outdoors, and making do, and getting off the beaten path (but less of that now–wild country doesn’t need any more human explorers, not anywhere!). My skills are not great. I’m at the level where I’ve never really had to light a fire without matches, but I know how to build a fire that will light and burn easily; and I know to keep the matches wrapped in something totally waterproof. I’ve been in situations that could have got difficult, climbing mountains in Java, for instance, but I’ve never ended up in trouble. I’ve learned that in most places the wilderness is not out to get you (there are exceptions), and you’ll come to no serious harm if you just take care. I’ve been lucky, but keeping the rules is a good way to stay lucky–and I had the rules drilled into me at an early age.

Q. You have provided an antidote that allows Semi, Miranda, and Arnie to return to their human forms and be “normal” again. Did you consider any other endings?
No, I didn’t. The “antidote” makes sense of the experiment, and I never intended Dr. Franklin to be a mad scientist in the gibbering-lunatic-monster category. I think the scary thing about him is that he is perfectly rational, on his own terms: he has a project, he’s not just flailing around. But the idea that they would be normal again at the end goes deeper than that. When I sit down to sort out my work plan for a book, I usually already have a final scene in mind (and it hardly ever changes). I was heading for that hotel room in Quito from a very early stage, and for the coda that comes after it. The book was going to end with Miranda and Semirah about to walk through the door that would take them back into the “normal” world: looking at each other, feeling that weird, paradoxical nostalgia for the terror and the ordeal. It’s equally important to me that they are left balanced, in between; passing for normal outside, no longer normal inside. “‘What are we?’ I ask Miranda. ‘Are we monsters? Or are we more than human?’” (p. 245). That’s the question I wanted to end with, and it’s a question about the future of being human, supposing the science of genetic engineering, gene therapy, really takes us where it seems it might take us. If they don’t “change back,” then there’s no implication for the future– they’re just fantasy creatures.

Q. You raise questions for your readers to consider about the ethical and moral boundaries of medical research. Where do you stand on this issue?
I think in any field of human enterprise, what can be done, will be done, if there is profit or status to be gained. Arguments about morals and ethics have little effect on the cutting edge. Obviously, in real life, no sane person would perform such drastic life-threatening experiments on living human beings, willing volunteers or not. But who knows, maybe that’s only because in real life the kind of experiments that I’ve suggested aren’t possible . . . yet. The boundaries are always shifting, and the trouble is there’s no magic line that can’t be crossed. In the end, morality means stopping yourself from doing something you know is wrong (like torture, or marketing a killer addictive drug), no matter what you think you’ll gain from it. It’s called free will, and I revere it: but the you have to do it yourself, no one makes you part seems to be hard for a lot of people to grasp. They think, “Well, God didn’t strike me with a thunderbolt, so what’s the problem?”

Q. The names of two of your characters seem to have special meaning. Did you expect readers to make a connection between Dr. Franklin and Dr. Frankenstein? A.
Dr. Franklin isn’t meant to be Dr. Frankenstein. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was wracked by doubt, and horribly remorseful (though he failed to do anything useful about his remorse). Dr. Franklin could never feel like that. Semirah is called after a newscaster on the TV in England. I just happened to notice her, and that she had a lovely smile. And I admired her because she was very young, obviously good at her job, and on the way up. That’s often how my characters get their names: quite by chance. Miranda is the one whose name has a special meaning, a double meaning. She’s someone who is admired (that’s what first defines her), and then she’s again the Miranda of The Tempest, in her role as the “daughter” who wants to believe that her “father’s” magic is noble and good.

Q. Semirah wonders in the end if Dr. Skinner will decide to carry on Dr. Franklin’s “great work.” But she doesn’t think he’d dare. Is this teenage naïveté?
Maybe naïveté is too harsh. I think it’s a case of compartmentalizing: Semirah has just had enough, for the moment anyway. She’s putting the problem aside, and hoping for the best, until she’s strong enough to deal with it again. I’ve seen my son do this, and it’s a life skill I admire. I’m a pointless worrier myself. I don’t think Skinner will carry on Dr. Franklin’s work himself–he’s not the type, but he’ll probably try to find another “great man” to serve, and hand over all the experimental data. Like I said, I don’t know everything that goes on in my books, and I don’t tend to tie up all the loose ends. You walk into the characters’ lives, and then you walk out again, only knowing part of the story. . . . I can’t remember who said that, but it’s supposed to be a definition of what makes a good movie, and I like it.


“Halam delivers a nightmarish thriller of white-knuckle intensity.”–Publishers Weekly, Starred

“Halam creates a gripping, exciting, surprising, and disturbing novel.”—VOYA, Starred

“This exciting and well-developed book will appeal to fans of horror and adventure.”—School Library Journal

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