By Andy Brown
Andy Brown's first novel follows a sibling courting informed via vignettes, each one tale targeted round the removing of a mole. From this premise, Brown's novel expands the institutions of moles from epidermis sickness, to the burrowing animal, to mystery societies and espionage, to inform the tale of familial disorder, culture-jamming, eco-terrorism, and remorse within the lives of teenagers within the Nineteen Nineties. relocating from the city decay of Montreal to the shores of Vancouver and again, and reflecting on diversified cultural and historic phenomena - BMX racing, the glorious 4, bush events, lifeguard obsessions, and the Montreal Ice hurricane - "The Mole Chronicles" is a fascinating and cutting edge debut novel.
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Extra info for The Mole Chronicles
Example text
I could hear the desperation of their wings in the attic above me as I slept. " My neighbour is worried that the man has come up from New York for retribution. He tells me about living in the Bronx and working for some shady businessmen. They bought a truck under my neighbour's name because they didn't want to use their names on the insurance. He did deliveries for them and didn't ask questions. When he found a dead body on his couch one morning he took the truck and made a run for the border. He used it for a couple of summers in Montreal to do freelance moving before the insurance ran out.
It was a race to see who could fill the page first, but sometimes it took days. I would catch Spence in math class working away. By the time the page was filled with bubbles the paper had curled due to the pressure we applied with our ballpoints. I never went back to the pool where I shat my pants. However, it was not just this experience which soured me on the field trip, but what happened later that day. I held hands with Stacey Howard on the way back to the school. I was terrified one of the boys would call me "poo pants" or something.
I was a little taken aback to see him there, in my house, looking uncomfortable, using both hands to cradle the tea cup, as if he were praying. Praying for victory. " he asked me. "Sure. " I paused because something had troubled me all night. " "That's okay. " "They communicate. They adapt. You'll see. Just play the same solid defense as always. " At that moment my mother cut herself with the knife. The coach stood up, tipping over his tea cup and swore. My mother held the base of her finger and squeezed, trying to stop the flow of blood.