Bloggery

Tuesday 22nd Nov 2011

Becky Milford

When Small Things Pack a Punch

Sometimes the best things really can come in small packages. Those mini liquor chocolates everyone has around this time of year, for instance, can be classified as neither booze nor proper sweets, and so are exempt from post-scoffage guilt. Liberian pygmy hippopotamuses, by definition of their name, are smaller than their counterparts, and they’re (apparently) highly sought after. And the latest novella that I’m loving –totting up to a slim 70 pages – is most definitely one of the most original and engaging tiny treats I’ve savoured for a while.

Some people may balk at paying £10 for a book that can easily be devoured during a lunch hour, but this is before they meet Tochtli, the young narrator of Down the Rabbit Hole. It has been a long time since I was so gripped by a fresh and engaging voice from the first page.

Now, I admit to being someone who usually likes a relatively thick novel that I know I can get lost in, so I did wonder how this new book, written by the Mexican author Juan Pablo Villalobos, would hook me. I had heard wonderful things from colleagues and customers alike, and the book has earned itself the kudos to be placed in our Christmas catalogue (also meaning it is discounted by 10%, if you’re interested.) I tested the minimal weight in my palm, shrugged my shoulders, turned to the first page… and was instantly smitten.

A major part of Down the Rabbit Hole’s appeal is the fact the protagonist himself is a small package – a young boy, Tochtli – who is the son of a Mexican drug lord. He recounts his life experiences from the enclosures of the palace that is, essentially, both his prison and his safe-house. While his father does shady deals with government officials at the dinner table, and the bodyguards feed corpses to a pet lion when night has fallen, Tochtli must find things to fill his day while the country of Mexico seethes around the palace walls. And so our little narrator makes lists of all the things he would like his father to get him (including a Liberian pygmy hippopotamus, and several hats), and muses on the various characters in his life.

It is this freshness that I found so appealing, and perhaps something that I have been missing, given my penchant for ‘heavier’ novels, which subsequently often have more ‘overarching’ narrators. Of course sometimes it’s nice to have that knowingness which comes with a more calculating narrator, but occasionally it’s nice to be rid of that musing perception and enjoy the openness and the simplicity that comes from reading a child’s viewpoint. And it’s not just refreshing; authors that write using a younger voice can sometimes tap into something that is not so easily expressed with an older speaker. So what are other examples of this kind of novel, and what do readers gain from them?

Of course, there are hundreds of books that look back on childhood and narrate retrospectively. David Copperfield was the ‘favourite child’ of all Dickens’ books, and is the story of a young man’s life, as does the epic Tristram Shandy. Another recent Mr B’s favourite, Jamrach’s Menagerie, recounts the tale of young Jaffy Brown and his adventures on the high seas. But in both books we are informed that this is something the older narrator is remembering and setting down for posterity, and this creates a lingering sense of control – they are choosing what they tell us, and in doing this can cause us to question their recollection. Surely it is natural to try and idolise parts of childhood, and see the world as an adventure? We can all think back to some moment in our childhood, be it a summers day when it seemed the longest; the most balmy and perfect afternoon… but if we were to actually go back, would it live up to our recollections? One only needs to read Barnes’ booker winning The Sense of an Ending to realise that memory cannot be trusted. Protagonists are not always the faithful orators we take them for. Even my recent favourite, Swamplandia!, falls into this category. Part of the heart-braking truth of it is that the 12 year old Ava is struggling so hard to keep her family together. There is something magical and almost wondering about the prose - but it is obviously far too advanced for her age.

Many of the most effective books that deal with young narrators are told in the present tense, and in so doing use a simplified and child-like speech. This is what often gives such a fresh feeling to the story. In Vernon God Little we are encouraged to root for the young, angry teen protagonist. He is not an essentially likeable character, being a victim of circumstance and not willing to accept the difficulties around him, but it is Pierre’s use of the ‘aw, shucks’ teenage language that draws you in and makes you appreciate Vernon’s plight.

A further bonus is that these authors can often use their young narrators to highlight terrible occurrences and reiterate their horror. In Down the Rabbit Hole Tochtli soon informs us, in a strikingly off-hand way, that he knows more dead people than living ones – ‘but they don’t count, because they are corpses.’ His accounts of palace life are peppered with references to murder, guns, and crime. This horror is countered by the unknowing humour he provides with his misuse of dictionary terms – his memory is ‘good, practically devastating.’ These poignant childish slips help root us in the character. This is also true in Emma Donoghue’s Room. Five year old Jack narrates the story of his life trapped in a shed, of which he knows the exact dimensions, and where his beloved Ma and hated Old Nick are the only human contact he knows. This book about kidnap and captivity should be simply one harrowing blow after another, and yet Donoghue’s masterful use of Jack’s voice means that the little boy brings a heartbreaking warmth and humour to the tale that packs far more of a punch than any fictionalised report could.

Another appeal for authors and readers alike is the chance it gives us to step back and take another look at the world, from a child’s simplistic point of view, and this juvenile focus can be far more effective. In Room we are asked to question the nature of our surroundings – what actually counts as reality? If we do not live it, how can we prove it exists? And in books like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time we are given access to the thoughts of Christopher, a boy with learning difficulties. His is unable to forge personal relationships, and yet has an uncanny knack for remembering number sequences – a symptom of his autism. We as readers can sympathise by moving through the plot of the book with him, encountering the same struggles that he does.

It can also be true that we are more forgiving with child narrators. In The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint the character is certainly fallible, and spends a lot of the novel trusting the wrong people. But we are more accepting of these failures, and understand the decisions he makes and the darker edge to his character that makes the book such a stand-out read; something that comes with getting so deeply into the head of a character.

So is it more difficult for an author to write in a child’s voice? The lack of ‘knowingness’ that often comes with an adult narrator can also be read as a lack of control, when in fact it is often an even tighter control that is needed to sustain this voice throughout the novel. Most fiction for children and teens tend to have protagonists of a similar age to their audience, and this is reflected in the content, plotting and acceptable language. Down the Rabbit Hole is most definitely not a children’s book. It contains violence, swearing and corruption, and yet the protagonist is a loveable little boy who collects hats and thinks the French are refined for putting a basket under people’s heads before they ‘guillotine’ their necks. But with this also comes the challenge of writing for a more perceptive adult audience. If you have a child narrator then this must be adhered to. The narrator’s charm comes from his ‘understanding’ of words such as ‘orifices’, which is apparently a hole you make to kill someone. The language must be kept relevant for the readership, and this could be why so many are used to show extreme and dark situations – the use of a child’s naivety is often either black humour which borders on discomfort, or trusting acceptance which is heartbreaking.

Children are always going to be interesting protagonists to read about. Adult narrators can give the impression that their thoughts and functions are already decided – we are along for the ride, so to speak. With young narrators we almost feel a responsibility. Can we change the course of their lives? Is there something we should do? In reading do we try and change their outcome and so become more emotionally involved?

These young characters often live solitary or closed existences, and are somehow cut off from the world; Tochtli is secured in a palace, Christopher is mentally different, and Jack is trapped. In this way the novelists use them as tools with which to view a closed and restricted world. The bigger picture is misunderstood by them, but to us the reader it becomes even more strikingly apparent, and that is what often makes these books have such a lingering effect. So even though you may think you’d whizz through Down the Rabbit Hole, your encounter with little Tochtli will stay with you for a long time afterwards.