Strange ideas take root in this ambitious story about our climate crisis

FICTION
Arborescence
Rhett Davis
Hachette, $32.99

We’re familiar with the idea that planting a tree is a gesture of hope, a way of helping to heal the Earth. But what about taking root and becoming trees ourselves?

The characters in Victorian writer Rhett Davis’ new novel Arborescence feel both overwhelmed and underwhelmed by life in what is recognisably a version of urban Australia. Their planet has been ravaged by humanity’s overconsumption. Their workplaces are being transformed by “alternative intelligences”. Someone has spray-painted “THERE IS NO HOPE” on a train station wall.

But something extraordinary is happening. In forests and fields, on roads and along waterways, people are turning into trees – by choice. The book’s title was our first hint that this was going to happen; arborescence means “becoming tree-like”.

But why is this happening? Is this a cult? Performance art? A protest against modern existence? A resignation to grief and helplessness? Or is this metamorphosis a way of healing, a statement of solidarity with the Earth?

Those who read Davis’ quirkily dystopian 2022 debut Hovering may be hearing an echo here. In Hovering, as houses were transplanted, roads re-routed and humans altered by online over-stimulation, one character read a book by an author arguing that in a world of chaos and uncertainty, the best response was to be as quiet as plants. In Arborescence, Davis takes this idea and runs with it.

Rhett Davis again uses narrative playfulness in his second novel.Credit: Rebekah Halls

Caelyn and Bren are the novel’s main characters. They’ve been in a relationship for four years. They own a cat. They have families and a circle of friends, but there’s something robotic about these interactions. What if, Caelyn asks early on, there’s no humanity left in humanity?

Bren, the novel’s first-person narrator, works for a company he knows little about. Even after years of employment he’s never actually met another human employee. He’s assigned various tasks by “the Queue” – writing, editing, creating images – but doesn’t know why these things must be done or who they’re for.

His love for Caelyn seems sincere, but there’s a remoteness in the way Bren observes and describes her and their life that mirrors his alienation from his work and the world around him.

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Caelyn is searching for something to devote herself to. She’s had 16 different jobs during her years with Bren and laments her unfinished projects. But then she sees a video of the “tree people” and is fascinated. She decides to write an article about them.

Caelyn and Bren drive outside the city into the hills, to a field where people stand silently, arms by their side, still. They are taking root, “digging in”, transitioning from human to tree and watched over by caretakers, who Caelyn interviews for her article.

An outwardly supportive but at times vaguely hostile Bren watches as Caelyn’s interest in the tree people grows. She begins a PhD, battles academia’s scepticism to complete it, and becomes a world-wide authority on the arborescent phenomenon spreading across the globe. Millions of people become trees. Those left behind are variously heartbroken, furious, confused, contemptuous, empathetic or jealous.

Over time, Bren and Caelyn’s relationship splinters. He feels her fascination with arborescence has become fanaticism and accuses her of turning her back on humanity. They argue during one of Caelyn’s international speaking tours and Bren returns to Australia alone. Years pass and Bren watches Caelyn and her career from afar as the novel grows towards its deeply human ending.

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By overly addressing our world’s climate anxiety, overconsumption, techno stress and pervasive sense of meaningless, Arborescence at times risks being read as too earnest.

But what’s becoming Davis’ signature narrative playfulness and dryly humorous dialogue is always on hand to help sweep us further into the story.

With two ambitious, unusual novels to his name now, Davis seems determined to use his distinctive creativity to interrogate, mock but ultimately affirm humanity.

Arborescence is a reminder of the special way fictional worlds can allow readers to retreat from, and find the fortitude to return to, their own world.

Or would you still rather be a tree?

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