viva la saint lawrence

I'm taking a break from the anthology today due to the fact that it is quickly doing my head in. In the meantime, I'm going to tackle some of the other works from the poetry section of the list. Today, I'm looking at Charles Sangster, who is not a poet I am familiar with, but who published in 1856 the first Spenserian sonnet sequence in Canadian literary history. He was also one of the first poets to use obviously and undeniably Canadian images and subject matter as the backbone of his poetry. As bad as I am at (a) long poems and (b) colonial literature, I enjoyed this, and I think I've found a few things to say about it... Hopefully things I can process relatively quickly because I have a birthday party to get to. Yee haw!

The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay
by Charles Sangster

Quebec -- how regally it crowns the height!
The Titan Strength has here set up his throne;
Unmindful of the sanguinary fight,
The roar of cannon mingling with the maon
Of mutilated soldiers years agone,
That gave the place a glory and a name
Among the nations. France was heard to groan,
England rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim, --
A brave young chief had fallen to vindicate her fame.

Fallen in the prime of his ambitious years,
As falls the young oak when the mountain blast
Rings like a clarion, and the tempest jeers
To see its pride to earth untimely cast.
So fell brave Wolfe, heroic to the last,
Amid the tempest and grim scorn of war,
While leering Fate with look triumphant passed,
Pleased with the slaughter and the horrid jar
That lured him hence to see how paled a hero's star.

This poem recounts a journey of the imagination from Kingston, Ontario and the St. Lawrence Seaway to the mouth of the Saguenay and Cape Eternity. The narrator of the poem is on a spiritual quest to be reunited with the woman he loves, known in the poem only as the Maiden. He is also on a pilgrimage to show his devotion to God, and indeed the reunion with the Maiden is a reunion with God as well, as the three seek to "prove / How unutterably deep and strong is Human Love" (that love being both between humans and of humans for God). The poem is also about embracing the creations of God -- the journey from the St. Lawrence to the Saguenay represents an internal journey from being controlled by a world of business, commerce, and the drive to possess, to the victorious act of shaking off those bonds and emerging free from the world of the material and ready for the world of the spiritual. Finally, the poem is about art, and the realization that the greatest art of all is God's creations of the natural world and of man. The narrator, over the course of the poem, comes to realize that nothing else can compare with God's design.

As the first narrative poem in Spenserian stanzas in the history of Canadian literature, the poem gets big points for effort, and though there re patches where the verse is rocky or rhythmically problematic, the overall effect is quite something. The impact is even more noteworthy when one considers that Sangster had almost no formal education beyond elementary schooling, and as such his poem is one of the beauty of Canada written by a Canadian everyman. This is not an academic telling, but rather a story that struck a talented but ordinary Canadian who was struck by the majesty of his country. This is not to say Sangster was ignorant (indeed, his poetry is filled with invocations of mythology, biblical allusion, and so on), but that his story is one of a Canadian man with a Canadian education telling a story of Canada. Such things are certainly worth celebrating.

One way the poetry is uneven, however, is in Sangster's compulsive romanticization of the Canadian landscape, especially in his descriptions of the Canadian Shield and other rocky geographies. His use of classical allusions and pastoral diction blunts and pasteurizes the rugged beauty of the landscapes he is trying to describe. The river "bubbles silver" and is "isle-enwoven." Even storms are signs of God's strength rather than violent, frightening experiences. This is all to add to the effect of the poem as an homage to God's creation, and while it's exquisitely as a pastoral it rings false to anyone who has been to this area of country and seen nothing that could be remarked upon as pastoral.

And interesting feature is how much Sangster draws on the history, both aboriginal (though heavily one-sides) and white, of the area he writes about. As in the example above, with Wolfe and Montcalm, the effect is one of chronicling a history and myth-making about place. Sangster is self-consciously creating a story of Canada, and the effect is a powerful one. It reminds us of the importance of this kind of documentation in the early days of Canadian literature, because the tradition had to first be built in order for it to be built upon.

