St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves

“We keep giggling, happy and nervous, tickled by an incomplete innocence. We both sense that some dark joke is being played on us, even if we can't quite grasp the punch line.” 

The quote encapsulates the feeling of the first story in the collection but also speaks to the uncertain period between childhood and adulthood that is the subject of all the stories. All of the characters have an incomplete innocence, understanding some of the adult world and knowing that there are more revelations to come. The idea that there is a dark joke with no punchline conveys the feeling of subtle dread that pervades many stories.

“When you’re a kid, it’s hard to tell the innocuous secrets from the ones that will kill you if you keep them.” 

Ava struggles toward adulthood throughout the story. This quote refers to the fact that Ava is hiding an implied sexual assault by the Bird Man, a dangerous secret that likely had far reaching effects after the end of the story. She refers to the Bird Man as both a secret and a “beau,” indicating her profound childlike confusion about romance and sexuality as a result of her isolation and trauma.

“I say nothing. But I keep thinking: It’s been two years. What if all the Olivia-ness has already seeped out of her and evaporated into the violet welter of clouds? Evaporated, and rained down, and evaporated, and rained down. Olivia slicking over all the rivers and trees and dirty cities in the world. So that now there is only silt, and our stupid, salt-diluted longing. And nothing left of our sister to find.”

Timothy worries that he and Wallow will never find their sister and therefore never get closure. However, rather than imagining that she has vanished, Timothy concludes that she would have dissolved into the water and be present in the rain, the ocean, and the rivers. This ultimately leads him to the conclusion that Olivia is everywhere, not nowhere.

“There are certain prehistoric things that swim beyond extinction.”

Timothy thinks of this line after he sees the ghost of a plesiosaur in the ocean. It also evokes timeless things, like grief, that never disappear from the world. This idea of prehistoric truth also appears in “The City of Shells.”

“I just want to tell her that I’m sorry,” Wallow says softly. He doesn’t know that I’m awake. He’s talking to himself, or maybe to the ocean. There’s not a trace of fear in his voice. And it’s clear then that Wallow is a better brother than I could ever hope to be.” 

Timothy overhears his brother, Wallow, speaking to the sky and asking for the opportunity to apologize to Olivia. This indicates that Wallow primarily blames himself for her disappearance, which Timothy concludes makes him a better brother than he himself. By contrast, Timothy seems unable to confront the memory of his sister at all, perhaps in an attempt to save himself from blame.

“We roll around, a red flail of limbs and hysterical laughter. We are all raccoon-drunk on moonlight and bloodshed and the heady, under blossom smell of the forest. I breathe in the sharp odor of cold stars and skunk, thinking, ‘This is the happiest I have ever been’. I wish somebody would murder a sheep every night of my life. It feels like we are all embarking on a nightmare together. ‘And will stop it in progress!’ I think, yanking Emma and Ogli to their feet and hurting towards the lake.”

Elijah’s happiest moment occurs when he is together with his two friends with the sense that they are dreaming the same nightmare. This is consistent with his character, who seeks companionship in sleep throughout the story. Ultimately, this is fruitless as sleep is the most independent of activities.

“Far away, I can hear Mouflon, our last sheep, bleating in the dark. I wonder if Annie is still out to protect her, still scouring the woods in barefoot pursuit of those dogs. I feel sorry for Annie, alone with a rabid pack of her own delusions. I feel sorrier for Mouflon. She’s alone with Annie.”

Timothy realizes that Annie is likely killing the sheep as she acts out her own personal nightmare about wild dogs. This quote also reinforces the idea that suppressed trauma will always recur and haunt a person, just like the body of Merino would dissolve into the drinking water of the camp and not truly be gone. 

“A mile out from shore, the sea and the sky blend into an infinite blackness. I rub my naked eyes and try to stargaze. The blue Pleiades wink our messages that are illegible to humans. The moon shines down its eerie calligraphy from deep space. Last Sunday, when I was out here alone with my planisphere, this was all still a navigable darkness.” 

