Remember the early days of pandemic? Before the rallies for freedom, even before vaccinations began, we sprayed boxes of muesli with Glen-20, just in case this was the way the germs got to us.
Those days, it was thought that these lockdowns might save us from the many problems of the world. The emissions were drastically reduced.
On the balconies, people were creating collective music experiences. Venice’s canals were clear. Perhaps a virus that killed us was all we needed to change our ways?
The end result was that everything got even worse, and it has only continued to worsen. Romy Ash’s eco-fiction book, Mantle, is infused with this spirit: that an infectious disease could make people realize their own shortcomings, stop and think, or change direction.
What if nature was no longer separate from us? We could embrace our porousness, “our bodies as hosts” and treat ourselves more like ecosystems than individual humans.
Romy Ash’s Mantle is a story that explores how a pathogen can make you realize your mistakes and alter course.
Lauren Bamford/Ultimo
Beautiful but bad
Ash, 31, was hailed as the next great thing when she released her debut novel Floundering in 2012. She received photo spreads and a swag bag of awards, such as shortlistings at the Miles Franklin Book Prize, Commonwealth Book Prize, and Prime Minister’s Literature Awards. The life that she has lived between her first and second novels gives this novel depth, humor, and wit.
Ursula is her protagonist and she’s 50 years old, childless, single, without children. Her mother Delores and she are the only remaining members of her family. Ursula is an academic working in Melbourne.
She has taken time off to visit her mother who lives in Lutruwita, Tasmania, in a home she built herself, where the “windows are shower screens”. The house overlooks salmon farms that were made famous by Richard Flanagan in Toxic.
Ursula came to the hospital because she needed some time alone to finish a paper on geology. However, she soon discovered that her mother was dying.
The paper quickly went out of mind. The growths on Delores’ lungs are they cancerous?
Delores, an independent woman, is fractious and deeply rooted in small town Tasmanian culture.
She owns a composting bathroom and has a landline. “I bought here because this was the best place to purchase land and the block was the lowest price”.
Delores, as death nears, declines to receive any medical treatment, and instead focuses on ensuring Ursula gets all the info she needs. The Corolla will be serviced by the BMW mechanic who has the dirty cars in front.
Lemons are best “from the drive with one goat”, and there is a “list of local businesses that should not be visited under any circumstance”.
Ash’s description of Huon Valley life, especially for someone from the “main land”, is incredibly accurate. “Small little, big grievance. Long held.” The fabric of this town is unique.
Delores abandons Ursula to a hoarded house and an untreatable rash that is common among locals. Ursula, in the grip of her grief, hooks up to Toby, the diver from the salmon farm.
The next day, she wakes up to discover that their bodies were connected with fine sticky threads “pale translucent and a soft white earth”, where their skin touched. This is a fungal epidemic.
Close the borders. News is trickling in from the continent. It’s all bad. It’s beautiful, but it’s also bad.
As they stay up all night and then wake up each morning stuck in the same place, Ursula begins to dream Toby’s fantasies, learn new skills, and lose her fear of deep water. Her body begins to produce fruit.
There are no easy binaries
Mantle takes place in the near future. Ursula is able to “stare into the darkness, hoping that a parrot will flash, even though they’re extinct, knowing it”. Mantle, unlike many eco-fiction books of today, has no obvious villains. (Not even the salmon farms, in reality). The reader is not made to feel self-righteous by the book.
Ash explores conservation ethics, and our role in the larger crisis of wildlife extinction and climate change. Ursula calls Ernie a “greenie” for his work in breeding and planting giant kelp, which is endangered.
He continues: ‘I would not sit next to an eco-warrior at the bar, but I do know that giant kelp, which is also known as a nursery in the ocean, is disappearing. I believe this is the reason we don’t pull any lobsters out of it.
‘I’m a greenie,’ I say. It’s both.
You’re not an eco-friendly person; you are a city slicker.
I laughed. ‘Latte drinker,’ I say.
Delores tells Ursula that her best friend Joc is Delores.
I do not eat any meat.
I do no harm. I live by this philosophy. Men who appreciate the beauty of the ocean have a diving bag, a speargun, and a knife.
Ash refuses to accept the simplistic binaries of “the environment”, and instead investigates how ethics develops among those who are living with and around animals. Ash recognises that there are complexities when an area has high unemployment, low education and the salmon farming industry is the place to find the best jobs. Being a “greenie”, she says, comes with a class privilege.
The next big thing
Ursula, who is in her mid-twenties, is grumpy and horny.
She’s an expert in the field she works in, but also afraid of the sea. In no way would you describe Ursula as a lover of nature or outdoors. Her perspective is not that of a typical ecofiction author, but it will appeal to all types of readers.
Ursula, a former food blogger and columnist for The Guardian, is an avid cook who never ceases to think about cooking. Ash was a food columnist and blogger for The Guardian. Mantle needs a recipe book (even if it’s heavy on mushrooms).
The novel explores the connection between people, permeability, and all of its possibilities.
Joc says, “It demands a patriarchy of numb hearts.” Mantle wonders: What if the reverse was possible?
