Written and provided to a publisher in 1980 to a legal wrangling which meant the title was never actually published in the States for many, many years.
Howard Buten’s title was eventually taken up by a French publisher to a more appreciative result. Since this first book, his following titles have been lapped up by a European audience, particularly in France where his work is regarded as literary genius.
It wasn’t until almost two decades later that English speaking audiences were finally able to sample the delights of Buten’s first book, When I Was Five I Killed Myself to deserved and justified acclaim. Buten’s initial plan to bring this title to an English audience was finally realized.
Burton Rembrandt is an intelligent and innocent eight-year old boy living in what seems to be 60’s/70’s. Like most children, his perspective on life is not as black and white as that of adults, curiosity often gets the better of children and Burt is no different. He gets into trouble, just like other kids, and is bullied by the older kids. Burt has an underhanded smugness about him, which more often than not gets him into trouble.
Nothing could prepare him for the arrival of Jessica. Jessica is the female equivalent of Burt, albeit being female she is smarter, but more frightening than Burt with her dark, melancholy attitude. She defies questioning by teachers, and lives in a morbid world of self-loathing and isolation. Her best friend is Marcie, a fat, bulbous kid who Burt dislikes a lot. Other than Marcie, Jessica has few friends. That is until Burt and Jessica notice each other.
Buten has somehow managed to capture all the idiosyncrasies of living life as a child. The writing style of an eight year old is carefully handled and expressed
Written from the perspective of Burt from age of five, and then aged eight, we are taken on a journey through Burt’s mind. His current premises of accommodation is a centre for disturbed, sociopathic children. Burt’s admittance to the institution is quite disturbing, and the antics that go on in the institution suggest that perhaps those in charge are not as intelligence or stable as they first appear. Indeed, the doctor in charge of Burt’s case is quite psychotic and unreasonable, failing to acknowledge the barest of requests on Burt’s part, and keeping him isolated from the outside world.
Burt’s eventual friend is another doctor, Rudyard, who doesn’t follow the traditional methods of psychiatry, instead choosing to act out as a child and to replicate the behaviour of the children in care. By doing so, he tries to empathise with the patients, trying to understand why they behave the way they do. This doesn’t go down well with the rest of the institution.
We are taken back and forth between chapters, from Burt’s initial assessment to the end of the book where we discover why Burt is in the institution. As the reader is absorbed into Burt’s world, we come to realise that Burt’s world is not that of an adult world, as he talks to imaginary characters, and drifts into daydreams where he exerts his anger and fear. Burt is afraid, alone and in desperate need of understanding, but how does a child make an adult understand without being told they’re just a child?
The book is frightening and dark at times, as Burt expresses nightmarish scenarios, resulting in the finale. Submerged in this psychological and psychotic insanity is Burt’s experience of growing up, and trying to understand what is right and wrong.
Jessica is the female equivalent of Burt, albeit being female she is smarter, but more frightening than Burt with her dark, melancholy attitude
I loved reading every page of the book. The only time I stopped reading this was to go to the toilet to relieve myself. Other than the few times I did that, I could not put this book down. Living and breathing with Burt was both amusing, charming and dark. Following his relationship with Jessica is that of any child’s at such an age.
The taunting of other children about “Burt has a girlfriend” and Burt’s reaction by having a fight with Polasky is gentle and hilarious. Buten has somehow managed to capture all the idiosyncrasies of living life as a child. The writing style of an eight year old is carefully handled and expressed, with complicated words being justified by explanation and reason, never taking away from the fact that was written by someone in their early thirties.
I have been very fortunate in having read a string of really good books in the past few months, and this is no exception. When I Was Five I Killed Myself is moving, intelligent, funny and wonderfully written. The conclusion of the book can perhaps be understood earlier on, but being hit with such an end, although expected, still doesn’t prepare you as much as you expect. It’s shocking, and it works.
Verdict: Life as a misunderstood child has never been this absorbing. Essential reading.