Out There by Adrien Stoutenburg
I expected Out There to be a Post Apocalyptic novel; the back copy promises several young heroes—and someone named Zebrina—would leave their domed city and find a way out into the brave old world OUT THERE! There might be animals. There might be other life. There might be death.
The book opens on four teenagers and one child in an attic. They clearly see themselves as one group, and they're planning what to do next. Stuffed animal heads of lions and rhinos adorn the walls, it's nighttime, and it's raining. The child is obsessively playing jacks, and the harsh glow of fluorescent lights from gambling parlors casts an eerie pallor over the room.
It's got ambiance, mood, and I'm ready to watch this unlikely gang struggle against wisdom and convention to make a break for it.
And then Zebrina comes up the stairs, a tray of sandwiches in her hands, and the tone shifts. Zebrina is an elderly nature enthusiast, and the kids in her attic are her "Nature Squad." Under her tutelage, they (voluntarily) study the animals and plants that no longer exist around their domed city. They travel to the least-contaminated areas outside the city limits to learn about geological formations. They debate and discuss, and when they're done, they return to their homes and the problems that come with them.
Sylvie is desperate for her parents' affection; they're too busy performing around the world to pay her any mind. She lives in a sterile, expensive condo within the domed city, the maid her only regular companion.
Lester's father is a decorated soldier in the space army and pressures him to enlist, but Lester eschews the comforts of the domed city and the army's violence. He longs to be morally perfect, using the teachings and books of old spiritual leaders across religions to inform his actions.
Patrick comes from a broken home just outside the dome; his parents do nothing but fight and drink. He wants to be strong, stronger than them, but fears he will fail when he is needed most.
Fay comes from a large family and feels forgotten. Unlike the rest of her siblings, she's fat, and she's embarrassed her family doesn't have enough money to live within the dome. She's a timid people-pleaser.
Knobs, whose real name is Celeste, was abandoned by her parents in the middle of a highway. Zebrina adopted her and tries to help the girl overcome her trauma, though Knobs is still shy and quiet and hides both behind Zebrina and within a world of her own making that involves her ball and jacks.
These problems are typical of pretty much any industrialized society. The ecological devastation of Out There flavors the specifics, but that's it.
Post Apocalyptic stories, to be appropriately apocalyptic, need a source of tension based within the apocalypse. The exact tension can vary, but typically the sources are:
A society messed up specifically in relation to the apocalypse (think the somewhat stereotypical "idyllic town that lures people in to eat them").
A struggle to survive directly due to the apocalypse (think outrunning zombies, or the dangers of radiation, or traversing a landscape entirely devoid of edible plants/animals).
Out There has neither. The apocalypse is long enough in the rear-view mirror that life is just life.
That tips this into Post-Post Apocalyptic territory, a genre of which I'm particularly fond.
But one of my favorite aspects of Post-Post Apocalyptic novels is seeing how society, as we know it, has shifted; some parts are recognizable, others are baffling.
One Post-Post Apocalyptic novel I read (set hundreds of years later in an agrarian society) depicted a minstrel arriving in town. Everyone is abuzz; this minstrel is particularly adept at portraying a musician of cultural significance: Elwiss. It's not until his white jumpsuit and coifed hair are described that you realize that Elvis is to them what Shakespeare is to us. It's a goofy, delightful scene that highlights the fluidity of culture and society even though it’s a bit on the nose.
There's none of that here. Society is the same as society today, except that everyone except the poor lives under a dome. But this isn't a case of "those outside the walls rot with radiation and starve to death." Fay and Patrick attend school inside the dome, and they are free to enter and exit at their leisure. This is more like a "they're from the wrong side of the tracks" situation.
This doesn't feel like a Post-Post Apocalyptic novel, either. So what is it, I wondered?
The Nature Squad decide they want to search for animals in the wild. Aunt Zeb agrees to take them. They're allowed to go—there are no laws against going out into the wilderness, and the kids' parents or guardians all say it's okay. So they load up Zeb's old station wagon and head out on a week-long expedition. Hopefully, they'll spot some animals, but if nothing else, they'll have spent a week under the stars.
Essentially, they're going on a field trip.
