Tag Archives: historical 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.

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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.

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Filed under Bestseller, Canadian Literature, Fiction, Historical Fiction

The Fraud: What, truth?

You can’t read Zadie Smith’s The Fraud in 2024 and not feel cold shudders of recognition for how easy it is to distort/create truth for an audience willing to believe – or disbelieve – anything so long as those fabricated facts meet their aims.

Set in the 19th century, historical fiction does its best work here by using the past to illuminate pressing truths of the present. The novel follows the infamous trial of a man claiming to be Sir Roger Tichborne – who had bee presumed dead at sea. The “Claimant” – despite being very obviously a butcher and not an aristocrat – continues to insist he is Sir Roger, and finds swelling numbers of supporters willing to accept his – clearly fabricated – claim to be the real Sir Roger. His supporters, like the Claimant, explain away the obvious and glaring inconsistencies by way of conspiracies against him by the press and others. You don’t have to squint too hard to see the connections to our Current Political Moment.

I guess that’s not really what the book is entirely about – it’s also about Eliza, who lives with her comically terrible author-cousin, William Ainsworth, and tries (albeit unsuccessfully) to edit his horrible books. In Ainsworth’s new wife – once his maid – Eliza debate the credulity of the Tichborne trial and in doing dramatizes the fundamental crisis of our moment: We cannot agree on basic facts of reality. In Eliza’s rational understanding she knows and believes the Claimant to be utter nonsense, but finds herself wanting to trust the absurd possibility that he could, indeed, be Tichborne.

As the reader-surrogate, while Eliza debates within herself the possibility of the utterly implausible (as well as in the morality of taking money she knows to be earned through slavery; and of the ethics of letting Ainsworth continue to believe he is a good writer when he is Definitely Not; and of the ease with which we might lie by omission when it comes to the border of love) we, too, are called to defend our conviction of what we believe True, and how far we are willing to go to bend that truth to accommodate the feelings of those we love.

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Filed under American literature, Fiction, Prize Winner

Matrix: Last for 2022

I tried to convince my trivia team that Lauren Groff’s Matrix was fantastic. I was like guys, it’s set in a medieval nunnery and follows the life of one nun as she brings the abbey from starvation-ruins to wealth and power all with feminist pomp and flair. And while some in the group agreed that while the lesbian love affairs that flourish at the abbey were, indeed, appealing, their overall enthusiasm for the plot was… weak.

Don’t let their bad choices be yours. The sense of time – and out of time-ness – of the novel, the ways love manifest among women (and not just the sexy kind), the consideration for when – and how – to obtain and maintain power, and of course the details of many, many hours of prayer, well it’s very good.

So if you want to start your 2023 reading year off with a bang… maybe don’t start with Matrix it is a little slow in parts (while still great!), but definitely put it in January. Because then you can brag to everyone you know that you’re familiar with how 13th century nuns made profits and power.

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Filed under Fiction, Historical Fiction