Ollie realizes that he has lost his way in just a short week of bending to Raffy’s will. In a sense, he no longer knows who he is or where he is in his life. He thinks back to just a few days before, when he was younger and more innocent, and realizes that everything had seemed so clear then. Now, entering adulthood, nothing makes sense. This is a recurrent theme throughout many of the stories.

“We stare at each other pop-eyed over the burlap sack and laugh as if we’re afraid to stop. Somebody needs to say the magical, abracadabrical words that will turn tonight’s crime into a joke. Marta has buttoned her wet sweater up to her neck. Petey’s vanished. Now Raffy swirls the flashlights with true panic. Our joke keeps hatching and waddling forward in a snaky black procession, growing longer and less funny by the second, and this time nobody, not even Raffy, knows the punch line.” 

The final lines of the story echo the line from “Ava Wrestles the Alligator” about a dark cosmic joke with no punchline. Like Ava, Ollie struggles to find meaning or an answer to his situation. Ultimately, he must admit that he is in over his head and has no idea how to alter the course of events that will likely end in the deaths of all the turtles.

“I had been eagerly waiting just such a disaster. Storms, wolves, snakebite, floods-these are the occasions to find out how your father sees you, how strong and necessary he thinks you are.”

Throughout the story, Jacob wishes to be more like his father. Here, he sees an opportunity to prove himself to his Minotaur father and show that he is a strong man. However, Asterion ultimately doesn’t call for him to help protect the wagon train, frustrating Jacob. 

“For the first time, I feel just as sorry for my ma as for my dad. Everybody wants to go home, and no one can agree on where that is anymore.” 

Although Jacob is frequently confused by his parents’ interactions on the Trail, he does understand that they essentially want the same thing: home. However, neither is sure how to get there or even where it is—it could be back east or further out west. This confusion echoes the lack of answers many other characters find as they transition to adulthood.

“I had no idea what my father saw out there, or what he wanted me to see.” 

In the end, Jacob cannot understand his father’s quest for the West. To him, the entire landscape looks the same and he is not even sure which way to look for the West. Still, he loves his father and therefore pretends to understand. This reinforces the idea that the transition from childhood to adulthood is confusing, so children often must pretend to understand to survive.

“What these men were purchasing was blindness: a snow cloak of invisibility. They could grab at the passing women without penalty, taunting them, tugging at their skirts. What the women wanted was less clear to me. To be grabbed at, I guess, without judgment.” 

Witnessing the adults-only event called the Blizzard, Reg starts to understand why the grownups might enjoy it. The lack of consequence, which is generally associated with childhood, is appealing, and seemingly intoxicating. 

“There was a terrible pleasure to this, getting pelted and bruised, pelting and bruising in circles. All of us went crashing around the rink.” 

Again, Reg starts to understand why the adults enjoy the Blizzard. He sees the appeal in the controlled violence and return to animalistic nature that the Blizzard allows. Though swept up into the frenzy, he ultimately isn’t quite ready for it—getting knocked to the ground symbolizes this.

“And sometimes, if she sits long enough, it happens. Beneath the hum of her own blood, beneath the hum of the world itself, she thinks she can hear the faint strains of another song. It’s a red spark of sound, just enough to cast acoustic shadows of the older song that she has forgotten.” 

Echoing the reference to primordial immortality from “Haunting Olivia,” Big Red taps into an ancient rhythm when she can sit in small spaces for long enough. This gives her the sense that there is some deeper wisdom that is just out of reach, the same feeling many characters experience as they grapple with adulthood. 

“She doesn’t know how to answer the man’s question about why she snuck into the conch. She just feels like there’s something she needs to protect. Some larval understanding, something cocooned inside her, that seems to get unspun and exploded with each passing year. Big Red curls up in a cold recess of the conch. That’s the way to do it, the grown-up voices whisper. Wear your skeleton on the inside out, and keep your insect heart secret.” 

