
Michael Redhill's first novel,
Martin Sloan, which was about an artist similar to my fav, Joseph Cornell, was wonderful and moving. So, I was looking forward to reading this novel and was not disappointed.
Two stories about Toronto are told here. The first one is about a lawyer turned geologist and historian, David Hollis, who loves trying to unearth the history of this city. He developed a new major at the university called
forensic geology, to discover unbeaten paths, foundations, etc, that could tell the story of the founding of Toronto in the 1800s.
(That university may be an exception; I have a friend who is also combining science and history and is having a little difficulty being accepted by the tech types. Grr, life is not so black and white and neither can the imagination be limited.)
Hollis was interested in what the ordinary people in early Toronto saw and what they smelled. He knew that their life was not easy, but he loved to think about it deeply.
When his latest paper about the city and an illness was running its course, he decides to die.
The various family members cope with his death in various way. It's a great read on family dynamics in the late 20th Century in North America.
The second story is about three settlers to Canada. All were shocked by what they found and coped in different ways. Jem Hallum wanted to be the proper Englishman pharmacists but thought that being in Toronto was like being in a colder near-London place. He later becomes more flexible when he teams up with Mr. Ennis, an Irish photographer, dreaming of his homeland and children, and Mrs. Rowe, a maybe widow from Bath, whose husband works(ed) for AT&T, when the last
T meant
telegraph.
The three of them find ways to survive the weather, the dog-eat-dog mentality, and finding a way to make a living and not losing one's humanity.
In his first winter there, he saw "a weather that stifled the city as if in a huge blanket...Here there was no language, no simile for this shut-in weather; a city so benighted by snow that it was as if thousands of people were living, perforce, alone in it."
John, David's future son-in-law, was looking down with Marianne, David's widow, looking at a construction site from a neighboring high rise hotel room. John thinks, "Tine was linear: it went forward and back. But up and down was organic, it was growth and decay, it was time as experienced by vegetation. It was history itself."
This novel resonates with me for two reasons. One, because I wanted a view of Toronto so I could understand Margaret Atwood better. This is her city, and it has influenced her writings. Secondly, because right now, in New Orleans, there are a lot of debates of trying to save history while trying to make affordable homes by demolishing buildings that were hit hard by the Katrina. Or of tearing down buildings that were not affected by constructing new areas for living and playing.
John Self's review is different from mine, in that he didn't like the modern parts of the book. I think this is because of where we live. He lives in Europe, where history items can be found quickly and maybe respected more. In the Americas, history may not have the same power as over there. Yes, I agree that the people are sad, but wouldn't you be with a death in the family or having to live in a hostile environment, such as having to run for your life when a bear decides to amble down the main avenue?