The prose in this novel is spiky, intelligent, incisive and illuminating in ways that more conventional prose cannot ever be. That said, it’s not an easy read - several sections I had to re-read several times before I understood what was going on. It seemed to meander around, with its small group of characters bumping gently off one other without anything substantial actually happening; then there is a brief flurry of drama, then it’s over. I kind of wanted the alligator of the book’s title to wreak some graphic and grisly havoc (as is foreshadowed in the initial chapter) but I hope it won’t count as a spoiler if I say that doesn’t happen. ( )

Alligator's strength as a first novel lies in its character development. Each chapter is dedicated to a different person loosely connected to the one before. Beverly and Madeleine are sisters. Colleen is Beverly's daughter. Isobel is Madeleine's friend. You get the point. Every character is flawed and vulnerable in their own way.
My favorite element to the book was how sharply Moore brought grief specifically into focus. When Beverly loses David to a sudden brain aneurysm her numb emptiness is palpable. These simple lines illustrate the heaviness of loss, "More than once she noticed orange peels next to her lawn chair and realized she was already eaten the orange" (p 49) and "David was dead but she would apply mascara" (p 54).
My least favorite aspect to the plot was the unexpected brutality of some of the characters. This was a much darker novel than I expected. ( )

I agree with most of the reviewers below - the writing is great but the story format is too choppy and story lines are left unresolved or unsatisfactorily ended. Lunch-bag let down! ( )

There are those who feel if only people with fewer advantages worked harder, studied harder, grovelled harder, then they would somehow succeed in improving their lives and all would be well. Alligator is the perfect explanation for the theory of the permanent underclass. Some people cannot be bothered to exert themselves. Some are unable to do so. Some do everything they are supposed to do and then something comes out of left field and washes out that upward path. Lisa Moore gives us all of these and more.

There are cautionary tales right from the start. Colleen watches the safety training videos her Aunt Madeleine made for nuclear power plants. A man in Louisiana is about to put his head in an alligator's mouth, while the narrator instructs the plant workers on the importance of always following exactly the same procedure for a given dangerous job.

Colleen is seventeen years old with all the contradictions of intensity and inattention that age commands. She spend hours alone in her room on the edge of the continent in St. John's, Newfoundland, trying to make sense of the world so far away. Cosmo magazine improving your sex life, beheadings by terrorists in the desert, environmental activism, all are processed and filtered for clues as to how that world might work.

Frank has little time for reflection. His solitary life is consumed by his hot dog stand in the bar district. This will be his ticket to university.

Madeleine of the videos did make it out, not just to the mainland of Canada, but to foreign countries where she made a successful living. Now she's back home directing a motion picture about the early days of the island, starring her friend Isobel.

Madeleine's sister Beverley, Colleen's mother, stayed home in Newfoundland, followed the rules by and large, and discovered that they don't help.

Moore develops these characters separately by devoting alternating chapters to each. As they develop, they start to connect with each other, sometimes just briefly, sometimes more intensely. The reader recognizes each decision taken, good or bad, but just as in real life, the consequences are not immediately evident.

This is Moore's first novel, following two collections of short stories. The episodic narration may come from that, but more importantly, it emphasizes each individual's attitude and response to fate, which intervenes no matter how careful we are. If only we would think first, could go back, had turned left instead of right, life would have been a very different proposition.

Quick, but not satisfying. There's a dirty joke in there somewhere. ( )