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L'octopus et moi
C'est l'histoire d'une pieuvre qui cherche à rejoindre l'Océan pacifique pour y pondre ses oeufs. Mais pour y parvenir, elle doit traverser un bras de terre, quitter son élément, croiser une route. C'est l'histoire d'une femme qui a vécu de terribles épreuves et ne sait plus très bien qui elle est ni ce qui a de l'importance à ses yeux. Une nuit, leurs chemins se croisent et pour la femme, tout bascule. Au coeur des paysages rudes et magiques de Tasmanie, s'écrit alors une histoire de reconquête et de rencontres, de choix et d'idéaux.
Avec ce premier roman, Erin Hortle nous parle des échos de la vie sauvage sur notre vie humaine, dessinant avec énergie et malice le destin d'une femme qui trouve en regardant l'océan la réponse à ses questions et le chemin d'une vie nouvelle.
Avec ce premier roman, Erin Hortle nous parle des échos de la vie sauvage sur notre vie humaine, dessinant avec énergie et malice le destin d'une femme qui trouve en regardant l'océan la réponse à ses questions et le chemin d'une vie nouvelle.
400 pages, Hardcover
First published April 15, 2020
55 people are currently reading
2628 people want to read
About the author
Erin Hortle
8 books50 followersErin Hortle is a Tasmanian-based writer. Her short fiction and essays have been published in a range of Tasmanian and Australian publications. The majority of her academic and creative writing explores the ways in which experimental approaches to writing might facilitate new ways of imagining the human's relationship with the more than human world, with a distinctly feminist bent. Topics she writes about currently include ambergris, surfing and surf culture, pelagic birds and octopuses. When she's not writing, she can usually be found curled up with a book, or floating and drifting in the Tasman Sea or Southern Ocean. The Octopus and I is her debut novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 218 reviews
November 4, 2020
It’s hard to believe that this book The Octopus and I is a debut novel. What a beautiful and captivating novel, it is.
This truly is a breathtaking and extremely interesting read and one in which I found very difficult to put down. Lucy and her husband Jem live on the Tasman Peninsula near Eaglehawk Neck. It is here where Lucy is recovering from major surgery. Being a breast cancer survivor has not only made Lucy look at her life differently, but it has also caused a great impact on her husbands life as well as those closest to them. But this is so much more than a woman surviving breast cancer and I must say when I read what this story was about I was hesitant as I didn’t think I would really enjoy this book, but I’m so glad I was wrong.
The Tasmanian landscape is beautifully written in this story and the way the author has entwined the whole story together is just outstanding. Aussie author Erin Hortle has written an unforgettable story which I thoroughly enjoyed. Highly recommended.
With thanks to Allen & Unwin for my uncorrected proof ARC copy of this book to read and review.
This truly is a breathtaking and extremely interesting read and one in which I found very difficult to put down. Lucy and her husband Jem live on the Tasman Peninsula near Eaglehawk Neck. It is here where Lucy is recovering from major surgery. Being a breast cancer survivor has not only made Lucy look at her life differently, but it has also caused a great impact on her husbands life as well as those closest to them. But this is so much more than a woman surviving breast cancer and I must say when I read what this story was about I was hesitant as I didn’t think I would really enjoy this book, but I’m so glad I was wrong.
The Tasmanian landscape is beautifully written in this story and the way the author has entwined the whole story together is just outstanding. Aussie author Erin Hortle has written an unforgettable story which I thoroughly enjoyed. Highly recommended.
With thanks to Allen & Unwin for my uncorrected proof ARC copy of this book to read and review.
April 28, 2020
The Octopus and I is an impressive debut novel by talented author Erin Hortle. The writing is highly creative with multiple layers and total uniqueness.
Lucy is a recovering breast cancer survivor who is contemplating the acceptance of her body after her reconstructive surgery and other's people’s reactions to it.
She grows a strong fascination with the local octopuses. Lucy becomes captivated with these sea creatures that proceed to make a significant mark on her life and helps her to reconnect with her old self.
Lucy strikes a close friendship with a much older lady named Flo who teaches her to knit prostheses and pickle octopus among other things. Lucy's husband Jem is an abalone diver and he has a strong respect for wildlife but has a scathing view of things unsustainable like recreational fisherman who are more about the photo opportunity.
In some chapters of the book we see a switch over to a voice through the eyes of non-humans which is cleverly written. We hear the perspective of Tasman peninsula inhabitants such as the mutton-birds, female octopuses and fur seals.
The book transports you to the stunning Tasmanian Coast and landscape which was mesmerising. There was some animal cruelty in the story which I found disturbing but overall a fascinating story.
I wish to thank Allen & Unwin for a copy of the book in return for an honest review
Lucy is a recovering breast cancer survivor who is contemplating the acceptance of her body after her reconstructive surgery and other's people’s reactions to it.
She grows a strong fascination with the local octopuses. Lucy becomes captivated with these sea creatures that proceed to make a significant mark on her life and helps her to reconnect with her old self.
Lucy strikes a close friendship with a much older lady named Flo who teaches her to knit prostheses and pickle octopus among other things. Lucy's husband Jem is an abalone diver and he has a strong respect for wildlife but has a scathing view of things unsustainable like recreational fisherman who are more about the photo opportunity.
In some chapters of the book we see a switch over to a voice through the eyes of non-humans which is cleverly written. We hear the perspective of Tasman peninsula inhabitants such as the mutton-birds, female octopuses and fur seals.
The book transports you to the stunning Tasmanian Coast and landscape which was mesmerising. There was some animal cruelty in the story which I found disturbing but overall a fascinating story.
I wish to thank Allen & Unwin for a copy of the book in return for an honest review
April 1, 2020
The Octopus and I is the first novel by Australian author, Erin Hortle. The answer to Harry Seaborne’s innocently asked question is “breasts”. That is what his mother, Flo, and Lucy Allenby are knitting. After Lucy provides the short explanation, Harry expresses interest in the long version, and Lucy obliges.
The story she tells Harry and Flo isn’t the whole story; the whole story is what Lucy gives the reader. And not just Lucy: the narrative is carried by other (human) characters, who share certain incidents from their perspective; importantly, the eponymous octopus gives her version (as do some of her sisters); a young male seal with a taste for salmon contributes his experience; a male mutton bird relates his family’s tragedy; and a pregnant young female seal hangs out with an octopus mum.
As a breast cancer survivor, Lucy gives the reader an insight into the aftermath of the radical surgery that many thus afflicted must undergo. The sense of loss and grief is well conveyed, and the reaction, by members of her small community, to Lucy’s reconstructive surgery, to her implants, will be a revelation to some. The comments, the invasion of privacy and breach of personal space to which people seem to feel entitled, is breathtaking.
Through Lucy, Hortle explores attitudes to body image “… the idea that it’s ‘natural’ for women to want breasts or bigger breasts or whatever… it’s not so much ‘natural’ as culturally inscribed. It’s all about the objectification of women and …women subjecting themselves to the male gaze.”
In Lucy’s husband Jem, Hortle gives the reader the point of view and reactions of a certain type of male to this disfigurement, while Lucy’s original and quirky solution to her hated chest scars is more than a match for her psychologist’s suggestion.
