Category Archives: Prize Winner

The Trade: Dressing up colonialism

                           Fred Stenson’s 2000 novel The Trade was a finalist for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, which I think is pretty neat considering the novel focuses on the fur trade, and as you might well imagine, the fur trade is not usually a sexy or glamorous topic. I say “usually” because Stenson does include some sexy-glam, but not nearly enough to titillate a Giller jury (though maybe I’m projecting here, as the Giller has recognized a fair number of novelists writing historical fiction: Margaret Atwood, Michael Crummey, Guy Vanderhaeghe, Anne Michaels, Wayne Johnston, Jane Urquhart, John Bemrose, Elizabeth Hay, and most recently, Joseph Boyden). So maybe my point is less that historical fiction is unpopular and unrecognized, and more that it is a triumph of the Canadian h.f. novelist. In this case Stenson takes what grade seven history turned into a mind-numbingly-dull exercise in remembering that the NorthWest Company and the Hudson’s Bay Company merged in 1822, and turns it into a fascinating and engaging narrative of deceit, violence, betrayal and madness. 

My favourite part? When a cat adopts orphaned bunnies only to watch while the bunnies get eaten. A microcosm for the rest of the narrative that sees (somewhat unconvincingly innocent) good-hearted and sincere men turned violent, or become objects of extreme and disproportionate violence. Stenson ultimately lays the blame for the violence of the fur trade at the hands of “colonialism,” but does so by personifying the ruthless economy of colonialism in the HBCo governor. This sleight, whereby colonialism is not blamed for the devastation of the land, the buffalo and indigenous people, but rather the governor is, remains a problem for me.

That said, Stenson does well to draw attention to the complexity and pervasiveness of colonial violence by including a missionary and an artist-in-the-field-reporter (I should say that the epistolary narratives of the missionary and artist are distracting and awkward inclusions at the end of a narrative that has otherwise been third-person omniscient) as a way of gesturing to the ways colonialism, Christianity and archival “truth” (in the form of paintings and written histories) sustain one another.

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Filed under Canadian Literature, Fiction, Giller prize, Historical Fiction

The Kindly Ones: Furious

The translation of Jonathan Littell’s 2006 novel Les Bienveillantes, The Kindly Ones came out in 2009 and sold over a million copies in North America. Encouraging, perhaps, that so many readers are willing to commit to a 950 page novel; but then, I have to wonder how many make it though to the end, as this is a novel that begins with compelling questions and fascinating historical detail, but spends the second half (or thereabouts) in grotesque fantasies of incest, matricide and shit, all culminating in a dissatisfying ending that neither resolves – or returns – to the evocative questions of its introduction, nor offers a plausible plot resoultion.

That said, I recommend The Kindly Ones. The novel begins with Maximillan Aue – the first person protagonist – meditating on his involvement as an SS officer in the war and the Holocaust. He argues that no reader would have done anything differently, and that the extremity of the violence owes more to complicity of all normal, intelligent, rational people than it does to the psychopathic homicidal tendencies of any one. Not a new suggestion, but one worth posing at the beginning of a novel that traces the experiences of Aue and how he can – as a rational, intelligent man – participate.

The first half (or thereabouts) also sees Aue grappling with the morality of his – and the Nazis – crimes. A struggle exemplified in scenes where high commissions and panels of experts debate – using Biblical sources, linguistic analysis, food preparation and gift giving practices – whether a mountain people ought to be considered Jews or not (and thus executed). The absurdity of such a debate calls into question readers’ assumptions that all Nazis acted without consideration – if without cause. Indeed as Aue struggles with questions of responsibility, of justice and of guilt, the reader gains both an appreciation both for the ideological strength of National Socialism, and a kind of sympathy for his position – which the novel maintains, could just as easily have been us.

But following his time in Stalingrad, and a non-fatal shot the head, Aue loses his interest in debating moral questions or considering justifications for his actions, and instead devotes himself entirely to “his work.” All the while plagued by two policemen who accuse him of murdering his mother and stepfather (he did do, but in a blacked out state – a failing of the novel). He purses his work with some fervor until the fall of Berlin, when he escapes to the countryside to spend weeks smearing shit and having sex with corpses. The novel offers some limited justification for his “decent” to this kind of behaviour, alluding throughout the text to Orestes’ matricide and pursuit by the Furies (who later become The Kindly Ones). He makes it back to Berlin in time to meet Hitler (and bite his nose), and to murder his policeman pursuers, as well as his long time compatriot, Thomas. It just doesn’t make any sense. What was the policeman doing in the Berlin zoo? Or Thomas for that matter? And why all the shit and corpses and depravity? I get that it’s meant to mirror the decline of life in Berlin and the collapse of the German war effort, but all the same, it doesn’t allow for any the development of the complex questions of morality, civilization, justice and complicity raised in the first half.

Finally. I did appreciate what must have been extensive research – the novel introduced me to elements of the history I had never encountered before. Perhaps Littell would have done better to write two books, as it seems he had two different ideas for how to approach the Holocaust: moral quandary of the everyman, or pornographic violence of the man without morals at all. But as it is, he just wrote the one, and I’d say, despite it’s difficulties, its well worth the read.

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Wolf Hall: Too much of the English

The problem is usually the Russians. All the “Ts” and “Ps” and “Ns” are trouble because I read names and think, “oh – the N—- guy, he’s bad.” Lord of the Rings – certainly not Russian – posed the same problem. I didn’t realize there were two bad guys because both of them started with an “S.” I get it, Satan is bad, so are S—- and S—-. But the names give me trouble.

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Filed under Booker Prize, British literature, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Prize Winner