Little World
A murdered girl’s essence persists, her body resisting deterioration and inspiring whispers of miracles, in Josephine Rowe’s radiant novel Little World.
The body of a child, a possible saint-to-be, arrives in the Australian desert, placed in Orrin’s temporary care. She is cradled in a box made of wood that’s since become rare. Facing “the tedious matter of veneration,” those who want her beatified keep her name and story secret. Still, the truth roils behind her closed eyes: she’s from a violent time and place; there, “girls her age and younger grew accustomed to the rasp of fresh stubble.”
Less saintly than indignant, the girl rages over the injustices visited upon her body, which led to her death. As the men charged with her care pass away one by one, she endures. She mourns the life she might have had and revisits memories of her sister and their seaside home with longing.
Years later, Matti sets out on an Australian road trip, dogged by memories of the child she gave up and of her wartime childhood. On an unmarked road, she encounters Orrin’s dilapidated home and seeks refuge for the night. And in the darkness, she finds the forgotten girl, her body serene and unravaged by decay: “a plurality, a midget universe unto itself.”
Composed with poetic fury, the book alludes to violence while pronouncing evidence of feminine vivaciousness. Even its treatments of the ordinary simmer: home is where “the birds don’t chivvy you so much,” and rain falls with “warm, animal sentience [and] an appetite for skin that will not be dissuaded.” The girl—first concealed, then released, but never departed—backgrounds it all, inspiring wonder and heartbreak.
In the sumptuous novel Little World, neither human cruelties nor fiery spirits can be erased.
Reviewed by
Michelle Anne Schingler
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