An ancillary theme in the poem is that love, and especially the love of God, supersede art, as he writes: "The lips of Love / Make mellower music than a thousand strings / Of harps." God's creation, too, is more beautiful than anything man can create artistically, and even the poem we are reading pales in comparison to God's work; as devout as it is, and as much of a celebration as it represents, it is in "puny contrast" to the creation of God. Art does not reach us closer to God, but it allows us an opportunity to offer devotion to him and show awe of his creation. This is by far the most devout, Christian piece I have read thus far, and if startling in its lack of cynicism and its innocent optimism. Overall, even for the aggressively agnostic like myself, it was a welcom break from the hopeless cynicism of much of our national literature.

oh Acadia, you so fine / you so fine you blow my mind / Acadia *clap clap* Acadia

This is the first time I have ever made it through The Rising Village, because I spent my undergraduate degree (and my M.A., if I'm honest) being afraid of long poems and avoiding them at all costs. I blame it on an early and prolonged exposure to Paradise Lost, personally. Anyway, I remember reading excerpts of The Deserted Village in my third year, and being struck by the bleakness of the imagery. Oliver Goldsmith wrote The Deserted Village in 1770 to comment on the horrific state of affairs in the abandoned villages across England -- he writes of the challenges of poverty and the sins of chasing wealth. Our Oliver Goldsmith wrote The Rising Village in response to his uncle's poem and in order to show the opportunities available across class lines in the new world -- particularly in his beloved Acadia (now Nova Scotia and New Brunswick). He didn't settle in Canada, and died in England in 1861, but his respect and passion for the emerging colony is palpable.

This is a short post, because (a) it's only one poem and (b) I want to take a moment to edit Oliver Goldsmith Sr.'s wikipedia entry, because it makes no mention of this Oliver Goldsmith and The Rising Village, which seems important.

The Rising Village
by Oliver Goldsmith

Happy Acadia! [....]

How pleasing and how glowing with delight
Are now thy budding hopes! How sweetly bright
They rise to view! How full of joy appear
The expectations of each future year!

[...]

While the poor peasant, whose laborious care
Scarce from the soil could right his scanty fare
Now in the peaceful arts of culture skilled,
Sees his wide barn with ample treasures filled;

[...]

Thy grateful thanks to Britain's care are due,
Her power protects, her smiles past hopes renew,
Her valour guards thee, and her councils guide,
Then may thy parent ever be thy pride!

I find the passage I have quoted above particularly noteworthy. All the lines come from the same stanza, though I have cut out some of the intervening lines. But the passage is so interesting to me because it seems to simultaneously rebuke and celebrate mother England. The poet says, essentially, that the peasant who could barely eek out a living in England finds life, liberty and riches in Acadia. He argues that Acadia has provided the new settler with budding hopes and joys and with the plenty and the opportunities for great success. But even thought peasants are likely only to find a future in the new world, Goldsmith makes it clear that they should be aware that they owe everything they have achieved to England. It is only through England's grace that the colonies exist undisturbed, and therefore -- regardless of the toil of those who work for their freedom from the oppressive ruling class system in England -- they could accomplish nothing without the hand of mother Britain. It seems like an awkward situation -- if you stay, you are beholden to England for your failures, but if you go, your successes belong to her as well. No wonder so many people wanted to run for the colonial hills!

Overall, the poem plaints a positive picture of Acadia and, by extension, Canada and the New World as well. Goldsmith is careful never to condemn England -- he paints just about the rosiest picture ever of the class system in the UK when he writes, "Majestic palaces in pomp display / The wealth and splendor of the regal sway; / While the low hamlet and the shepherd's cot, / In peace and freedom mark the peasant's lot." What a wonderful way of saying, "Stay where we put you!" But though he refuses to condemn England, that doesn't stop him from praising the new colony of Canada for it's difference from England -- Goldsmith has respect for the freedom and the options offered to colonists and his perception that Acadia is a significantly more democratic than was England. He is careful, too, to point out just how difficult the early experiences of the settlers had been -- he seems focused on illustrating how hard the settlers worked to "earn" their freedom from class struggle. At the end of the day, though, "The golden triumphant corn waves his head." The settlers have had success, and Goldsmith makes a point of explaining in the poem the process and work involved in clearing land. There's no doubt that he respects the hard graft of the settlers in the new colony.

There's a troubling discussion of the settlers "fending off" the aboriginal population. It's a product of (a) the time and (b) Goldsmith's privileged position as an officer of the British army, but for Goldsmith the greatest success of the settlers is their ability to survive the aboriginal attacks. He condemns the native people for believing that they "still retain possession of the soil," which belies a historical misunderstanding of the connection natives had to the land... And even if they had a possessive attitude, we know that no formal treaties were signed in the maritime provinces after the Royal Proclamation in 1763, so let's face it, the land really was their own. It's just interesting to be reminded of the political viewpoint of the period -- it seems so foreign to our own.

