Catherine Chidgey’s innovative and masterfully crafted story, The Axeman’s Carnival, takes the form of a creative novel, where an endearing Australian magpie takes the leading role as the narrator. Living on a sheep farm on Aotearoa New Zealand’s South Island, the young bird, duly christened Tama (a shortened version of ‘Tamagotchi’, also stands for ‘son’ in Māori language), becomes a surrogate child for Marnie, its human mother figure, much to the displeasure of Marnie’s husband, Rob.
Adding to Tama’s charm is his remarkable ability to mimic human speech and play pranks, making him an Internet sensation on Twitter. His newfound fame becomes a financial lifeline for Marnie and Rob as they utilise this opportunity to save their struggling sheep farm.
However, this heartening story from Chidgey has an underlying element of tragedy. Disappointment, constant worry, and emotional distress run through the novel’s relationships, regardless of whether they involve humans or animals. Marnie wrestles with the grief of a failed pregnancy and a constant fear of provoking her abusive husband. Rob, meanwhile, seeks solace in alcohol to escape his economic troubles while also being preoccupied with his ambition to win the town’s annual lumberjack contest. Marnie’s mother Barbara struggles to deal with her divorce while Marnie’s sister Ange grapples with the feeling of being unattractive to her husband. Tama himself, battles with his own familial issues and is tormented by the thought of death.
Through employing animal narrators, Chidgey effectively highlights the peculiarities of human behaviour using Tama. Tama’s character showcases a keen understanding of human complexity around him but is often left puzzled about human motivations and activities. His frequent conclusion is that “that is how houses worked”.
Simultaneously, it’s fascinating how Chidgey uses the general misunderstanding and superstitions surrounding magpies in the story, especially when humans in the novel often are incapable of comprehending them. This is of particular interest as these beliefs only apply to Eurasian magpies and not Australian ones, which are not even a part of the crow family, as the book finally clarifies.
A mildly jarring aspect occurs through an unnecessary interval featuring buffoonish eco-campaigners who clumsily navigate and squabble similar to stereotyped villains from a Coen brothers film, and certain parts of the foreshadowing appear somewhat exaggerated.
Notwithstanding these insignificant criticisms, Chidgey skillfully interlaces societal observations, mystic realism, traditional tales and myths, handling grave themes with finesse. The language employed is eloquent yet does not feel excessively ornate. ‘The Axeman’s Carnival’ serves as a profoundly captivating book starring a refreshingly charming protagonist.