Book review: Jamrach's Menagerie by Carol Birch

Published on Monday 7 February 2011 12:13

Jamrach's Menagerie by Carol Birch Canongate, 348pp, £12.99

Recently, on Radio 4's Open Book, AS Byatt turned to Carol Birch and enthused, "This is one of the best stories I've ever read." The novel she so admired was Birch's latest, Jamrach's Menagerie, a stirring Victorian-era tale so exquisitely written that your eye will yearn to linger over each sumptuous sentence even as your fingers scramble at the paper's edge to reveal what happens next. Everything you could want in a rousing adventure is here: a plucky hero, wild animals, salty sailors, whaling, a perfect storm, dragons, cannibalism - and it culminates in a satisfyingly redemptive ending.

But let's start at the beginning: "I was born twice. First in a wooden room that jutted out over the black water of the Thames, and then again eight years later in the Highway, when the tiger took me in his mouth and everything truly began."

Jaffy Brown lives in a Bermondsey slum, earning pennies by running errands for the neighbours. Out fetching some tobacco, he spots a tiger strolling down the street. Birch perfectly captures the way a child's innocence allows for both wonder and acceptance: "How could I know what was possible and what was not? And when the impossible in all its beauty came walking towards me . . . why would I know how to behave?… The Sun himself came down and walked on earth."

He steps up to the tiger, looks into his eyes, and pets his nose. As the beast drags him through the filthy streets, help comes in the form of Charles Jamrach, "Naturalist and Importer of Animals, Birds and Shells". Jamrach rescues the lad twice, first from the tiger's maw, and then by giving him a wonderful job working with the animals and birds he imports. At the job, Jaffy befriends Tim Linver, who is beautiful and occasionally cruel, but ultimately - tragically - proves himself the most steadfast of friends.

As teenagers, Tim and Jaffy join the crew of a whaling ship, though they're actually on hand to help a man called Dan Rymer bring back a dragon for one of his wealthy clients. The sea is a revelation and Jaffy realises, "I don't have to go home … I can go anywhere. The world's endless."

Birch's description of the whale kill rivals any of Melville's, except in this case there's an added dose of humanity, making for a harrowing, heartbreaking passage. The visceral horror of killing another living being is depicted with piercing sadness. Or to use Birch's own words: "This was a fierce, boiling death."

Later, Jaffy reflects on a disturbing story he's been told about a dog devoured by a snake - alive but unable to free himself, alert as he's sucked into eternity, feet first.Jaffy's reaction applies equally well to the death of the whale: "I thought about the god that could conceive of such an entrance into death … and when at last I fell into a sleep, it was into a terrible nightmare, the kind that wakes you in a pounding-heart sweat and leaves you shaken out and horrified by the contents of your head."

Birch plants mirrors throughout her text. So the captured "dragon" - a bloodthirsty lizard, but no mythical creature - devours a hog. Both stories refer us back to Jaffy's encounter with the tiger, which led to his being on this ship in the first place.

It's not long before implacable Nature gets her revenge with three terrifying waterspouts that chase the ship and its sailors exactly as they chased the whale, always anticipating where their sails will tack, meeting them at every turn with another relentless blast of devastation. When the storm passes it leaves a handful of men adrift in two whaling vessels with few essential supplies.

At this point, with my heart pounding hard and fast, I abandoned all thoughts of bedtime and kept turning pages until I'd finished the novel in one whale-sized gulp.

For 65 long days the sailors drift in the Pacific, hoping each morning that they'll reach the shores of South America or encounter a rescuing ship. But the seas are mysteriously vacant, and as the men die one by one, the desperate survivors are forced to eat them. Such is the power of Birch's writing that in common with her sailors, I felt a thirst no amount of water could slake. I felt salt-crusted and festering. I felt the mingled sadness and relief, as one man's death allowed another to live.

Jamrach's Menagerie is a remarkable achievement, full of poetry and poignancy, adrenalin and anguish. I hope Birch finds the wide audience she deserves. I know I'll be spreading the word.