The Milk Chicken Bomb by Andrew Wedderburn
in [ Reviewed in Matrix 78 ]

Coach House Books, 2007

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Read by Maria Giuliani

If the name Marvin sounds like it could belong to a geeky, nerdy little boy, you can safely assume that a town called Marvin would be a geeky, nerdy little town.  It is in this small Albertan town that The Milk Chicken Bomb exists.

The daily happenings of Marvin’s residents are chuckle-out-loud amusing, and yet, considering the comedic catharsis they yield, actually speak to how pathetic Marvin’s residents really are.  They are a curious lot of characters and all have a story, a history.  But although author Andrew Wedderburn works hard to pique the reader’s interest on behalf of the whole cast, what he really does is create a false distraction, removing the focus from the protagonist and narrator—a ten year old boy who remains nameless throughout.  This is a boy without a story, who thus becomes the only story worth following. 

As the narrative progresses it becomes obvious that the town’s noise and clatter is a constant—it began before the start of the book, and we know that it will continue on past the book’s ending.  As such, and despite various quirky scenarios, no resolutions are expected for any other than this one boy.  The protagonist’s breaks from reality into a densely imaginative world, his store-bought pizza sandwiches, and his constant escape attempts all lead to a general understanding regarding his relationship with his unidentified family, and it is enough to know, without a doubt, that the above all deserve “the Milk Chicken Bomb.”

Wedderburn’s thematic structure is strong and vivid.  He also maintains a continuous linguistic tempo throughout, making a tightly knit unit out of all 291 pages.  The unfortunate downside to this is that the reader never really becomes emotionally invested in the “kid,” despite his emotional emergence from literal and proverbial shadows.  As such, the reader doesn’t cheer for him in the end in a Yeah! Stick it to ’em! kind of way, but instead has a more intellectual satisfaction that justice has been served.  As it stands, it is with the above sentiment that the story concludes: satisfaction.