The child dismissed by adults as having an 'over-active imagination' is something of a literary commonplace. What makes 'The Field' different is not only the nature of the child's supposed 'imaginings' (in this case Marian apparitions), but the setting, both in terms of the time (very much the 21st century) and the place, the full poignancy of which doesn't hit until the final pages.
It would be all too easy to look at the cover of this book and reject it as sentimental Catholic schmaltz. Which would be a great shame, as the book is anything but. The theme has very obvious Catholic underpinnings - a 12 year-old girl in Christchurch, New Zealand, believes that Our Lady has been talking directly to her through a TV screen - but the religious element is only one layer in a complex weave of ideas. So while on one level the book is an exploration of the tension between the world of childhood and adulthood, on another it is about the broadcasting and distortion of voices - particularly that of a child, and thus someone particularly vulnerable to media manipulation - in the age of Facebook and school Wiki pages. And then again it is a book about change - the father of the protagonist, Jacinta, is about to lose his job as the sports ground he has worked in all his life is about to be replaced by a shiny new stadium. Then there is the tension between organised religion, represented here in the figure of the Bishop (whose authority effectively silences the views of a much younger and more junior priest) and the more spontaneous religiosity of the ordinary people. Most of all though, the book is perhaps about daring to hope, about the need, almost, to cling somewhat naively to a hope that might be vain, but which might just turn out to be real. It possibly helps if you come to the book with some kind of religious background and knowledge of historical claims of Marian visions (or have read Michele Roberts' excellent 'Daughters of the House', although that is more of an adult's book), but it is not essential. And it is certainly not just for Catholics.
While the opening pages are marred in places by some slightly stilted prose, the book soon picks up pace, and Nagelkerke soon shows that he can write, and well. It is very much a 'join-the-dots' kind of book, in that its length, inevitably, leaves the reader filling in lots of background. Is this a problem? Perhaps. A much longer book could certainly have been made very effectively from the same material, and there are plenty of ideas there that are bursting to be further explored. But then again, perhaps the author intended the reader to do much of the work. Maybe we are too used to being spoon-fed information in brick-like novels, and it does us good, sometimes, to step back a bit and actually think for ourselves.
The blurb perhaps doesn't do the book justice. Although it has been lifted directly from the book, the juxtaposition of the visions of Our Lady and the 'snigger factor' of a child wetting themselves, which works perfectly in context, leaves the tone of the book something of a mystery until you actually pick up and read it. Nor is it immediately clear who the book's intended target audience is, although I imagine it is probably children in their early to mid teens.
But do pick up and read it. I was very nearly in tears by the end, and that's a compliment.