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Tiffany
Baker's captivating debut novel, The Little Giant of Aberdeen
County, is a charming look at how a truly unique character
learns to accept herself despite having all odds against her.
Despite some shortcomings, Baker manages to engage her readers
through dazzling and well-crafted prose.
The unlikely
heroine of Baker's story, Truly Plaice, is far from average.
Even before her birth, Truly was larger than life. After seeing
her mother's enormous and ever-expanding pregnant belly, townsfolk
placed bets on just how big the baby would be—a baby
they were sure would be a boy. They imagined him being the
star quarterback of the town's team.
No one
was prepared for the gravity of the situation, least of all
Truly's mother and the town doctor who could not save her
during childbirth. When Truly was born a girl, enormous in
size, the town residents were disgusted. But her troubles
would only grow larger, because Truly herself would never
stop growing. The Little Giant of Aberdeen County follows
Truly from her birth through adulthood, telling the story
of how this peculiar character grew into her own person in
a town that would never accept her differences.
"Stuck
somewhere between a village and a town," the fictional Aberdeen
County is a quaint small town in upstate New York during the
1950s—exactly the kind of backdrop this type of story
requires. Baker succeeds in bringing the town to life in such
detail that readers can picture the weeds growing out of the
cracked sidewalks or imagine the white picket fences in need
of a fresh coat of paint. Everything about Aberdeen is deceptive:
beautiful at first sight, but ugly underneath. Initially,
Aberdeen appears to be the kind of picturesque community urban
dwellers reflect upon dreamily when the indifference of modern
city life bears down: neighbors who drop off casseroles and
food baskets when there is a death in the family, a perennial
festival where the most beautiful girl in town is crowned
May Queen, and one family doctor who has treated every generation
in the household.
But Aberdeen
has an ugly side. Its isolated environment breeds simplemindedness
and ignorance in the townsfolk, who educate their youth in
a one-room schoolhouse where older children learn alongside
the younger and half the books in the old brick library are
faded and illegible. In Aberdeen, gossip runs rampant, rumors
become truth, and prejudice is allowed to blossom. Truly never
had a fair chance, being born into such an environment. Her
increasingly immense body makes her an instant outcast, especially
in contrast to her pretty, doll-like older sister Serena Jane.
Due to
an unknown ailment, later revealed as a pituitary gland disorder,
Truly continues to grow at an alarming rate throughout her
life. As a child, when other girls her age wear knee-socks
and skirts with matching bows in their hair, Truly wears boy's
denim overalls and her father's old shirts. She doesn't know
what to think of herself until a stranger to town, the new
schoolmarm, labels her a "little giant." For Truly, this is
a defining moment in her life.
I
blushed. It was a word I'd heard before in Brenda Dyerson's
fairy stories, wherein magic stalks grew out of regular
dried beans, ordinary geese laid jewel-encrusted eggs,
and enchanted harps sung of their own accord. To me, it
was a word that swirled with extraordinary promises of
castle spires and treasure chests. That's not how the
teacher said it, though. She spat the word through the
front of her teeth, as if she were expelling used toothpaste.
"Huge!" she elaborated. "Surely it's not normal."
And that's
how the majority of people see Truly—as something colossally
abnormal and unwelcome. Not surprisingly, this takes a toll
on Truly, who habitually comes across as unhappy, lonely,
and helpless. For much of the book, she seems simply resigned
to her unfortunate situation—which may be understandable
given the circumstances, but is also frustrating for readers
who are really pulling for Truly. Not until the later half
of the book do things start looking up and readers get some
reprieve from the overall tone of despair.
While
Truly is an interesting character and the story quite original
and heartwarming—touching on familiar themes of acceptance
and love—what stands out the most is Baker's captivating
writing. Without her beautiful mix of prose and imagery, the
book could seem a bit too precious or ultimately forgettable.
Supporting characters in the book are mostly unremarkable
and the plot weakens toward the end, almost rushing toward
conclusion. The fragmented romantic plotline seems like an
afterthought, as though someone told Baker that familial love
and friendship alone aren't marketable.
Still,
Baker keeps her readers engaged by weaving together elegant
prose and infusing a touch of whimsy throughout the novel.
Her personal style overcomes the book's shortcomings, making
it well worth the read. She may have some room for improvement,
but like the heroine of her story, she will surely grow into
her own.
(February,
2009)
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