Book Review: The Bees (Laline Paull)Reviewed by Kathryn AllanI first heard of Laline Paull's The Bees (Harper Collins, 2014) when I was discussing my research interests in disability studies and science fiction. The person I was speaking with was unfamiliar with disability studies and not a science fiction reader, but they immediately recommended this book to me as one that takes an interest in disability in a fantastic (non-human) setting. Most of the time, when we think of a book as belonging (even if unintentionally) to disability literature, we imagine non-fiction texts like biographies and memoirs or, if fictional, those rare stories that place a disabled human character at the centre of narrative. It at first seemed unlikely that a book about insects could address disability without reducing disability to stereotypical and tired representations but I was assured that Paull had created a story worthy of critical attention. Intrigued, I made sure to put The Bees on my to-be-read list. "Accept, Obey, and Serve"—these words echo throughout the novel, the guiding "law" and religion of the beehive for those who bask in the Queen's holy love (her pheromones) and devote all their labour to the survival of the hive. The main narrative follows the life of a bee born to the lowest caste in the hive, sanitation worker Flora 717. We first meet Flora as she emerges a fully-grown adult in the hive's Arrival Hall (all of the sections of the hive have special names and host designated work activities for specific castes). From the start, we discover that Flora is not a typical sanitation worker: she can speak (when others of her caste cannot), and she is deemed "excessively large," "obscenely ugly," and "abnormal" (5). In the hive, too much variation is considered deformity, and "Deformity is evil. Deformity is not permitted" (4). Throughout the novel, Paull draws on the old ableist fear that genetic variation is the result of some sort of moral contagion that is capable of being spread to "pure" members of the society if left unchecked. The most feared caste in the hive are the fertility police, who ruthlessly seek out any sort of physical or behavioural deviation—the worst offence being procreation (as only the Queen has that right)—and destroy the offending bee, whether it infant or adult: "Deformities mean that evil roams our hive. Somewhere hides a desecrating heretic who dares steal sacred Motherhood from the Queen. That is why sickness comes, that is why deformities rise. From her foul issue!" (30). When Flora is called out by the police for her obvious differences, a bee of the high-ranking priestess order, Sister Sage, comes to Flora's defence, arguing that: "variation is not the same as deformity" (16) and decides to put Flora through a social "experiment" by giving her roles outside of her lowly caste. Basing Flora's world on real bees, Paull creates of a complex, hierarchal society that communicates through chemical scents and movement. Different castes of bees have different abilities and access to these forms of communication, and cross-over between them is only permitted when their service to the hive is of greater need than total conformity. So when it comes to thinking of Flora in the category of disability, she is not disabled in the most common way in which ableist people think of disability today as an individual who lacks "normal" physical and/or mental ability. In fact, Flora's "deviance" is her innate super-ability: unlike any of the other bees in her hive, she is capable of carrying out the tasks of almost of all the castes. Singled out by Sister Sage, Flora transitions from her born role as sanitation worker to a nursery worker to a Queen's handmaiden and, eventually, to one of the most desirable castes of all, a forager. If this was a tale set in the human world, Flora's diverse abilities might be lauded as admirable and inspirational, but in the context of the beehive, she is marked as a potential threat to the carefully monitored order of "Accept, Obey, and Serve." Depending on one's viewpoint, it can be fairly argued that Paull is merely recuperating the trope of disability as "extra-special," but Flora's characterization is certainly not flat and two-dimensional so it is also possible to read The Bees as a book that opens up possibilities for thinking about disability in a more expansive way. All bees must abide by the same rules of care and service, of which Flora is reminded during her stint in the nursery: "We deliver one outcome here: identical care for identical brood. There is no improvising… " (22). Unfortunately, Flora is unable to successfully conform to any one role—either through her own actions or by the prejudice of others, she is unable to settle in one place for long. And the more experience she gains, the more Flora begins to question the order of the hive: Nothing made sense. The sanitation workers were strong and healthy and seemed only to ever die of old age—yet they were frequently sacrificed in great numbers. […] She tried to remember which scripture ordained the Sage the power of life and death. It was not in the Catechism, nor the prayer tiles, nor could she recall it from the Queen's Library—but it must surely exist, for their rule was law. (224) It is the type of moment like this one that Paull's The Bees begins to address the true roots of "evil" and "deformity" in a surveillance society. Raised from the level of the individual, the presence of "deviance" in the hive is shown to be, not law or inherent truth, but a construct of those who seek control and power over others (and so the "fault" is not with Flora's extraordinary ability). I cannot say whether or not Paull set out to explore disability in her novel, but she nevertheless presents a narrative that makes the distinction between the individual and the social level of disability. While Flora 717 is an exceptional bee, she is not a saintly one: she is prone to out bursts of anger, pride, and folly (putting herself in danger more than once). Flora's uniqueness, Paull carefully reminds the reader time and again, is not just due to her unusual physical ability to carry out the duties of all the castes, but is due to her curiosity and desire to push the hive's boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Flora struggles with her desire to be something other than a sanitation worker, and at turns she feels bold, ashamed, guilty, suspicious, and embarrassed. When it comes to "Accept, Obey, and Serve," her dedication to the service of the Queen and, more importantly, to the well-being of the hive, is unwavering. Flora visibly obeys orders of the priestess caste because she is at risk of death if she does not… until she has the space to move and act on her own, of course. Then she takes the greatest risk of all: becoming a mother who loves and protects her offspring despite the taboo against it. In terms of Paull's style, The Bees is an enjoyable immersion in language that recalls traditional fairy tales with their tones of high morality and wonder. Margaret Atwood is quoted on the back cover, describing the book as "[A] gripping Cinderella/Arthurian tale with lush Keatsian adjectives." Although I agree with Atwood's evocation of Cinderella here as a way to conceive of Paull's literary style, I don't think that the story of Flora herself is at all like the classic scullery-maid-turned-princess tale. What's the most engaging about Flora's story is that she is the ultimate source of change—in The Bees, there are no fairy godmother's granting wishes or a prince that saves the damsel in distress. Flora's gifts aren't bestowed on her by a higher power, they are part of her; she is not in need of rescue as she is the one riding in to the save the day (despite great risk to herself). Laline Paull's The Bees is an admirable first novel that succeeds in opening up a number of interesting and productive readings. While many readers will see value in its discussion of environmental issues or on the limits of religious society, those who approach it with disability in mind will find Flora 717's story an engaging one.
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