My Life as a Rat

It wasn’t until I began reading My Life as a Rat that I remembered I hadn’t taken to Oates’ previous novel, Hazards of Time Travel. I had that sinking feeling that perhaps this novel would fail to capture my imagination too, but in fact what I uncovered was a character, Vi’let Rue, the youngest in a Irish-Catholic American family, that really did stay with me. It reminded me of something I read a long time ago about Oates’ method of writing. Though I can’t find the reference to it now (this is my disclaimer here), I remember her saying that certain stories came from a character and wrote themselves without planning. She was talking about short stories, but still, there is this feeling, as you read her work, of discovery; that the story literally unfolds in the writing. She finds the character and they tell her their story.

In Hazards of Time Travel I couldn’t quite find my way in the story, I didn’t care enough for the character whose tale was being told. In My Life as a Rat I found Vi’let Rue, once I’d come through her earliest family memories, an extraordinarily compelling character. She rats on her brothers who commit a race crime and this disloyalty colours (sorry) her entire life. Her truth-telling has huge consequences: disowned by her closest family she is thrust into a life of self-consciousness and painful passivity that has frightening implications. It is as if she lives the prison sentence she inflicted on her brothers and as the time passes her fear of their retribution refuses to diminish.

I’m not going to say more about the plot because that would give too much away, though strangely, and perhaps this is why Hazards of Time Travel didn’t work for me, the novel isn’t about plot. I’d need to read more of Oates’ work, but I suspect she is much more interested in characters and their motivations that a series of events. South Niagara and Violet’s hometown have their own sense of character, as if Oates is exploring the nature of that part of America and its society’s expectations from the 1990s onwards. The place has its own character, a landscape and social boundary that weighs upon those who grow up within it. To behave in ways that contravene that boundary can only ever lead to banishment either socially or literally; you cannot belong if you don’t behave in the ways laid out for you long before you were born. I suppose Hazards of Time Travel tried to explore this too, but for me, My Life as a Rat was more successful.

Oates is such a prolific writer that it comes as no surprise to be compelled by one novel and not another. How she does it is hard to say. In this novel the undercurrent of sex and violence flows steadily through the story like the snakes writhing in the Niagara River in its opening chapter. Women with knowledge are dangerous. How do you weigh family loyalty against more abstract notions of right and wrong? It then comes as no surprise that a desire for love can too easily be confused by the longing itself and also with a more naked desire. Looked at in this way, My Life as a Rat feels like a reworking of Greek myth – good and evil, family and sex, pure and impure – there are so many undercurrents for a reader to enjoy. Not out until May 2019, it’s one for the wish list.

Violet-Rue Kerrigan, twelve years old, accidentally 'rats' on her older brothers for the murder of Hadrian Johnson a young black boy, and begins a life separated from her family for her own safety. But in this new life she is suddenly and irrevocably isolated from the people she loves and in constant dread of her brothers' release from prison.

This is a novel about family secrets and secret punishments: 'Punished was something our father could understand. Punished unfairly, he particularly understood.' Heavy on the gloom and doom - murder, neglect, abuse and grooming - this is nevertheless compulsive reading and Oates' writing is superb.

I received an advance readers copy in exchange for an honest review.

What a hauntingly beautiful book. Stories like this are real and deserve to be heard . This author has a way of making emotional pain exquisite to read

It never ceases to amaze me that an author as erudite as Joyce Carol Oates can get ‘down and dirty’ with the poorest of society.

As in ‘We were the Mulvaneys’, the story here explores what happens when secrets and lies are allowed, even encouraged, to fester. Violet Rue’s family live just above the breadline, their Vietnam vet father imagining slights from better off members of the family and her mother refusing to let her daughter enter, as a welcomed guest, a house which in her own young days she scrubbed on her knees.

As often happens with large families – there are seven children here – ranks are closed against the outside world and it’s ‘us and them’. When Violet Rue blurts out the truth (rats) about the murder of a local boy, she is the one at fault, ostracised and abandoned by her immediate family. In the years that follow she becomes prey to casual bullies and predatory perverts.

However, what could have been ‘mis-lit’ is transformed by the author’s almost lyrical style and insight. Her language makes me catch my breath at times. To give an example: “Living with adults, you live with the husks of their old lost lives. Like snakes’ husks, or the husks of locusts underfoot.”

I will definitely be recommending this to my book group.

My Life as a Rat is a powerful new novel from Joyce Carol Oates.
Violet Rue Kerrigan has grown up being her father's favourite child in a brutal blue-collar Catholic family. The Kerrigan’s have a strong sense of persecution and insecurity. Nothing can ever be their fault, and the world is out to get them. They are a family of bullies and thugs. As in her previous book, The Hazards of Time Travel, this feels like another comment on the Trump administration.
One day, two of her brothers commit a violent racist murder. Violet Rue accidentally sees them discussing it, and hiding the murder weapon. She cannot cope with the pressures of this dark knowledge, and eventually blurts it out to a teacher. As a consequence she is badly injured by one of the brothers, and sent away to live with her Aunt.
Violet is deeply traumatised and treated as damaged goods by most people she encounters, with horrifying consequences. It should be said that this book is not for the faint-hearted. The whole Kerrigan family blames her for what has happened. Fortunately, Violet is a survivor, and she will need this to weather everything this book throws at her.