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When Leni Zumas’ Red Clocks came out in 2018, the speculative novel was widely lauded, not just for Zumas’ quicksilver prose, but for the story’s dystopic setting: a United States of America where the practice of abortion has been criminalized. Now, in the space of seven years, that speculation has become reality for the residents of 12 states. Red Clocks struck a relevant chord for those who saw the tide shifting.
Zumas’ new novel Wolf Bells is an obvious step forward in terms of clarity and employs her ultra readable, highly-effective form—the merry-go-round of characters whirs to life. However, I wonder if it’s possible for the book to receive even a shadow of the same acclaim as her previous novel. Not only is it not about a hot button issue, but it’s centered on people society would like to forget: older women, disabled people, the elderly, and students, among others.
This time Zumas’ speculation is a nice idea about a house, an intentional community where young and old live together in a grand, three-story historic home.
Run by Caz—a successful musician past her heyday—and her bandmate/best friend Vara, the house has a lot of problems (they need to hire a nurse) and delights (someone always seems to be cooking). Caz has tried to create a mutually beneficial set-up to keep elderly tenants out of impersonal facilities by offering free rent to students in exchange for weekly chores and keeping company with their older housemates.
Zumas’ circling narrative flits between the residents’ respective histories and that of the home itself, beginning with the tragic circumstances under which it was originally built, in 1919, and returning at irregular intervals to tease out mysteries. Like with Red Clocks, the method of Zumas’ storytelling may be the whole point. That book drew readers in, then led them through an artfully designed tale about some of the physical and emotional stages women can traverse in their lives. The device shines even brighter in Wolf Bells.
It’s not hard to imagine the novel’s characters leading quiet lives together, leaning on one another to fill in the gaps society does not.
All might have been well had the house not received two runaways, a resourceful 13-year-old, Nola, and her younger cousin, James—together fleeing an intention to place James in a far off facility. Ten years old and autistic, James doesn’t speak, but he’s equally represented in Zumas’ cycling perspectives. She presents him as reasonable—simply following his own rationale. This could so easily stray into cloying, but it works. It all works. His narration is probably the riskiest part of Wolf Bells, aside from making the book about groups of people society is aggressively working to forget.
Leni Zumas appears in Conversation with Lidia Yuknavitch at Powell’s City of Books, 1005 W Burnside, Tues Sept 16, 7 pm, FREE, all ages
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Suzette Smith
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