Ah, the glory of today's youth. So young. So full of promise. So
very much in the pathway of soul-destroying reality.
No wonder that children, in much of literature, are often presented
as being somehow wiser than their elders, their lack of world
experience uncluttering their precious vision, and thus their every
statement uttered from their precocious mouths a jewel of clarity
in a universe of uncertainty.
What a load. Children are not wise. They are unformed
personalities. They are petty, petulant, simpering, spiteful, and
sometimes remorseless eating, sleeping, and pooping machines.
Yet despite the inherent unlikability of children, sometimes (just
sometimes, mind you) they are right. Confused, yes, but right. And
when an author mixes a child's sense of right and wrong with the
onrush of maturity, the results can be spectacular.
Phineas Walsh is right. He's nine years old, and he's kind of
annoying at times, and he's self-righteous, but he is right. He's
also a terrific narrator for a novel.
Amphibian, Carla Gunn's debut novel, follows Phin's process from
being a wide-eyed processer of information to a more worldly
participant in the events that consume his life. In this case, the
widespread extinction of animal life from the planet. The New
Brunswick author has captured a pivotal point in every child's
development, that time when it becomes readily apparent that the
world does not adhere to one's innate sense of fair play.
Phin is a born worrier. His parents have seperated, his grandfather
has recently passed away, and the animal kingdom loses species
every day. It's this last that consumes Phin, eating away at his
sanity. The expanded cable universe and Internet allows him instant
access to any and all information nightmares he cares to obsess
about. The loss of animals from the planet is a process he cannot
comprehend, and his parents' seeming indifference to the plight of
dolphins, lions, elephants, etc. only heightens his mania.
Phin's quick erosion of faith in mankind marks him as a loner in
school, where he bgins to lash out at any and all logical fallacies
he comes across in his homework, such as in an assignment to
celebrate Earth Day by drawing "the greatest gift humans could give
the earth":
I looked at what Kaitlyn had drawn - it was a picture of humans
picking up garbage out of ditches. I couldn't figure out how that
was a greatest gift because the humans had put the garbage there to
begin with. That would be like somebody setting someone else's
clothes on fire and then throwing water on that person to put out
the flames and then calling the water a gift. It just didn't make
any sense.
Phin's dilemma is spot on; how can we make a difference if people
only tells us comforting homilies that everything will be all
right, when it plainly won't? But Phin is at an awkward stage of
his development where shades of grey do not enter into his
perceptions; right is right and wrong is wrong, and that's the way
it must be. His frustration at the lack of seriousness others take
in his beliefs is palpable, and so is his understandable (if
childish) manner of reaction; tantrums, screams, and more layers of
worry. Phin is on his way to an ulcer before he hits his
tweens.
As in any novel written from a child's POV, there is a suspension
of disbelief that must occur in order for the plot to function
effectively. Phin writes at a level far beyond his years, and there
are a few points in the novel where his reactions seem a little
forced and unlikely. But far greater are the novel's strengths; a
sure sense of self, belivable characterizations, a crackling good
plot, and a fine understanding of the confused interior monologue
that marks a child's growth. Gunn presents Phin as an idealist
poised for a great fall, and it would be easy to force Phin into
becoming that saintly child who corrects to problems of the world
with a few deft words and a dewy-eyed plea for understanding. God
bless us, everyone.
Yet Phin is a child through and through, which means that certain
aspects of adult relationships will always seem foreign to him, and
his reactions will always be extreme. Gunn does not shy away from
displaying Phin's bursts of unlikeability, even though his motives
may be sound. The world is a strange and perplexing place at the
best of times, and there is no shortage of worries to be found out
there.
And in the end, Phin is absolutely right. The world is insane,
animals die, and people lie to protect themselves. It is a cruel
place to live, and that said, the book's ultimate ending is a tad
too upbeat, and a little jarring.
But that's a quibble, and besides, by novel's end, Phin's earned a
right to a little happiness. Amphibian is a great debut novel, and
Gunn has talent to burn. Her style is deceptively simple, clean but
smart, and her way with characters is akin to the healthy humanity
Miriam Toews invests in her characters. Amphibian marks a novelist
to watch.