Lucy’s character is complex and well developed; the secondary characters are appealing and much more than one-dimensional stereotypes, even those who play very minor roles in the overall story. Hortle also touches on the need for connection and the passing on of intergenerational knowledge. Her descriptive prose is often gorgeous, easily evoking the majesty of the Tasmanian coastline.
Her anthropomorphic depictions of the various creatures are a delight and her imagined cruising beta male seals are very reminiscent of the way teenaged human males behave. The octopuses in this novel are stars in their own right and Lucy’s enchantment with these fascinating creatures is easily shared by the reader. This is a brilliant debut novel and more from this talented author will be eagerly anticipated.
This unbiased review is from an uncorrected proof copy provided by Allen & Unwin.
The story she tells Harry and Flo isn’t the whole story; the whole story is what Lucy gives the reader. And not just Lucy: the narrative is carried by other (human) characters, who share certain incidents from their perspective; importantly, the eponymous octopus gives her version (as do some of her sisters); a young male seal with a taste for salmon contributes his experience; a male mutton bird relates his family’s tragedy; and a pregnant young female seal hangs out with an octopus mum.
As a breast cancer survivor, Lucy gives the reader an insight into the aftermath of the radical surgery that many thus afflicted must undergo. The sense of loss and grief is well conveyed, and the reaction, by members of her small community, to Lucy’s reconstructive surgery, to her implants, will be a revelation to some. The comments, the invasion of privacy and breach of personal space to which people seem to feel entitled, is breathtaking.
Through Lucy, Hortle explores attitudes to body image “… the idea that it’s ‘natural’ for women to want breasts or bigger breasts or whatever… it’s not so much ‘natural’ as culturally inscribed. It’s all about the objectification of women and …women subjecting themselves to the male gaze.”
In Lucy’s husband Jem, Hortle gives the reader the point of view and reactions of a certain type of male to this disfigurement, while Lucy’s original and quirky solution to her hated chest scars is more than a match for her psychologist’s suggestion.
Lucy’s character is complex and well developed; the secondary characters are appealing and much more than one-dimensional stereotypes, even those who play very minor roles in the overall story. Hortle also touches on the need for connection and the passing on of intergenerational knowledge. Her descriptive prose is often gorgeous, easily evoking the majesty of the Tasmanian coastline.
Her anthropomorphic depictions of the various creatures are a delight and her imagined cruising beta male seals are very reminiscent of the way teenaged human males behave. The octopuses in this novel are stars in their own right and Lucy’s enchantment with these fascinating creatures is easily shared by the reader. This is a brilliant debut novel and more from this talented author will be eagerly anticipated.
This unbiased review is from an uncorrected proof copy provided by Allen & Unwin.
July 29, 2020
This is an impressive debut novel with a beautiful cover. It tells of the struggle of a young woman trying to come to terms with her new body following mastectomy and treatment for breast cancer and the impact of this on her relationship with her partner.
Lucy and Jem live near Eaglehawk neck, a rugged, beautiful part of the coastline on the Tasman Peninsula. The area is replete with wildlife including seals, mutton birds and octopuses. It is while Lucy is out catching octopus to preserve with two older friends, Poppy and Flo, that she sees an octopus struggling to cross the road over the narrow strip of land that forms the neck dividing the bay from the ocean. She's been told that when the neck was open to the sea the octopuses would cross through it to lay their eggs and now, laden with eggs, they still try to migrate to the open sea across despite the hazards of crossing the road. It's from this moment that Lucy becomes fascinated in the octopus and it's strength and resilience becomes a force in her physical and mental recovery to once again feel comfortable with her body and rediscover her sense of herself.
It's the beauty of the wild Tasmanian coast, the feel of the ocean in all it's phases and the voices of the animals that live there that are the real stars of this novel. Interwoven with Lucy's story are beautifully written chapters told from the point of view of an octopus laden with eggs, a young male seal looking for his place in the world, a mutton bird returning to feed it's offspring. This all serves to deliver a strong ecological message about how dependent other species are on humans doing our utmost to preserve these very special places for them. 4.5★
With many thanks to Allen & Unwin for a providing a proof of the book to read
Lucy and Jem live near Eaglehawk neck, a rugged, beautiful part of the coastline on the Tasman Peninsula. The area is replete with wildlife including seals, mutton birds and octopuses. It is while Lucy is out catching octopus to preserve with two older friends, Poppy and Flo, that she sees an octopus struggling to cross the road over the narrow strip of land that forms the neck dividing the bay from the ocean. She's been told that when the neck was open to the sea the octopuses would cross through it to lay their eggs and now, laden with eggs, they still try to migrate to the open sea across despite the hazards of crossing the road. It's from this moment that Lucy becomes fascinated in the octopus and it's strength and resilience becomes a force in her physical and mental recovery to once again feel comfortable with her body and rediscover her sense of herself.
It's the beauty of the wild Tasmanian coast, the feel of the ocean in all it's phases and the voices of the animals that live there that are the real stars of this novel. Interwoven with Lucy's story are beautifully written chapters told from the point of view of an octopus laden with eggs, a young male seal looking for his place in the world, a mutton bird returning to feed it's offspring. This all serves to deliver a strong ecological message about how dependent other species are on humans doing our utmost to preserve these very special places for them. 4.5★
With many thanks to Allen & Unwin for a providing a proof of the book to read
September 27, 2020
First of all, I want to thank Allen & Unwin for my advance copy in return for an honest review. Second I want to thank the author for writing such a charming and engrossing debut novel.
The Octopus and I revolves around Lucy who has recently had breast cancer with the attendant surgeries and chemotherapy. She is struggling to find her sense of self and her relationship with her partner Jem is suffering.
Lucy is our central focus for the narration, but the actual theme, the one that I so thoroughly enjoyed and was engaged in, is Tasmania. The author lives in Tassie and the descriptions the Tasman Peninsula, its ocean and ecology, its inhabitants both human and animal, these are the story elements that brought this book into vivid engrossing life.
Now on to the octopus, because it was the octopus that really drew me to this book and I am very glad it did. The octopus is in some ways a metaphor for Lucy's body dysmorphia and her fascination with the animal is a way for her to rediscover her sense of self but it is also a gorgous way to bring the reader an actual knowledge of, and understanding for real octopus and their part of the Tasmanian ecosystem. The octopus of the story, along with the Mutton Birds and the seals are all subtle but beautifully thoughtful themes which frame a really insightful look at the point in the natural world where human and ecology meet. It was not until the end of the book that I realised how many strong themes of act and consequences there are in this story but by the end I was really impressed by this subtext of the book.
It took me a long time to read this one, especially around the middle/two third mark I struggled with Lucy as a character and because of that I was not reading fast and I was wondering just how much I was enjoying the book. I still feel like the narrative was a bit wobbly for a while, but it came together perfectly at the end. I always say that a good ending is gold, and this ending was pure gold!
