What is it like for people to lose the world they lived in for their entire lives? It isn’t just the current situation that is lost, but the history of the place, both cultural and personal. In Sweetland, Michael Crummey tells the story of one such person.
Except for one unsuccessful foray onto the mainland, Moses Sweetland has lived on a tiny island off the coast of Newfoundland all his life. Its population has dwindled along with the cod industry, and the Canadian government will pay all residents to be resettled on the mainland. Then, all services, electricity, ferry, will stop. The one stipulation of the generous buyout offer is that all residents must agree. Moses refuses to go.
What makes him want to stay is one of the major questions of the novel. The charming curmudgeon is a common trope in literature, but Moses doesn’t have the charming part. Neither does the island itself. He is taciturn and acerbic; the island is rainy, cold, and bleak.
But Moses earns our respect. The island which we see as unattractive, he sees as home. It is his environment and he lives in it skillfully, trapping, fishing, and gardening. We see a deep-seated love for his neighbors in his willingness to help even the most stubborn and unlikable, and in his affection for the autistic nephew he treats as a son. His memories of dead family members and friends keep them alive.
Habitats, and worlds, disappear every day. Included in this story is the plight of immigrants who have been set adrift in the fog by their smugglers. We can also think of rising sea levels which are eating away coastal communities; condos or small neighborhoods being bought up by developers; people whose lifelong jobs have been computerized.
Michael Crummey is a poet as well as a novelist and his lively language is one of the better parts of the book. Some is very salty; there is lots of “Newfoundlandese,” the idioms of the place, and there is the sharp and funny repartee between Moses and his neighbors. The names are ironic. Sweetland (also the name of the island) is anything but, and Moses refuses to join his people, never mind lead them anywhere.
Maybe because we are presented with unattractive characters in an unattractive setting the focus of the book is all the sharper. We see the pain of anyone forced to leave any home against their wishes. The question of whether anything could or should be done to help them looms.
Three years after his mother left, twelve-year-old Bird receives a letter from her. It has been censored of course, but there are no words, just drawings of cats, and the message has been allowed. In this opening chapter of Our Missing Hearts by Celeste Ng, Bird remembers a folk tale his mom told him and he realizes he has been sent a coded invitation to find her.
For years before she was forced to leave, there had been a serious economic depression. People lost their jobs and homes; there was rioting and looting. “Something must be done!” people said. The government stepped in with PACT, The Preserving American Culture and Traditions Act.
“PACT is more than a law. It is a promise we make to each other, a promise to protect our American ideals and values; a promise that for people who weaken our country with un-American ideas, there will be consequences.”
Un-American would come to be defined as objecting to the protections of PACT… or refusing to report neighbors for “unusual” behavior… or being appalled at the “consequences” which included the removal of children from suspect parents… or looking Asian. Bird’s Chinese mother, a poet, one whose words were chosen by the resistance, was a prime target of the government removal program. She left the family so Bird would not be taken from his father.
This lush story is full of fairy tales, poems, etymology, and descriptive meanderings. It is just right for readers who love to conjure up a complete picture of the characters and setting. Those who prefer plot and action will find it tedious and wordy. The subjects, separation of children from parents (like at the Mexican border) and targeting of the Chinese (think Covid) are not just current but have strong historical roots in our country. The premise that art can fight ignorance and oppression is a hopeful one.
Three deaths in a week put heavy pressure on Detective Inspector Matthew Venn and his team. In The Heron’s Cry by Ann Cleeves, they race to find the connection between obvious murders (done with shards of beautiful hand-blown glass) and possible suicides.
As in her first Matthew Venn mystery, Cleeves pairs the thoughtful, organized, careful inspector with the looseness of an artistic community run by his creative husband. She explores the relationship of this gay couple and Venn’s strained relationship with his widowed Evangelical mother. Cleeves’ supporting characters are equally strong. Detective Sergeant Rafferty, an escapee from an abusive marriage, enjoys a good party and worries about her teenagers. Detective Constable May, who tries not to be too old school macho, notices a coolness in the wife he dearly loves.
Cleeves continues to write about the treatment of mental illness. In this case it is depression and suicide that form the backdrop as she describes the British government’s difficulty in providing treatment.
But the subject matter doesn’t intrude. This is a good story! A fast-paced captivating plot with lots of twists keeps the reader quickly turning pages.
Sometimes it doesn’t take many words…
Very nice job describing Sweetland, Diane! And I find your description of Ng’s book enticing as you describe the reader who will not like it as one who likes plot and not too many words…? Is this a new attitude, I wonder?