Narrated for Twelve-Year-Olds by a Twelve-Year-Old
It is worth remembering that the novel is not just narrated by a twelve-year-old boy, but it is written for that very audience. As a result, one needs to expect that at times some imagery will be somewhat, well, different than what it might be if directed more specifically toward, say, fourteen-year-old girls or any adult. Just keep in mind the kind of stuff that you found grossly entertaining when you were that age:
“Despite Martin’s best efforts to keep Henry cold, the hippo’s corpse had been slowly rotting for days. And it had spent the last few hours slowly roasting in the Texas sun. It was probably bloated from the heat and ready to rupture anyhow, but the sudden impact with the ground made it explode. A wave of putrid flesh and bodily fluids rained upon the crowd. The mourners who’d been so devoted as to get the best seats possible were now in prime position to get the most disgusting souvenirs of Henry's death imaginable: a piece of the actual hippo himself.”
Brutus, the Poop-Shooting Hippo
It’s a weird thing about Brutus, isn’t it? Shakespeare paints him as a tragic figure while others have him circling in the pit of head alongside Judas. Unlike Antony, he didn’t almost ruin Rome by carrying on with his best friend’s girl. And yet, when it comes to animals, it is Brutus that is preferred name for big, mean, often ugly types such as rottweilers and hippos who are not quite as beloved as Henry:
“He genuinely enjoyed shooting poop at people. There was no rhyme or reason to it, except that he was said to have an uncanny knack for knowing which zoo visitor was wearing the most expensive outfit. Without any warning, he'd hoist his rear out of the water and fire away. In the National Zoo in Washington D.C., where the walls around the hippo pit were unfortunately low, in the course of one week Brutus had sullied two senators, the secretary of state, the Swedish ambassador and the president’s daughter, along with four of her Secret Service agents.”
Large Marge
One of the first memorable descriptive passages in the story is imagery that situates the character of Marge O’Malley. Her physical presence is immediately made tangible through the sub-imagery of her nickname which recalls a certain truck driver who picks up a hitchhiker named Pee Wee Herman. Perhaps not entirely coincidentally, Marge will play a large role in the series of sequels about FunJungle which follows this initial introductory volume:
“Large Marge was the one who caught me. No surprise there. Marge O’Malley was a security guard, but all she did most days was follow me around, waiting for me to cause trouble. I saw her slinking after me all the time. She'd always try to hide behind rocks and trees and stuff, but it was never hard to spot her, because Marge was built like a rhinoceros.”
Okay, body-shaming is not exactly the most delicate of issues to deal with, but do please keep in mind that the narrator is a twelve-year-old boy. And just as most such kids enjoy the gross spectacle of an exploding hippopotamus, so are they also usually quite proficient in the art of body-shaming, especially when the body belongs to an overweight older female perceived as unfairly singling them out for bullying. It's not the author doing the shaming, it's the character.
Exposition
The smart writer quickly learns how to engage imagery for the purpose of exposition. There is no single aspect of the actual narrative-creating process that most readers dread more than exposition. (The worst being those occasions when a single character in a screenplay has to explain in detail things too expensive to actually shoot.) Expository dialogue usually reveals just how much writers hate this chore because it winds up almost always sounding like the kind of thing that one only hears in fiction. Narration is a bit easier, but is fraught with potential landmines and imagery is the combat engineer that can help defuse the awkwardness. Such as the necessity here to explain how Teddy came to be living in the zoo/amusement park hybrid that is the setting of the story:
“I was bored because, until not long before, I’d had an amazingly exciting life. Living in the Congo was one incredible experience after another—and when I did leave the jungle, it was always to visit fascinating places with my father on his assignments. Dad was a real adrenaline junkie and he encouraged me to embrace adventure: We'd rappelled into caves to find giant bats in Mexico, stalked tigers in Uttar Pradesh, and even snorkeled with blue whales off Fiji.”
