In fact, I’d almost classify it as poetry. The book involves a thin girl in wartime England, who was removed from London with her mother during the Blitz. She reads and re-reads a book about Norse mythology, Asgard and the Gods, which shapes her outlook on wartime. Mostly, the book is a re-telling of major points in the Norse mythos, especially when pertaining to the downfall of the gods, also known as Ragnarok.
Here’s a tiny passage about the cosmological tree of Norse myth, Yggdrasil:
“There were worms, fat as fingers, fine as hairs, pushing blunt snouts through the mulch, eating roots, excreting root food. Beetles were busy in the bark, gnashing and piercing, breeding and feeding, shining like metals, brown like dead wood. Wood-peckers drilled the bark and ate fat grubs who ate the tree. They flashed in the branches, green and crimson, black, white and scarlet. Spiders hung on silk, attached fine-woven webs to leaves and twigs, hunted bugs, butterflies, soft moths, strutting crickets. Ants swarmed up in frenzied armies, or formed in the pits where the branches forked; moss sprouted; bright tree-frogs swam in the pools, laid delicate eggs and gulped in jerking and spiraling wormlings. Birds sang at the twigs’ ends and built nests of all kinds – clay cup, hairy bag, soft hay-lined bowl, hidden in holes in the bark. All over its surface the tree was scraped and scavenged, bored and gnawed, minced and mashed.”