Summertime Sadness: A review of "The Van Apfel Girls are Gone" by Felicity McLean

The Van Apfel Girls are Gone

by Felicity McLean

A bookreview

1992, and an early, searing Australian summer. In a small river valley town outside of Sydney, the three Van Apfel sisters – Hannah, Cordelia and Ruth – disappear during the yearly outdoor “Showstopper” concert organised by their school.  All the community is marked by this disturbing occurrence, and none more so than eleven-year old Tikka – the narrator of this novel – and her older sister Laura, close friends of the Van Apfel girls.  Twenty years later, back home from America where she now works, Tikka recalls the fateful events of that hot summer, and rekindles old doubts which have never really gone away.

The premise of this novel is not terribly original.  The “disappearing person” has now gone beyond being a “trope” and could well be considered a thriller sub-genre.  Some readers have compared this novel to Reservoir 13, others to Picnic at Hanging Rock, not least because of its Australian context.  Given the particular details of the narrative – three sisters from a religiously conservative family who (possibly?) meet a tragic end, the coming-of-age element, a narrator revisiting memories of a terrible occurrence – one would be forgiven for suspecting that the author was inspired also by The Virgin Suicides.

So, did we really need this new novel?  In my view, yes.  First of all, it is very well crafted and intelligently paced.  I’ve read some very good books over the past months, but this is the one I would most comfortably describe as a “page-turner”. This is no mean feat, considering that we are made aware from very early on that we’ll never fully know the solution to the mystery.

Besides, despite its parallels to other novels, The Van Apfel Girls are Gone has got its own idiosyncrasies.  In this respect, it’s interesting to compare it to The Virgin Suicides.  The latter novel is narrated by one of a group of young men besotted with the “virgins” of the title, and as a result, it has an underlying aura of decadent (and slightly disturbing) eroticism expressed in text of a febrile, poetic intensity.  On the contrary, McLean’s novel is both darker and also more down-to-earth.   Its narrator is endearing – it is clear that it is the older Tikka who is speaking, channeling memories of her younger self.  Despite the traumatic events described and the collective guilt which seems to have affected all the community, there is also a palpable sense of nostalgia particularly in the scenes between Tikka and her parents, a stark contrast with the Van Apfels.  These ‘homely moments’ and a playful sense of humour surface against the odds, but the novel is also edgy, consistently evoking feelings of menace and dread.  Some plot details seem to have crept in from a Gothic novel – a Bible-thumping violent father, the continuous oppressive heat, an unexplained stench coming from the river.  There are also little flourishes which are not central to the story, but which serve to raise adrenaline levels – in one particular scene Tikka injures her foot and soon after, a search dog dies on the spot after being bitten by a snake.  In another, a group of girls are spooked out after a Ouija board session.  Dangers – human, natural and, potentially supernatural – seem to lurk everywhere.

What I liked best about this novel however is that it gave me a sense of total immersion. I have never been to Australia, and yet during the time I spent reading the book, I felt a part of this community, sharing its fears, guilt and hope and, like busybody Mrs McCausley, playing the amateur detective.  I will miss the Van Apfel Girls now that they’re gone.

Kindle Edition, 350 pages

Expected publication: May 6th 2019 by Oneworld Publications 

(first published April 1st 2019)

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It’s not often that I feature Australian fiction on my blog, and I thought of taking this opportunity to accompany my review with brief selection of Australian classical music and, in particular, music written by composers inspired by Australia.   

I will start with a work by Peter Sculthorpe (1929 – 2014), who helped to put this country’s music on the map with pieces that combined Western traditions with indigenous culture.   This combination, coupled with a love of nature in general and Australian landscape in particular, gives his music its particular identity.  Small Town is a work for chamber orchestra which has literary connections.  It is inspired, in fact, by the portrayal of the settlement of Thirroul, near Sydney, in D.H. Lawrence’s novel Kangaroo.  It could equally set the scene Felicity McLean’s novel, which is also set in a small community in New South Wales.

In my teens I used to listen to a programme of contemporary classical music on a local radio. I remember once being impressed by a colourful violin concerto called “Maninyas”.  Its composer was Sydney-born Ross Edwards (born in 1943).  Like Sculthorpe, Edwards is driven by strong ecological concerns, and his music is often inspired by nature and by the mix of cultures in the region of the Pacific Rim.   In this video, Voice of the Rain is, appropriately, coupled with images of the Australian landscape.

One of the most exciting voices on the international new music circuit is Liza Lim (b. 1966).  Born in Perth to Chinese parents, she studied in Melbourne and in Amsterdam and her concert works and music theatre pieces have been performed all over the world.  She currently teaches composition at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music.  Lim’s music reflects her interests in Asian ritual culture and Aboriginal art, and is often challengingly original in the way it uses ‘classical’ instruments and forms in novel ways.  A case in point is an ocean beyond earth, a piece for solo cello ‘prepared with violin and thread’.  Part of the magic of the performance is its theatrical element, as well as the otherwordly sounds produced by the instrument.  

To end, a work by Kate Moore (born 1979), an Australian composer currently based in the Netherlands.  Lidy’s Piece was written for cellist Lidy Blijdorp and is inspired by bellbirds, known for their bell-like call.  Despite its very similar instrumentation to Lim’s piece, it seems (sound)worlds apart – I venture to say that its bitter-sweet melancholy aura is a perfect accompaniment to Felicity McLean’s novel.