Chouette by Claire Oshetsky
If I were to describe Claire Oshetsky’s Chouette (2022) in one word, it would be wild. Wild for the wilderness and for the gloaming which seeps into every page despite the novel’s ostensibly urban setting; wild for the lack of inhibitions, the animalistic instincts of the eponymous Chouette and sometimes her mother Tiny; and wild for the sheer wackiness of Oshetsky’s imagination. Yet, if I were only to use this word, it would not capture the tenderness found within the novel’s pages, nor the artistry, nor even the exhilaration of reading it.
Chouette opens with Tiny’s discovery that she’s pregnant, and the whole story is narrated to her owl-baby. From the beginning, she is certain that she has been impregnated not by her husband – as everyone, including him, assumes – but by her owl lover: “You may wonder: How could such a thing come to pass between woman and owl? I, too, am astounded, because my owl-lover was a woman.” Already, the reader has a sense of the bizarre tilt of the narrative, which lends a fairy tale-esque feel to the story. At this stage, Tiny is not sure whether she wants to keep her owl-baby. As a professional cellist, she knows that this child will jeopardise her employment, and she has an inkling that looking after her owl-baby will infringe upon her sense of self. Her husband does not share these hesitations.
As the story progresses and Chouette does, in fact, appear to be the owl baby that Tiny always knew she was (a horrifying development for her average husband and his normal family) she is proven correct in these initial fears. However, this is not necessarily a bad thing, as her motherly love and care for Chouette unlocks new aspects of her nature of which she was previously unaware, or perhaps wilfully, ignorant of.
“It could be that you’ve injected me with your little talon. It could be that your talon is dipped in the poison of mother-love.
Already my arms and breasts are covered in small love cuts.
I accept it.
I’m a mother now.”
There is a dreamlike element to Chouette which made me question how much is real, and how much is imagined – before I decided I didn’t really care. The story is at once a haunting, quasi-fairy tale and a feminist representation of motherhood, akin to Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber (1979). Oshetsky’s brief mention of Bluebird (i.e. Bluebeard) makes me suspect that this was in fact an influential text. There are also aspects of the novel which veer into speculative fiction and feel slightly reminiscent of Margaret Atwood. Yet don’t let these comparisons fool you into believing that you have read a version of Chouette before – the story feels completely unique and is a refreshing take on motherhood: one of the oldest themes of all.
I loved the way that Oshetsky interrogates what it means to be normal, what it means to look after a child (or conversely to give up on them) and the way that society both reveres mothers of “non-conforming” children (Tiny is at times called a saint for looking after Chouette) and ostracises them (her husband refuses to bring them along to family gatherings). These philosophical questions are brought further into relief by the way in which Tiny’s nurturing of her child’s true spirit is at odds with her husband, who is obsessed with “fixing” Chouette (who he calls Charlotte). Oshetsky, who herself is autistic, has stated that the story was “really my expression of what it was like to be the mother of two, what I like to call, non-conforming children.” Describing it like this, the representation of an owl child could potentially feel like a clunky and dehumanising metaphor, yet in this case the opposite feels true. Tiny’s (and by extension Oshetsky’s) love for her child shines through, as does her experience of a motherhood in which she only wanted the best for her child, so was torn between trying to make her fit in more and letting her be her true self. Interestingly, Oshetsky has named her daughter as a consultant on the novel which I think has only added to the authenticity that shines through the book.
The thing I love most about Chouette, as with all of my favourite books, is the way that it’s also an entirely engrossing story which I could not stop thinking about. Long after I finished it, I was still pondering its themes, thinking about owls and hearing a thread of cello music on the outskirts of my thoughts. Interestingly, the musical references throughout the novel added further texture to the story, and I think that knowing the pieces mentioned would only add to the reading experience. There is a music list at the end of the book, which I’m looking forward to listening through on a rainy day.
I am well aware that Chouette will not be for everyone. I think that some readers will be put off by the weirdness which is apparent from the very first page and I can already think of some people I would definitely not recommend it to. Having said this, for those who love the way that strange stories reveal aspects of the real world and of ourselves, for those who love myths and mythical creatures which feel neither morally good nor bad but just are, and for those looking for an entirely immersive take on motherhood, childhood and family, Chouette might just be exactly the book that you’re looking for.
Elizabeth Baral has always been an avid reader, and loves writing reviews to make sense of stories. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s either doing her publishing day job, pole vaulting or drinking tea (or some combination). You can find more of her bookish thoughts over on her Instagram @_shelfimprovement.