Close-up of the cover of 'Our Child of the Stars'. Photo: Courtesy of Jo Fletcher Books.
‘Our Child of the Stars’ by Stephen Cox
Review by Rhiannon Grant
What do you do when you have to choose between an alien child and your government? Molly and Gene, the married couple at the heart of this warm and engaging novel, are already suspicious of their government – they’re pacifists in the US during the draft and the cold war – and they choose to adopt an extra-terrestrial child, Cory. This is a risky business, negotiating language, health, politics, media and the military – and, above all, hope and trust – as they try to find a way forward.
None of the characters in this book is explicitly Quaker, but the author’s Quaker values come through clearly. One aspect of this is, of course, pacifism: ‘good’ characters refuse violence throughout, although some of those who do use or accept violence are also drawn as sympathetic or supportive in the end. Another aspect is the use of a heart-sense or inner teacher. Like the Force in Star Wars, this could be read as an alien ability, but the descriptions of it at work as a conscience and guide are familiar from other Quaker writing, although used in different ways.
The story has a strong sense of found or chosen family. Your family might happen to include biological relationships, but the relationships you make and foster are just as important. The adoption of a child, a marriage which needs work, and friendships which are harmed by deception but come through in the end are all big features here. There is something intensely queer in this moral position – LBGT communities tending to be strong on the importance of chosen family because of the tragically high incident of rejection by biological families – which means that the moral of acceptance goes well beyond the inclusion of a lesbian couple. This attitude of accepting love creates a warm and caring sensibility throughout.
Central to all this is Cory, who must have been a challenge to write. He needs to be both strange enough to seem truly alien and familiar enough for the reader to relate to; young enough to seem like a child in need of care but mature enough to comprehend the danger he – and perhaps the Earth – is in. The author navigates this challenge successfully, particularly in sections of narrative where Cory is the point-of-view character. There is a temptation in fiction to make children seem older (or sometimes younger) than they are supposed to be, or to have them grow up very fast in order to advance the plot. Cory as a character does not suffer from these problems – he is able to learn and change but remains believable throughout the two years of the book’s narrative.
This is a book about love, care, and working out how to stick to your principles in a hostile world. I recommend it to readers who want something exciting but warm, and to groups who would like to discuss what is involved in constructing a family or defying the government. How do you decide who to trust? When do you run, when do you hide, and when do you tell your story – strategically? n
Stephen Cox will be talking about the Quaker roots of his novel at the Quaker Centre Bookshop, London, on 16 April.
