Hackenfeller’s Ape by Brigid Brophy

One of the most exciting literary developments in recent years is the emergence of new imprints specialising in rediscovered gems – lesser-known or neglected writers given a new lease of life through carefully curated reissues. The Faber Editions series is proving to be an excellent source of forgotten classics, championing voices from the past that speak to our present. I think I’ve read seven of these books now, and they’ve all had something thrilling and original to offer.

Hackenfeller’s Ape – the debut novel by the British writer, critic and political activist Brigid Brophy – is a recent addition to the list, and what a brilliant choice it is, too. By turns witty, playful, beautiful and sad, this highly original novella is a provocative exploration of man’s treatment of animals, particularly those closest to us on the evolutionary scale. Moreover, the book feels eerily prescient, particularly in a world where animal rights, sustainability and a variety of environmental issues have risen in importance in recent years.

‘When my species has destroyed itself, we may need yours to start it all again.’ (p. 27)

Brophy’s mischievous story revolves around Professor Clement Darrelhyde, a scientist specialising in the study of apes. As the novel opens, the professor is in the midst of a project at London Zoo where he hopes to observe the mating ritual of two Hackenfeller’s Apes, Percy and Edwina. These apes, which hail from Africa, rarely mate in captivity, and details of their courtship rituals are little known, hence Darrelhyde’s interest in the study. Percy, however, is not playing ball, spurning Edwina’s advances much to the latter’s (and the professor’s) dismay. Even Darrelhyde’s enthusiastic singing – he is a lover of Mozart’s operas – fails to do the trick.

If the Chimpanzees’ Tea Party, which sometimes took place on a nearby lawn, was a rollicking caricature of human social life, here was a satire on human marriage. Separated by the yard or two that was the extent of their cage, not looking at one another, tensed, and huffy, Percy and Edwina might have been sitting at a breakfast table. (p. 9)

The Hackenfeller, we learn, is the closest creature to man in evolutionary terms, and Brophy does an excellent job of giving us hints into Percy’s character – particularly his apparent confusion and suffering. At times, the ape seems almost human – to Darrelhyde at least.

Nonetheless, Percy’s rebuttal was more than an animal gesture. He disengaged himself with something the Professor could only call gentleness. He seemed to be perplexed by his own action, and imposed on his muscles a control and subtlety hardly proper to his kind. His own puzzling need to be fastidious appeared to distress him as much as Edwina’s importunity. After their entanglements he would turn his melancholy face towards her and seem to be breaking his heart over his inability to explain. (p. 13)

One day, the professor’s observations are rudely interrupted by the arrival of Kendrick, an ambitious, self-assured young man intent on commandeering Percy for a scientific mission. Percy, it seems, is to be propelled into space, destined to be a guinea pig for experimental purposes – a test case, if you like, for humans to follow. The professor, for his part, takes an instant dislike to Kendrick, determining to save Percy from this inhumane endeavour.

Brophy’s skills with witty, pithy dialogue are put to excellent use here, particularly in the exchanges between Darrelhyde and Kendrick, highlighting the absurdity of the situation to great effect.

‘What do you mean, Percy is going to go? Where’s he going? Who’s going to take him?’

‘Percy is being called to higher things.’

‘Called?’

‘Commandeered, if you like. Liberated.’ […]

‘And who is going to make off with Percy?’

‘The outfit I’m with.’

The Professor paused a minute, then asked: ‘By whose authority does your “outfit” propose to take Percy?’ He felt his question turned to ridicule by the mock-dignity of the animal’s name.

‘The powers that be’, Kendrick replied. ‘It’s pretty much top priority.’

‘What is?’

‘The whole project. Your Percy’s a V.I.P.’ (pp. 20–21)

What follows is a delightfully zany caper in which Darrelhyde enlists the help of a pickpocket, Gloria, in the hope of liberating Percy, thereby saving him from being blasted into space. Gloria too has experienced the cruelties of captivity, having been imprisoned for breaking and entering following an earlier spell in borstal. Furthermore, she also understands the indignities of being observed by others – in her instance, psychiatrists probing her upbringing and motives for stealing. It would be unfair of me to reveal how this unconventional story plays out, save to say that Brophy has a few surprises in store for Darrelhyde – and for Kendrick, too!

Naturally, there’s a degree of irony to all this, especially in the professor’s own motives for the project. While Darrelhyde seems to have Percy’s welfare in mind, why should his studies of animals’ mating rituals in captivity be any more acceptable than Kendrick’s space exploration plans? It’s a question that ran through my mind as I was reading this excellent, thought-provoking book.

This was, moreover, the only species which imprisoned other species not for any motive of economic parasitism, but for the dispassionate parasitism of indulging its curiosity. (p. 4)

Brophy was an active animal rights campaigner herself, championing pacifism, humanism and vegetarianism amongst other causes. As noted in the Faber Editions reissue, her 1965 Sunday Times manifesto, The Rights of Animals, catalysed the modern animal rights movement, establishing Brophy as a trailblazer in this respect. Central to the novel are questions about which species is more absurd: the human or the ape? And conversely, which of the two is more deserving of our sympathy? I doubt it will surprise you to hear that Brophy, through her razor-sharp intelligence and playful wit, shows man to be more dysfunctional, foolish and mercenary than his animal counterparts by quite some distance. It is the ape that emerges from this story with humanity and dignity, not the supposedly more evolved homo sapiens.

I love how this nimble, playful novella touches on some big themes in an amusing and engaging way. There’s a skill to achieving this feat without the story feeling preachy or heavy-handed, and Brophy manages this tension beautifully. There’s also some lovely descriptive writing here, with Brophy conjuring up the scorching, arid atmosphere of early September in a suitably evocative way. I’ll finish with a passage from the opening page, a scene-setter for this highly creative story, which I can thoroughly recommend. 

In the central meadow they were playing cricket. Westward, the shouts and splashes of the boating lake lingered, like gentle explosions, above the expense of shallow water. North-west, the canals stood black and transparent, like Indian Ink, between banks, mottled by sun. (p. 3)

(My thanks to the publisher and the Independent Alliance for kindly providing a review copy. This review also contributes to Karen and Lizzy’s #ReadIndies project, which runs to the end of Feb.)