Book Review: Swamplandia! by Karen Russell (2011)
Robin Pen, my resident
book guru at Planet Books (in Perth), ensured me that Swamplandia! is the best novel from last year’s crop. Having
already read that it was short listed for the Pulitzer Prize, I bought the book
- and Robin proved once again why
he deserves his ‘book guru’ mantle. Swamplandia! is an extraordinary debut novel from a young
writer whose abundant talent caused me (and I would imagine a good many other
writers too) to turn varying shades of green.
The story chiefly takes
place on a swampy Florida island where the pseudo-indigenous ‘Bigtree’ family
run an alligator theme park. Some members of the family wrestle ‘Seths’ - the
Bigtree clan’s sobriquet for the ancient reptiles. Mother Bigtree is the star
attraction, where she dives from a high board into a pool full of seths to then
swim through to the other side. When she, the great crowd pleaser, dies, and an
immense theme park, the ‘World of Darkness’, opens on the mainland opposite,
‘Swamplandia!’ falls into dramatic decline. The nucleus of the family is gone
and the Bigtree clan tear apart at the seams without their defined roles
protecting them.
Without dallying too much
over the plot, the novel focuses on Ava Bigtree, an aspiring alligator wrestler
who is in effect left stranded. Her father tries to save the park with grand
visions; her older sister, Ossie (in a fragile but wonderfully whimsical mental
state) has fallen for a ghost; and her brother, Kiwi, has fled to the mainland
with aspirations of saving both himself and his family.
Ava’s story is told in a
highly effective first person. And, while no girl her age would be that
articulate, I loved the narrative voice, which does not dumb down
language to maintain effect but rather plays with it in a manner I personally
prefer. The voice of Ava still shines through but the prose maintains a rich
feel. The passage below, which recalls a nightmarish folktale, illustrates
this:
“This part always made me dart
under the covers, because I couldn’t stop seeing poor Miss Drouet in my mind’s
eye, gagged and dragged down to the water by her murderers, dead already and
now drowning, too, her cloth dress opening up like a flower on the swamp water
in a mixed-up and evil chronology. Her dead body floating. Her dead face, the
mask of it, rising and falling on the sea’s uneasy breath.”
Kiwi Bigtree, the other
focal character (written in a close third person) is thrust into suburbia. He
finds work in the opposition park and tries to make his own way, learning a
whole new culture in the process. All the books that he has read mean little
amidst the hormonal ragtag teenage crew:
“It
was unwise to mention colleges, or hopes. Telling your fellow workers that you
were going to Harvard was a request to have your testicles compared to honey
roasted nuts and your status as a virgin confirmed, your virginity suddenly as
radiant and evident to all as a wad of toilet paper stuck to your shoe,
something embarrassing that you trailed through the World.”
Like any novel, Swamplandia! is not above criticism. Perhaps the swamp-trek
scene that Ava is lured into in order to find her sister could have been
handled more succinctly or less obviously; then again, it did hold me, and
Russell appears to be writing along the lines of Joyce Carol Oates here, who
often intentionally maintains reader interest with an inevitably dark and
expected climax.
Initially, I thought the
aftermath of what Ava endures not resounding enough but on reflection I think that Russell handles it in a
unique way. It works well, and after all, not everything in literature needs to
be overtly solemn.
Ossie’s retelling of her
love's, the deceased dredgeman’s, past, does, however, wane. Although superbly
written, it is both an unneeded and unwanted distraction from the main
narrative – I found myself skim-reading a few of the fifteen or so pages. But if any of the aforementioned
aspects are flaws, they are minor when compared to the work in its entirety.
Karen Russell’s prose is
sharp, observant, wickedly clever and reminiscent of a merry fusion of George
Saunders and Kelly Link. On very rare occasions, a phrase or two does come
across as a little too ‘cute’ and borders on the ostentatious – but not in the
sense of authors like Will Self or Glen Duncan (both purposefully indulgent
writers that I similarly hold in high regard). With a voice and prose as
ambitious as Russell’s, this minor issue is expected at times. Russell, for the
vast majority of Swamplandia!,
manages her fertile writing with all the aplomb of a well-seasoned veteran.
I am now a Karen Russell
fan, difficult to believe after only one novel, but Swamplandia! is such a poised and resounding accomplishment
that Russell deserves praise. In fact, I was so impressed that the day after
finishing, I tracked down and bought her anthology, St Lucy’s Home for Girls
Raised by Wolves.
I will forever remember Swamplandia!
as the novel that should have won
the Pulitzer for 2011. I hope that Karen Russell's career has the longevity of one of Swamplandia!'s old monster seths - because this 'goil' can write.
Karen Russell’s prose is
sharp, observant, wickedly clever and reminiscent of a merry fusion of George
Saunders and Kelly Link. On very rare occasions, a phrase or two does come
across as a little too ‘cute’ and borders on the ostentatious – but not in the
sense of authors like Will Self or Glen Duncan (both purposefully indulgent
writers that I similarly hold in high regard). With a voice and prose as
ambitious as Russell’s, this minor issue is expected at times. Russell, for the
vast majority of Swamplandia!,
manages her fertile writing with all the aplomb of a well-seasoned veteran. 
David
Foster Wallace’s novel The Pale King would have been a
posthumous prize. I've only read several pages of The Pale King, and, not being a botanist, I found the opening, with its excessive list of plants not to my own personal
liking. That being said, Wallace's sheer ability is evident, while the narrative appears loose, his rhythm and command of language are something to behold. It is easy to see why Wallace has a cult following
among 20 -30 year olds. I’m 36 and many of my friends, especially those in
their late 20s, are devouring Wallace’s two tomes (Infinite Jest being the other celebrated novel).
I haven't yet read the other short listed novella, Train
Dreams by Denis Johnson, but I have
no doubt that the experienced jury, which included Michael Cunningham (a
recipient himself in 1999 for The Hours), Maureen Corrigan, and Susan Larson, chose a work worthy of contention. 
