Water for Elephants with Albinos
As Reviewed by an Actual Albino
If you google the term ‘albinism’ Google, very obligingly, opens a brief summary paragraph for you at the very beginning of the search entry listing, taken from Wikipedia. The paragraph says, in more or less layman’s terms: “Albinism in humans is a congenital disorder characterized by the complete or partial absence of pigment in the skin, hair and eyes. Albinism is associated with a number of vision defects, such as photophobia, nystagmus, and amblyopia. Lack of skin pigmentation makes for more susceptibility to sunburn and skin cancers.”
I know this because I went and googled the word albinism, and saw what came out. I don’t know when the author began research on her book The Life She Was Given, but, if it had been any time in the last fifteen years, this information would have been more or less equally readily available to her as well.
If she’d actually bothered to open and read the very first link in her search (hint: it’s Wikipedia) she, like the readers of this review, would have discovered a few no-doubt surprising facts about albinism. For instance, she would have been astonished to find out that there are several kinds of albinism, of which the most recognizable emblematic form – it’s called Type I, just so you know – is the most famous, although not the most common. The most common type of albinism, type II – I know, scientists are so original – numerically outweighs the first type around the world, and, while still having many of the albino features, is basically unknown, because type II albinos… well, they don’t really look albinos. Yours truly, for instance, a type II albino with credentials, has dark blonde hair. My eyebrows could stand some pencil, and my skin looks like Ye Olde Albinoe, but go prove it to the disbelieving public.
All types of albinism, however, have one thing in common, and that thing can be gleaned even from the paragraph that Google Search displays, without opening and bothering to actually, you know, read about it: severe vision defects. So if you make your character a perfect albino doll (of course she’s a perfect albino doll), maybe, just maybe, you should give her the visual acuity of 20/200 she’s supposed to have, just for the sake of being original. The information is, after all, right there.
This is spoilers, by the way. We spend the first three chapters or so in a state of uncertainty and tension the author builds up for us. We’re supposed to wonder, you see, how horrible and abominable this child is that her parents imprisoned her in the attic, only to discover later that – poof! – there’s nothing wrong with her! It doesn’t work, because from about page 2 we very quickly garner the impression of the parents being such utter, insane bastards that we as readers fully expect the ‘horrible birth defect of doom’ to be a mole on the shoulder or a couple of crooked teeth.
I grant, of course, that I may gripe about this too much because, as a type II albino with actual visual acuity problems, I find my utter lack of representation in fiction in any kind of realistic way to be, well, annoying. It might be better if albinos were not represented at all, but as they serve as the convenient go-to monster with whom nothing discernable is actually wrong, I would be ever so grateful if the authors had bothered, at least for the sake of courtesy, to explore the condition they want to portray.
And there’s literally nothing wrong with this girl aside from the colouring. I mean, she’s actually perfect. Porcelain doll perfect. The amount of times her flawless skin is mentioned would make any normal woman erupt in pimples. I’d go back and literally count it, but I don’t think I can stand the pain. Her beauty is elaborated on, expanded on, noted by the basically-omniscient narrator. It’s very important for us the readers to understand how astonishingly beautiful this albino woman is. I suppose it’s important to stress since it is one of only virtues; her job in this story is to be tormented, abused, protected, shuffled, cheated, saved, stared at, taken care of, stood up for…
Basically, she gets all the personality and treatment of the porcelain doll she’s described as being. She started and ended her life in the same attic, a prisoner, she got pushed and prodded from plot element to plot element, and her moment of happiness came as a result of being saved by, and married to, her sole Knight in Shining Armour Protector, who presumably loved her because of her personality, but we can’t tell.
No, I’m serious. Our heroine has not done a single active thing for herself until the last three chapters of the book. Everything she got and whatever happiness she managed to eke out was a direct result of her boyfriend standing up for her.
In the last chapters she threw herself head over heels into a stupid cause trying to rescue an elephant that killed a human because it had to (sounds familiar?) and gets herself wounded, her husband killed, and her young daughter orphaned. Smart. Compassionate. Good job.
Also, she has superpowers. No, seriously, she has Wild Empathy. After having interacted for her entire life with one cat she can make animals do everything for her without a word and without any training. All animals, from the moment she sees them. I suppose there is a reason for her to be able to do something like that with elephants whom she petted and made friendly with for years and years – although how she would achieve new commands without a single bit of training I’m hard pressed to figure out – but she can do it with animals she’s never encountered before, too. It’s because of the purity of her heart, which is obviously embodied in the purity of her whiteness, or something.
At least our second heroine, Julia, is a little more active. In fact, too active for a woman on her own in the 1950s. Julia acts, speaks and is reacted to like a woman in the 2000s. she swears (actually says ‘Shit’, if you please, which I’m sure makes total sense for a woman in the ‘50s), becomes the owner of a business and horse ranch, runs around in men’s sweaters and pants, and nobody so much as blinks. The only way we get to know this is, in fact, the 1950s is via a thousand tiny descriptive details the author bothers to provide in the form of brand names and the mention of poodle skirts.
Julia is less of a Purity Sue than Lilly who is literally an angel walking the earth, but even she has some of the same trends. Her own empathy with animals is less supernatural, of course, and she occasionally stoops to actual shoplifting in order to eat. She also ran away from home. Presumably these more normal attributes are because she’s not an albino. You have to be a real albino to get animals to obey you instinctively. I wish my cats knew that.
Julia’s plot involves a lot less straight-up endless suffering, a lot more horses, but no less boredom. Who would have thought that constant unending abuse, and descriptions of nothing but abuse, could actually be boring? But with the heroine of one timeline doing nothing but be beaten up and the heroine of another timeline doing not much the pacing of the plot, which requires time skips of six years, stands still and refuses to move.
In the end, this is a story of passivity. Maybe on purpose – I almost hope so. Passivity of the two female protagonists, passivity of the men (the few, approximately three in the entire story) who are not abusive, passivity of society, and who all knows what else. Certainly the main protagonist, Lilly, is embodied by being more or less a lifeless thing. It is extremely telling, to me, that even the title of this book is in the passive voice; The Life She Was Given and not, say, The Life She Had.
Maybe one day we will finally step out of the realm of passive disabled beautiful flawless pure people to whom things happen, maybe one day… but it is not this day.