THE BOYHOOD OF CAIN

An English boy engages with sex, art, and religion without the guidance of his failing parents.

Daniel’s father is the headmaster of a choir school, a plum position in a small English town and one that will soon evaporate. An illness and financial mismanagement force him into an early retirement and a half-life of ill-advised farming. Daniel’s mother, meanwhile, slumps into a depression that eventually becomes suicidal. In the midst remains the boy (as Amherst calls him), trying to matter-of-factly interpret the adult world. He’s impressed by psychotherapy, which he learns about on TV (“People are just like books—full of hidden meanings that need to be unearthed by an attentive reader”) and becomes indignant that the Anglican Church says he’ll have to become confirmed before receiving communion, so he refuses to do it (“Is this not exactly what Jesus would have done, he asks his parents? His mother does not welcome the comparison”). Daniel’s joys are drawn from Philip, a boy as smart as him but with more charisma and a stable family, and from Mr. Miller, a “young and exciting” art teacher who tutors the two boys in painting while their classmates play. Mr. Miller’s hipness is thrilling—he prefers Fauvism to John Constable—but it becomes sinister when he discusses “sex appeal” with a class of preadolescents. The novel’s plain style is contemporary, though Amherst is comfortable with figurative language: A vicar has a “face like a spoon,” the gap between two posh houses is “like a held breath before one makes a choice.” But when Amherst embraces ambiguity, in the moments where Daniel must admit no answer is to be found, the novel contains the same eerie spark that makes the bildungsromans of Hermann Hesse crackle.

A coming-of-adolescence novel that rigorously avoids cliche.