Avi Schoenthaler
While readers of Justin Torres’ queer coming-of-age novel We the Animals are likely expecting the text to be littered with animalistic symbolism, the dense habitat of animal motifs running wildly through its prose may leave some blindsided. The pervasive nature of these motifs, combined with the prevalence of gods and pythons in Akwaeke Emezi’s metaphysical novel Freshwater, creates an environment proposing that the relationships between these novels’ humans, though complex, are not so different from the dynamics between animals. This is where the idea of the “runt” enters, though there are two crucial details readers of this essay must understand about its use of the word. First, know that the runt identity is not a self-proclamation, but an assignment: a sticky insult entirely dependent on the biased perceptions of their group. Second, know that although a runt is defined by their apparent weakness, weakness is not an actual requirement for the gig. Considered to be weak by the rest of their “pack”, the protagonists of We the Animals and Freshwater are assigned the role of the runt due to their queer sensibilities and distaste for cruelty. Though these packs are dedicated to protecting their runts, believing them to be unable to protect themselves, this line of defense leads to conflict between the runt and their pack, and the runt’s eventual independence.
This understanding of the term “runt” originates from a quote in We the Animals, a punchline cracked by one brother to the other at the narrator’s expense as they drunkenly observe a pile of stray kittens: “‘How long before they jump the runt?’ They both sniggered, and they were sniggering at me, the fay, the runt of our litter; we were once those kittens— three thick, three warm,” (Torres 107). The scene escalates when the narrator responds with his own vivid insults only to back down; refusing this gesture of pity, Joel pins back his arms as Manny threatens to beat him with a stick. They stop, disgusted, when the narrator pleas to be beaten: “‘Seriously… you’re acting fucked up,’” Manny proclaims (Torres 110). There is a moment of stilted peace that is broken when Manny and Joel begin recounting Ma’s special treatment of the narrator, her awe of his intelligence and her insistence that his brothers protect him: “‘A fucking golden egg… Fucking sacred lamb,’” (111). Frightened by their threats, the narrator flees (112).
The word runt does not appear at all in Akwaeke Emezi’s metaphysical novel Freshwater, but this absence does not prevent its protagonist Ada from fitting into its framework. She, like the protagonist of We the Animals, has relationships with her parents and two siblings that are complex and often difficult. Yet, these dynamics are mild in comparison to the war in her mind as she fights for control over her own body and life, with her form being split and shared by several ogbanje deities of the Igbo god Ala. These beings include a duo from her early childhood that she named Smoke and Shadow (Emezi 42), and a cruel and abrasively explicit personality named Asughara that formed during her first year of university, a product of Ada’s outrage when she discovers her boyfriend Soren has repeatedly raped her (Emezi 61). Formed alongside Asughara was the third and final entity, Saint Vincent, though his genesis was quite different: “He was not godspawn like Asughara. He belonged nowhere, except maybe to the Ada” (Emezi 121). To these gods, Ada is a weak runt simply because she is human. Even her presence within the text is undoubtedly weaker than theirs; only four chapters are told from her point of view, while the other seventeen chapters are narrated by Asughara or Smoke and Shadow. When Ada does finally speak for herself, her first words are feeble: “I don’t even have the mouth to tell this story. I’m so tired most of the time… In many ways, you see, I am not even real” (Emezi 93). These entities have drained Ada, dooming her to a lifetime of weakness; it is no wonder she appears to be a runt in comparison.
What unifies these protagonists is how closely their packs associate their weakness with their queer sensibilities. For Ada, the aspect of her queerness that Asughara directly protects her from is her asexuality, with Asughara taking control of her body when she has sex so Ada can avoid her natural repulsion. “Ada loved me, sha… She loved me because I was strong and held her together … I loved her because when I flood through, she spread herself open and took me in without hesitation, bawling and broken, she absorbed me fiercely all the way; she denied me nothing” (Emezi 71). For the protagonist of We the Animals, the weakness his family associates with his queerness is not inspired by a narrative of protection, but rather traditional homophobic ideas about the supposed weakness of homosexuals. This is best exemplified by this segment of the bath scene after they read his journal: “‘The boys are sweeping off the truck,’ she tells the father. He nods. Hear the way she says it, the boys, how quickly and fully the son in the tub is excluded from that designation; how badly the boy wishes to be out there with his brothers, doing as he’s told” (Torres 123). Though the protagonist was previously considered feminine by his family, once his queerness is fully cemented in their minds, he is no longer considered one of their boys, but something weaker.
