Daniel Wiles's "The Puma" is a visceral tale of cyclical violence, as in his debut novel "Mercia's Take", which won the 2023 Betty Trask prize. The story revolves around Bernardo, a father who has fled to the Patagonian woods with his young son James from England, where he grew up amidst a backdrop of industrialisation and war.
The narrative is complex, weaving together present-day and past events as Bernardo struggles to break a cycle of violence that haunts him. His journey takes him across various landscapes – Patagonia, Liverpool, and France – with the puma becoming an obsession, a symbol of his emotional state. However, the second part of the book falls flat for this reviewer, with pages of detailed descriptions of wilderness and animal encounters feeling like an escapist fantasy rather than an integral part of the narrative.
As Bernardo hunts the elusive puma, he struggles to deal with his difficult emotions, displacing them onto the nonhuman world. The displacement of hurt is a powerful critique of 20th-century masculinity, drawing parallels between the loss of life on the battlefield and the suffering of wild animals. However, this critique sometimes feels shallow, and Bernardo's transformation into a new person, stripped away of his past, reads like an overly romanticised escape from societal complexities.
The prose is stylishly elliptical, recalling the dialect of literary fiction rather than that of an individual character in a particular time and place. The voice of "The Puma" is uneven and free-floating compared to the compelling Black Country dialect of "Mercia's Take". Nonetheless, Wiles extends his sincere ambition to explore marginalised histories with viscerally affecting storytelling.
Ultimately, "The Puma" is less distinctive than its predecessor but continues Wiles's exploration of cyclical violence and the consequences of human actions. While it may not hit all its marks, the novel remains a thought-provoking tale that warrants further attention from readers interested in historical fiction and explorations of masculinity.
The narrative is complex, weaving together present-day and past events as Bernardo struggles to break a cycle of violence that haunts him. His journey takes him across various landscapes – Patagonia, Liverpool, and France – with the puma becoming an obsession, a symbol of his emotional state. However, the second part of the book falls flat for this reviewer, with pages of detailed descriptions of wilderness and animal encounters feeling like an escapist fantasy rather than an integral part of the narrative.
As Bernardo hunts the elusive puma, he struggles to deal with his difficult emotions, displacing them onto the nonhuman world. The displacement of hurt is a powerful critique of 20th-century masculinity, drawing parallels between the loss of life on the battlefield and the suffering of wild animals. However, this critique sometimes feels shallow, and Bernardo's transformation into a new person, stripped away of his past, reads like an overly romanticised escape from societal complexities.
The prose is stylishly elliptical, recalling the dialect of literary fiction rather than that of an individual character in a particular time and place. The voice of "The Puma" is uneven and free-floating compared to the compelling Black Country dialect of "Mercia's Take". Nonetheless, Wiles extends his sincere ambition to explore marginalised histories with viscerally affecting storytelling.
Ultimately, "The Puma" is less distinctive than its predecessor but continues Wiles's exploration of cyclical violence and the consequences of human actions. While it may not hit all its marks, the novel remains a thought-provoking tale that warrants further attention from readers interested in historical fiction and explorations of masculinity.