| Lancette Arts Journal Founded in 2000 |
Book Reviews From our Archives |
July 2003 |
By Alidė Kohlhaas
The religious
upbringing, and the general social conditions of the Atlantic provinces seem to give
writers a peculiarly fertile setting for their novels. Not only do they have a rich
historical heritage in the hardship of coal miners, fishermen, or farmers, who have to eke
out a living from unproductive soil, but also in the parochial schools Catholic
schools they attended, and the nuns and priests they encountered in various roles.
All offer them plenty of material for colorful and good stories.
Two books by different authors, who share this background, albeit in very dissimilar ways, are
testament to this richness of Atlantic Canadas inspiration. One book is Butterflies
Dance in the Dark by first-time novelist, though not novice writer, Beatrice MacNeil, the
other is Down the Coaltown Road by Sheldon Currie, a well-established novelist and short
story writer. MacNeil reveals her story, Butterflies Dance in the Dark,
through the eyes of Mari-Jen. We first meet her at age five, and follow her to early
adulthood to a poignant, though not wholly satisfactory, ending. Set in the fictional
Acadian Cape Breton town of Ste. Noir, the novel is a strong attack on the practices of
the Catholic Church of the 1950s. Mari-Jen has a learning disability, although she is highly
intelligent. Her other drawback is that she is her mother's third illegitimate child,
having been preceded by twin brothers who have a different father. This family of four are outcasts, who live not only on the
edge of town, but also on the edge of society. The Mother Superior at Mari-Jens
school would today be charged with abuse of her young ward, but in the 1950s this sexually
stifled, frustrated woman gets away with tormenting a small girl, whose innate
intelligence she is unable to understand. As a result, Mari-Jen hides behind self-imposed
muteness, and is therefore seen as being retarded, although not by all her teachers. Her savior is a Polish refugee, whose Jewishness makes him an
outsider, too, in this moribund, claustrophobic place, where ignorance and superstition
are fostered by the Churchs representatives. He also helps her two brothers, Alfred
and Albert, who as children dream of going far away, a dream they turn into reality at the
earliest possible moment. Although Adele, the mother, and her children are
poverty-stricken, there must have been better times in the family's background. A
large house, now occupied by a very strange aunt and uncle, is witness to a more
prosperous family past. MacNeil creates very vivid, even poetic, images for us. We
have no difficulty imagining the interior of Mari-Jen's home, of a neighbor's
house, and we certainly feel the ever increasing frustration of the child, and eventually
the young woman. Sadly, because the story is told by Mari-Jen, we are less satisfied with
the depiction of the brothers, who deserve to be drawn more three dimensionally. Also,
because the story is told through Mari-Jen's understanding of events, we are not
quite satisfied with how they unfold. The child, whose wish for her fifth birthday is a
father, never really finds out who he was. The boys
are more fortunate in that there is less of a mystery surrounding their background. But,
most of all, one regrets that Mari-Jen, although she finds her vocation in the end, never
fully exploits her potential and fails to find the courage to free herself from a place
that for most of her life has offered her only sadness and pain.
Still, this is a book worthy of a large readership. There are still myopic communities and people
in this world, and the story certainly rings only too true. Time and time again, one meets
those, whose lives have been dominated by a faith that prefers its adherents docile, easy
to dominate, unquestioning, and obedient to a fault. Mari-Jen and her siblings offer some
defiance to the rigidity of their surroundings, for which one is glad. But, sadly, as it
often is in real life, the most vulnerable, in this case Mari-Jen, are damaged far too
much to free themselves from the various abuses they suffered. Currie' novel has a far more positive view of the
church, but it exposes a hidden part of Canadian history that has left a dark spot on it.
The story takes place at the beginning of World War II in a small Cape Breton town, where
mining is the main industry. The miners are a mixture of English (Scottish, Irish)
Canadians and those of Italian background. For decades they have shared the mines, the
same churches, and were best buddies. When Mussolini joins Hitler in the war, friendships
are forgotten as these Italians suddenly are viewed with suspicion, and are even rounded
up by the RCMP as enemy aliens. The union decides that the English will not go down into
the mines until the Italians are suspended from their jobs. It is a story that has its
echo in the lives of Japanese Canadians and those of German descent. This is, however, the
first time that I have come across a book that tackles the fate of the Italians, who were
also removed from their families, leaving wives and children to fend for themselves. We meet Father Rod MacDonald, a veteran of that war, who has
been sent to Coaltown to find a way to bring some peace back to the community. He is a
highly likeable man, who doesnt always toe the line. Perhaps because of his war
experiences, he takes chances that most other priests would not have, but he seems to be
the right man to keep the feuding factions from open warfare. Currie's excellent cast of characters also includes Tomassio, who escapes his captors with
consequences for not only his family, but others with whom his life have become
intertwined. There is Anna, his wife, whom he has failed, Gelo, his son, who has to grow
up suddenly, his lover Cathy, her daughter and many others. There is a bit of suspense,
espionage, and sex thrown into the pot to keep things moving. In addition, we meet some
very human nuns, who have little resemblance to the dried-out, sadistic Mother Superior in
MacNeil's tale. This book offers redemption and hope. It contains characters
with whom we can easily identify, and a historical period we need to understand more.
Perhaps this is Currie's strongest point. He shows us how quickly a community can be
poisoned with suspicion and how fast friends can turn into enemies. It is a lesson we must
keep in mind as we struggle to make sense of our own time.
[Publisher: Key Porter Books Butterflies Dance in
the Dark by Beatrice MacNeil, 352 pages, $24.95;
Down the Coaltown Road by Sheldon Currie, 224 pages, $24.95]
Copyright © 2003-8 CamKohl Arts Productions