The White Bone, Barbara Gowdy

Every once in a while, you come across an author who can render another reality so realistically that it realigns the reader's perception of the world. The White Bone is one of those. It articulates in language a world never captured in word or thought. Call it an emotional landscape or sub-logic or whatever you like, this animal universe is opaque to us until Barbara Gowdy gives it flesh and substance, until she encloses it in image, feeling and wonderous beauty. The story is a simple hero quest, in which a young elephant, Mud, tries to survive in an environment so hostile that it takes away all that she loves and leaves her vulnerable and unprotected, young and inexperienced though she is. The beauty of this novel is that we, the reader, see, really see, through the eyes, and with the thoughts of the animals that populate this story. Their worlds are ornate and complete, but utterly different from each other, except that each species views itself as unique, peerless and central to creation. Just like us.
I got this novel, like so many others, at the front table at She Said Boom on College St. I read it here in this house at the end of another harrowing school year. I took it in in gulps, arid though the scenery is, because it was not here, was not familiar, was not me or mine or anything I've ever seen before. Gowdy took me away from all this, and I thank her.
This is a treat of a novel and I recommend it strongly, but I can let it go just the same. You can't go back to newness.