The other aspect uniting these protagonists in their assigned runthood is their distaste for cruelty, a facet of their morality that the members of their packs do not share. In Freshwater, Asughara considers Ada to be not only weak for her continual trust in others, but foolish: “[Ada] was so gullible: she went and threw herself right into the arms of people who broke her; she would see danger and instead of avoiding it like a person with sense, she would walk behind its teeth” (Emezi 74). Ada, on the other hand, finds Asughara’s dedication to cruelty to not only immoral, but self-serving, saying: “’You don’t do it for me, Asughara, you do it because you like it… You enjoyed hurting [Itohan’s older brother], even though he didn’t do anything to us” (Emezi 143). Though Asughara commits her atrocities in the name of Ada’s safety, in reality she does it because she longs to see others suffer. The protagonist of We the Animals is also dismayed by his pack’s desire for violence. On the day Ma takes the boys and escapes the house only to later return, the protagonist is confused by the rage this act provokes in his brothers, provoking him to ask which woman his brothers desire to smash the skull of: “‘Will you listen to this baby?’ Joel said to Manny. “Which women? We only seen two women all day, that woman on the bridge and Ma. Unless he’s counting himself,”’ (Torres 73). Despite the clear context clues implying that his brothers are talking about their mother, the protagonist is so baffled by the violence of their threat that he cannot comprehend what is being said. Manny and Joel, as well as Asughara, wear cruelty as a second skin, considering their runts to be weak due to their refusal to participate.
Though their packs consider the runts to be in dire need of their protection, ultimately it is the pack’s overcommitment to this defense that leads to the runt finding independence. For the protagonist of We the Animals, his pack’s final defensive strike is delivered when they institutionalize him after reading his journal. Though the pack, repulsed by the gay desires revealed in his journal, consider this act to be necessary, they are merely sealing their own fate of losing their son. This is confirmed in the book’s ambiguous final chapter, Zookeeping, where he simply states: “I’ve lost my pack,” (Torres 125). Though it is unclear if the protagonist is now living a free life for himself or has continued to be institutionalized, it is undeniable that he has found independence. Similarly, Ada’s ending in Freshwater involves her defining and committing to a sense of self separate of the ogbanje that once ruled her. On one of the book’s final pages, Smoke and Shadow admit: “Ah, we have always claimed to rule the Ada, but here is the truth: she was easier to control when she thought she was weak. Here is another truth: she is not ours, we are hers” (Emezi 215). Ada’s assumed weakness was merely a story the ogbanje told and she believed, but not anymore. Ada has finally earned not only her identity, but her freedom. In comparison, the freedom possibly achieved by the protagonist of We the Animals tastes less sweet. The novel’s title alone implies the protagonist still feels a sense of unity with his brothers, even after his estrangement. “Look at us, our last night together, when we were brothers still” (Torres 105) is a line heavy with grief, the protagonist longing for the brotherhood he has lost, despite the pain they have dealt him. This perspective stands stark in comparison to Ada’s newfound lightness at the end of Freshwater, the product of We the Animals’ intensive focus on the past, as opposed to Freshwater’s dedicated stumbling towards a future.
We the Animal’s dedication to reminiscing on a tragic, gay past is explored on a larger scale in Heather Love’s queer academic text Feeling Backwards, an analysis on the tendency of queer people to understand their own contemporary identities through a lens that emphasizes the cruelty of queer life within an apathetic past. It states: “Critics find themselves in an odd position: we are not sure if we should explore the link between homosexuality and loss, or set about proving it does not exist” (Love 3). Loss is intimately known by the protagonists of We the Animals and Freshwater, established by the tragedies of their youth and cemented by the final separation of their packs and themselves. Though homosexuality acts as the undeniable root causing the protagonist of We the Animals to instantly lose his pack, Ada’s separation from the pack in Freshwater is much more a gradual shift than a sudden loss, and is not all at inspired by her homosexual tendencies. This difference is perhaps why Ada’s story in Freshwater continues to develop and grow beyond the most painful moments of her youth, while the protagonist of We the Animals cuts his story short immediately after his great loss, offering nothing more than a cryptic epilogue to follow. Thus, the paradox Love describes continues; homosexuality is both linked to loss and entirely detached from it, just as the runt’s identity is linked to weakness despite that weakness not at all being essential. Onward we march, the runts and the packs and everyone in between, to a future that is unknown from a past we know so dearly, forever ingrained in our very souls.
Works Cited
Akwaeke, Emezi. Freshwater. Faber & Faber, 2018.
Love, Heather. Feeling Backward: Loss and the Politics of Queer History. Harvard University Press, 2007.
Torres, Justin. We the Animals. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012.