Category Archives: Fiction

The Adversary

When I was wide awake and alert, reading Michael Crummey’s The Adversary was a total joy. Fantastic descriptions, layered scenes where every action and reaction has triple meaning, beautiful language. Too often though I was reading it just before bed and my half-awake brain didn’t have enough focus to attend to the layers and I’d find myself having ‘read’ three pages and not remembering at all what had happened or to whom and so re-reading it again the following night (to much the same effect).

Which is to say – this is a great book that you should read when conditions allow you to slowly and carefully appreciate it.

When I did have those occasions what I enjoyed most was the tension between individual characters and the Fates (classic man versus nature / man versus god conflict structures) whether that was plague, or storm, or ice. The resignation of the individual characters to accepting these bigger-than-self constraints stands against the quotidian conflicts on their daily lives, eruptions of brutal violence, and, as the title suggests, the structuring conflict between the Widow and her brother Abe. While the Widow is hardly an easily sympathetic character, I nevertheless found myself frustrated for her – that so much of what she attempts to do is constrained by gender – but in the end I suppose it’s her hubris rather than her gender that gets in the way. And the birds.

Enjoyed, too, the references to the orphans of The Innocents a fantastic companion piece to this historical drama. So take both with you on vacation this summer and give in to the unique pleasure of reading about 19th century Newfoundland – which I get it, does not sound like it’s going to be gripping. But it is! Unless you’re very tired. I don’t know anyone tired these days. All of us: sharp, alert, ready to read.

Leave a comment

Filed under Canadian Literature, Fiction, Historical Fiction

The Fake: Not to be confused with The Fraud

Is it an accident that I’ve read two (great) books in as many months concerned with the stability of truth? Maybe. Probably more that I am so worried about ideas of reliability, trustworthiness, agreed upon Facts that I dwell only among books that share my anxiety.

In this – great – one by Zoe Whittall we follow Shelby and Gibson as they each meet and fall for (in different ways) Cammie, a spectacular con-artist who convinces them both of a series of escalating tragedies that have befallen her and why she needs their help. Eventually the lies unravel (so much to be carried by that metaphor) and Cammie is caugh out. Shelby insists none of it is her fault. That the lies upon lies owe to some kind of mental illness and that an intervention and support can help Cammie – perhaps, she speculates, Cammie is a narcissist and if she was only helped and better understood she could find her way back to the truth. Such hope proves misplaced, but still the reader is offered this explanation for harm. And while the book does – in its epilogue at least – point to the persistence of that harm – how Gibson can never properly trust again, how Shelby’s own mental health deteriorates following the dissolution of her friendship with Cammie – it doesn’t go quite as far as The Fraud in making the connection to our current moment of fractured relationship between what is said/read or seen and what is true.

Which is fine. It doesn’t have to be a novel about the end of shared facts. It can be – as it is – an excellent consideration of relationships, of how we grieve, and most importantly of who and how we trust.

If we imagine a future where we need to teach ourselves more intentionally how to tell what is true from what is declarative fiction the Fake would be high on my reading list. Oh, so yes, that time is now, so go on, read it.

1 Comment

Filed under Canadian Literature, Fiction

Small Things Like These

Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These is lovely. A short – novella? – novel that follows Furlong, the small town coal-delivery man as he discovers truths both of his own past and of the horrors of the Catholic “mother and baby homes.” When Furlong discovers a young woman being held captive in a coal shed the nuns who have kept her there implicitly threaten to deny Furlong’s own daughters access to the Church-run school. Furlong must then decide between preserving the goodwill of the Church for his own family and rescuing – at least one – of these trapped women. Complicating his choice is Furlong’s status as a bastard himself, raised to ‘goodness’ through the mercy of a wealthy woman who allowed his own mother to stay with her despite her ‘fallen’ status.

What, the book asks, should we be willing to give up for a just cause? What personal sacrifice do we owe when institutional harm and state violence is being wreaked upon the innocent? How can we imagine ourselves inherently good or worthy or kind when so much of what we are and what we have owes to chance and circumstance? And so, with the privilege we do hold, what moral obligation do we have to use this privilege well?

For Furlong this is a question pondered by the fire with a decision that he recognizes as implicating those he loves best and. For the reader these are the questions that are not – as historical fiction always reminds us – of the past, but urgently present.

It is an excellent read and one offered on St. Patrick’s day for its very certain setting. Oh and to let you know it was adapted for TV with Cillian Murphy starring, so you know, that’s also a good reason to read it.

1 Comment

Filed under Book Club, Booker Prize, Fiction, Prize Winner

The Wreckage: Does indeed pull your heart apart

Michael Crummy wrote (another) lovely novel in The Wreckage. Set in Newfoundland (not yet part of Canada, triva folks!) during WWII this precise romance just… wrecks you (get it? GET IT). Wish Furey, Catholic, falls for Mercedes (Sadie) Parsons (Protestant) and her mother Won’t Have It. So they have some secret romps and then through a series of accidents get separated and oops Wish goes off an enlists and gets shipped off to fight the Japanese. *lots of spoilers follow*

Only to encounter this Japanese soldier, Nishino – born and raised in racist Vancouver – who is represented as sadistic with a particular cruelty toward Canadians (and friends of Canadians, like Wish). And so over the war Sadie waits, Wish gets by in a POW camp being tortured by Nishino and then witnesses the detonation of the atomic bomb on Nagasaki. By the time Wish gets home he’s deeply changed by what he has done, seen and had done to him. It’s the sort of thing you know: effects of war and trauma, and yet somehow its made fresh in the decades of suffering that follow this one small, particular person, what is lost for both of them.

It does what historical fiction does best and shakes the snow globe of the present to let the reader see it as it is, but slightly different. And so with daily stories of horror and trauma around the world The Wreckage helped this reader begin to grasp the impossibility of scale of loss. If we humans can’t make sense of big numbers (I heard that somewhere, I know you have to) The Wreckage lets us see in this one man, this one couple, all that is destroyed and lost. And that we cannot look away.

Leave a comment

Filed under Bestseller, Canadian Literature, Fiction, Historical Fiction