The winner of the Giller Prize, Canada’s most prestigious award for fiction, will be announced on November 11 to little fanfare outside the literary community. Nevertheless, all the glitz and glamour of the prize’s star-studded gala (Margaret Atwood and Bob Rae are two of the judges) will go on, even if it hovers well below the mainstream radar.
The theme of this year’s shortlist is the idea that to be Canadian is to be from somewhere else. Multiculturalism is the pride of our country, and it’s heavily reflected in our fiction. What does this mean for storytelling? It allows heritage to propel the plot and shape the characters’ collective mentality. This is the experience of many Canadians and it’s important that we write about it.
The Shortlist
Joseph Boyden’s most recent effort, Through Black Spruce, is a double helix of a novel that follows Cree bush pilot Will Bird and his niece Annie. It switches narratives between both characters, merging the plot lines during its crescendo. Annie’s journey begins in tiny Moosonee, Ontario, as a search for her model sister leads her into the dangers of urban life. Will speaks to his nieces from within a coma, recalling his multiple run-ins with a local drug lord. While Boyden’s narrative is interesting enough to hold the reader’s attention, it occasionally veers into the territory of a mid ’90s CBC miniseries. Boyden is one of Canada’s brightest new talents, and though the book is melodramatic, the quality of his prose makes up for some predictable plot choices.
Speaking of melodrama, Anthony De Sa’s Barnacle Love is rife with it. A book of interconnected short stories follows the life of Manuel Rebelo, a Portuguese immigrant who has left his home in the Azores to become a fisherman in Newfoundland. Sexually abused by a priest and betrayed by his first love, Rebelo’s sad history eventually manifests itself as a severe drinking problem. De Sa’s novel is a Canadian version of the lost American Dream, demonstrating the consequences of one’s failure to live up to such high expectations.
Cockroach, Rawi Hage’s new novel, screams at its reader from beginning to end. Coming off the massive success of his first novel De Niro’s Game, the winner of the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, Hage hasn’t toned down his aggressive style. The unnamed protagonist is a contemporary version of Dostoevsky’s classic antihero, The Underground Man, complete with alienation, rage, irrationality, and dark humour. Wandering through Montréal, fighting off his kleptomania and a war-affected history, the Iranian meets an interesting cast of characters who, for the most part, enrage him. All Kafka insect references aside, the best parts of the novel are when he envisions himself as a cockroach. The metaphor is perfect, with imagery done so well that it’s difficult not to sympathize with the character’s insanity. While Hage should win, I doubt he will.
Good to a Fault, the oxymoronic title of Marina Endicott’s new book, does not apply to the plot—it’s nearly flawless. Lives instantly change when a car accident throws Clara Purdy into the home of the Gage family. When their mother is diagnosed with lymphoma, Clara is forced into the role of matriarch. The novel is charming and funny, as Clara is forced to adjust, eventually welcoming the situation.
Mary Swan’s The Boys in the Trees is a melancholic but fulfilling read. It follows a small town in Ontario rocked by a rather shocking crime committed by the patriarch of a newly arrived Canadian family. Set in the late 19th century, the story is told from multiple perspectives, including members of the family, neighbours, and even a gun. Characters are developed slowly as each narrator works through the crime. At times, the complex structure makes it difficult to determine which perspective is revealed, but the prose is outstanding—vivid and emotionally charged. Without question, The Boys in the Trees deserves the Giller Prize.