Let's talk about Lucy a bit. As the central theme we first meet her after she has had plastic surgery following chemo. Like many women she falls into the trap (which not all plastic surgeons take as much responsibility for as I think they should) of getting massively larger breasts, which she believes will make her feel good about herself. Now on the topic of this early part I have some spoiler remarks:
In her attempts to regain her sense of self and to come to terms with a body she does not feel is hers, Lucy forms a friendship with a couple of older women who hunt octopus and pickle the arms, this part, with it's hunting and killing of animals was a bit nasty for me to read, but I like the themes that the author uses it to invoke - more on that later. Lucy while trying to save a female octopus, ends up in a car accident and however unlikely that sounds this is a piece of brilliant writing! This unlikely event is the catalyst for Lucy regaining her sense of self, her independence and a thirst for experiencing life that makes for some really interesting narrative. It brings in a lot of secondary characters which I enjoyed and which I found very real to read about. Unfortunately, it also makes Lucy behave like a really nasty piece of work toward her partner Jem. This guy has supported her all through surgery, it doing everything he can to make her feel good about herself post surgery, trying to give her what she asks for from him. Meanwhile, she takes him for granted, lies to him, ignores him and is generally a pretty nasty piece of work. I kept thinking where are all these lovely, environmentally friendly guys? Oh, wait, that's right, they are all in love with skinny abusive little twits like Lucy....
Eventually, I got the sense that Jem and Lucy's situation was more about examining beliefs and how we hold them. Because both of them do some bad things and some good things, the story manages to bring them through as real people and ends up being about actions and consequences more that about judging a person. The characters are quite rounded out.
For me, the description of the Tasmanian Peninsula, was a massive charm to this book. I got the sense of the author knowing and loving the location so well, that her knowledge and love flows out of the chapters and straight into the readers heart. I loved how eloquent in describing the water, the surfing, the moods of the ocean this book is. I loved how Lucy's narrative is fleshed out (sorry, bad pun) and enriched by the ecosystem it is written into. This part was brilliant.
I also thoroughly enjoyed the chapters that are written from the point of view of animals. The Mutton Bird that comes back to it's burrow to find it's precious chick gone - my heart broke over it. The chapters that are a seal's view of the world were as agile and sleek as the seals themselves. The chapters that are from the octopus' point of view are also brilliant; an octopus is not an easy animal to think a human mind into, which makes these sections even more impressive. I know several people did not like these chapters though, it might be that as they are mostly in the first part of the story and then peter out a bit, they do not feel fully integrated for some readers who are not that into animals in general. I hope, though, I REALLY REALLY hope that this author goes on to write more in those themes. There are a precious few scattering of authors who have the rare gift for writing about animals in such a way that they come to life for those others of us who love animals and their world. This book will always stand out for me as one of those rare and precious books that achieves this and I hope there will be more. Though, of course, I recognise that a woman's breast surgery and body dismorphia has a wider audience and more selling power.
In conclusion, then, a great debut novel with an amazing sensitivity for both human experience and for animals and the natural world. There is a great subtlety in the way people and their personal experience is written and a great love of, and understanding of a fascinating part of Australia that will charm anyone who loves reading about animals and the natural world. I can't think of anyone among my friend circle who would not enjoy this book on some level. It is definitely one that will resonate with any woman who is recovering from similar surgery, and even if we are not Lucy and her confusion and choices are not ours, still it gives an interesting perspective on the recovery process.
The Octopus and I revolves around Lucy who has recently had breast cancer with the attendant surgeries and chemotherapy. She is struggling to find her sense of self and her relationship with her partner Jem is suffering.
Lucy is our central focus for the narration, but the actual theme, the one that I so thoroughly enjoyed and was engaged in, is Tasmania. The author lives in Tassie and the descriptions the Tasman Peninsula, its ocean and ecology, its inhabitants both human and animal, these are the story elements that brought this book into vivid engrossing life.
Now on to the octopus, because it was the octopus that really drew me to this book and I am very glad it did. The octopus is in some ways a metaphor for Lucy's body dysmorphia and her fascination with the animal is a way for her to rediscover her sense of self but it is also a gorgous way to bring the reader an actual knowledge of, and understanding for real octopus and their part of the Tasmanian ecosystem. The octopus of the story, along with the Mutton Birds and the seals are all subtle but beautifully thoughtful themes which frame a really insightful look at the point in the natural world where human and ecology meet. It was not until the end of the book that I realised how many strong themes of act and consequences there are in this story but by the end I was really impressed by this subtext of the book.
It took me a long time to read this one, especially around the middle/two third mark I struggled with Lucy as a character and because of that I was not reading fast and I was wondering just how much I was enjoying the book. I still feel like the narrative was a bit wobbly for a while, but it came together perfectly at the end. I always say that a good ending is gold, and this ending was pure gold!
Let's talk about Lucy a bit. As the central theme we first meet her after she has had plastic surgery following chemo. Like many women she falls into the trap (which not all plastic surgeons take as much responsibility for as I think they should) of getting massively larger breasts, which she believes will make her feel good about herself. Now on the topic of this early part I have some spoiler remarks:
In her attempts to regain her sense of self and to come to terms with a body she does not feel is hers, Lucy forms a friendship with a couple of older women who hunt octopus and pickle the arms, this part, with it's hunting and killing of animals was a bit nasty for me to read, but I like the themes that the author uses it to invoke - more on that later. Lucy while trying to save a female octopus, ends up in a car accident and however unlikely that sounds this is a piece of brilliant writing! This unlikely event is the catalyst for Lucy regaining her sense of self, her independence and a thirst for experiencing life that makes for some really interesting narrative. It brings in a lot of secondary characters which I enjoyed and which I found very real to read about. Unfortunately, it also makes Lucy behave like a really nasty piece of work toward her partner Jem. This guy has supported her all through surgery, it doing everything he can to make her feel good about herself post surgery, trying to give her what she asks for from him. Meanwhile, she takes him for granted, lies to him, ignores him and is generally a pretty nasty piece of work. I kept thinking where are all these lovely, environmentally friendly guys? Oh, wait, that's right, they are all in love with skinny abusive little twits like Lucy....
Eventually, I got the sense that Jem and Lucy's situation was more about examining beliefs and how we hold them. Because both of them do some bad things and some good things, the story manages to bring them through as real people and ends up being about actions and consequences more that about judging a person. The characters are quite rounded out.
For me, the description of the Tasmanian Peninsula, was a massive charm to this book. I got the sense of the author knowing and loving the location so well, that her knowledge and love flows out of the chapters and straight into the readers heart. I loved how eloquent in describing the water, the surfing, the moods of the ocean this book is. I loved how Lucy's narrative is fleshed out (sorry, bad pun) and enriched by the ecosystem it is written into. This part was brilliant.
I also thoroughly enjoyed the chapters that are written from the point of view of animals. The Mutton Bird that comes back to it's burrow to find it's precious chick gone - my heart broke over it. The chapters that are a seal's view of the world were as agile and sleek as the seals themselves. The chapters that are from the octopus' point of view are also brilliant; an octopus is not an easy animal to think a human mind into, which makes these sections even more impressive. I know several people did not like these chapters though, it might be that as they are mostly in the first part of the story and then peter out a bit, they do not feel fully integrated for some readers who are not that into animals in general. I hope, though, I REALLY REALLY hope that this author goes on to write more in those themes. There are a precious few scattering of authors who have the rare gift for writing about animals in such a way that they come to life for those others of us who love animals and their world. This book will always stand out for me as one of those rare and precious books that achieves this and I hope there will be more. Though, of course, I recognise that a woman's breast surgery and body dismorphia has a wider audience and more selling power.
