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Tag: Canadian literature

Awards lists galore

The Man Booker International Prize shortlist was announced yesterday. As many news stories about the list have noted, it is dominated by women. The six books are:

  • The Years by Annie Ernaux, tr. Alison Strayer (France/French)
  • The Pine Islands by Marion Poschmann, tr. Jen Calleja (Germany/German)
  • The Shape of the Ruins by Juan Gabriel Vasquez, tr. Anne McLean (Colombia/Spanish)
  • Celestial Bodies by Jokha Alharthi, tr. Marilyn Booth (Oman/Arabic)
  • Drive Your Plow Over the Remains of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk, tr. Antonia Lloyd-Jones (Poland/Polish)
  • The Remainder by Alia Trabucco Zeran, tr. Sophie Hughes (Chile/Spanish)

I’ve only read two of the list so far and liked them both. I had two more on hand and was able to buy the remaining two through Kobo UK. I haven’t decided whether I’ll try to read them all before the 21 May announcement, but I’ll read at least some.

I like the list. I’m sorry that After Dusk didn’t make it, but I’m also relieved that The Faculty of Dreams, which many readers rated very highly, was left off. I am just not up for a “literary fantasy” that treats Valerie Solanas as a totem for 21st-century feminists. It might be an excellent piece of literature, but the GR reviews have made me think that the less you know of the actual time, people, and intellectual debates, the more you are likely to (a) be impressed by the book; and (b) think you’re learning something about the real person. Solanas was a complicated and troubled woman whose relationship to feminism and gender theory isn’t easily summarized. The novel feels exploitative, even though the author is clearly sympathetic, in part because Solanas guarded her intellectual property so vehemently and had zero respect for affluent middle-class feminists. But that’s another blog post’s worth of off-topic material.

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Life in the Court of Matane by Éric Dupont

Note: This review was first posted at Goodreads.

I hadn’t heard of Éric Dupont until his most recently translated novel, Songs for the Cold of Heart, was long- and then short-listed for the 2018 Giller Prize, which is my loss. I had planned to read that first, but then I discovered this novel, which precedes and foreshadows it. I suppose Life in the Court of Matane counts as autofiction, because it is very much the author telling us his story (neither the narrator nor his sister are ever named), but it doesn’t read like a lot of the autofiction I’ve been reading over the last couple of years. Oh, it’s definitely a coming-of-age story that is still very alive for the author/narrator, but the Éric of today recedes and is less important than the Éric of then. That’s not always a feeling I get from autofiction.

The book is divided into several large sections, each named for an animal (the original French title is Bestiaire), and each animal represents both an experience and a life lesson. The English title refers to the family and its life in various towns on the Gaspé Peninsula, with Matane being the one in which they live longest during this period. The Court of Matane is presided over by Éric’s father, who is referred to as Henry VIII, and his common-law wife, Anne Boleyn. Éric’s mother, who is of course Catherine of Aragon, is present in the early sections but then vanishes when Anne appears because Henry refuses to let his children utter her name, let alone visit her. Anne is strict but not completely unloving, while Henry is volatile and self-centered. The depictions of this working-class, ordinary family are presented through metaphors of court life, and it works brilliantly. It reminded me how much adults can be despots to children, and how much children are subjects in the adult world, completely at their mercy. When the adults are loving and generous the way Éric’s grandparents are, life is wonderful. When they’re not, such as when Henry VIII drinks excessively or Anne refuses to treat the children as the siblings they are to her new baby, life is harsh.

And of course, these relationships extend beyond the family. In the Catholic Church dominated world of rural Quebec, the nuns and priests exert considerable control over the children too. And relations among the children reflect adult hierarchies: Henry VIII is a policeman, which makes him suspicious in the eyes of the village folk, and that suspicion structures the children’s relationships with their peers. Éric himself is imaginative, fascinated by both the natural and human world around him, and of course that makes him an outsider and target of the schoolyard bullies. He dreams of escape.

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