The Bees (L. Paull)

There is little worse than cafeteria duty.

I mean this, of course, in terms of first-world, upper middle-class, suburban high school teacher problems. Over the last sixteen years, I've spent at least one semester pacing the floors of one of our school's cafeterias, pleading with adolescents to throw out trash, refrain from tossing baby carrots, and clean up spilled cartons of milk. It had never been my favorite part of the day. 

This year, however, I have had the great pleasure of sharing this duty with a well-respected and thoughtful colleague - a social studies teacher and yogi - with whom I've spent each day talking about books, music, film, children, teaching, and friendship. It has been a wonderful experience. A little over a month ago, she recommended this book, recommended by a professorial friend of hers. At first, the entire concept was simply fascinating. However, after noting the esteemed writers who praised its value, I had to order a copy. And one day in late December, after a refreshing acupuncture session which grounded me and left me at peace, I picked up my copy from a small, used bookshop, settled down at the bar of a favorite bakery with a cup of coffee and a decadent cookie, and took in the world of the hive. 

Set up as a frame narrative, Paull's novel tells the story of Flora 717, a sanitation worker in a hive of bees with a hierarchy that would shame even the most strict Indian caste system of days gone by. In the hive, each bee comes from a kin whose purpose is established, unmoving, and essential to survival. But Flora is different. The flora do not speak, but Flora 717 is as eloquent as the Sage kin who nurse the young princesses and drones in the Nursery. The flora do not fly, but Flora 717 soars and forages with the most agile of the Thistle and Lily. The flora do not read, and yet Flora 717 soon finds herself in the company of the Queen herself, entrusted with the history of the hive, of bees themselves, both beautiful and terrifying. However, Flora's skills come with a price, one that threatens to destroy not just the hive but the traditions themselves and rock the very core of their existence. 

This anthropomorphic tale takes time, mostly in keeping order and understanding of a world that does not exist as we know it and yet is as richly described as if Paull herself was the Margaret Mead of the apiary world.  It is beautifully crafted, with language dense and fluid, like the very honey the drones crave. It truly deserves a place on any bookshelf. If you are a lover of bees, there is no greater read for 2016.