The DEATH OF SMALL CREATURES
By Trisha Cull (Nightwood Editions)
There is a moment about a quarter of the way through The Death of Small Creatures, where you realize the book title is not just a metaphor for battling inner demons.
Author Trisha Cull has just killed a puppy, and reveals this just far enough into her personal account of bulimia, bipolar disorder and substance abuse, that the fact that she was six years old when it happened doesn’t change your opinion of her. You now share fully in the repulsion she has for herself; mission accomplished.
It’s hard to believe that just a few years prior to writing this moving, poetic, disturbing memoir, she was an alcoholic, freebasing Wellbutrin (pill casings and all), getting high on NeoCitran, smoking crack and crystal meth, cutting herself, starving herself, overdosing, and disassociating from everyone who cares about her.
Exploring her mental illness and addiction in the context of three major romances in her adult life, Cull is an unreliable, haunting narrator. There is Leigh, her much older husband, who may or may not be exacerbating her self-worth issues; Richard, a Seattle man she meets through her blog; and Dr. P, the therapist who becomes the object of her obsession when she is her most suicidal.
Recounting her struggle to cope through shifting memories, letters, blog entries, and clinical notes from the psychiatric hospital in Victoria in which she was committed twice, it can be hard to follow her decline, or even why it is happening. There is very little to ground you in the story except the horror of it, but eventually Cull establishes some familiar territory: conversations with her sister, vacations with Leigh, the bunny room where she goes to be high and spend time with her two pet rabbits, and the psychiatric hospital.
The reader’s best chance of emerging from The Death of Small Creatures is to abandon all hope of following the timeline of addiction, disappointment and self-abuse, and just immerse themselves in it as Cull has.
A graduate of the University of British Columbia’s MFA Creative Writing Program, Cull is an accomplished author. Her work has been published in Descant, subTerrain, Geist and PRISM, and a scan of the dates reveals that she was producing award-winning poetry while at the centre of this emotional storm.
As you plunge into Cull’s apathy, at times the weight of the hopelessness and self-hatred makes it hard to move even one more word forward, but without the volume of evidence and the sheer minutia of her daily struggle – watching George Stroumboulopoulos on CBC, forgetting to get blueberries for her rabbit Caravaggio – you would hardly believe it to be true.
There is a final, heartbreaking moment of symmetry when Caravaggio dies due to Cull’s lethargic neglect. Trapped underneath the couch, Cull fails to realize in time that he is unable to move, eat, free himself... Flash to Cull herself, lying face down on the rabbit room floor, paralyzed by drugs and depression for days on end, fur and kibble stuck to her face, while her husband angrily leaves and comes home, leaves and comes home from work.
It’s an unflinching reminder of her vulnerability, and that ultimately we are all custodians for the small creatures in our lives – the helpless and the hopeless.
• The Death of Small Creatures ($22.95) will be out on Nightwood Editions in April. This review is based on an advanced reading copy and is not the final version of the book.
Book Club questions [SPOILERS]:
• Animals play an important role in Cull’s life and are frequently included in the book. What do you think they symbolize?
• What did you find more shocking: Cull's escapades after she was first discharged from the hospital, or the fact that she was able to access drugs during her stay?
Ever wanted to be in a book club? Join ours from the comfort of your couch! April's book will be zombie romp All-Day Breakfast by Adam Lewis Schroeder.
