Bridge of Clay - A review

Five Dunbar boys living in Sydney, with a dead mother, Penelope, and a runaway father, Michael Dunbar — referred to as “the murderer.” This is the opening premise of Bridge of Clay by Australian author Markus Zusak.

I had previously read The Book Thief, and when the first book you read by an author strikes a chord, the next one inevitably faces a high bar. This time, however, it was the other way around. For me, Bridge of Clay surpasses The Book Thief. Perhaps it is because it explores love and family in such an unconventional and intimate way.

I must admit, Zusak is not one of my favourite authors. I sometimes find his repetition of sentiments through short, fragmented sentences distracting. He also tends to foreshadow events — not revealing them entirely, but drawing out the build-up in a way that can feel prolonged.

That said, what I truly love about this novel is the development of the five brothers. It is fascinating to see how growing up under the same circumstances produces such distinct personalities: Matthew, the responsible one; Henry, rowdy and unpredictable; Rory, the fighter; Clay, sensitive and introspective; and Tommy, the youngest, who gets away with keeping an assortment of pets with quirky names and stranger habits. Their chemistry is raw and authentic. It is visible in the way they beat each other up yet would unquestionably die for one another.

The resilience with which they raise themselves in the absence of their parents is chaotic and clumsy, even on their best days. Yet the strength of their bond is unmistakable. When Clay leaves to live with his father, the brothers feel deeply betrayed. Upon his return, Matthew feels “so damn good to see him,” but masks it. He “couldn’t show how much he didn’t want to hit him; he had to look willing and sure” before beating him up, after which Rory carries Clay back into the house. There is no pretence in this family; their emotions sit close to the surface, even when disguised as violence.

It is also worth pausing to appreciate Zusak’s skill with metaphor. Some of his imagery is breathtaking. When describing their mother’s illness, Matthew says, “Death was leaning close, an arm draped over the fridge.” Speaking of her treatments, he writes that “she was opened up and shut back tight, like a car on the side of the highway.” The very title, Bridge of Clay, is symbolic. Clay builds a bridge; both literally and metaphorically, attempting to mend the divide between his father and his brothers. Why this bridge must be built, and why it must be built by Clay alongside the very man the others consider a traitor, forms the emotional core of the story. It forces us to reconsider the weight of the word “murderer,” especially when Matthew says, “He killed us. What we were is dead.”

The recurring reference to their father as “the murderer” is particularly intriguing, because before Penelope’s death he appears devoted. This plays into Zusak’s tendency to foreshadow without fully revealing. It leaves the reader questioning what could have fractured such a beautifully chaotic family so completely. The extended revisiting of past events, though at times lengthy, becomes necessary to understand the significance of Clay and Michael’s roles in Penelope’s story.

By the time you reach the climax and the truth is finally laid bare, it becomes easier to forgive the drawn-out storytelling. A wave of emotion settles in — grief, anger, compassion — and you feel the burden of truth yourself. The novel leaves you contemplating the lengths to which a person might go to shield their loved ones from the harsh realities of life.