Malagash

This is a quiet little novel about dealing with grief. Sunday doesn't want her father to die, but it is a certainty that he doesn't have much time left. To ensure that he lives on forever in some way, she is using her considerable technological skills to create a computer virus based off of recordings of her father: his jokes, his wisdom, his everyday musings. As the novel progresses, you get glimpses of the rest of her family - primarily her little brother and her mother - and how they are dealing with his imminent death as well.

Sunday's relationship with her father is obviously the drawing point here. Despite the briefness of the novel, Comeau establishes all members of the family really well, and their relationships with one another make you feel their pain at losing this man. It also has some darkly funny bits, due to the jovial personality of the dad:

“Don't be stupid,” he says. “Of course we have to. This is research for when you write my obituary. Who else could I trust with this? Sunday, I am counting on you to not let anyone say that I died surrounded by nameless loved ones. Or that I lost my courageous battle with cancer.”“I'll tell people you won,” I promise him.“Exactly!” He laughs. I love it when my father laughs. “You tell people that. The cancer is dead. I did what needed to be done. I'm a hero.”

The inevitable happens without preamble: there are no heroic last words, no fanfare, no clues left behind to uncover some hidden mystery; it just...happens, and you know it's going to happen, and it still punches you in the gut anyway. Proof that you don't always need an excessive amount of pages to make you care, you just need the right words. 4/5

I'd never heard of Joey Comeau or his latest book, Malagash. Generally, I don't go for small books—I like ‘em thick. But one look at the premise and I knew this was a story I wanted to read: Sunday's father is dying of cancer ... She's started recording everything her father says ... Because Sunday is writing a computer virus. A computer virus that will live secretly on the hard drives of millions ... A computer virus that will think her father's thoughts and say her father's words ... Her father is going to live forever.

BAM! I was sold.

Malagash is a strong novel (it may border on being novella length). It has an original premise, is full of believable characters, and is such a quick read. Despite my inclination to favor larger books, I think the brevity works for this story. Could I have spent more time with Sunday's family? Yes, they were enjoyable company, but I think we get to know enough of them to understand their abundant intrigues and quirks. This understanding of the characters comes from an experienced handling of the family's interactions with one another—each filled with meaning and subtlety.

At one point during the story, we are treated to a magic trick and, whether it was Comeau's intention or not, I believe Malagash is in itself a bit of a magic trick. An illusion. Look here at this thing in my right hand, the author seems to be saying, while I manipulate reality with my left. The magic is in the premise—a dying father's voice living forever through a computer virus—anyone reading this story is probably doing so for the promised magic of that description. But while you weren't looking, something more significant happened in the life of Sunday, our protagonist, particularly in regards to her relationship with her brother. The magic of this story isn't in Sunday's computer virus or even in the life and death of her father, but in the burgeoning interactions of those left behind.

Malagash is a story about death, but it is more so a snapshot of life in motion. It is concise, but never abrupt. It is heartbreaking, but never for a second does it lose its spirit, the tremendous spirit of an inspirational and exceptional family.