In conclusion, then, a great debut novel with an amazing sensitivity for both human experience and for animals and the natural world. There is a great subtlety in the way people and their personal experience is written and a great love of, and understanding of a fascinating part of Australia that will charm anyone who loves reading about animals and the natural world. I can't think of anyone among my friend circle who would not enjoy this book on some level. It is definitely one that will resonate with any woman who is recovering from similar surgery, and even if we are not Lucy and her confusion and choices are not ours, still it gives an interesting perspective on the recovery process.
June 26, 2021
An astonishingly original debut novel exploring a range of cultural and environmental themes that keep bristling and biting to the end. This is true creative writing - sharp, salty, vibrant, exhilarating. Seek this one out - it’s not for the faint-hearted but certainly worth the ride.
April 6, 2020
I’m reviewing this for publication so all I will say here is this will definitely be on my favourite fiction of the year list.
April 12, 2020
This is another Australian book interested in non-human experiences (off-hand, I can think of Flames, From the Wreck and The Animals in That Country from recent years). Hortle sets short animal-focussed narratives alongside the main plot, which delves into lots interesting themes (the body, cultural practices, environmentalism, gender, power, hypocrisy). It's a really impressive debut.
January 16, 2024
This is a beguiling and unusual novel, the author Erin Hortle's first.
At Eaglehawk Neck, which leads to the Tasman Peninsula in Tasmania's south-east, Lucy is gradually rebuilding her life and relationship with her changed body after major surgery and treatment for pre-menopausal breast cancer. Her relationship with her partner, abalone diver Jem, has shifted as they both try to deal with the new reality and navigate a future together.
One night, while wandering the Neck in the moonlight, Lucy comes across local older women, Flo and Poppy, who are harvesting octopus for pickling. From there, a series of cathartic relationships develop, not only between the women, but between Lucy and the local octopus population.
Having observed some of the post-mastectomy grief and recovery vicariously via my mother's experience, I felt that Hortle's exploration of these issues was sensitive and insightful. To many women readers, Jem's thoughts and reactions may jar as self-centred and somewhat boorish, but my feeling was that the author has explored the somewhat taboo territory of the masculine perspective on breasts with genuine understanding.
That said, I wasn't blown away by the plot and character arcs of Lucy and the supporting characters - had the novel comprised only this plotline, I'm not sure that the strong breast cancer / female body image / resilience themes alone could have raised this much above a pretty standard rural romance/drama. I was far more taken with the several sections of the novel where the narrative shifted to the anthropomorphised perspective of local sea and bird life. This is where Hortle's talent shone through and her writing leapt off the page, strange and beautiful. It brought to mind the wonderous Flames, one of my absolute favourites of 2019, by Robbie Arnott, another emerging Tasmanian writer. I would recommend The Octopus and I to lovers of contemporary Australian literature on the strength of these passages alone.
I look forward to Hortle's future development as an author, as she has amazing potential.
At Eaglehawk Neck, which leads to the Tasman Peninsula in Tasmania's south-east, Lucy is gradually rebuilding her life and relationship with her changed body after major surgery and treatment for pre-menopausal breast cancer. Her relationship with her partner, abalone diver Jem, has shifted as they both try to deal with the new reality and navigate a future together.
One night, while wandering the Neck in the moonlight, Lucy comes across local older women, Flo and Poppy, who are harvesting octopus for pickling. From there, a series of cathartic relationships develop, not only between the women, but between Lucy and the local octopus population.
Having observed some of the post-mastectomy grief and recovery vicariously via my mother's experience, I felt that Hortle's exploration of these issues was sensitive and insightful. To many women readers, Jem's thoughts and reactions may jar as self-centred and somewhat boorish, but my feeling was that the author has explored the somewhat taboo territory of the masculine perspective on breasts with genuine understanding.
That said, I wasn't blown away by the plot and character arcs of Lucy and the supporting characters - had the novel comprised only this plotline, I'm not sure that the strong breast cancer / female body image / resilience themes alone could have raised this much above a pretty standard rural romance/drama. I was far more taken with the several sections of the novel where the narrative shifted to the anthropomorphised perspective of local sea and bird life. This is where Hortle's talent shone through and her writing leapt off the page, strange and beautiful. It brought to mind the wonderous Flames, one of my absolute favourites of 2019, by Robbie Arnott, another emerging Tasmanian writer. I would recommend The Octopus and I to lovers of contemporary Australian literature on the strength of these passages alone.
I look forward to Hortle's future development as an author, as she has amazing potential.
October 24, 2025
I thought this book was absolutely fascinating. Intelligent, insightful and innovative. Although in one sense the story arc was fairly traditional, the manner of its telling was not. I don’t like to make synopses of plots so I shall just leave that remark there.
Particular points of interest.
Most of the story is about a young woman who has had a double mastectomy and who is coming to terms with it. (Neither I nor the author have had that experience, but I imagine the effects have been well researched.)
The young woman has the experience of having multiple tattoos and we understand why. I have never understood people’s need for them, but I think I do a little better now.
The relationships between all the people involved were beautifully caught. I really appreciated the way Erin exposed the feelings of rural Tasmanians in particular and people from the ‘mainland’ (the rest of Australia).
I learned such a lot about octopuses, not only their physiology but their cultural significance. The inside front and back covers, which depict a Japanese linocut made me blink!
The anthropomorphic recounts were wonderful. I loved the opening one by the octopus — so poetic — and the closing one by the seal. So seal like.
It’s a book that will stay with me for a long time, I think.
Particular points of interest.
Most of the story is about a young woman who has had a double mastectomy and who is coming to terms with it. (Neither I nor the author have had that experience, but I imagine the effects have been well researched.)
The young woman has the experience of having multiple tattoos and we understand why. I have never understood people’s need for them, but I think I do a little better now.
The relationships between all the people involved were beautifully caught. I really appreciated the way Erin exposed the feelings of rural Tasmanians in particular and people from the ‘mainland’ (the rest of Australia).
I learned such a lot about octopuses, not only their physiology but their cultural significance. The inside front and back covers, which depict a Japanese linocut made me blink!
The anthropomorphic recounts were wonderful. I loved the opening one by the octopus — so poetic — and the closing one by the seal. So seal like.
It’s a book that will stay with me for a long time, I think.
May 1, 2020
The Octopus and I is a most interesting debut from Tasmanian author Erin Hortle. It has an original premise: a young woman struggling with her body image after radical surgery for cancer forms a semi-symbiotic relationship with an octopus...
Yes, it sounds bizarre, and the opening chapter narrated by an octopus is a risky introduction which at six pages tested my patience, but the next chapter morphs into the cruel reality of the young woman unsure of her sexual identity or even who she is. Lucy's preoccupation is mostly with her breasts and the scarring because they are visible, but she also has to deal with the surgery for ovarian cancer too because now she can't ever have children. And although she is modern young woman with a postmodern education and a career in Tasmania's eco-industry, her grief at losing so much is testing her relationship with Jem, who has lovingly supported her through it all—but just doesn't understand.
