When seventeen-year-old Evelyn Roe digs an unformed, featureless human right out of the red clay of her family's farm in North Carolina during a torrential winter rainstorm, she had little idea just how much her narrow existence, or her ideas of life, would change. Rhonda Riley's story of Evelyn's life, her great love for this Other being the existence of which she cannot explain but which will confront all her traditional, accepted ideas - and those of her small-town community in the aftermath of World War II - has all the quiet, everyday normality of a real woman's life, complemented by the bizarre, the extraordinary, the unexpected.
The war has not yet ended when Evelyn, the oldest of four siblings and the only one with any experience, is told by her parents that she will run her Aunt Eva's farm now that her aunt has died and her sons aren't coming back from the war. Evelyn is quite happy to work on the farm and live in Aunt Eva's old farmhouse, even if it has no electricity or indoor plumbing; she has a deep love for the land that nurtures them all and enjoys the hard work.
It is while she is out checking the property during a rainstorm that is turning into a flood that her dog, Hobo, finds something in the clay mud. Investigating, Evelyn discovers what she takes for a man's arm, then a body, and in a panic digs him out. His skin is rough-textured: she imagines that he was horribly burned in the war, but where has he come from and how did he get there? Taking him inside, wrapped in quilts, she lays him by the stove fire in the kitchen and snuggles close to keep him warm. Each glimpse of his face tells her that this is no ordinary man caught out in a storm with no clothes on. His features slowly take on shape and form, a face gradually appearing where there was barely one before. But it is days before Evelyn realises that not only is it a she, but she is identical to Evelyn. She has copied Evelyn's form.
Evelyn calls her Addie, and tells her family and the townspeople that Addie is her cousin on her father's side (her aunt being the run to run off and get pregnant - the scandal!). Belatedly she remembers that her father's side is dark, while she and Addie have the red hair and green eyes of her mother's Irish family, the McMurrough's. Still, nobody questions it, and when Addie displays an unusual skill with horses she becomes much sought-after as a trainer and "sweetener".
From almost the time when Addie's formation was complete, she and Evelyn had been lovers. As several years pass and Evelyn begins to yearn for children, Addie figures out a way to make it happen, and for the two of them to stay together: she leaves for two weeks and when she returns, she has the body of a man, a man called Roy Hope who stopped by their farm for refreshment - and to steal their money. A tall, dark-haired and handsome young man, Addie becomes Adam Hope, and the deception continues, only this time he and Evelyn can marry and have children of their own.
Throughout Evelyn's life with Adam, she is confronted by the ease of her own lies, her cowardice in never telling her children who - or what - their father really is, and the small-mindedness of the people she's grown up with, both family and townspeople. It is a long and fruitful life for Evelyn, but as she ages and Adam remains a smooth-skinned twenty-five, thirty at most, having never seen an older Roy Hope to model off, new questions emerge, and Evelyn must face a new fear - and Adam a new decision.
The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope has many strengths, especially it's fascinating premise, upon which the whole novel rests. With deep Biblical roots - the flood, the man made of clay taking the form of Evelyn, Adam-and-Eve, and the strange but beautiful bell tones Adam/Addie makes from his/her chest - the story takes the more interesting, organic angle by stripping these tropes of their religious trappings and taking them back, back to their clay-like beginnings. There is something so beautifully organic about Addie/Adam, so life-affirming. Like by removing religion from her/his beginnings, it reverts to an older form of mythology, an origin story that's about Life, not God.
Without becoming too heavy-handed, Evelyn likewise begins to question the religious upbringing of her youth (her family attend the Baptist church), which can no longer explain or speak to her new understanding of life, or the tragedies that occur. The advent of Adam in her life also makes her see the people she's always known in a new light, especially when they become small-minded and judgemental, ostracising Adam for something they don't understand: he becomes a metaphor for this in all its forms, across all of America and beyond. It was nicely done.
One of the things I loved about the story was the vivid descriptions of the land and the tangible sense of Evelyn's - and Adam's - love for it. It carries with it a strong feeling of nostalgia, too, as Evelyn's farm becomes surrounded by new highways over the years, and developers start offering pots of money for parts of their farm. Being an audience to Evelyn's life over so many decades, you really get a sense for how much has changed, some for the better, some not so desirable. The simple, peaceful life of Evelyn's youth, those early years when she lived with Addie, become rather sad because they are completely gone. Watching Evelyn go through the old farmhouse after they've moved to Florida, and feeling how empty it is, how bereft - with echoes of her and her family's lives like the height measurements on the doorframe, or the twins' treehouse - made me feel so sad, especially as I've felt such moments myself, though nothing so strong as this.
