‘The Animals Are Dying. Soon We Will Be Alone Here.’ - The New York Times

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MIGRATIONS
By Charlotte McConaghy

“Migrations,” the Australian young-adult writer Charlotte McConaghy’s first voyage into the warming waters of literary eco-fiction, is a visceral and haunting novel that opens with the lines “The animals are dying. Soon we will be alone here.” It’s telling that such an assertion is so readily accepted by the reader — that the near-total collapse of animal life on the planet is met with merely a solemn nod and an eagerness to get on with the story.

We meet Franny Stone, a detached and mysteriously damaged woman who has traveled to Greenland to electronically tag what might be the last remaining colony of arctic terns before they embark upon the “longest natural migration of any living creature,” a pole-to-pole quest that will eventually land them in Antarctica.

Seeking passage on a boat to follow the birds on what could be their final migration, Franny encounters Ennis Malone, the enigmatic and tight-lipped captain of the Saghani, a purse seine herring boat. Somewhat implausibly, the captain agrees to take Franny aboard, hoping that her tracked terns will lead them to a hidden jackpot of herring. No matter the outrageous fuel costs required to make such a voyage. We’re afloat in the realm of metaphor here, so to sum up: We have a mercurial and restless narrator signing on with a menacing captain who is rarely seen above deck. Ringing any bells? As well as a work of first-rate climate fiction, “Migrations” is also a clever reimagining of “Moby-Dick,” that foundational text of humankind vs. nature, of hubris vs. humility, with Franny playing Ishmael, the famously morose seafarer whose damp and drizzly soul has gone full November. Sea yarns that serve as voyages of self-discovery have been the exclusive literary domain of men for far too long, and McConaghy deserves extra credit for sounding the oceanic depths of the female soul.

“The animals are dying. Soon we will be here alone.”

Once the ship is in motion, there are some delightful flashes of camaraderie among the crew, as Franny is shown the ropes — and knots — of life on a purse seiner, pitched and pestered by North Atlantic storms. These workaday details are expertly rendered: Franny’s hands bleed. Her blisters pop. Decks are swabbed. Occasionally McConaghy reaches back to traumatic episodes in Franny’s troubled past, unspooling the details of her life with admirable artistry. She’s been to jail, and the estranged husband she’s left in her wake may not actually be alive. The real mystery here is not some white whale but Franny herself, with much of the novel’s suspense driven by the patchiness of her testimony.

“Migrations” is not without flaws, however. As the crew nears their destination, the plot gets jerky, at times leaning upon melodrama, and the narrative’s previous vagueness about this dystopian world feels flimsy and concocted. At one point, fishing is banned worldwide by a nameless governmental body; at another, Franny is pursued by a nameless sea police force. Also, the notion that anyone in Newfoundland is ever going to hold up a sign that says “Justice for fish, death to fishermen,” even after the global collapse of the world’s sea life, is sheer fantasy.

Still, this novel’s prose soars with its transporting descriptions of the planet’s landscapes and their dwindling inhabitants, and contains many wonderful meditations on our responsibilities to our earthly housemates. “What happens when the last of the terns die?” Franny muses. “Nothing will ever be as brave again.”

“Migrations” is a nervy and well-crafted novel, one that lingers long after its voyage is over. It’s a story about our mingling sorrows, both personal and global, and the survivor’s guilt that will be left in their wake.

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‘The Animals Are Dying. Soon We Will Be Alone Here.’ - The New York Times
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