Why Can't a 5-Year-Old Write a Memoir?

"Tony Volcano Ventura is a streetwise baby. He's 2 when we pick up with him, which immediately puts this in the category of "weird books." "I know people don't usually remember their baby years," young Tony begins his narration, "but I do." Ipso facto, weird book, on account of its being narrated by a toddler, one who rides dogs under moonlight, dodges cops in alleys, and receives enigmatic assignments via the fax machine the moon gave to him."

""Good kids" just kind of "get it." So when he wanders out of his mother's apartment to look closer at his father, whom he believes to be the moon, Tony knows how to play things cool. He's content to work off presumptions during his increasingly frequent midnight strolls as opposed to the endless string of whys that hamstring most kids."

"Fleeing the cops on his first night out, Tony runs into a guy who's shooting up in the alley. "I'm Tony," he tells him, starkly composed, "Tony Volcano Ventura." After sharing a toy with the man, winning his affection, he lays out his mission: "I'm looking for Daddy.""

Kevin Sampsell's novel Baby in the Night presents Tony Volcano Ventura, a streetwise two-year-old narrator who defies conventional memory by recounting his early childhood experiences. Despite its surreal premise—featuring moonlit dog rides, fax machines from the moon, and encounters with police—the narrative functions as a traditional coming-of-age tale. Tony embodies the archetype of a precocious child who has matured early due to difficult circumstances, demonstrating innate understanding without constant questioning. His primary motivation centers on locating his absent father, whom he believes to be the moon itself. Throughout his midnight wanderings, Tony navigates urban dangers with composed detachment, encountering various characters while maintaining his mission. Writing retrospectively at age twelve, Tony reflects on his formative years leading up to kindergarten, creating a unique narrative voice that merges magical realism with authentic childhood development.

Read at Portland Monthly