The courtrooms of his mind

When the World Was Twice as Big 
by Aaron Cully Drake

Gibsons: Nightwood Editions, 2026
$23.95 / 9780889715042

Reviewed by Trish Bowering

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I recently read Do You Think This is Strange?, Aaron Cully Drake’s 2015 debut novel. A strong outing that was shortlisted for the 2016 Amazon First Novel Award, it introduced a unique character in teenager Freddy Wyland with an understated, moving story. Drake’s follow-up comes eleven years later, and I was eager to jump in, wondering where the author would take Freddy’s story. When the World Was Twice as Big succeeds in meeting the promise of the first novel.  

Drake’s Freddy Wyland is a force unto himself. Freddy lives in Port Coquitlam with his father Bill; his vivacious mother left the family a decade earlier under mysterious circumstances. When the World Was Twice as Big sees Freddy navigating the end of high school and having learned some truths about his mom’s absence. This sequel takes readers from a point of relative peace to a crisis. Freddy flees his hometown for a rural existence and gradually decides where be truly belongs.

Though the first chapters of novel serve as a decent recap, I’d suggest reading Do You Think This is Strange?; you’ll be richly rewarded. When the World Was Twice as Big picks up almost immediately after the first book ends. Drake reintroduces Freddy’s father, a complex man who hugs the line between abusive coping and love for his unusual son, and Saskia, a young nonverbal woman who tethers him to the world and holds the key to answers about his mother’s absence. But it’s Freddy who is the hero of our story, and he’s always compelling on the page. 

Freddy is on the autistic spectrum and relates to the world differently than a neurotypical person. With Drake’s use of first-person point of view, the reader is privy to Freddy’s rich and principled inner life. He has an iron-clad logic that rarely fails, with “threads” of thoughts that help him navigate. His way of being is a distinct mismatch for most of the illogical societal norms, and watching Freddy interact with the world is both challenging and rewarding. 

His relationship with dad Bill is fragile, with the memory of Freddy’s mother a tangible friction between them. Soon, events between them will drive Freddy away. Saskia—whom Freddy loves, though he cannot quite figure out how to love her—communicates to Freddy via text throughout the book, as she’s largely nonverbal. This device works well as Drake plays with the idea of intimacy versus distance, a constant theme. 

The first section of the book provides rapid, dramatic action. Freddie feels drawn to Saskia, and they go on a date, but he simply cannot act to reach out to her—

Silence. I felt I was failing a test I never studied for. Saskia looked at me expectantly. 
That moment. Right there. Sitting there, she was shrinking, sadness ablating off her like something moving through a solar flare. That was the moment. 
Inflection. Never mind fuses. I think that’s a better metaphor. 
Because that was it, the inflection point of my life, and I think so much would be different if I had just gone left when I should have gone right.

Events tumble over each other in a cascade of miscommunication between Freddy and the world: there’s a police incident, Freddy and his father are at violent odds, and Saskia asks Freddy to leave after a hurtful exchange. Social miscues on Freddy’s part lead to big consequences, and it’s affecting and painful to read. As Freddy flees the Lower Mainland and the messiness of emotional intimacy, he says: “I’ve made it to eighteen standing. I close my eyes. And I’ll open them again after the days become weeks become months become years.” 

Intimacy versus distance becomes literal here. The narrative moves to Port Alice as where Freddy works as a tree planter:

… blissful nothing. Which is why I’m still here: The bag of things I like about this place is still bigger than the bag of things I don’t. Like, the peace it brings. The courtrooms of my mind once raged with arguments and debates over the decisions in my life. Now they’re empty. I like Port Alice because I don’t have to think.

But still, connection tugs at him, often coming to him in the distant ping of a cellphone text from his dad. Sometimes Freddy pings back. And one day a new text: “A light has come on.” A peace offering from Saskia. 

Thus begins the movement towards rather than away from. It’s challenging to say much more about the plot without giving up several spoilers. Rest assured, I won’t do that. But as the theme of connection develops, so too does the idea of contentment. Freddy is a person to whom “good enough” comes easily. Back in Vancouver again, he gets a job as a jack-of-all-trades at a diner: “In all, there are a lot of Favourite Things that have happened around this time, and, although it’s been a shorter tenure, this has been one of the better times in my life … I may not be happy, but I’m not too unhappy, and I think that’s as close to content as one can get.” 

Despite near-contentment, there’s much more in the last third of the book that will challenge Freddy and push him towards growth. The relationship between him and his dad is particularly compelling. Bill is a man of few words and prone to tumultuous interactions with his son, but he’s the father who always stayed. When he asks that Freddy spend some time with him in the midst of a medical episode, their interaction is telling:

“Don’t sell yourself short. I was thinking they could be good weeks, is all.”
“Okay,” I say, agreeing to hang around. “Can we watch TV?”
“I’d like that.” He nods. “That and a little bit more. Just a little bit more.” 
“If it’s a little bit then I can do it.” 
Then we find a documentary on Netflix. Richard Attenborough, talking over the flight of birds. 
If the world was twice as big, he says.

The book is satisfying in the way that it mirrors real life; not everything works out the way Freddy wants, but he’s sanguine, a man who can bide his time and live his best life even so. If you read only When the World Was Twice as Big and get to know Freddy Wyland and his circle of family and friends, it’ll be a treat. If you read the first book in the series as well, you’ll find a fantastic depth of character, as Aaron Cully Drake creates an opportunity to experience the world aside a character who doesn’t get along easily, but triumphs in the connections that he forges as he finds his way.

[Editor’s note: Along with three other authors (Elizabeth Bachinsky, Renée Saklikar, Russell Thornton), Aaron Cully Drake will participate in the ‘Harbour & Nightwood Multi-Book Launch‘ at the Irish Heather in Vancouver on April 22. Doors open at 6:30.]

Trish Bowering lives in Vancouver, where she is immersed in reading, writing, and vegetable gardening. She has an undergraduate degree in Psychology from UVic, and obtained her MD from UBC. Now retired from her medical practice, she focuses on her love of all things literary. She blogs at TrishTalksBooks.com and reviews on Instagram@trishtalksbooks. [Editor’s note: Trish was interviewed as part of our series. She has reviewed recent books by Patricia Finn, Steve Burgess, Vikram Vij with Jennifer Muttoo, DL Acken with Aurelia Louvet, Keiko Honda, Michael Bourne, Spencer Watts, and Kathy Page for BCR.]

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster