Illusions and disillusions. Ah, what might have been … In Aryn Kyle’s The God of Animals, dreams characters have for the future collide with disappointments of present realities. Twelve-year-old Alice Winston relates events at the horse farm her father struggles to make profitable. Alice’s father teaches her the business and depends on her as his right hand. While Alice is truly his faithful little hero, he continually lauds her older sister Nona as the family’s shining star. Nona had been a champion rider, but as the novel begins, she has deserted the family to run off with a rodeo rider. Alice’s loyalty, smarts, strengths, and hard work are taken for granted in Nona’s shadow. Her mother, though living in the house, has mentally checked out (clinical depression?), and Alice seeks appreciation and love from other sources—her father’s clients, a teacher, and fellow junior high students.
Alice’s angst is palpable. Her guileless search for life’s answers
and guidance is endearing. Her longing for love—and an adult to even tend to
her basic needs—is heartbreaking. Her parents’ benign neglect—they are simply
otherwise occupied—is painful to read. Alice’s self-protectiveness,
perceptiveness, and pursuit of worldly wisdom are honest—or in some cases,
dishonest, as she learns about lies. Aryn Kyle has written a novel that engages
readers’ emotions, even if the emotions mostly slide toward sadness.
I often felt sad reading this book. But I wanted to read on.
The God of Animals is a well-told
story, and I enjoyed Kyle’s writing. Plus, I was rooting for Alice and wanted
to hang in with her till the end. Also, horse training and equestrian
competitions are unfamiliar to me, and I was fascinated to learn intimate, colorful
details of the business that Kyle incorporates. Sometimes horse training
strategies paralleled what Alice and her father and all we humans have to learn
about breaking and bending under life’s dashed hopes. Occasionally as I read
this novel, I thought a twelve-year-old narrator could not possibly articulate
observations as wisely, and sometimes poetically, as Alice did. I decided just
to roll with that inconsistency because I liked the writing enough not to
quibble with that detail.
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