Amongst a slew of books published two or three years ago were many that I hoped to read but were put aside by life circumstances. What a pleasure now to scour my TBR pile and find books I was so looking forward to reading at the time but am only getting to now. One of these is MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING (Ultimo Press 2022) by Nigel Featherstone, an author who completely wowed me with his previous historical novel, BODIES OF MEN.
MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING is that most precious of literary novels: lyrical, beautifully poetic and descriptive, immersed in nature, lush in sensory detail, and imbued with themes and motifs that are widely relevant but seem, in the writing, to become elevated with grace, wisdom, tenderness and truth.
Featherstone’s novel explores sexuality, diversity, class, family responsibilities, memory, sibling relationships, passion, desire, friendship, illicit love, changing mores, the mother/son bond, self-identity, ambition, loyalty and devotion. It is a book about the freedom we dream of when we are young, the ties that bind us as we grow older, the cost of foregoing our dreams and the tremendous exhilaration in finding the courage to follow them, no matter our age.
The main character, Patrick, narrates the entire story from his perspective. As a (mostly closeted) gay man (especially during his childhood and adolescence), he has always felt out of place – in his friendship group, his work environment and even in his family. His secret passions and desires fill him with shame; when younger, he is attracted only to young men who he knows can’t or won’t possibly return his affection.
Instead he devotes his time to caring for his mother. Living only two doors down from her, Patrick visits his mother every day, carrying most of the physical and emotional weight of care because he is close and he is single. His sister Olivia is busy with her husband and children, and his brother Oakley has moved to the other side of the world. And so it falls to Patrick, as his mother gradually deteriorates, to water her plants and carry her shopping, take her to appointments and listen to her chatter, even as she deteriorates in mind and body and often treats him with disdain and contempt. She is demanding and pedantic, she is writing her eulogy, she is recalcitrant and obstinate. Despite her intermittent and often incomprehensible fury and frustration with Patrick, she relies on him and insists that he be available 24/7.
The book opens with a violent act perpetrated by Patrick against his mother (perhaps an accident, perhaps not; who can tell?) and his frantic communications to his siblings that he can no longer cope with shouldering all the responsibility for their mother and her moods. He continues in this frame of mind throughout the novel, resenting his mother but also caring for her in the most gentle and tender way. Even when his memory calls up blurry but disturbing images from his childhood, he pushes them aside because that was then and this is now, and if he doesn’t care for her, then who will?
But that opening incident, when he lost his temper, does force him to take a few days off and prioritise his own needs for once. He embarks on a journey back to Jimenbuen, a large rural property in Monara in rural New South Wales. ‘Jimmy’ holds a special place in his heart, as it was where his family holidayed when they were younger. He has warm recollections of playing, climbing, exploring, swimming, finding, relaxing and unwinding on the mostly deserted homestead.
This time, when he goes back – only for a few days, by his planning – he is drawn to Lewis, who he helps in his intensive efforts at regeneration with planting native seedlings. Though they have little time together (and although it seems it may not be the first time they’ve met), the two men are attracted physically, emotionally and intellectually, and Patrick experiences feelings for Lewis that he has never before unleashed.
This is a quiet novel, with so much beautiful description of the environment, the land, the seasons, the weather, the wildlife and the natural world. The plot is slow and considered but not tiresome – there is enough happening for Patrick both in his life with his mother, and in his relationship with Lewis – that propels the reader forward.
His mother’s cognitive decline is hard to witness. We see from Patrick’s perspective the pain and distress it causes him to watch his mother deteriorate, and we understand how every day he is forced to take on more and more of her intimate care, but we also comprehend that he is almost at the end of his tether; that although he is most definitely a ‘good man’, even he has limits, and it seems he might be reaching them. But it is a hamster wheel he is unable to get off. He has no choice. I suspect this feeling of inadequacy and unavoidable responsibility will resonate with many readers, no matter how loving a relationship they have with their aging parents.
Lewis drifts in and out of Patrick’s life but it never seems to be the right time and the right place for both of them. The ending of the novel is in some ways inevitable and heartbreaking but in other ways satisfying and optimistic. It is not about the work we undertake or the relationships we do (or don’t) foster, but life is about the acts of kindness and devotion we do for others and also for ourselves.
Featherstone’s inclusion of the rare appearance of an endangered or possibly extinct animal serves as a metaphor throughout for the glimpses of love and connection and impossibility that flit through our lives, briefly startling us before vanishing into the wilderness.
I adore this book about what it means to be a man, a gay man, a son, a lover, and a human.