Bear

 

Bear by Julia Phillips

Fiction

2024

Finished on August 3, 2024

Rating: 3/5 (OK)

Publisher's Blurb:

A mesmerizing novel of two sisters on a Pacific Northwest island whose lives are upended by an unexpected visitor — a tale of family, obsession, and a mysterious creature in the woods, by the celebrated, bestselling author of Disappearing Earth.

They were sisters and they would last past the end of time.

Sam and her sister, Elena, dream of another life. On the island off the coast of Washington where they were born and raised, they and their mother struggle to survive. Sam works long days on the ferry that delivers wealthy mainlanders to their vacation homes while Elena bartends at the local golf club, but even together they can’t earn enough to get by, stirring their frustration about the limits that shape their existence.

Then one night on the boat, Sam spots a bear swimming the dark waters of the channel. Where is it going? What does it want? When the bear turns up by their home, Sam, terrified, is more convinced than ever that it’s time to leave the island. But Elena responds differently to the massive beast. Enchanted by its presence, she throws into doubt the plan to escape and puts their long-held dream in danger.

A story about the bonds of sisterhood and the mysteries of the animals that live among us — and within us — Bear is a propulsive, mythical, rich novel from one of the most acclaimed young writers in America.

When is a bear just a bear? 

The bear, she said. The bear. It lit her days. Just hoping--knowing that she might see it--knowing it was there to be seen.

The bear had come and brought delight. The bear was deep-furred majesty. Without it, Elena didn't know what they'd do. The bear was their one good thing: a specter, a spirit, an extraordinary beast. A visitor from someplace enchanted. A vision of the mysterious world. 

What had the bear done to harm them? Nothing. What threat did is pose? None at all. So why bring in someone to chase it away? There was no reason. The bear was here, briefly and beautifully, teaching them what it was to love living, helping them to make it through. 

As I read the final pages of Julia Phillips' new novel Bear, I wondered if I had missed something critical in the story. Was it Phillips' intention to create a novel of magical realism or was the bear a metaphor for society's attack on the poor and lower class citizens, struggling for survival, living hand-to-mouth?

I listened to a novel almost a decade ago called The Bear (by Claire Cameron), which was both mesmerizing and terrifying. At the center of that tale are two young children and one large bear, the former of whom tugged at my heartstrings, bringing me to tears as I listened to their story, their palpable fear invading my dreams. 

Julia Phillips' strange novel is no comparison. I was drawn to the book after reading some glowing reviews, and the Pacific Northwest setting was an easy sell. I've written about my love of the San Juan Islands here, and I was easily transported to that idyllic location, picturing Samantha behind the concession stand on one of the many ferries that traverse the waters between Anacortes, San Juan, Lopez, and Orcas.

For her last twenty minutes on the boat that day, Sam rode in the open air, letting fine mist wash across her face. Seaplanes hummed overhead.

 She drove home from the harbor with the windows down. The breeze was warm, powdery with pollen, soft with the promise of early summer. Here was another day she'd almost entirely missed, penned through the daylight hours in the fluorescent-lined box on the ferry's top deck, but she'd made it at last into the sunshine. Driving lazily, playing pop on the radio. Trees brushed by on either side. Farm animals watched her pass. When she and Elena moved off-island, they would enjoy, she imagined, mentioning to people the beautiful place in which they'd grown up. The air smelled like cedar and sugar. It was lovely. With every curve in the road, her body relaxed deeper into the driver's seat. She'd gotten the final piece of the day, the sliver of goodness left.

And yet, despite the picturesque setting, the story left me shaking my head, wondering why other readers were so impressed. The characters are thinly drawn, Sam's unhealthy dependency on her older sister grew tiresome (I struggled to believe Sam was 28 when she comes across as an immature, antisocial teenager), and the manner in which Elena interacts with the grizzly is beyond belief. 

As dissatisfied as I was of the plot, I admired the author's beautiful prose, particularly her descriptions of island life.

When the sisters were young, very young, they loved living on San Juan. Summers, the girls would go over to Lime Kiln and pass entire days posted up on the rocky bluffs watching for whales. Spotting them was like catching shooting stars. You couldn't focus on any one spot--you had to let your gaze go wide. Elena was especially good at it. She would jostle Sam's elbow and say, "Humpback." The tourists next to them, outfitted with binoculars, gasped, leaning close to try to learn her secrets. Elena pointed out the pods. Humpbacks, gray whales, minkes, porpoises rolling and leaping in the surf. Gorgeous orcas, with their dorsal fins sharp as blades.

The girls hiked along the coastal cliffs as otters floated below. They went north, to English Camp, where a Coast Salish longhouse once stood, and play pretend among the thick damp ferns. Park rangers waved in their direction. Elena asked where they came from, what they did here, whether they liked it, and they told her the names of their hometowns and the list of their duties and how, yes, they treasured this place. Sam and Elena chased each other down the park's trails. They hooted and squealed. Their world seemed enchanted, a paradise. 

My first inclination was to give Bear a 2/5 (fair) rating, but as I've spent more time thinking about the novel and Phillips' prose, I've decided to nudge it up a notch. In spite of a near DNF, I did become engrossed as the story progressed, eager to learn the outcome. Would I recommend the book? Probably not. But I do highly recommend Claire Cameron's novel, which is based on the tragic story that occurred in 1991 "on Bates Island on Lake Opeongo in Algonquin Park, nearly three thousand square miles of wilderness situated two hundred miles northeast of Toronto." The audio of that book is outstanding!