Fauna

Donna Mazza

Allen & Unwin

Otago Daily Times, April 25th 2020

Although the birth last year of the world’s first gene-edited babies has brought the question of when – or whether – to allow the genetic modification of human embryos to public attention, it is an issue that scientists and ethicists have been engaging with for years. Whilst there is a general (although not unanimous) agreement that such technology could, under certain circumstances, be used to cure serious or potentially fatal genetic diseases, there is much less consensus about its non-therapeutic use. Concerns raised by those who object to the latter include the likelihood that allowing prospective parents to enhance specific traits – intelligence, athletic ability, physical appearance – will exacerbate pre-existing social inequalities and that ‘tailoring’ children to match parental preferences is a form of commodification. Proponents, on the other hand, argue that if we can improve our children’s prospects for life, there is a moral imperative to do so.

Underpinning these arguments is the assumption that, as parents, we want the best possible life for our sons and daughters and that our choices are made with their interests at heart. But the choices facing prospective parents are never simple, for those who are the first to use such technologies will be even less so, as Donna Mazza’s heartbreaking novel, Fauna, demonstrates.

Desperate for a child in the wake of a heartbreaking miscarriage, Stacey and her husband have enrolled in an experimental IVF programme run by gene-tech company LifeBLOOD® that is “ intended to bring benefits to human health and resilience”. Created by fusing their DNA with genetic material from a preserved Neanderthal tooth, the child she carries will be closely monitored before and after birth to help researchers understand more about our ancient cousin’s physical and psychological development and, it is hoped, unique biological traits that could be harnessed to treat ‘human’ diseases.

Aware that the girl, Asta, will be different from her other two children both physically and legally – classified as fauna rather than human, she is LifeBLOOD®’s property and will be returned to the company when she reaches adolescence – Stacey is initially scared by the thought of raising a child with special needs. But even before her daughter is born, she realises that “[Asta] herself is of no real importance to anyone except me. Because I am her mother” and vows to do everything in her power to protect her, even if it tears their household apart.

Although Fauna shares common ground with genetic-dystopian classics such as Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy and Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, it is much more life-sized and intimate in scale. LifeBLOOD®’s activities are ethically compromised and probably illicit. Not only does it offer considerable financial inducements to participants, Stacey used to au pair for the doctor leading the project, who has clearly leveraged her trust and emotional vulnerability to recruit her. But she, too, is influenced by the thought of participating in groundbreaking research and the desire to replace the baby she lost to recognise the manipulation. By focusing on the intimate bonds of maternity and the strains that raising a differently-abled child places on a family, the novel has an immediate – and chilling – plausibility that has as much to say about society today as where we may go in the future.