All the Birds, Singing

Written by Evie Wyld, All the Birds, Singing is at first a powerful novel that uses its protagonist’s fears and anxieties to work with themes such as misogyny and feminism in modern society. The book, however, eventually starts to contradict itself, abandoning its main themes in favor of an empty twist.

Jake White is the protagonist of the story. She lives alone on a British island, on a farm isolated from society. Her company consists only of a dog, called Dog, and her flock of sheep. During the night, however, the sheep are being attacked by some huge creature that tears them apart. As she tries to unravel this mystery, Jake still has to deal with the traumas of her past and with a mysterious man that she finds sleeping in her shed one day.

The book is structured in an unconventional way. The odd chapters follow Jake chronologically in the present, while the others show her past backward. The initial effect may be one of confusion, but soon we understand that this unusual structure actually follows the internal movement of the protagonist’s psyche, creating a specific parallel: the more we advance through her past, the more disturbed and aggressive Jake becomes in the present; the closer we get to her trauma, the greater the tension in the narrative.

Jake is a complex character. On the one hand, she proves to be able to take care of herself, working on her farm alone, being completely able to perform tasks that require heavy manual labor. On the other hand, she is incredibly paranoid. Jake is always thinking that someone is lurking around her house or watching her every move. She sleeps with a hammer under her pillow and is always in “defense mode” when around people.

The character’s fears are developed in a way that mirrors the problems that women have in everyday life When she starts a conversation with a man, for example, Jake immediately checks possible escape routes and what objects in her range can be used as a weapon, since it only takes an instant if he is to become a threat. It’s no wonder that she only feels safe around women, whereas men, even the banal ones like the owner of a local store, are portrayed in a threatening way.

Society’s sexism is a central issue in the story. Jake’s only colleague on the island, Don, questions the fact that she lives alone. When she goes to the police station to report a break-in, the policeman treats her in a condescending manner, advising her to avoid future headaches by visiting more the bar at night: for them, her problems are not only her fault, but the solution to them is to finally find a man for herself.

However, in one of the scenes about her past, a guy that is taking Jake home comments: “’Knew I’d chosen a goodun, by the size of you,’ he says and slaps me on the thigh.” It’s not very surprising, then, when she realizes that this man doesn’t intend to let her out his grasp anymore; that he doesn’t want her company, but property over her body.

The protagonist, of course, questions this treatment. She lives in fear, and with a strong feeling of guilt, but doesn’t give in to social pressure. Her goal is precisely to live as she sees fit and thus directly challenge the oppression to which she is subjected. That is why learning how to shear sheep represents a symbolical milestone in the character’s life: it shows how she is no longer docile and passive like them.

The book is narrated in the first person, inserting the reader in the story via a feminine point of view. Following Jake’s worries maintains a constant atmosphere of suspense: danger awaits around every corner, every man she meets is a potential aggressor, and every friendly conversation can end in harassment. The narrative is suffocating.

However, all that makes the suspicion that there is a creature devouring Jake’s sheep a problematic narrative element. The monster doesn’t have its appearance revealed and no other character sees it, which helps to make it more frightening, giving it a nightmarish aura. Bu the problem is that the monster is not necessary for creating tension, as the book already has it to spare. And the supernatural element inherent to this creature not only differs in tone from the rest of the narrative, but also ends up being a “red herring”: a false clue that captures the reader’s attention and points it in the wrong direction. This means that the moments when the characters argue about a terrible beast lurking in the shadows of the forest ring false, artificial, as if their only purpose was to mislead us. In the end, the monster seems to work only as an unnecessary metaphor for the protagonist’s childhood trauma.

This trauma is also reflected in the novel’s use of verb tenses. Jake narrates all the present events with verbs in the past tense, while past events are narrated with verbs in the present tense. This suggests that the traumatic event, the endpoint of the journey through the flashbacks, is in the character’s current thoughts, still generating effects, dictating her actions, and possibly creating the figure of the monster. The book treats this subject with ambiguity, never pointing out whether the creature is real or not. However, the possibility that it exists literally is not only absurd in that universe, but also ultimately irrelevant, since the monster only kills sheep and nothing else, never posing a real threat.

Jake’s reason for being constantly afraid also leaves much to be desired when it’s finally revealed, since the event in question fails to connect with the main theme of the book. It is too random to have dramatic power: it’s no longer the question of the feminine, but the childish and inconsequential gesture of a child. In fact, the final revelation also puts in check the allegorical work done so far, since, in the end, it is not peer pressure that fuels her guilt, but a random event of her past.

To make matters worse, the relationship Jake establishes with Lloyd – the strange man she finds on her property – goes against the book’s main themes. If, at first, Jake acts fearfully, her usual hostility eventually gives way to affection as she starts to feel relaxed while in his company. The problem is not the relationship itself, but the way it is developed: in a certain scene, for example, when Jake is confronted by a young junkie at the door of her house, Lloyd puts himself in front of her like a protective man, takes the reins of the situation, and Jake accepts this behavior gladly. It doesn’t take long for him to take on the heaviest jobs on the farm, and for her to start to cook for him. In other words, the character is not there to complete the protagonist, but to take over the post of the man of the house. Society said Jake needed a husband, and she gets Lloyd. Again, the problem is not that she found a man to be with, but that the events surround him start to fall into sexist tropes and clichés.

All the Birds, Singing, at the beginning, constructs very well its themes and arguments while suffocating the reader with a very efficient oppressive atmosphere. However, the book’s ending enters in conflict with what has been developed so far, weakening its metaphors and betraying the protagonist’s journey.

March 19, 2020.

Review originally published in Portuguese on January 21, 2016.