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CM . . .
. Volume VIII Number 18 . . . . May 10, 2002
excerpt: I knew then that Mama was lying. Words such as "dear" and "darling" had never been part of her vocabulary for either Horrie or myself. And as for her references to our Saviour and his angels, such terms only passed her lips when she had "bad news" to convey. I did not resume my weeping but asked, as calmly as I could, "Mama, what are you going to do now?"
Let's confess.
Even for the best of us, murders hold a morbid fascination. And the more
innocent and helpless the victim is, the more compelling the story becomes.
Award-winning Australian author Gary Crew is thus virtually guaranteed
success with his fictionalized account of the events leading to a 1890s
baby farmer's conviction of murder. He faces a problem, however: how does
he capitalize on this fascination without sensationalizing the story so
that it profoundly disturbs his young audience?
At the centre of Mama's Babies
is Sarah who, at the age of nine, started questioning the strange circumstances
of her isolated life with Mama Pratchett and her many young, so-called
siblings. Mama's dependence on her unwilling accomplice is growing,
and so too does Sarah's awareness of the sinister situation. Finally,
Sarah finds the courage to expose Mama's crimes and to stand against
her in court.
The tale is told by the adult Sarah,
writing away the memories of her childhood. This choice of narrator
must have been a tough one for, while the passage of time safely distances
the reader from an intense situation, the formal, matter-of-fact presentation
by the lady is far removed from the more gripping first reaction of
a child. The drama does increase with the confrontation between Sarah
and Mama, but the impact of Sarah's choice to proceed with testifying
is muted, and the reader feels little of the emotional tug-of-war that
the girl must surely feel.
Because the voice of the adult Sarah
overrides that of the young Sarah, readers might find it hard to engage
with the character. She doesn't come across as terribly spunky, despite
the incredible courage she must have possessed, and, while she is no
doubt a hero, she's not a very pro-active one. The sense that all happened
in the remote past is underscored by the depiction of other characters
as well. Will is simply the nice boy who helps her (and eventually becomes
her husband). Mama's singularly evil character as recalled by Sarah
is difficult to reconcile with Lady Islington's implicit trust in and
Uncle Bernie's ardent admiration for the woman. The babies and toddlers
are little more than names, and, although this brevity does serve to
emphasize the efficiency with which they were dispatched, readers will
find it hard to care about them.
Sarah's ordeal comes to a storybook ending
when Sarah's real mother, the beautiful and refined Lady Islington,
returns to reclaim Sarah on the basis of a birthmark. It adds, for better
or for worse, to the removal of readers from the horrific reality of
a disturbing time in history when an uptight society could discreetly
condone the systematic, often parent-sanctioned, disposal of bastard
children.
Recommended. Cora
Lee is a Vancouver writer and editor.
To comment on this
title or this review, send mail to cm@umanitoba.ca.
Copyright © the Manitoba Library Association. Reproduction for personal
use is permitted only if this copyright notice is maintained. Any other
reproduction is prohibited without permission.
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