Why aren’t we all reading Hugh MacLennan?! First of all, thanks go to my friend Diane who pointed me towards this one with her stellar review. It took me a couple of years to get here, but, as I learned from this novel, perhaps my timing was just as it should be. There’s so much to unpack within these pages: love, friendship, marriage, faith and the loss of faith, fascism, communism, World War II, the meaning of our existence, and Montreal. The characters will stay with me much like those from a Wallace Stegner novel. So will Montreal which is treated much like a character in its own right. In fact, I’m now wondering why someone like Hugh MacLennan isn’t as widely known, at least on this site, as is Stegner. His writing is equally brilliant, in my opinion. I’ve only read this one work so far, but I’m willing to bet on the rest.
“There are some stories into which the reader should be led gently, and I think this may be one of them.”
I suspected from that first sentence that MacLennan was going to take care with his characters and his telling of their lives. I so loved the meandering nature of his story. Not meandering in a meaningless way, but rather in a way that takes us gently through the course of their lives. These lives were far from quiet, uneventful ones, however. Catherine has endured the threat of rheumatic heart disease since a child; Jerome had a childhood no one should ever have to bear. The narrator, George, walks a less tenuous course, but is caught up in the lives of these two. Yes, it’s a love triangle. But it’s a love triangle without all the hate and drama one might assume. Can a love triangle be a beautiful thing? Maybe that’s taking it a bit too far, but it was certainly very moving.
“Some people have within themselves a room so small that only a miniscule amount of the mysterious thing we call the spirit can find a home in them. Others have so much that what the world calls their characters explodes from the pressure. I think of it as a force… Catherine had more of this mysterious thing than anyone I ever knew with one exception, and the exception was Jerome Martell.”
MacLennan brings us straight to the heart of his characters. I got to know them so intimately that I had a hard time leaving them in the end. We see how they were shaped by their childhoods as well as the time into which they come of age: the 1930s. The Great Depression and the dawning of World War II play a major role in their development as well as in the plot itself. At the very beginning of the novel, MacLennan lays the groundwork for a major conflict: one of these characters has been presumed dead for years and has now resurfaced. He then moves us back in time so we can follow the events that lead up to this plot point. I liked the structure a whole lot. It added tension that leaves the reader a bit in suspense right from the start. It feels nostalgic and melancholic at times. Much is said about time and the passage of it.
“What is time anyway? The past seemed part of the present today. Time had lost its shape. Time is a cloud in which we live while the breath is in us. When was I living, now or twenty-five years ago, or in all those periods of my life simultaneously?”
I went to bed last night thinking I would sleep on this a bit and decide what more I should say. The problem is, it’s all crowding in on me, clamoring to be told. One thing I really should share is this idea of Montreal being a main character. I’m sure Hugh MacLennan can describe it much better than I.
“In those days the streets of Montreal were a kind of truth to me and I roamed them. I learned them block by block from their smells and the types I saw, I came to love the shape of the city itself, its bold masses bulging hard against the sky and the purple semi-darkness of the lower town at evening when Mount Royal was still high and clear against bright sunsets. I loved the noise of the ships booming in the harbor and along the canal to the Lakes, and the quiet little areas some said were like London but which were actually indigenous to this wise, experienced, amiably cynical town.”
Through George, the narrator, we see how the city morphs from one thing into another following the war. The characters also develop into different sorts of people, forever changed by this world war. I was swept away by their stories and can feel how they have seeped into my being now. The first and middle sections of the book had already gripped me, but the last section was astonishing. If this book sounds at all depressing, let me set that straight. It’s truly life-affirming.
“Life for a year, a month, a day or an hour is still a gift. The warmth of the sun or the caress of the air, the sight of a flower or a cloud on the wind, the possibility even for one day more to see things grow – the human bondage is also the human liberty.”