Jem is an abalone fisherman, but paradoxically also a fierce eco-warrior. He despises recreational fishermen and their excesses, he is contemptuous about Tasmania's aquaculture industry, and he doesn't hide his disdain from other people in the community who breach his eco-standards. In the context of Lucy's loss, he is sanguine about not having children, because he thinks the planet can't afford them. He does not understand that Lucy wanted the decision not to have children to be her decision, not a decision made for her by the disease.
For him, the trouble between them is about her breasts.
Some of my friends have had breast cancer. Some have survived and thrived, one was permanently disabled by radical surgery which severed the nerves in her arm, one is currently facing up to a recurrence of it after years of remission, and one has died of it. But although there have been great medical advances and improvements in survival rates, breast cancer is still a cruel disease which often robs a woman of her body image and impacts on her sexual relationships thereafter. Breast cancer is not an event that ends with 'closure'; it is an ongoing physical and emotional journey. The empathy with which Erin Hortle writes about this is not merely sensitive, it is educative as well.
Lucy's first impulse is to have reconstructive surgery, and she opts for what she anticipates will be 'better' than before. Jem, who can't help himself, likes her bigger breasts, and other men admire them too. She hates them. And when a road accident lands her back in hospital, she is glad to have what's left of them removed. Her therapist doesn't understand this, and neither does Jem. He's not at all keen when she decides to have her flat chest and its scars tattooed with the octopus she was trying to save. But Jem is not a brute: the novel wrestles with his nostalgia for the Lucy he fell in love with, and it's not just her body that he misses. He is struggling with grief and loss too, because along with the changes in her personality, she is also shutting him out. She is too distressed to negotiate a troubled relationship on top of everything else. And he just can't get it right.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2020/05/01/t...
Yes, it sounds bizarre, and the opening chapter narrated by an octopus is a risky introduction which at six pages tested my patience, but the next chapter morphs into the cruel reality of the young woman unsure of her sexual identity or even who she is. Lucy's preoccupation is mostly with her breasts and the scarring because they are visible, but she also has to deal with the surgery for ovarian cancer too because now she can't ever have children. And although she is modern young woman with a postmodern education and a career in Tasmania's eco-industry, her grief at losing so much is testing her relationship with Jem, who has lovingly supported her through it all—but just doesn't understand.
Jem is an abalone fisherman, but paradoxically also a fierce eco-warrior. He despises recreational fishermen and their excesses, he is contemptuous about Tasmania's aquaculture industry, and he doesn't hide his disdain from other people in the community who breach his eco-standards. In the context of Lucy's loss, he is sanguine about not having children, because he thinks the planet can't afford them. He does not understand that Lucy wanted the decision not to have children to be her decision, not a decision made for her by the disease.
For him, the trouble between them is about her breasts.
Some of my friends have had breast cancer. Some have survived and thrived, one was permanently disabled by radical surgery which severed the nerves in her arm, one is currently facing up to a recurrence of it after years of remission, and one has died of it. But although there have been great medical advances and improvements in survival rates, breast cancer is still a cruel disease which often robs a woman of her body image and impacts on her sexual relationships thereafter. Breast cancer is not an event that ends with 'closure'; it is an ongoing physical and emotional journey. The empathy with which Erin Hortle writes about this is not merely sensitive, it is educative as well.
Lucy's first impulse is to have reconstructive surgery, and she opts for what she anticipates will be 'better' than before. Jem, who can't help himself, likes her bigger breasts, and other men admire them too. She hates them. And when a road accident lands her back in hospital, she is glad to have what's left of them removed. Her therapist doesn't understand this, and neither does Jem. He's not at all keen when she decides to have her flat chest and its scars tattooed with the octopus she was trying to save. But Jem is not a brute: the novel wrestles with his nostalgia for the Lucy he fell in love with, and it's not just her body that he misses. He is struggling with grief and loss too, because along with the changes in her personality, she is also shutting him out. She is too distressed to negotiate a troubled relationship on top of everything else. And he just can't get it right.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2020/05/01/t...
January 30, 2021
THE OCTOPUS AND I BY ERIN HORTLE is a debut novel set on a rural Tasmanian coast where nature and animals play such a significant part in the book, it’s like as if they’re some of the characters themselves. Lucy is a recovering breast cancer survivor who’s trying to come to terms with her new body after going through a double mastectomy. Along the way, she finds herself resonating with the local octopuses and develops a strong fascination towards them. Meanwhile, we also look at her relationship with her partner Jem, as well as others around her.
Reading through that blurb, you’d be right to assume that this is an unusual and unique novel. At its best, the vivid way the book talks to nature and its inhabitants is hypnotic and captivating - often reminding me of the quiet beauty i found within WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING. But at its worst, it could also feel like there’s too much of a disconnect from the modern world, which made it more challenging for me to engage with the book as a whole.
There’s a number of aspects i appreciated - like the way it talks to bigger ideas like globalisation and environmental deterioration, as well as the way it explores the male gaze and what it’s like to exist in a female body. What i struggled with the most was the passages that were told through perspectives of the animals. While i found this to be an interesting concept, i just didn’t find it to be as fascinating or effective and ended up skimming these bits. The book is purely character-driven which i normally love, but the narration around nature just felt too dominating for me. I also couldn’t decide whether the ‘true blue’ Aussie dialogue gave it authenticity or made it a bit too distracting.
My expectation was sky high for this one - while it ultimately fell a little short for me, it was still an enjoyable read and an impressive debut.
Reading through that blurb, you’d be right to assume that this is an unusual and unique novel. At its best, the vivid way the book talks to nature and its inhabitants is hypnotic and captivating - often reminding me of the quiet beauty i found within WHERE THE CRAWDADS SING. But at its worst, it could also feel like there’s too much of a disconnect from the modern world, which made it more challenging for me to engage with the book as a whole.
There’s a number of aspects i appreciated - like the way it talks to bigger ideas like globalisation and environmental deterioration, as well as the way it explores the male gaze and what it’s like to exist in a female body. What i struggled with the most was the passages that were told through perspectives of the animals. While i found this to be an interesting concept, i just didn’t find it to be as fascinating or effective and ended up skimming these bits. The book is purely character-driven which i normally love, but the narration around nature just felt too dominating for me. I also couldn’t decide whether the ‘true blue’ Aussie dialogue gave it authenticity or made it a bit too distracting.
My expectation was sky high for this one - while it ultimately fell a little short for me, it was still an enjoyable read and an impressive debut.
August 23, 2022
Ce livre en est un comme je n’en ai jamais lu. Que c’était beau, étrange et audacieux. C’est un livre qui, je crois, réussit pas mal ce qu’il veut entreprendre. Il pose les bonnes questions, joue ses pions justement et réussit à nous faire accepter plusieurs animaux comme narrateurs du roman, et avec fluidité. On y croit. Et la fin est excellente. On sait qu’on a à faire à une autrice de qualité quand la fin d’un roman est réussie.
