From the onset, Tim Winton’s novel, ‘Juice’, would be a book that I’ve not read the likes of in a very long time. I’m sure many people have drawn the parallels between Winton’s latest release and Cormac McCarthy’s, ‘The Road’, due to the dystopian setting, begrudging adult-and-placid- child relationship, as well as lack of quotation marks to denote dialogue. However, Winton’s novel differentiates itself enough from McCarthy’s work to stand on its own, starting off with its use of frame narrative.
Opening with the main character and his somewhat unwilling companion, the girl and older man encounter another traveller on the road whose intentions could be described as not far from murderous. When the main character theorises that they may have shared history, however, a tentative truce is created as his past unravels.
The bulk of the narrative begins as the main character chronicles his life from childhood to the current moment, in a world that is wracked by environmental devastation and there’s both a fear and opaqueness of how their past came to this way of life. While the timeframe of the story is unknown, it’s likeness to our own experiences brings forth a sharp realisation of how we are on the cusp of a similarly destructive future. The main character explains how everyone in his town is forced to live underground for longer periods of time each year as the surface of the Earth becomes too hot to survive in the warmer seasons and how their labours result in smaller fruits with each passing cycle. The specificity and plausibility of Winton’s version of an apocalyptic world is too like our own for the reader to not feel a sense of dread and anxiety.
This perturbation suffuses the entire novel, lending an undercurrent of unease to our protagonist’s survival despite the audience knowing that he’s endured everything up to this point. In between these moments of horror, however, Winton still establishes moments of hope and resilience:
‘But don’t you think there’s something bigger and better to aspire to than a capacity to endure? Isn’t there more to courage than suffering?
I don’t know, I said in a fog of awe and trepidation. Like what?
How about boldness? Audacity.’
The impact of these moments of optimism is further emphasised through Winton’s clear and concise prose. While I love language that takes liberties in ornamenting itself, there is something to say about an author who can get to the root of what they make you want to feel in as few words as possible.
Unfortunately, though the economy of each sentence is efficiently parsed, the book itself is another matter. While grand recounts of adventure and glory often result in gargantuan tomes, rather than eliciting a feeling of experiencing the main character’s life alongside him, I was often left wondering how many more times we’d be faced with same plot points and no growth. I understand that some breadth is required to convey how change is gradual and that the trauma and evil the main character and his associates are trying to vanquish is an intergenerational effort that goes beyond the individual both in perspective and time. However, I found that the words used to describe this only had diminishing returns as the story bore on.
In fact, one of the most engaging and exciting moments happened in the final few chapters of the book, which not only made me feel off-kilter but also had me asking myself why there were not more dynamic tone shifts throughout the novel. This, alongside other inclusions near the latter half of the book, confused me, as the book rather suddenly shifted from a cli-fi-esque story to a more traditional science fiction novel, but with very little worldbuilding to buttress these new plot points.
Despite these misgivings, at the heart of the book lies a deep and oftentimes painful examination of identity that makes it impossible to not question our own shortcomings and strengths.
‘For once my childhood was over, it was never again possible for me to be properly known by those I loved. Perhaps, in the end, that was all I ever really wanted. To appear before them as I am. To see and be seen. But that’s not how things went.’
This would not have been a book I would’ve picked up for leisure, but its profundity and literary merit would have been something I would’ve greatly appreciated in a more academic setting. Its very nature forces you to reflect on your own practices, question your beliefs and hope for a future that is better than the present because if we don’t, then who will?
