The Orenda, by Joseph Boyden

In The Orenda, Joseph Boyden shifts first-person perspective between three main characters: Bird, a Wendat (Huron) warrior, Snow Falls, a Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) teenager who has been adopted by Bird (after he killed her family in a fit of vengeance), and Christophe, a French Jesuit missionary who comes to live among the Wendat (Christophe is loosely based on a real-life Jesuit, Jean de Brebeuf). The book is a fictionalized account of what occurred during the formative years of Canadian colonization (~ 1640 – 1650) in the area that is now central Ontario (the Georgian Bay area). The different points of view signify a joint responsibility for French colonization and loss of culture, and the first-person accounts by the characters are, I suppose, an attempt to provide a balanced perspective of what occurred; however, the Haudenosaunee are represented as aggressors and antagonists in the novel and their voice, their point of view, is not well represented.

Orenda is the life-force contained in all things; people, animals, plants, stones, et cetera (somewhat similar to The Holy Spirit, Chi, et cetera).

The Orenda is a well researched historical novel, but I always approach any version of history with a grain of salt; historical accounts are recorded from a certain perspective, and the reader can never be assured of an unbiased rendering. Nevertheless, The Orenda is a book that should be read by anyone interested in the birth of colonial Canada; as such, the novel could be used as a school resource to spark discussion, although the depictions of torture are quite brutal in some sections.

I don’t think the torture scenes are as excessive as some reviewers have reported: some scenes are quite grisly, but I don’t think they are gratuitous; they add to historical context. There has been criticism regarding what some consider a disproportionate depiction and measure of torture scenes (apparently, some First Nations’ groups have insisted that this type of sadistic torture was discontinued hundreds of years before the events in the novel and that Boyden relied too heavily on the biased accounts of Jesuit’s journals. There is no way of knowing what really happened; records are subjective. This is a fictional account, and it is generally agreed that the torture described in the novel occurred at some point, so I don’t have a significant concern with these scenes in the book). Incongruously, the torture in the novel is referred to as ‘caressing’; the scenes are cruel, but are depicted as part of the culture: the torture, and a warrior’s bravery during sessions of caressing, is significant to the mood of enmity and mutual respect between the Wendat and Haudenosaunee. The caressing is not performed to garner information; rather, it is undertaken as a vindictive/spiritual ritual, and a demonstration of domination (it should be remembered that torture is still used by modern-day, supposedly civilized, humans).

The story is quite interesting, but I found that some of the sections dragged, especially those depicting mundane events. The three main characters are well-portrayed: they are flawed, but noble people; however, their personalities didn’t fully engage me until the very end. I would have enjoyed more information regarding the spiritual aspects of these First Nations peoples and there was a fascinating woman in the novel — Gosling, an Anishinaabe shaman — who would have made a wonderful point of view character.

The Bird family seems to be Boyden’s genealogical connective tissue throughout his novels (perhaps his three novels are presented as a generational trilogy); one of the main characters in The Orenda is Bird, and the protagonist in Three Day Road — set mostly in the years around WW I — is Xavier Bird, who I suspect is a descendant of Bird from The Orenda; and Boyden’s 2008 novel Through Black Spruce, which is set in present day Ontario, is also apparently populated with Bird’s descendants. Boyden’s novels are stand-alone stories, but they appear to have a connection of sorts, which is alluded to near the end of The Orenda.

As a novel, I preferred Joseph Boyden’s Three Day Road; but, as an absorbing portrayal of my country’s history, The Orenda is fascinating literature.

Recommended.

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Angelmaker, by Nick Harkaway: a book review

Nick Harkaway is John le Carré’s son (Harkaway and le Carré are both pseudonyms), and the two apparently share a love of espionage, but Harkaway veers away from his father’s genre, into an amped-up amalgam of espionage, pseudo-steampunk, crime fiction, romance, adventure…

I finally decided that Angelmaker is pulp fiction with literati ambitions. It is also quite humourously absurd.

The protagonist, Joshua Joseph Spork, repairs clockworks. Joe’s father, Mathew ‘Tommy Gun’ Spork, deceased, was the infamous king of London’s criminal underground. Joe decided to turn his back on his father’s ‘business’; instead, he followed in the footsteps of his paternal grandfather, who owned an antique clockworks shop. As the novel begins, Joe somehow becomes involved with the Ruskinites, an extremely dangerous sect, and an unknown branch of the government, in the guise of two odd men, Mr. Titwhistle and Mr. Cummerbund (“These are our actual names, I’m afraid” Mr. Titwhistle explains to Joe).

There is an assortment of colourful characters in the book, for example: Edie Banister, an octogenarian spy (my personal favourite); Shem Shem Tsien, a dastardly villain and Edie’s arch nemesis; Polly Cradle, Joe Spork’s love-interest and definitely not a shrinking violet; and Françoise ‘Frankie’ Fossoyeur, a frenetic super-genius who invented (among other things) the Apprehension Engine, a mechanical beehive — complete with mechanical bees — that may be a doomsday machine, but is possibly a machine created for the betterment of mankind. There is also a secret-service cult, the monastic ‘Ruskinites,’ who have come under the control of Shem Shem Tsien (cast as a handsome, but evil, Fu Manchu type).

The novel slips between genres, for the most part quite smoothly, and I really enjoyed the set up, but I didn’t enjoy the second half quite as much as the first: there is too much comic-bookish over-kill. I think I would have enjoyed portions of the novel much more as a younger man; perhaps I’ve become a fuddy-duddy.

The book becomes increasingly restless as the end nears and the lead-up to the climax is quite tumultuous; there are some riveting sections, but the ending passes rather quickly after the big build-up.

Harkaway juggles numerous balls, managing to maintain the integrity of the story quite impressively. All-in-all it is quite a delightful novel, but I think that some additional editing and a little more focus could have improved the book; it is an entertaining read, and there is some truly fine writing, but there are uneven portions as well.

After re-reading the above I realize I’ve been harder on the novel than I’d intended; it really is a rollicking good read, quite well written, and I’ll be sure to read more by the author.

Angelmaker is Nick Harkaway’s second book; I haven’t read his first novel, The Gone Away World, but I will. He also has a new novel out later this year (Tigerman; July 2014 in Canada) that I’ll find the time to read.

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The God of Small Things, a book review

The God of Small Things has all the ingredients that I love in a novel; poetic writing, intriguing metaphors, language calisthenics, a character driven narrative, a dream-like sensibility, and metaphysical elements. And I did enjoy many sections; unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly fond of the novel as a whole. But that’s just my opinion; others thought very highly of it indeed: it won the Booker Prize, and garnered many glowing reviews. I just wasn’t drawn into the characters as I should have been.

The idiosyncrasies of the author’s prose style that likely helped win her the Booker Prize didn’t quite work for me. Ms. Roy used an inordinate amount of ink to foray into trivialities; not necessarily detrimental, but in this novel they felt forced at times and intruded on the story. I also began to weary of the interminable metaphors and the circling, echoing cadence as the novel turned about the event that shapes the lives of the characters.

The author, Arundhati Roy, has previously written two screenplays for films, and I do think the book would make an excellent movie: the story is quite moving.

Much of the writing is rich, luxurious, and brutally rhythmic: the novel reminded me of the many jazz songs that I couldn’t quite connect with: a song in which I could detect the brilliance in a phrase here, a bar there; but, overall, it just didn’t work for me. Occasionally, I can revisit one of these jazz tunes at a later date and the brilliance coalesces in my mind.

I probably won’t re-read this small, attractive book that I truly wish I could have appreciated more, as it no doubt deserves.

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