Je dirais somme toute que ç’a été une lecture estivale parfaite; je me suis fait bercer par le rythme de l’océan Tasman, les marées qui ondulent avec les pieuvres qui viennent y pondre leurs oeufs. Je vous souhaite le même voyage
Je dirais somme toute que ç’a été une lecture estivale parfaite; je me suis fait bercer par le rythme de l’océan Tasman, les marées qui ondulent avec les pieuvres qui viennent y pondre leurs oeufs. Je vous souhaite le même voyage
March 30, 2020
I absolutely loved this book. Quintessentially Tasmanian. Well researched, so imaginative, with so many beautiful layers. Had me thinking about it for such a long time. The non-human narratives are so captivating (I never knew it was possible to feel such empathy for a seal!). Such a relatable, easy to follow literary read that is guaranteed to transport you to the Tasman peninsula and feel all the feels of becoming fascinated by something that you don't quite understand... and needing a connection beyond what you already have. LOVED it! 10/10!! Can't wait for number two from Erin Hortle!
July 22, 2020
The Octopus and I (Allen and Unwin 2020), the debut novel by Erin Hortle, is an experimental meditation on illness, grief, loss and our interconnectedness with the natural world. In rich, lush description and lyrical writing, the story explores how we feel about our bodies, how we navigate our relationships, and the subtle undertow of communication between humans and nature. It raises ethical issues about body image, feminism, environmentalism, sustainability, fidelity and loyalty to memory.
Set in the wild and beautiful Tasman Peninsula, the book is immersed in the ocean or in life by the sea. Lucy and Jem are testing the tender new spots of their relationship now that Lucy is recovering from major surgery which has left her body scarred to the extent that it feels almost alien to herself. Appearance may only be skin-deep but they both realise that radical changes to your physical body can alter the way you see yourself and those you love. As Lucy recovers from both the surgery and a freak accident early in the novel, she feels fragile and unmoored. She kindles a friendship with two older women, Flo and Poppy, who have a remarkably pragmatic approach to fishing and hunting octopus for food, and she befriends Flo’s son, Harry. But as she is drawn deeper into the anthropomorphic world of the octopus, she feels the sense of herself and her body changing, indelibly marked by the stain of the animal’s ink.
The novel includes chapters narrated by various animals, including an octopus and a seal, which gives it an otherworldly, ethereal grace as we are privy to these creatures’ thoughts and feelings. As much of the book is based on fishing, either for food, for livelihood or for sport, this makes these sections even more poignant, as we comprehend the violent threat of our behaviour towards these animals, and their possible – unheard – response. The story examines those who would protect our fauna and our environment, and questions whether the ends always justifies the means, as well as those who choose to plunder for profit, for sport or for pleasure. A moral minefield of issues opens up.
The people in the book are variously afraid, lonely, grieving, hopeful, determined, bloody-minded, assertive, vulnerable and lost.
The trauma at the end of this book is particularly intense, vivid and thought-provoking. And all the woven threads leading up to that conclusion – about being a woman, being an octopus, being human, being alive, being sentient – come together to say something profound about our relationship with the creatures around us.
Set in the wild and beautiful Tasman Peninsula, the book is immersed in the ocean or in life by the sea. Lucy and Jem are testing the tender new spots of their relationship now that Lucy is recovering from major surgery which has left her body scarred to the extent that it feels almost alien to herself. Appearance may only be skin-deep but they both realise that radical changes to your physical body can alter the way you see yourself and those you love. As Lucy recovers from both the surgery and a freak accident early in the novel, she feels fragile and unmoored. She kindles a friendship with two older women, Flo and Poppy, who have a remarkably pragmatic approach to fishing and hunting octopus for food, and she befriends Flo’s son, Harry. But as she is drawn deeper into the anthropomorphic world of the octopus, she feels the sense of herself and her body changing, indelibly marked by the stain of the animal’s ink.
The novel includes chapters narrated by various animals, including an octopus and a seal, which gives it an otherworldly, ethereal grace as we are privy to these creatures’ thoughts and feelings. As much of the book is based on fishing, either for food, for livelihood or for sport, this makes these sections even more poignant, as we comprehend the violent threat of our behaviour towards these animals, and their possible – unheard – response. The story examines those who would protect our fauna and our environment, and questions whether the ends always justifies the means, as well as those who choose to plunder for profit, for sport or for pleasure. A moral minefield of issues opens up.
The people in the book are variously afraid, lonely, grieving, hopeful, determined, bloody-minded, assertive, vulnerable and lost.
The trauma at the end of this book is particularly intense, vivid and thought-provoking. And all the woven threads leading up to that conclusion – about being a woman, being an octopus, being human, being alive, being sentient – come together to say something profound about our relationship with the creatures around us.
September 19, 2025
Absolutely stunning. Loved every part of it. Nicely structured with quirky sections on octopuses, seals & mutton birds. Very believable characters in a compelling story. A thought provoking examination of the personal experience of how the body changes & recovers from cancer treatment (and as someone who has been through surgery and recovery - easily the most accurate description). Can't recommend it more highly.
July 21, 2021
The first thing that struck me was the writing style. I don't know exactly how to describe it aside from raw and pure??? Overall, I really liked this book and the exploration of bodily identity and societal expectations driven by the male gaze. Also an absolute sucker for beautiful descriptions of Australia so this ticked that box. Still not entirely sure about the utility of some of the seal's perspective but maybe that was above me. Started a little slowly but finished strong.
July 24, 2022
I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this. A poetic, thoughtful and poignant book about identity, what it means to be a ‘woman’, the relationship between humans and and other animals; and the complexities and nuances of life-limiting illness and romance.
July 11, 2022
THE OCTOPUS AND I is a difficult book for me to review.
It’s an unusual and unique novel that transports you to the stunning Tasmanian Coast and landscape which was written so beautifully.
I have great respect for the ecological and environmental aspects of this story but I honestly struggled with the passages that were told through perspectives of the animals – a bit too quirky for me!
It may not read like I ~loved~ this book, but I would suggest checking it out if you’re after a unique read that tackles important issues in an Australian landscape, then take a look at THE OCTOPUS AND I.
It’s an unusual and unique novel that transports you to the stunning Tasmanian Coast and landscape which was written so beautifully.
I have great respect for the ecological and environmental aspects of this story but I honestly struggled with the passages that were told through perspectives of the animals – a bit too quirky for me!
It may not read like I ~loved~ this book, but I would suggest checking it out if you’re after a unique read that tackles important issues in an Australian landscape, then take a look at THE OCTOPUS AND I.
August 12, 2020
5 stars for a lot of reasons. I am only going to write a few of those reasons and you are just going to have to read it for yourself to figure out the other reasons so here goes:
1: I am Tasmanian (grew up on the west coast currently live in the south) i know this isnt the actual reason for the 5 stars however knowing where the author is refering to made this story even more alive for me. I hate the traffic in Davey Street even though it is only one way it still sucks.
2: Mutton birds. Lets put the killing of baby birds aside as that is a whole other issue (talked about in this book!) i hate the smell of them cooking and reading this book brought back ALOT of memories of my childhood. I may hate the smell but i love those family memories it unearthed.
3: Breasts. Yes i have them yet i have never actually thought what i would do if i lost them. Would i get bigger or none at all? Could this bring freedom/weirdness?
Lastly 4: Octopuses. I love reading a book that leads me to research and learn more of things i did not or would not of thought of to really look at before.
