Read 14th Jul 2015
Sometimes you begin a book expecting an easy read, a good read – but instead finds yourself challenged, discomfited, plagued with questions when you anticipated a story. The People in the Trees is that – and because of that, an brilliant novel.
It is written as an autobiographical account by Dr Norton Perina, the writing straightforward and almost medical, which I found very fitting of his character. Despite the terse narrative tone, it remains evocative. Often excessive, occasionally sentimental, the narrative meanders with Perina’s whims. We may miss crucial information, and be assaulted with unnecessary ones, but ultimately we are reminded that this is Perina’s account, and his story to tell.
You would find the protagonist mainly insufferable, for all his indulgent desires and pride. Perina believes himself special, and the rest of the scientific community to be dense or passionless. As obnoxious as he is, there is a strange draw to his neuroses and (very human) tendency towards cruelty. There is little attempt to call for empathy, merely the plain laying out of Perina’s perspective.
The most fascinating section of the book would be, predictably, Norton’s first trip to the Micronesian country and his trek into the jungle. The images of unexplored land and an untouched tribe (and everything else in between) stuck with me long after I’ve put down the book. So graphic was the imagery that I found myself feeling disoriented, stickied by the tropical heat, dazzled by unfamiliar colors. This is also probably the only section that many critiques of this book can stand. From here, it descends into what many harshly brands as ‘moral relativism’.
They are absolutely correct. It is also what – at its very core – is done right with the novel. It transcends most of our expectations of it as a mere adventure novel, becoming instead a shocking insight into colonist harms and inter-cultural moral relativism. I like shocks. Perina’s voice as central works perfectly here, exemplifying the careless way the first world plunges into found societies with little thought of its consequences.
While well-meaning, Perina is preoccupied with what he believes to be the greater good for a scientific community (and the others for anthropological knowledge). Much of the harms and dismissive behavior lay implicit in their actions. It is brilliantly written precisely because Yanagihara is hands off with the reproach. It displays colonist ignorance without being preachy. This is the antithesis to indulgent ‘white’ novels I find to be huge yawns as a Southeast Asian.
At its heart, the novel forces us to face the futility of imposing absolute morals, especially on a culture we know nothing about. The exposé of Perina is a beautiful allegory of how flawed the conception of a universal, superior ‘morality’ is. This is not a novel for the narrow-minded, or anyone who is searching strictly for an ‘adventure’ novel. It is a piercing exploration of anthropology and white superiority, and is fantastic at what it does.
Q 