Little hope

Chris Cleave’s Little Bee attempts to challenge
our views and treatment of refugees

by JULIET WATERS

“We don’t want to tell you too much about this book,” pleads the dustcover of Chris Cleave’s recently released (in North America) novel, Little Bee. “It is a truly special story and we don’t want to spoil it. Nevertheless, you need to know something, so we will just say this: It is extremely funny, but the African beach scene is horrific. The story starts there, but the book doesn’t. And it’s what happens afterwards that is most important. Once you have read it, you’ll want to tell everyone about it. When you do, please don’t tell them what happens. The magic is ­in how it unfolds.”

When Cleave’s novel about the relationship between a Nigerian asylum seeker and the editor of a British women’s magazine first came out, reviews were mixed. The Guardian gushed praise (no surprise, Cleave writes a column there) then ruminated that “a special place in hell is reserved for the taxi-drivers who shout the name of the murderer outside Les Misérables to under-tipping passengers. Right next door to them sit the reviewers who give away the surprises in books.”

They must be warming up a place right now for the reviewer of The Times of London who despised the book so much that he petulantly revealed its major plot point in the second paragraph of his review.

I have no life plans for hell, and fortunately I didn’t hate the book as much as The Times. But a dustcover telling me about a “truly special” book is usually a sign that the publishers don’t think it’s strong enough to earn this praise on its own. And it’s not.

It’s funny, not “extremely funny” (a hugely inappropriate description of a book about Nigerian refugees anyways). And yes, the African beach scene is horrific. But it’s also manipulative and unnecessary in a story that has more than enough everyday horror to stand on its own.

Little Bee, a charming and believable enough narrator, has just survived two years in a privately run U.K. refugee centre. She wonders about First Worlders who have lost their sense of horror and need to keep watching movies to maintain it. Meanwhile, after two years of researching these refugee camps, Cleave contrives exactly the kind of hyper horror that caters to that numbness.

It’s too bad, because Cleave’s political intentions are obviously genuine. He wants to bring attention to the terrible treatment of refugees in First World countries and the genuine danger they’re fleeing. He creates a very likable character in Little Bee, and a credible, if somewhat repellent character in Sarah, the woman who bonds with her over time. Unfailingly weak minor male characters, and one cloyingly eccentric child aren’t even enough to destroy this book entirely. What works against it the most, however, is the book’s relentless buoyancy. Because God forbid a book about soul-killing injustice might get too heavy.

On his Web site, Cleave tells us that he had to write about the treatment of asylum seekers because “it’s such a dirty secret. And I knew I had to show the unexpected humour of these refugees wherever I could, and to make the book an enjoyable and compelling read—because otherwise people’s eyes would glaze over.”

But he gets to the crux of the problem early on in Little Bee. All that refugees usually have is their story. They work that story over and over making it as compelling as they can because their lives depend on it. What happens too often is that, by the time they get to tell it, it sounds contrived.

Something similar has happened in this book. The effort put into it to make it “compelling and enjoyable” is the very thing that made this reader’s eyes glaze over. I want the best for the people Cleave writes about. But in the end, it’s better, fairer policies, not more “compelling” stories, that are still their best shot.

LITTLE BEE, BY CHRIS CLEAVE, BOND
STREET BOOKS, HC 288 PP., $29.95