Casey is a novel by Joyce Stranger from 1968, well before government quotas for farmers in this country. But all the same, it is a thoroughly depressing read.
The "Casey" of the title, is the son of a Siamese tomcat and a black farm cat. He was "born for trouble"; an animal with great determination, and a nose for mischief. An unexpected friendship developed between Casey and Sultan, a terrifying Jersey bull. This is the crux of the story about life on the farm at Wayman's Corner, but such a precis does not convey the timbre of the book.
Joyce Stranger trained as a biologist, specialising in animal behaviour. Relationships between humans and animals were a main part of all of her books. She considered that such relationships were extremely important saying, "for many people an animal can provide a harmony lacking in day-to-day relationships with people."
However if you are expecting a cosy read about animals, this is most definitely not for you. Her books are never anthropomorphic. She considered that many animal books, especially children's, were too sentimental. In her view they inaccurately humanised the animal. She wanted her stories instead to "show how animals live in a world that is real to them."
Casey is consistent with this view. If anything it veers the other way, being flagrantly manipulative in piling on disaster after disaster. Think "Hamlet blood-bath with animals" and you are not too far off the mark. The animals are given equal status as characters, and their feelings, experiences and attitudes are portrayed with some skill. But the novel is consistently downbeat. Disasters pile one on top of the other.
Joyce Stranger's characters are mostly unhappy, overwhelmed or guilt-stricken. There is marital friction, remorse and hatred. Two characters commit suicide. City visitors unthinkingly cause colossal damage and pain. Crisis after crisis eventually seems absurdly unrealistic and difficult for the reader to accept. Then nearing the end, there are a couple of small upbeat events, such as an unexpected litter of kittens. These are contrived, accidental rather than resulting from earlier events in the plot, and a mere device to end the novel on an optimistic note.
Having now read several of these novels, I doubt very much whether I will ever read another book by this author. It is a mystery to me why she was so popular. I cannot see what purpose these novels could ever achieve, or why she chose to use her skills to describe a way of life in such a destructive fashion. The reader does not learn great truths or insights from this novel. They are merely presented as entertainments; novels about country life. Underneath the daily events, this is the message,
"Waking held no promise. The wild trees keened their echo to his mourning and dark clouds hid the watchful moon."
Not for this reader.