Steve Toltz: A Fraction of the Whole

Another great Aussie writer. An unbeatable first novel. Another dysfunctional family saga but one that excels at what those other strong Australians excel at: great yarns, unique characters, precise but meandering and unpredictable plots,  and gobs of humour throughout. Yes, I think that Steve Toltz joins that company of David Ireland, Peter Carey, and Murray Bail.

An excerpt:

A crowd had gathered around to watch. They chanted in their best Lord of the Flies manner. I searched the faces for allies. No luck. They all wanted to see me go down screaming. I didn’t take it personally. It was just my turn, that’s all. I tell you, it’s indescribable the joy children get from watching a fight. It’s a blinding Christmas orgasm for a child. And this is human nature undiluted by age and experience! This is mankind fresh out of the box! Whoever says it’s life that makes monsters out of people should check out the raw nature of children, a lot of pups who haven’t yet had their does of failure, regret, disappointment, and betrayal but still behave like savage dogs. I have nothing against children, I just wouldn’t trust one not to giggle if I accidentally stepped on a land mine.

or

“Terry has made it easy for me, far easier than most of my patients, not necessarily with his own self-awareness, which, to be honest, is nothing special, but with his candor and total willingness to answer without pause or detour any question I put to him. Actually, he may be the most straightforward patient I’ve ever had in my life. I would like to say at this point, you have done a tremendous job in raising a truly honest and open person.”
“So, he’s not insane?” my father asked.
“Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He’s crazy as a coconut. But open!”
We’re not violent people,” my father said. “This whole thing is a mystery to us.”
“No man’s life is a mystery. Believe me, there is order and structure in the most ostensibly chaotic skull. There seem to be tow major events in Terry’s life that have shaped him more than any others. The first I would not have believed had I not unwavering faith in his honesty.” The doctor leaned forward and said, almost in a whisper, “Did he really spend the first four years of his life sharing a bedroom with a comatose boy?”
My parents looked at each other with a start.
“Was that wrong?” my mother asked.
“We didn’t have any room,” my father said, annoyed. “Where were we supposed to put Martin? In the shed?”