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When my sister insisted that I'd love Shelby Van Pelt's Remarkably Bright Creatures, I was skeptical. I mean, a story about a sea creature and an aquarium janitor hanging out? Wasn't that a little too much like The Shape of Water? Never mind that I never saw that movie. It was weird, and that was that. But then I spied a paperback copy of Remarkably Bright Creatures in Target. Not only did the cover feature a colorful octopus, the outer pages were yellow and red, splashed with fish, coral, and hibiscuses. Apparently, this is a new special-edition trend in books, and I was mesmerized. So into the cart it went. Once I started reading it, I couldn't put it down.
Seventy-year-old, ninety-pound Tova Sullivan is no stranger to loss. Her husband died a couple of years ago, and their only child died in a boating accident at eighteen. But as a stoic woman of Swedish descent, Tova doesn't show pain. Instead, she copes by working the night shift cleaning the local aquarium. Making the floor and glass sparkle and being among the sea life in the deep, dark quiet give her peace. But it isn't until she befriends a special and cerebral giant Pacific octopus named Marcellus that she begins to heal.
Cantankerous yet wise, Marcellus is a rescue at the end of his life. From his first-person accounts, we learn that he knows how to escape his tank -- and that he has information about Tova's son. Yet despite his pompous façade, Marcellus has a heart -- three, if you want to get literal -- and wants to help Tova, his fellow aloof but caring confidante, find the closure she so desperately needs.
Remarkably Bright Creatures is one of the most unusual books I've ever read. But it's also one of the sweetest. I couldn't help but laugh and cry as the tiny yet mighty Tova navigated her grief and golden years. Indeed, Van Pelt spins a strange yet realistic tale of humanity that transcends species. She gives us an ocean of empathy and a book destined to be a classic.
It doesn't get much brighter than that.
