NSW-based author Simpson’s latest isn’t as frightening or apocalyptic as her recent The Last Woman In The World or The Thinning, although these eleven mysteriously interconnecting short stories can definitely be difficult and troubling.
Seemingly presenting a series of ends (a relationship, motherhood, innocence, complacency, life itself), this kicks off with the simple but stinging ‘The Wash’, before the unsettling ‘Poached’, and the deeply moving ‘The Great Walk’, which strays into surprising territory in more ways than one.
The epic and almost tragic ‘Once, We Were Wildlife’ (note the comma) is a near-novella and very much the longest tale here, and it’s followed by the barely-a-page ‘Tarn’, and then ‘Sea Wolf’, which seems to somehow hark back to an earlier story. The last three pieces are more challenging, however, with unreliable narrators (if they even are narrators), uncertain resolutions, and hints of something truly terrible waiting on the horizon. Tale 10 here, ‘The Melt’ (“DRIP, DRIP, DRIP”), is about exactly what it damn well sounds like.
Still, despite all the dangers and dire warnings, Simpson is nevertheless sympathetic to her characters, and always finds their often-hidden humanity in some very strange and dark situations. ‘Blue Crane’, for example, has a protagonist whom we could well have cruelly laughed at, and yet we can’t help but feel for her, even as we suspect where this narrative might be going.
There are also continual reminders of their (and our) place in the world, and our connections to the landscape, the universe, and each other. It’s fitting that, early on, when one of our heroines has had a terrifying near-death experience, she then sits beneath the stars in the dark of night, and quietly considers whether her life really means anything compared to infinity.
Once We Were Wildlife
Inga Simpson
Hachette Australia
$29.99 (paperback)