This book is a rollercoaster or better yet a tide of emotions. For anyone who has lost/finding or simply floating through life. Fantastic book Erin!!
1: I am Tasmanian (grew up on the west coast currently live in the south) i know this isnt the actual reason for the 5 stars however knowing where the author is refering to made this story even more alive for me. I hate the traffic in Davey Street even though it is only one way it still sucks.
2: Mutton birds. Lets put the killing of baby birds aside as that is a whole other issue (talked about in this book!) i hate the smell of them cooking and reading this book brought back ALOT of memories of my childhood. I may hate the smell but i love those family memories it unearthed.
3: Breasts. Yes i have them yet i have never actually thought what i would do if i lost them. Would i get bigger or none at all? Could this bring freedom/weirdness?
Lastly 4: Octopuses. I love reading a book that leads me to research and learn more of things i did not or would not of thought of to really look at before.
This book is a rollercoaster or better yet a tide of emotions. For anyone who has lost/finding or simply floating through life. Fantastic book Erin!!
January 6, 2021
I did not enjoy this book. If it had a hidden meaning then i didn't get it. I found the foul language too much. The relationship between the lead characters Lucy and her partner Jem seemed contrived to make the man look weak. I did not like that and felt he was given a rough deal. His character which seemed pretty genuine in the beginning was made to do crazy things in the end - nah, just didn't seem right. Lucy sure expected a lot from him.
One positive in the story was the research into Octopuses which, I found very interesting. I learned lots about them that i did not know.
I feel that i cannot comment on the parts of the story involving Lucy's double mastectomy due to breast cancer except to say that i imagine each woman who goes through this ordeal would potentially have different ways of dealing with it.
Lucy's hook up with Harry just seemed wrong. One character said "he just gets it, doesn't he". Well, I just didn't get it.
One positive in the story was the research into Octopuses which, I found very interesting. I learned lots about them that i did not know.
I feel that i cannot comment on the parts of the story involving Lucy's double mastectomy due to breast cancer except to say that i imagine each woman who goes through this ordeal would potentially have different ways of dealing with it.
Lucy's hook up with Harry just seemed wrong. One character said "he just gets it, doesn't he". Well, I just didn't get it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 4, 2020
A stunningly beautiful, evocative, thoughtful and inspiring novel, with sounds, sights and smells of the Tasmanian coastline and it’s wild and wonderful inhabitants - both human, and non-human. I quickly fell in love with this book and its main protagonist Lucy, who seemed so much like a familiar friend in her approach to landscapes, relationships, feminism and bodily experience. Such a pleasure and a joy to read, even in its more melancholy moments.
December 13, 2020
3.5 strange stars, rounded up because some parts were absolutely beautiful. This is a tricky book to review because I loved and hated bits. The animal hunting scenes were incredibly difficult to read and made me want to put the book down, but the characters were beautifully developed and sections of the story were hauntingly beautiful. I’m glad I persevered and finished it, even though it was a struggle at times. Certainly a thought provoking novel!
Read
January 10, 2021Well, I got to page 92, which is 32 more pages than Nancy Pearl would have read before giving up. I know most readers adored this book. I didn't. The final straw was an entire chapter from the perspective of a pre-pubescent seal and how much sex seals have! This totally lost me. As they say, 'not my cup of tea'.
February 27, 2020
A beautifully written story about a woman’s relationship to her body and the world around her, and the way both change after she recovers from cancer. I loved this book for its down-to-earth characters, nuanced exploration of ideas, and its thoughtful depiction of Tassie and its inhabitants.
July 11, 2020
This novel captivated me. It's not necessarily one genre, but rather pulls together threads of contemporary, ecological, and Australian fiction. I was surprised by some of the turns of the novel and outraged by others but, despite these turns, it holds itself together to deliver a compelling and satisfactory ending.
I picked it for its curious discussion of gender and self. Lucy is recovering from breast cancer, grappling with her infertility, and not quite sure how she fits into her body anymore. Unexpectedly, her solace is found in octopuses. Her search for healing is the central thread of the novel and I delighted in the ways that Lucy's encounters with women and with female creatures helped her rediscover her sense of self and her ability to feel comfortable and embodied.
I hadn't expected the novel to include a strong knowledge of and love for the Tasmanian coastline and its creatures, but thoroughly enjoyed the pockets of animal facts that were packed seamlessly into the narrative. The chapters set from the perspectives of creatures were masterful, in a way that few attempts to embody the mind of an animal are, and they provided a perfect counterbalance to the perspectives of the humans.
The novel presents a nuanced view to our place in nature. It highlights the human impact on vulnerable species, marine pollution, and climate change, as well as the difficulty of doing right by the environment when much of our hunting and fishing culture is caught up in commercial greed and sport, rather than an awareness of traditional, indigenous, or sustainable practices. Even the characters who think they're doing right are still culpable and a fair few animals die in the novel to make this point.
I found the Australian setting interesting. I'm curious now to travel to Tasmania, to see in person the landscapes and the caricatures that the novel depicts. As a New Zealander, some of the details that were written as Australian struck me as kiwi (like pavlova - definitely going to keep laying claim to that), but in some ways this gave the novel a soft nostalgia. However, I found some of the references to the wider sociocultural setting clumsy.
On the one hand, the brief asides to the Port Arthur Massacre and Tasmania's history as a penal colony seemed realistic to the limited but everyday ways that this cultural memory would linger in a small town. On the other hand, the quips about the aboriginal people of Tasmania were more awkward. This novel acknowledges indigenous culture and heritage in small ways, but mostly only manages to prop up stereotypes rather than provide readers with any particular insight. While the main character acknowledges her casual racism, I would have liked some of the careful research that the writer brought to the book to have been applied here.
The ending leaves a lot unsaid or unresolved, but in a good way. It closes with a precious encounter between two animals that reflects the unspoken bonds between mothers or would-be-mothers, but also the precarious balancing of different wants and needs within an ecosystem. It's heartwarming, but not at the expense of its realism.
Ultimately, this book is an excellent début novel. It is thoughtful, angry, funny, impulsive, and, in more than one place, tragic. It demonstrates how to be vulnerable in an eat-or-be-eaten kind of world. And, most centrally, it says "f**k cancer" and heck yeah to octopuses, friendships, and feeling alive.
I picked it for its curious discussion of gender and self. Lucy is recovering from breast cancer, grappling with her infertility, and not quite sure how she fits into her body anymore. Unexpectedly, her solace is found in octopuses. Her search for healing is the central thread of the novel and I delighted in the ways that Lucy's encounters with women and with female creatures helped her rediscover her sense of self and her ability to feel comfortable and embodied.
I hadn't expected the novel to include a strong knowledge of and love for the Tasmanian coastline and its creatures, but thoroughly enjoyed the pockets of animal facts that were packed seamlessly into the narrative. The chapters set from the perspectives of creatures were masterful, in a way that few attempts to embody the mind of an animal are, and they provided a perfect counterbalance to the perspectives of the humans.
The novel presents a nuanced view to our place in nature. It highlights the human impact on vulnerable species, marine pollution, and climate change, as well as the difficulty of doing right by the environment when much of our hunting and fishing culture is caught up in commercial greed and sport, rather than an awareness of traditional, indigenous, or sustainable practices. Even the characters who think they're doing right are still culpable and a fair few animals die in the novel to make this point.
