It’s not really a matter of life or death

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This article was published 24/03/2012 (5287 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

THE debut novel by New Brunswick-born Ben Stephenson explore themes of familial bonding and attachment, grief and curiosity, but the weak plot and limited vision leave too many unaddressed questions.

A Matter of Life and Death or Something opens in contemporary times in an unnamed city, though the physical descriptions suggest Atlantic Canada.

Arthur Williams is a socially awkward and somewhat naïve, yet intelligent 10-year-old who lives with his adoptive father, Simon.

Arthur knows that Simon is unbearably boring. He knows that his “real” dad is probably flying a hot-air balloon over the Pacific Ocean right now or receiving a humanitarian award.

He knows that the hermit that lives at the end of his street should be avoided at all times. And he knows that he much prefers playing by himself in the woods by his house instead of with the annoying neighbourhood kids.

But when Arthur is playing in the woods near his city one day, he finds a battered notebook filled with the manic-depressive journal entries of someone named Phil.

Phil’s story troubles Arthur, and for the first time, he’s faced with something he knows nothing about.

“It made sense but at the same time it didn’t. It was weird because I kind of liked it that way, how strange it was, but I felt other things about it too and I didn’t know what those things were.”

He becomes determined to find Phil and return the notebook. But he finds that the journal doesn’t just make him curious about Phil’s life — he starts to be more curious about his own, too.

The novel is narrated in three voices: from Arthur’s perspective, from Phil’s strange and unreliable journal entries, and by the trees in the woods by Arthur’s house.

Arthur and Phil’s segments are readable and balance each other well, but the tree parts are fantastical and just seem out of place in a novel about human interaction.

Arthur is truly the novel’s best feature. He’s annoying yet undeniably endearing. He has the charm and sassiness of a Roald Dahl character — think of the unnamed boy from The Witches or the title character in James and the Giant Peach.

Arthur’s perception of adults is enjoyable, too. He views them with the same patronizing affection that some people have for dogs.

“Max was actually pretty good at drawing,” Arthur says of his uncle. “Not as good as me, but I wasn’t surprised. It’s hard to be as good at drawing as me.””

But ultimately, Stephenson leaves too many unaddressed questions. It’s hard to understand why Arthur feels so detached from Simon. For that matter, there’s nothing that indicates why Simon decided to adopt a child, since he doesn’t have a wife.

And although it’s understandable to see Arthur being affected by Phil’s story, it’s not clear why he becomes so obsessed.

This isn’t a bad novel. But it’s not a matter of life and death. Or anything.

Winnipeg writer Kathryne Cardwell works at the University of Manitoba.

A Matter of Life and Death or Something

By Ben Stephenson

Douglas & MacIntyre, 256 pages, $23