Status Updates From Things Bright and Beautiful

On Advent Island, the jungle refused to stay outdoors, it lurked at the corners of the village and wormed its way into civilisation. Pale weevils cavorted in the powdered milk, black orchids blossomed in the shower, heavy-breathing rats urinated over his sandals while he slept. It perpetuated itself with explosive fertility. Furry dark fungus bloomed over his vestry desk where none had been at breakfast time.

The jungle. Its constant whirring noises, its fetid organic complexity, its restlessness. So many thousands of trees and bushes and leaves, each populated by slithering, crawling insects, all with tiny hearts pumping and pumping. Sometimes, during the hottest part of the day, Bea lay still in her bed, conscious of the constant movement of the jungle and a humid, ominous stillness of the air.

Sometimes Bea forgot to comb through the rice properly, and a softened and mushy rat dropping would turn up in the supper, like a prize in a cracker box.
The monotony of the rice was supplemented by a sad parade of depressing island vegetables. Occasionally there were chalky blocks of taro donated by Mabo-Mabon – or, worse, island cabbage. This stubborn and abundant weed dripped a clear, viscous mucus

In 1942 Max had accompanied the American troops to a base in Luganville, Espíritu Santo, a rabbit-shaped island in the New Hebride, so large that the first explorer overenthusiastically declared it to be Australia. On Santo, Max was truly happy. He spent most of his time living with the soldiers, offering them advice and cigarettes, delivering services in the church on Sundays,