I found the Australian setting interesting. I'm curious now to travel to Tasmania, to see in person the landscapes and the caricatures that the novel depicts. As a New Zealander, some of the details that were written as Australian struck me as kiwi (like pavlova - definitely going to keep laying claim to that), but in some ways this gave the novel a soft nostalgia. However, I found some of the references to the wider sociocultural setting clumsy.
On the one hand, the brief asides to the Port Arthur Massacre and Tasmania's history as a penal colony seemed realistic to the limited but everyday ways that this cultural memory would linger in a small town. On the other hand, the quips about the aboriginal people of Tasmania were more awkward. This novel acknowledges indigenous culture and heritage in small ways, but mostly only manages to prop up stereotypes rather than provide readers with any particular insight. While the main character acknowledges her casual racism, I would have liked some of the careful research that the writer brought to the book to have been applied here.
The ending leaves a lot unsaid or unresolved, but in a good way. It closes with a precious encounter between two animals that reflects the unspoken bonds between mothers or would-be-mothers, but also the precarious balancing of different wants and needs within an ecosystem. It's heartwarming, but not at the expense of its realism.
Ultimately, this book is an excellent début novel. It is thoughtful, angry, funny, impulsive, and, in more than one place, tragic. It demonstrates how to be vulnerable in an eat-or-be-eaten kind of world. And, most centrally, it says "f**k cancer" and heck yeah to octopuses, friendships, and feeling alive.
May 26, 2023
I wouldn’t have picked this book if it wasn’t chosen for book club, but really enjoyed! I found this book was surprisingly introspective regarding the female experience. It was a little preachy too often with global warming and keeping Tassie wild but definitely had some good messages.
November 12, 2020
A quick easy read, but so engaging and it had many aspects which reminded me of my childhood, as well as my ongoing journey with breast cancer. I think this one will stay with me for a long time!
So many of Lucy's feelings and emotions resonated with me. It was quite comforting in a weird way to feel as though someone else 'gets it'.
I really enjoyed Erin's writing style. It flowed and the descriptions made me feel as though I was there, experiencing everything along with the characters. I enjoyed learning about the various creatures living in/by the sea and was able to immerse myself in their world.
The only thing I didn't like was that there were no chapter numbers or headings. I'm not sure why that even matters, but it irritated me a tiny bit... 😏🤔
I was both looking forward to reading this and also nervous about it, because I knew it would be very close to home on a personal level. It was actually better than I expected. It was not heavy or sad and instead I found it uplifting and comforting.
I look forward to more from this author!
So many of Lucy's feelings and emotions resonated with me. It was quite comforting in a weird way to feel as though someone else 'gets it'.
I really enjoyed Erin's writing style. It flowed and the descriptions made me feel as though I was there, experiencing everything along with the characters. I enjoyed learning about the various creatures living in/by the sea and was able to immerse myself in their world.
The only thing I didn't like was that there were no chapter numbers or headings. I'm not sure why that even matters, but it irritated me a tiny bit... 😏🤔
I was both looking forward to reading this and also nervous about it, because I knew it would be very close to home on a personal level. It was actually better than I expected. It was not heavy or sad and instead I found it uplifting and comforting.
I look forward to more from this author!
June 6, 2020
An amazing novel. Contemporary and timeless. Insight into what it means to be human - and not! Captures Eaglehawk Neck perfectly - wild and tamed (but not for long). Tasmanian and world ecological and sustainability and species “hierarchy” issues. Highly recommended!!
April 29, 2020
3.5 stars
The Octopus and I is the story of Lucy who lives on the south east peninsula of Tasmania, an hour out of Hobart. She’s just had a full mastectomy and is struggling to navigate her new body into her everyday life. Whilst out one night, Lucy tries to save an octopus from being hit by a car only to be hit herself.
Lucy survives the car accident but it sees her develop a fascination with octopuses which effects her mind and body in ways that she can’t even quite understand. As her fascination grows; her mindset changes; ultimately influencing her friendships, her new body and even her long term relationship with her de facto husband Jem.
The Octopus and I is an interesting read. It’s marketed in the ecological fiction genre which gives it a very different spin on traditional and contemporary fiction. Whilst the general storyline of Lucy’s journey was easy enough to follow and intriguing enough to make me read it in two sittings; I admit that I struggled with the ecological side. The two chapters written from the perspective of an octopus and a sexual seal were completely lost on me. I didn’t think they added anything to the story; but if you understand their inclusion and the deeper themes of this book, then you may well find them relevant and insightful.
Moving away from these two chapters, I otherwise really enjoyed the plot and the characters. The plot was engaging and Lucy’s journey of accepting her new body is moving. It’s not all ecological events though, there are also themes of friendship, romance, heartache, action and misadventure. Similarly, the characters are complex and purposeful. There aren’t many of them, but I liked that as it allowed you to get to know them better.
Yes, some parts of The Octopus and I left me confused, but there’s enough good substance and a decent plot to make it a book that I recommend. I’m glad that @bri.e.lee featured it on her Instagram because it’s good to read something different and I would not have otherwise picked it up. Ecological fiction is a growing genre and if you going to get on board, then The Octopus and I is a good place to start.
To play along with my book bingo and to see what else I’m reading, go to #ktbookbingo and @kt_elder on Instagram.
The Octopus and I is the story of Lucy who lives on the south east peninsula of Tasmania, an hour out of Hobart. She’s just had a full mastectomy and is struggling to navigate her new body into her everyday life. Whilst out one night, Lucy tries to save an octopus from being hit by a car only to be hit herself.
Lucy survives the car accident but it sees her develop a fascination with octopuses which effects her mind and body in ways that she can’t even quite understand. As her fascination grows; her mindset changes; ultimately influencing her friendships, her new body and even her long term relationship with her de facto husband Jem.
The Octopus and I is an interesting read. It’s marketed in the ecological fiction genre which gives it a very different spin on traditional and contemporary fiction. Whilst the general storyline of Lucy’s journey was easy enough to follow and intriguing enough to make me read it in two sittings; I admit that I struggled with the ecological side. The two chapters written from the perspective of an octopus and a sexual seal were completely lost on me. I didn’t think they added anything to the story; but if you understand their inclusion and the deeper themes of this book, then you may well find them relevant and insightful.
Moving away from these two chapters, I otherwise really enjoyed the plot and the characters. The plot was engaging and Lucy’s journey of accepting her new body is moving. It’s not all ecological events though, there are also themes of friendship, romance, heartache, action and misadventure. Similarly, the characters are complex and purposeful. There aren’t many of them, but I liked that as it allowed you to get to know them better.
Yes, some parts of The Octopus and I left me confused, but there’s enough good substance and a decent plot to make it a book that I recommend. I’m glad that @bri.e.lee featured it on her Instagram because it’s good to read something different and I would not have otherwise picked it up. Ecological fiction is a growing genre and if you going to get on board, then The Octopus and I is a good place to start.
To play along with my book bingo and to see what else I’m reading, go to #ktbookbingo and @kt_elder on Instagram.
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