In a way, the novel struck me as less of a romance between Evelyn and Adam, and more of a romance between Evelyn and the land - which Adam came from, and represents. But while I never quite managed to connect with Adam - Evelyn keeps him at a distance from the reader; more on that in a bit - the land itself is a much stronger "character" in the novel. A "character" I could believe in and understand. These are the strengths of the novel; where Riley's debut novel struggles a bit is in knowing where to take the story, from that riveting premise to a satisfying and meaningful conclusion, and in creating characters who manage to resonate in your heart.
While I did find the story to be believable - it's written in such a way, with just enough focus on details and the everyday - I did find that the characters struggled to live off the page. Evelyn is writing this as something to leave her daughters, as she never managed to tell them the truth of their father or how her youngest, Sarah, now looks Asian after several years of living with her husband in China - but it's just the proof she needs. And it does have that cadence to it, a kind of storytelling rhythm, that I liked. It feels like Evelyn really is speaking/writing/retelling the story of her life; she is an ordinary woman, with no special gifts or talents of her own, and no remarkable life-changing moments - except for those concerning Adam, which she's always kept secret. So it is easy to relate to her. She feels incredibly familiar. But I never really connected with her, emotionally.
I had a similar problem with Adam, and all the secondary characters. I felt like I was watching a movie, a film play out before me, something that I could visualise clearly in my imagination but which never quite made it to my heart. The telling point was the terrible tragedy that strikes the family: it was exactly the kind of thing that would normally make me cry, a lot, and yet it barely made my eyes wet.
There are moments of tension, scenes of danger even - as when Evelyn races to "abduct" Adam from the hospital where the doctors, having X-rayed him and discovered some strange and, they believe, life-threatening abnormalities about him, are getting ready to cut him open - but by and large the story is more like a gently rolling hill. It was often quite soothing, to go with the flow, see where it took you, and watch this family grow and age and change and so on. But it also has a kind of aimlessness that I wasn't really expecting, and I can't decide whether the ending was the only ending it could have had (my gut says "yes") or a bit of a cop-out (that's my cynical, critical side having its say). Whichever it is, it wasn't totally satisfying, perhaps because it just lacked the kind of oomph you would want in this kind of story, about someone as incredible as Adam.
As an abstract concept, I loved Adam. Having him change from female to male (I don't feel qualified to comment on Evelyn taking a lover who looked exactly like herself) was a pivotal moment and, theoretically, opens up a whole range of questions on gender identity and the norm (in fact, Adam as an Otherwordly being opens up those questions regardless), but the novel shied away from going down that speculative route and instead stayed on the well-trodden path of a Woman's Story. Nothing wrong with that, but it was disappointing for me, as I love those books that delve into such topics and really make me think in new and confronting ways. That, I fear, is at the heart of my umming-and-ahhing: The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope carries with it the promise of a confronting novel and instead tries to force the Unusual and Unknown into the mould of the Everday, the Normal.
While this is, I believe, partly the point of the novel - it is Evelyn's decision to put limits on Adam's Otherness, to try and make him fit in, and this fear of being ousted or found out is at the heart of Evelyn's inner conflict: she loves the things that make Adam unique but is too scared of people's reactions to allow him to reveal them to anyone else - it made of Adam's uniqueness a tool or literary convention, rather than a puzzling, speculative and thought-provoking question in its own right.
To be fair, that does make the novel successful in its aims: this is a story about an ordinary person trying to make the extraordinary into the everyday out of fear and cowardice, never quite able to unite the two sides of herself and make peace with the unanswerable questions. But to me it remained merely observational. Evelyn, with her minimal educational background, was not someone able to look too deeply into the unknown: she had questions but never once came close to thinking through them to find answers for herself, she wanted someone else to hand them to her, and Adam had no idea where he was from or what he was anymore than she did (but he, at least, was content with who he was and was focused on living and loving life to its fullest). Certainly, this leaves the reader to form their own speculations, but it doesn't change the fact that the novel remains sadly shallow in that regard.
As you can tell from all that, I feel very conflicted about this book. It is a fairly slow read, the prose being a bit stiff especially up until Evelyn has her first child (I loved that Riley portrays childbirth so realistically; too many writers don't and it's become a bit of a pet peeve of mine), but there is a great deal of potential here and Riley is, at the end of the day, a strong writer with interesting ideas and a deft touch for making the ordinary seem extraordinary. Regardless of how I felt about the ending and so on, this isn't a forgettable story and the lingering questions strengthen rather than weaken it: the unexplained mystery is more compulsive, fascinating and beguiling than the answers ever could be.
My thanks to the publisher for a copy of this book via TLC Book Tours.