Fruit
by Brian Francis
ECW Press, 2004
Reviewed by Anne Borden
"It doesn't really bother me that
I don't have a boy friend. But I think it bothers everyone else,
especially my parents. Sometimes, while we're watching Love
Boat on Saturday nights, I'll
catch my mother looking over at me, like she's trying to figure out a
crossword puzzle."
 Brian Francis' first novel introduces
us to Sarnia Observer delivery boy Peter Paddington, who survives
grade eight (and the onset of gay puberty) with the help of his stoic
wit and phenomenal imagination. Peter's accounts of the daily events at
school and home are at once gripping and hysterically funny, especially
if you’re among those of us who spent your adolescent Saturday nights
with Mom, Captain Steubing and crew.
What sets Francis' book apart from so
many other coming out novels is that he taps so deeply into early
adolescent sexuality and the secrets that young people labor to keep
from their families and even themselves. So much of Peter’s
adolescence is about controlling his responses: to the bullies who want
to make him cry; to his parents’ unrelenting dorkiness; to the urges
of a rapidly changing body. Peter agonizes, for example, over what he
calls his "bedtime movies" - those falling asleep fantasies
that follow bedtime stories and precede masturbation – because they
have been featuring more boys than girls these days. But he never stops
having them.
When it comes to his own body, Peter is
almost grimly self-effacing: "There are a lot of things about me
that need fixing. For starters, I'm big-boned, which is a nice way of
saying 'all my pants have elasticized waistbands.'" On his
thirteenth birthday, Peter passionately resolves to get a tan, lose
weight and "get normal nipples". The thing is, they already
are normal, as are the plots of his "bedtime movies" - it’s
his view that’s been distorted, and one suspects that Peter is on the
cusp of this discovery.
In many ways, Peter is the
Sarnia Observer, protecting himself by remaining outside of the social
fray at school … the kind of kid who grows up to be a writer. He
spends his recess as the librarian's assistant, analyzing, through the
window, the social hierarchy of Clarkdale Elementary School. He
instinctually distances himself from the boys in the "athlete"
group, the "short" group, the "geek" group, the
"Indian" group and the "banger" group," and
knowingly avoids those kids who "don’t fit into any group"
(e.g., Arlene Marple "who has dandruff and B.O. and wears
sweatshirts with kittens on them."). Like many gay teens, Peter
struggles to balance his desires (e.g, learn the art of cooking by
taking Home Ec. class) with his pragmatic self-protectiveness (e.g.,
keep from getting called a "girl" and shoved into a locker by
Brian Cinder), which leads to unjust compromises.
Peter’s significant social
connections are not at Clarkdale, but with a handful of neighbors and
his immediate family (again in this way, he’s really more normal than
he realizes). His biggest worry is not that he doesn’t have
school friends but rather that he’s let his parents down by not
having school friends. Likewise, the worst betrayal Peter experiences
isn’t at Clarkdale, it is by his older sister Christine, who refuses
to leave her post as a People’s Jewelry saleswoman to help him fend
off an "athlete" group bully at the mall (from behind the
counter "she mouthed two words to me: ‘Go. away.’")
The book’s thrilling dénouement,
involving an Olivia Newton John album that was a birthday gift from a
bachelor uncle, would be a great place for Francis to draw the story to
a close. Unfortunately, the strengths of the book are then somewhat
dashed by an abrupt shift in the narrative to "boy loses weight,
boy accepts himself". Peter’s birthday moment, after all, seems
to be his biggest revelation on the way towards coming out, that
everyone has a secret to hide; and that the moment he can own his
secrets will be the beginning of Xanadu.
Anne
Borden lives in Toronto, where she works as a writer and editor. |
