In his latest six-part podcast series called Animal, Sam Anderson, an American author, begins by narrating a compelling tale about a hole. The story, almost resembling a horror narrative, unfolds in his daughter’s room where, while conducting repairs, accidentally a floorboard gives way, revealing a pitch dark abyss. To his negligence, he leaves the hole unattended to which his daughter’s pet hamster, Mango, becomes an unsuspecting victim. The hamster disappears into the endless labyrinth within the ancient structure of their home. Despite their best efforts, rescuing Mango remains a daunting task. Consequently, a sense of restlessness permeates the Anderson abode, similar to the discomfort of a continuous toothache.
When all hope of recovering Mango diminishes, an unexpected event transpires. The Andersons’ tiny dachshund, Walnut, becomes preoccupied with a specific location behind their living room wall. Walnut’s relentless pursuit eventually leads to Mango’s successful rescue, with assistance from Anderson, from the dark confines of the house.
While the episode ends on an uplifting note, it doesn’t subdue the pervasive sadness that ultimately morphs into a poignant reflection on the transience of life. Anderson’s narration takes a detour, tracing the demise of a formerly cherished pet and the more recent, heartrending loss of his father. The story is about the ongoing vicissitudes of life – children growing up, leaving their nest, the passing of parents, and life’s inevitability – everything eventually succumbs to the metaphorical black hole. At the same time, it’s a touching tribute to a man’s profound affection for his pet. This succinct fifteen-minute tale offers a potent blend of narrative skill and expressive authenticity.
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The series, named Walnut, establishes the structure and theme for all the succeeding episodes, in which each concentrates on a diverse animal species that fascinates or captivates Anderson. I’ve devoted my attention to it throughout this week and have found myself besotted by its unique blend of introspection, sly humour and unconventional storytelling. There’s one story about puffins, wherein Anderson sets off for a solitary Icelandic island to aid stranded juvenile puffins, accompanied by a local death metal band singer. The episode gently brushes upon the topic of his own progeny departing for university, and his remorse for overlooking this milestone to proceed with the puffin rescue mission in Iceland. Though the episode is primarily about Icelandic puffins, it subtly and indirectly expresses many sentiments concerning the acceptance of loss as a loving gesture.
An episode about wolves ends up revolving around a visit to a tree-filled area outside Kyoto where the last Japanese wolf statue stands. However, the episode surprisingly doesn’t detail much about wolves but rather focuses on the cab driver responsible for transporting him to the statue, an anecdote about the driver’s cherished pet chihuahua Gotaro, and the violent treatment Gotaro received at the hands of his father-in-law. Also, there is a peculiar yet brilliant episode concerning ferrets, chronicling Anderson’s visit to the Ferret Buckeye Bash, which is somewhat a pageant for ferrets, situated in a hotel at Columbus, Ohio. Here, Anderson fully embraces and scrutinises his fondness for ferrets, quipping that a ferret is essentially a weasel, long and tubular, similar to a cross breed of a badger and a snake, with the addition of a teddy bear. Notably, the intriguing and vibrant portrayals of the animals are one of the many delights of this podcast.
Animal offers a well-constructed series, yet it retains a rather messy and spontaneous vibe akin to eavesdropping on a writer concocting a magazine report in real-time.
The season finale, which centres on bats, is the episode I find most appealing and truly embodies the series’s unique allure and subtle depth. This episode commences with Anderson loathingly reciting an abysmal poem by DH Lawrence that mirrors his detestation for bats. Anderson criticises the ending of this poem, describing it as “the most foolish conclusion I’ve ever come across in the literature of a renowned author”. The poem finishes with the line: “In China, bats are considered symbols of joy. Not for me!” From here, Anderson delves deeper into his personal repulsion for bats, opting to visit a limestone cave in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. This cave, known as the “bat volcano”, houses an astounding population of 4 million bats, which burst from the cave opening at dusk. It’s predictable that his continuous exposure to these creatures, alongside one of the top worldwide bat specialists, lead Anderson to finally reconcile with the creatures he once hated fervently. What comes as a surprise, and is pleasingly magnificent, is the turn the episode takes from this point; it beautifully completes the cycle back to the start of the series, engaging once again with the daunting realities of mortality and loss.
On its own standing, I perceive the podcast as lively, comical, and touchingly poignant. As a regular reader of Anderson’s works, it fascinates me. Over the years, Anderson has maintained an interesting and creative touch to the art of magazine writing. It seems right to disclose that Sam is a friend of mine. However, my admiration for his work began much earlier; my first exposure was as a book critic for New York, followed by his role as a staff writer for The New York Times Magazine, which hosts this podcast. Among his work, his 2016 essay, “David’s Ankles”, delving into the structural imperfections in the ankles of Michaelangelo’s David and the trials of striving for perfection, is a piece of narrative journalism I cherish.
Despite being meticulously constructed, the Animal series offers a slightly rough and spontaneous experience, as if one were listening to a writer in the midst of a dynamic magazine report. The stuttering conversations, the impulsive straying from the main subject, and interviews yielding intriguing narratives more engaging than the initial topic at hand all contribute to make the podcast an endearing and peculiar creation. It serves, in part, as a bittersweet homage to humans and other beings.