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December 15, 2021 Art + Life »Books
What induces someone to join a cult? As a child in the 1970s, watching the adults around me move in and out of suspicious belief systems, I am sure that the children are too down to earth to listen to the sirs of the cult leader.
But in Miranda Beverly-Whittemore's fifth novel, which was recently transplanted to Vermont, the situation was the opposite. Most of Fierce Little Thing took place in a short commune in the forests of Maine, known as home, led by a charismatic man named Abraham, who urged his flock to "get rid of" material worries.
At the age of 13, Saskia, the narrator of the novel, fell under Abraham's curse. Afterwards, he will tell her that he has always been good at manipulating children at home: "It's too easy for you, much easier than for adults."
However, the young Saskia is not an ordinary child, and she has her own reasons for joining Abraham's plan. The full significance of their connection is gradually revealed in this cunning novel that quickly jumps back and forth between two timelines: one began in the early 90s, when Saskia was in adolescence, and the other is now.
Fierce Little Thing begins with an indelible chapter, laying the foundation for the family tragedy-the loss of Saskia's brother. She refers to him in the second person throughout the novel. Saskia’s father was in jail for the murder of his son, while her socialite mother fled abroad and gave the remaining child to a wealthy grandmother. Saskia was taken care of by Bohemian family friends, one of whom eventually took her home.
In this off-net commune where people talk about "breaking away from patriarchy", Saskia, sadly, believes she has found traces of her brother's spectrum. She imagined him "telling me in otherworldly ways that my home is my real home, and I will be safe on this land." Saskia has established contact with four friends of the same age and is committed to protecting Home from the outside world. Influence.
At the same time, the current Home has long been disbanded. The adult Saskia found refuge in the mansion of her late grandmother, where she has been closed for the past 16 years.
Fierce Little Thing by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, Flatiron Books, 432 pages. US$27.99.
When a family friend of hers arrived with thought-provoking news, her loneliness was broken. Some people claim to know the terrible secrets that these five friends have kept since they left the commune. If they do not return to the Home site together, the sender will reveal the secret.
This is the perfect setting for suspense novels. But Fierce Little Thing is not so much a tortuous thriller as an in-depth, lyrical written study of a troubled mind. Beverly-Whittemore creates tension by dividing her story into small fragments: 143 chapters, some as short as one paragraph, alternating between the past and the present.
This structure makes the reading experience as broken and disoriented as Saskia's experience of the world. This is also an effective way to make fun of later revelations. When the whole truth emerges, it is not surprising. Reading between the lines between the two narratives of Saskia tells us what we need to know.
In the past part of the narrative, we see that Saskia is attracted by Home and Abraham, which is by far the most eye-catching. Beverly-Whittemore (Beverly-Whittemore) is good at showing us how sad hearts can meditate for loss and create phantoms to fill the void. "[In] those days, I found you in any little things-kittens, stones, acorns," Saskia told her dead brother. Later, she pointed out that “it is tiring to hide all your possibilities in your heart every minute.” In the woods of Maine, she felt that she could let go of that burden and hear the echoes of her brothers and sisters lost in nature. : "The rhythm of life in a language I don't know yet."
Saskia's interaction with the wilderness, Abraham and Home's other adults crackled nervously. Sarah is a baker with a dark past. She teaches Saskia to cultivate a sour appetizer that she calls "Mother". She is a particularly charming character.
However, Saskia's four peers were not so careful. As adults, they are still sketches rather than vivid characters, and their conflicts are more procedural rather than organic, so the modern part of the story is affected.
Perhaps the problem is that it is difficult for our narrator to transcend his own obsession. "You are so out of touch," one of her friends told her, accusing her of living in "the castle on the hill." This sentence is reminiscent of Shirley Jackson’s "We Have Been Living in a Castle", and its unreliable narrator is also similar to Saskia in other respects: she has lost her identity as a relative, her desire for safety and family, And she is willing to resort to violence to isolate herself from the outside world.
Also like Jackson's Mericart, Saskia is a whimsical creature. This tendency is reflected in Beverly-Whitmore's prose as rich sentence fragments and poetic usage of verbs: "[t] His dog rushes forward"; "The door may open." Once, the room There were spoons, sips and sighs "pattering" in the room.
This is a clever and creative style, but as the book unfolds, this style becomes more and more exhausting. People began to hope for less picturesque indirectness and more foundation.
Unreliable narrators have a strong appeal, but they tend to perform better in small doses-both Saskia and Abraham (everyone tells the story in their own way). If Beverly Whitmore told her story as concisely as Jackson told her, the ferocious little things could have a bigger impact.
Nevertheless, this novel still allows us to continue reading its convolution and its unique and convincing view of the dynamics of the paranoid enclave. A friend of Saskia's said that he felt as if "the home has infected us with a virus, which means we can't live like normal people." For anyone who has ever lived in an isolated intentional community, whether they like or hate the experience, I suspect this description will be refreshing.
At seven o'clock in the morning, the kitchen was full of light dust. Outside, the Northern Cardinal Haranger, a bird so proud, they gave him two names: Cardinal. I sip my Ceylon tea. I checked the sourdough starter, and the better-known name is mother. She was very greedy for this June dazzler, and I let her eat it: one appetizer, one water, one half flour; mixed into a strong slurry; linen wrapped around the window, and a group of fast-moving ones underneath cumulus. Next, I combined the yeast from last night with a pile of flour and a little water. Therefore, mother and I restarted what we started yesterday and the day before yesterday, and all the days before that, from that day sixteen years ago, I turned my grandmother’s magnificent, white, closed house into me Own: Tomorrow's bread.
Doorbell rang. The mud covered my hands. I wanted to wash them, but the ring came back, mercilessly and persistently. Sometimes this happens. The people in the city are lost. It is gratifying to find that an unfamiliar dark SUV is now appearing on the black and white screen inside the front door. I will only slap the lost souls with a charming voice and let them go happily.
"You made the wrong turn," I said to the box by the door, pretending that a lump of dough hadn't slipped from my elbow. "What is your final destination? You need to—"
"Saskia." The screen pixelated the man's face, but I would know Xavier everywhere.
Topsy has been at the top of the stairs, hiding in my drawer. My palm is already sore, I want to tear him away from the hiding place. I will bury my face in his scalp so that your smell can make me sober.
"Saskia, let me in." Xavier knew better than that. He knows to leave me alone—unless. Unless what is about to happen is worse than what I did.
The original print version of this article was titled "Family Truth"
Tags: books, Miranda Beverly-Whitmore, ferocious little things, novels
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