HOW TO BEE

In near-future Australia, “bee” is both a noun and a verb.

Before the famines that occurred 30 years ago, crops were pollinated by actual bees, but wanton pesticide use means that now the job must be done by children who are light and quick enough to hand-pollinate the orchards that produce the fruit that’s taken to the city. Peony, the novel’s charismatic 9-year-old narrator, wants nothing more than to bee, but Foreman doesn’t pick her. That’s bad enough, but even worse is when Ma comes from the city where she works and takes Peony away from Gramps and her beloved sister. In the city, Peony must wear shoes and wait on the Pasquales, a family of three that lives in comfort Peony can’t fathom. MacDibble effectively creates a not-quite-post-apocalyptic world of tremendous class contrasts, with farmworkers who live in dire poverty and frightening, teeming crowds of “raggy people” in the city; the elites live in seeming oblivion. But once Peony gets to the city, the plot devolves into a Secret Garden–esque arc in which Peony combines Mary Lennox’s abrasive impulsivity and Dickon’s simple country wisdom as she befriends and nurtures the Pasquales’ imperious daughter, who, Colin-like, is hostage to her own fears. Peony seeks not revolution but a return to the orchard, her enlightenment an entirely personal one. Racial distinctions are effectively invisible, implying a white default.

A vivid futuristic setting enfolds a fundamentally nostalgic plot.