Aunt Zeb is so cheerful, so full of knowledge, and so understanding of her wards that she feels damn close to Miss Frizzle. I genuinely wouldn't be surprised if Out There inspired the Magic School Bus franchise.
The trip is much of what you'd expect. There's camping and unexpected and undisclosed missteps that culminate into a more significant problem. There are surprises and blisters and wounded egos. Frankly, I found most of this boring. The technical writing was good, but the plot was either thin ("let's see if we can spot some animals") or blunt ("let's see if we can find our way back to the car!"). And with six point-of-view characters, there wasn't much time to get to know anyone. We understand their shortcomings, but that's about it. Their journey took up the rest of the pages.
One aspect I did like about their journey is that there appeared to be a direct correlation between the welfare of humans and animals. When the Squad is doing well, animals are absent; the best they get is some shoots and flowers. When the Squad is struggling, the animals are plentiful. I didn't realize this until hindsight, but thematically it's interesting ... if depressing.
I wish I had clocked this earlier because it might have prepared me for the ending. It's a downer ending, and not in a way where I go "Yes, it's a downer, but nothing else would make sense!" It's just a downer. Lame. And the book ends up endorsing fatphobia, which is not cool considering this book is aimed at a YA audience. Do not recommend. More detailed review of the ending up next, spoilers abound.
Spoilers from here to the end.
So after several misadventures, the Squad is stranded in an old mountain resort, fending for themselves and living off the ... well, not quite 'bounty' of nature, but you get the idea. They're foraging and fishing for survival. They're more-or-less having a great time, in part because due to the nature of their challenges, every child has overcome their greatest fear. Patrick has proven he can be strong in the face of struggle. Sylvie has proven her compassion is greater than her need for her parents' love. Lester has come to terms with the notion that "life is what it is" and that while he should strive for goodness, he cannot be perfect. Fay has learned confidence. And Knobs has retired the jacks and put her focus into the outside world.
And then help arrives.
An old member of the Nature Squad hired a helicopter to rescue them. One of the first things out of his mouth when he sees them is "Wow! Fay, you've lost so much weight we should call you Skinny!"
Earlier in the book, Fay expresses to Zeb that she hopes she loses weight. Zeb says she likes Fay exactly the way she is. Then Fay spends most of the trip obsessing over her weight. While others are enjoying themselves, she's pushing herself harder, hoping that each mile sheds pounds. It's obviously unhealthy. But here, at the end, she's found her confidence and hasn't thought of her weight in pages. Here was the last demon to slay, I thought. Fay would say it didn't matter whether she lost weight or not, and it was judgemental attitudes like that which made it so difficult for her to accept herself.
Lol, no. The moment passes, and it's clear it's a good thing that Fay's not fat anymore. Her unhealthy obsession worked out in the end. It's great!
...This is not a message we should send to any audience, let alone a YA one.
So the helicopter pilot owns his fleet of helicopters courtesy of family money gained through commercial fishing and hunting and other ecologically devastating means. As he helps prepare the Squad to leave, Zeb can see him sizing up the place, putting price-tags on everything. She tries to lie, to portray it as uninhabitable, but her ploy fails. By the time they're flying away, the pilot is talking about buying the place and restoring it to its former glory to lure city folk back out into the country. And Zebrina knows what will happen to this ecosystem which is only now starting to knit itself back together.
The end!
Blergh.
So it's a bummer ending, but it's more than that. The apocalyptic ecological devastation doesn't inform enough of the story to make it feel worth it. This could easily be a story of city kids appreciating nature for the first time. There are tons of stories about people falling in love with an area and then watching in horror as developers size it up.
It feels like the "point" of the book is the kids overcoming their internal struggles ... except there's not enough time to watch them learn, struggle, grow, and change. One day Fay is a people pleaser, the next she isn't. One day Sylvie would kill an endangered animal if she thought it might get her parents' attention; the next she wouldn't. It's anticlimactic and also feels like it defeats the purpose of so heavily showcasing their internal struggles.
So, not a great book by any standard. Though perhaps my biggest gripe is that the cover somehow made me think that not only would there be a raccoon, there would be a raccoon friend. But there isn't a single raccoon anywhere in this book. I demand trash pandas!
Cover Art by Unknown:
