Ducks

Ducks are the animals August Epp learned to love while living on derelict land in London. His attachment is a small, personal detail with serious consequences: in prison, even mentioning Ducks could invite violence, yet August found that deep affection was difficult to conceal.

Origin of the Attachment

After his father disappeared and his mother died, August had nowhere to live. He was studying history at university when he suffered a nervous breakdown and left his studies, including his work on the Enlightenment. He joined a group of anarchists, artists, and musicians squatting on derelict land near Gargoyle Wharf in Wandsworth, beside the Thames. It was there that he learned to love Ducks.

The attachment stayed with him beyond the squatter community. August admits to Ona that he could not keep this detail to himself, even in jail. His aside about loving Ducks is not presented as a grand declaration; its importance lies in how readily affection surfaces in circumstances where revealing it is dangerous.

Love and the Danger of Disclosure

August explains to Ona that talking about semi-aquatic birds in jail—even the smallest detail—could trigger a severe beating. Ona agrees that he should have kept the fact to himself, but then observes that deeply loving something makes secrecy difficult. August answers yes, glancing from Ona to the Southern Cross and then down at his knees.

The exchange sets private tenderness against the prison’s threat of physical punishment. Ona treats his attachment as understandable even while recognizing the danger of disclosing it. In a later account of his imprisonment, she recasts the danger with dry precision: jail is a place where admitting that he loves Ducks is itself a serious crime. August confirms that he was sent to Wandsworth Prison after being arrested for stealing Frint, a police officer. The attachment thus recurs as both a vulnerable confidence and a shorthand for the arbitrary severity of the world he has endured.

Narrative Significance

Ducks make August’s history concrete through an affection he cannot reliably hide. The story does not present them as an instrument or possession; what matters is his love for them, and the risk that even speaking of that love carries in prison. Ona’s response gives the detail a moment of recognition rather than ridicule, allowing a guarded conversation to hold both the danger and the persistence of feeling.

Elsewhere, Ona tells August about a squirrel and a rabbit secretly playing, an animal story that leads him to reconsider the purpose of the women’s unread minutes. That episode concerns different animals and a different discovery, but it echoes the book’s attention to hidden forms of life and to what can be witnessed even when it was not meant to be seen. The Ducks remain August’s own intimate attachment: one of the smallest details of his past, and one he cannot quite keep secret.