I see the ad early in the day, when I'm taking a coffee break between the Skee-Ball lanes. A Frankie's Funhouse eighty kilometres out of Chicago is converting a Nifty Trio Set to Digital One. They've got an old Franny Feathers, my daughter Starr's favourite character, in Urban Cowgirl costume, as is. Hasn't worked right since the Spooky Good Time show was loaded in last Halloween.
This ad sparks the titular quest: in which Henry, an arcade games repairman at a Chuck E. Cheese-like franchise, sets off In Search of the Perfect Singing Flamingo to complete his basement recreation of his developmentally delayed adult daughter's favourite pastime; singing karaoke with an animatronic band of furred and feathered creatures straight out of the kiddy restaurant. Starr has Williams syndrome – a condition I wasn't familiar with and was interested to learn about – and this book is really about how her family's time and concern mainly revolves around her special needs. I found this concept to be both intriguing and valuable, but ultimately, I don't know if author Claire Tacon really pulled off the concept: what I initially found charming just sort of fizzled out into meh.
It always comes back to the same complaint, our fights. That I'm too indulgent with one, not tender enough with the other. As if Kath's manner is the yardstick of parental involvement.As the book begins, Henry – in his fifties, saddled with debt and with no hope for retirement – commits to paying $1900 for the perfect singing flamingo for the basement setup; without letting his wife know about the purchase or the true nature of his plans to take Starr on a roadtrip down to Chicago for ComicCon. As for the wife, Kath – back in the workforce and proving her competence, if not raking in the big bucks – she sets up a dinner with their younger daughter, Melanie, and their son-in-law in order to spring a surprise of her own on Henry: after having miscarried their first pregnancy, the young couple wants to try IVF and need ten grand to pay for it. Henry and Kath had just remortgaged their home to set Starr up in a condo to foster independent living, and Henry can't see why his “typical” daughter would be reaching out for help: after all, they were still paying off Melanie and Chester's wedding, they had helped to put her through university, and the young couple both have good paying jobs; couldn't they see that even with the condo purchase what is “fair” is not necessarily splitting their limited funds 50/50 between the two? As the story progresses, it's obvious that Melanie loves and has always looked out for Starr – is 100% prepared to take on her guardianship when their parents no longer can – and if she's in a hurry to have babies, it's only in the hope that she can raise them to independence before she's the caregiver for her sister and their parents. As the narrative unspools, it's not really about money; this is just one of the pressures of many that this family endures (but these opening scenes do make it seem like Henry is inexcusably irresponsible in his secret $1900 purchase).
That's how Kath always sees our role as parents – to inoculate Starr against the difficulties of living. Prepare her for when we are no longer around. But while I'm still here, I don't want to limit her special treatment. I want Starr to have the best version of life she can imagine. Our daughter struggles enough.The quest to Chicago and back doesn't exactly go as planned and the whole fiasco illuminates another facet of the family dynamics: Henry wants everything to go smoothly at every moment for Starr – advocating for her, apologising for her, physically shielding her from harm – but when his well-intentioned plans backfire, it's Kath – who had been misled about the whole adventure – who needs to step in and smooth everything over (not to mention Melanie needing to leave her job for backup support). Kath wants for Starr to experience challenges, to know that she is capable of making good decisions, but Henry just can't step back. As Kath points out, it's uncertain whether Starr really is a big fan of Frankie's Funhouse, or if the Williams makes her incapable of saying no to whatever her father offers to her. Truly, everything about the syndrome and how it affects a family was really well-represented.
On the other hand, the plot kind of goes nowhere; many ideas introduced early are never brought up again. The point-of-view rotates between four characters: Henry, Melanie, Starr, and...Darren. I haven't mentioned Darren above because he's a slight acquaintance of Henry's, and although he does tag along on the road trip to Chicago and we learn everything about his life, his storyline is totally peripheral and unnecessary to the main action. I don't understand why Kath – one of only five main characters, and certainly more important than Darren – doesn't get sections from her POV, but in the end, it doesn't matter that much because the voice in each section is the exact same; when a character with a developmental syndrome sounds the same as a Chinese-Canadian teenager, who sounds the same as a middle-aged man, something doesn't ring true. In a blurb, author Michael Christie calls this book “hilarious and humane” – and while I would agree with the “humane” part, the humour was along the lines of, “First love, like acute gastroenteritis, has to pass on its own”, or:
Melly asks me not to call her that anymore. She's Melanie now, Lainey to her husband and co-workers. Says it with such emphasis that I feel accused, as if I'd coached the other kids to call her Smelly Melly Ding-Dong.I do love a book by a Canadian author who doesn't feel the need to explain local references – I totally identify with driving down the 401 to Milton, cheering on highschoolers competing at OFSAA, Henry contemplating spending the afternoon at Tim's where he could “sit like the other old-timers, flicking through a paper, letting sugar flakes collect on my lap” – but I didn't buy an American bespoke lingerie-maker in Chicago blaming her calloused fingers on stitching “metres” of lace to underpants; most Canadians would probably speak of “yards” in this context.
I respect the intent behind this book – Starr is a dignified and believable character, confronting challenges to the best of her ability; what I learned of Williams was interesting and valuable – but it wasn't a totally successful novel. Still, I'm not unhappy to have picked this up.
