Tag Archives: coming of age fiction

The Inverted Forest by John Dalton

Summer, 1996, at Kindermann Forest Camp in rural Missouri. The elderly camp director finds his counselors swimming naked two days before camp is to open and fires all of them. As a result, new counselors must be hired and brought to camp. One of them is Wyatt Huddy, a genetically disfigured young man who has been living in a Salvation Army facility. All his life, large, gentle, diligent Wyatt has been misjudged because of his physical appearance. Along with the other new counselors he arrives ready to care for children. To their astonishment, they learn that for the first two weeks of the camping season they will be responsible for 104 severely developmentally disabled adults, all of them wards of the state.

In this world away from the world, the new counselors and disabled campers begin to reveal themselves. Most are well-intentioned, others unprepared. Some harbor dangerous inclinations. Soon Wyatt is called upon to prevent a terrible tragedy. In doing so, he commits an act whose repercussions will alter his own life and the lives of the other Kindermann Forest staff members for years to come. (Synopsis source: www.daltonnovel.com)

The Inverted Forest takes place mostly in Kindermann Forest Camp, an enchantingly isolated, almost eerie world unto itself, a microcosm with as much baggage as each of the counselors who become last minute replacements for more carefully selected candidates in the beginning of this novel. As one might expect, some of the counselors have been less than honest about their backgrounds – in fact, The Inverted Forest depends heavily on deceiving appearances and mistakes in perception to tell its story. But for the first two thirds of the novel, Dalton chooses to keep the nature of those deceptions vague without ever becoming “mysterious” in a heavy-handed way, as authors less gifted with subtlety are wont to do. Instead, he drags the reader into the world of the camp not as a spectator, but as a silent participant, giving them the same information that is given to everyone else but building intricate layers of foreshadowing around his hidden truths that feel obvious only in retrospect.

Most prone to the double-edged knife that these hidden truths present is the novel’s main character, Wyatt, whose facial features resemble those of a retarded person due to a genetic disorder – one which, unbeknownst to most strangers, has no effect on his intelligence. On first glance, many people assume Wyatt to be retarded, an impression that has had a profound effect on Wyatt’s perception of himself and his true intelligence. Throughout Forest, Wyatt questions the relationship between his intelligence and his appearance again and again, a question that he suddenly cannot ignore when a troupe of mentally retarded adult campers are under his care. After so many years being treated as if he is mentally retarded, Wyatt has deluded himself into thinking that he is retarded simply because other people have always thought so. When he is suddenly thrust into the role of a person of able intelligence, his identity is fractured. Or, perhaps, one might say, inverted.

If we are to accept the somewhat cliche but eternally valuable “appearances are deceiving” motif as one that is principal to The Inverted Forest, then Wyatt’s personal narrative becomes one that is emblematic of the problems that strike Kindermann Forest Camp when appearances, in lieu of real information, are used to make judgments. Dalton executes this motif as beautifully as anyone reasonably can after it’s been done so many times without drawing the reader away from his plot in the process.

However, there are the last 100 pages. When I reached page 212, which completes Part I of the novel in my copy, I was entranced and very much impressed by what I assumed to be Forest’s conclusion. Then I kept reading. And it dragged on. And on. For approximately 120 more pages, which is 120 more than I needed or wanted from this novel. It appears that Dalton wished to give his main character some sense of redemption and closure, which would have been okay except for that he also dragged readers through choppy, epilogue-ish forays into the lives of the other counselors fifteen years later in a dull, self-indulgent epilogue to what would have otherwise been a very well-written novel.

Recommended 

Advertisements