Conveniently, they discover a German anthropologist, Wentzler, who has been living among the Yayomi for years and who is able to act as translator. This is fortunate, because when the family succumbs to nudity like the rest of the tribe, it becomes apparent that Zeppi is a little different. It takes some quick myth-making by Wentzler to convince the tribe that all is well with this particular dolphin. Inevitably, Wentzler’s stories begin to wear thin, and violence (not to mention piranhas) threatens to spoil the family’s plans to escape.

This ambitious, silly novel is heavily reliant on the action of Erich’s adolescent, hormone-fuelled perspective – breasts and penises receive ridiculous attention, while the primitive culture of the Yayomi lacks nuance or surprise and seems clichéd. It feels like Krol’s protagonist cut his puppet strings and ran off with the wild surface of a yarn. The novel lacks the control that allows an author to shine his intelligence through the simplest of voices. Obvious attempts to explore Erich’s coming of age in the wake of his uncle’s hideous Nazi ideals lack depth or originality, considering the sensitive theme. Some readers will appreciate its page-turning effects, but the writing is unremarkable stylistically and makes for a disappointing, even puzzling, début.