Honeybee

 

Image credit: Rakuten Kobo

One particular layer of the reading experience and the power of books in general that I really admire is that of the pull it creates within people. A while back, I watched a show on ABC Iveiw called The Books That Made Us. It was hosted by Claudia Karven and, in four episodes, explored a wealth of Australian literature and how it influences, inspires, and depicts my country’s cultural identity. Not only was it a fascinating show, but it opened my eyes to the incredible treasure trove of writing that was in my own backyard and that I had never known about. And it was inspiring. There is now a long list on my phone that I plan to work my way through, all books that aren’t traditionally what I go for. The point of this experiment is to celebrate and develop an appreciation for Australian literature as well as read books that will open my eyes, broaden my mind, and hopefully, shape me into a better me. 

I can definitely say that the first book I chose to cross off the list has achieved this. This week I read Craig Silvey’s Honeybee, and oh my goodness it’s beautiful and heartbreaking, and I could not put it down!

The book follows Sam Watson, a teenage boy suffering through the confusions of reaching puberty and slowly realising that she was born in the wrong body. One night she finds herself above an overpass, willing it all to be over. Across from her an old man named Vic is doing the same. The two see each other and a connection is made that changes their minds. As they develop a friendship through their suffering, each decides to commit to the task of saving the other.

Honeybee is not just a lovely story about two strangers inspiring hope in one another. It’s a dazzlingly deep study in empathy and the power of narration. Written from Sam’s point of view, the book is a confronting and insightful look into the Trans experience, a complicated emotional journey shaped by confusion, social segregation, and sometimes violence. At the same time, it’s a scrutiny of Australia’s social transgressions that, sadly, make up part of its identity: unemployment, toxic masculinity, drug culture, and a lack of awareness of social, racial, and gender diversity in some communities. The brilliance of Honeybee comes from Silvey’s depiction of a poisoned environment that corrupts those who live in it; as is shown heartbreakingly in the story of Sam’s mum. Despite the toxic environment that Sam grows up in, the book shows that the mindful, emotional, and ‘spiritual’ aspects of identity (what’s on the inside) is stronger than what’s on the outside and Sam’s tragic, defeated attitude of the book’s beginning changes beautifully into one of confidence, hope, and self-love, as supporting characters see Sam's beautiful truth and strive to make her see it too. Silvey’s message to the reader, “find out you who are, and live that life” is poignant, monumentally important, and just downright the most beautiful thing in the world. 

Image credit: The Canberra Times

A whirlwind of real-world horror and gloom that someone like me would struggle to understand, Honeybee is probably one of the most important books in modern literature. While the narrative dramas are very confronting, and at times you despair that the hero won’t make it, the emotional payoff at the end is the sweetest and most heart-warming experience ever imagined. 

Honeybee has fast become one of my favourite books of all time. It’s gripping, provocative, and beautiful and I’ve been recommending it to absolutely everyone!

Author: Craig Silvey, 2020

Published: Allen & Unwin, 2020