Unlikely Animals
I didn’t know that Annie Hartnett was a philosophy major, but I learned that after reading her bio today. And I really love that because the two novels I’ve read by her — this one (Unlikely Animals) and her latest, The Road to Tender Hearts — show off the work of an author who is kind of obsessed with “what’s the meaning of life”-type questions…but in a fun and kicky way. (Did you not realize there could be such a thing?) You think you’re reading something lighthearted and then boom, you’ve got a gold nugget of a phrase like “the imperfect human body having a hard time,” which comes up a couple of times and you know…isn’t that a pitch-perfect and streamlined way to describe whatever maladies might sneak up on us?
After reading two of her books, I sense that Annie Hartnett does seem to have a fascination with:
Assisted living centers;
Hippy/scruffy dads who may or may not be philanderers;
Daughters who want to “get out of dodge”;
Somewhat anthromorphic animals/pets;
People who are presumed dead…but maybe aren’t? (see line about “how the body crumbles while the soul still lives in it”);
Memory and perception;
…and Grief. (Which is not lighthearted, but maybe she’ll allow you to turn it on its side a bit and see it a wee bit differently. Isn’t that what philosophers want us to do?)
I picture her taking all these disparate parts, folding them, creasing the corners, perhaps tucking under the part of the paper that was torn when you aggressively cut the wrapping paper, taping them together, topping the final product with a bow (and doing that little zzzush thing with the blade of the scissors that your mom taught you to do) … and then delivering it to you as this book, Unlikely Animals.
If Elizabeth Strout is:
Philosophy…but make it accessible,
then Annie Hartnett is:
Philosophy…but make it super fun and quirky and joyful.
originally published on instagram