Big Red cannot explain in words why she feels the need to crawl into small spaces and wedge herself in but knows that there is something she needs to protect. This is her innocence, her childhood that she is trying to keep safe. Outside and exposed to the threat of the male gaze, she no longer feels safe. Only out of everyone’s view and confident of the limits of her space does she feel safe.

“For the next few weeks, Big Red walked around full of wonderment and confusion. A damp furry rage like a rag in her mouth. She took to parading by Mr. Pappadakis’s recliners, her watermelon skorts hiked high, half daring him to grab her again. That unshucked, unsafe feeling. It was with her all the time now.” 

This passage further explains the previous quote, as it is feelings like this that have made Big Red prone to seek out small spaces. The implied sexual assault by her stepfather, Mr. Pappadakis, makes her feel exposed and unsafe. The only way she knows how to protect herself is to retreat.

“When Sawtooth first arrived at the Out-to-Sea Retirement Community, the silence seeped into his lungs like water. Whole days whispered by, a stillness broken only by the ticking of Sawtooth’s clock, the intermittent cries of the sooty gulls, the asthmatic gasping of the sea. But today, the silence is made bearable by the knowledge that sound is coming.” 

Again, this quote reinforces Augie’s importance in Sawtooth’s life. Without her, solitude smothers him. Even though she is not with him all the time, the knowledge that she will be coming back is enough to get him through the intervening times.

“If Sawtooth could put words to the brambled knot forming in his throat, he would tell her: Girl, don’t go. I am marooned in this place without you. What I feel for you is more than love. It’s stronger, peninsular. You connect me to the Mainland. You are my leg of land over dark water.” 

Throughout the story, Sawtooth’s reliance on Augie’s visits to chase away his loneliness is clear. Here, he struggles to put that need into words, to explain that Augie is essential for keeping him tethered to the real world. 

“I wonder what it feels like to be angry at everyone except for a dead bear. It scares me to think about it. I picture the dead bear loping and slathering forever inside of Rangi, a long-toothed loyal animal, his one memory of love. Digger Gibson should never have adopted him. Who wants salvation when it just orphans you further?” 

Tek tries to understand Rangi, who has brought him to the ice cave where he will likely perish. He sees that although a human adopted Rangi, his adoption coincided with the loss of actual love, a love only given to him by his pet bear. This echoes how Tek feels about his mother marrying Mr. Oamaru, which made him feel even more alone.

“Any place, then, can become a cemetery. All it takes is your body. It’s not fair, I think, and I get this petulant wish for ugly flowers and mourners, my mother’s old familiar grief. Somebody I love to tend my future grave. Probably this is the wrong thing to be wishing for.”

As Tek begins to accept that he will likely die lost on the glacier, he begins to mourn the fact that no one will be able to visit his grave or, possibly, mourn him at all. He realizes that this is not a practical thought, but it is how his brain attempts to cope with the hopeless situation. It also indicates that he is starting to regret pushing his family away for so long.

“I feel as if I’m looking down at my own funeral, only nobody knows that I’m dead. It’s a frightening, lonely feeling. Even so, I can’t silence a small chirp of hope. Who knows? Maybe my transponder hit a ledge that jarred the switch back to ON. Maybe it’s still emitting a signal. A part of me feels certain that my family will hear my absence at the bottom of Aokeora, thousands of feet below us, and know that I am lost.” 

Tek realizes that likely no one will be coming to save them but is unable to give up the last shred of hope that his family will sense that he is gone and come looking. This kind of empty hope echoes the desperations of several other characters throughout the collection, most notably Asterion’s bull-headed devotion to the West.

“This wasn’t like the woods, where you had to be your fastest and your strongest and your bravest self. Different sorts of calculations were required to survive at the home.” 

Here, Claudette starts to understand that being successful as a human adult is more complex than surviving as a wolf. She sees that success is being good but not the best, as the best will suffer extra challenges due to hatred by the rest of the group. It also requires a certain selfishness, since adulthood is a solitary, individualistic pursuit.