In relation to that, there is a celebration of the faith and devout Christianity of the settlers in the new land. In the Deserted Village, I believe (taxing my poor memory) that there is a section on the village chapel falling into disuse. The opposite is true in The Rising Village, where people who possess very little, as the settlers do, show gratitude for everything and believe all their blessings to be divined by God: "While, grateful for each blessing God has given, / In pious strains, they waft their thanks to Heaven." Settlers are pious because they know that "God alone can shelter him from harm." This is something worth celebrating, for Goldsmith, because it's impressive to him that the colonies, which he seems to fear could fall easily into religious disrepair, are really a bastion of faith and piety.

Acadia isn't perfect, however, and Goldsmith doesn't hesitate to point out the areas of colonial life that he has problems with. The doctor and the school teacher come under fire as being basically incompetent, but without enough competition for their jobs to encourage any kind of improvement. There is a sense that the colonies are a good place for the poor, but there isn't really any place for members of the professional classes, the middle classes, or the wealthy. The colonies are a place to go to work with your hands, it seems, and not your brain.

Finally, there's a really odd section in the middle where he outlines a failed love story. I don't understand the purpose of this. Is there a Flora and Albert in The Deserted Village? I am unsure, and will have to look it up later.

Anon and anon, my poetry loving peers.

canadian poetry is all the rage

I needed a break from the bleakness of the modernist period, and so I shook off the modernist shackles and moved into poetry for a little bit. You deserve the truth, dear blog readers -- I'm not really very good with poetry. I kind of find it... annoying. I'm big on literature that says what it means, or that has a really developed sense of irony. I'm not really one for metaphors. I actually don't mind the stuff I've looked at for today's blog post. I find contemporary poetry royally irritating. But this is good -- I'm facing my literary fears and leaving behind novels for the next month while I work through all the poetry and drama on my list. I'll see you again, novels... On August 6th. Sigh.

Canadian Poetry: From the Beginnings Through the First World War
selected by Carole Gerson and Gwendolyn Davies

Instead of starting with a quote from the text as I usually do, I'm going to do a survey of the themes across this collection and use quotations from the different poets as appropriate. The text here is broken into two sections -- part one is Foundations, and part two is Continuations. Foundations is the colonial period, and Continuations is the confederation period leading into the moderns only so far as the immediate post-WWI period can be considered modernist in Canada.

The Foundations period is a time of celebrating Canada, and comparing Canada to England and America. Robert Hayman, for example, wrote of the comparisons between Newfoundland (where he was a governor) and England as early as 1628. Jonathan Odell spoke of leaving America and coming to Canada as the time he "renounced our native hostile shore" in his "Our Thirty-Ninth Wedding Anniversary" in 1810. The comparison to the homeland reminds the reader of the newness of Canada, and adds importance to the development of a national literature separate and apart from the poets' home countries.

The comparisons tend to focus on celebrating the freedom and the democratic spirit of Canada, as for example Alexander McLachlan writing "The Man Who Rose From Nothing" in 1874:

In other lands he's hardly knows,
For he's a product of our own;
Could grace a shanty or a throne,
The man who rose from nothing.

For most of the poets in this Foundations period, freedom is celebrated and preferable in comparison with the comforts of England -- better to be less comfortable but to own one's own land than to have creature comforts but live as a tenant. In the end, it seems, the real thing that Canada offers to immigrants is relative freedom compared to the oppressive circumstances of England / America.

Indeed, there seems to be a consciousness in the early poetry of Canada of the role of poets as nation-builders. For example, Griselda Tonge was a poet who lived from 1803-1825. She was the great-granddaughter of Deborah How Cottnam, an earlier Canadian poet, and she makes an effort in her own poetry to echo back to the work of her great-grandmother. She is on one hand simply acknowledging the good works of a family member, but she is also creating a Canadian cultural legacy, showing that there is a lineage to writing in Canada and creating a kind of literary dynasty.

Many of the celebratory poems were loosely-veiled or not-so-veiled forms of propaganda to encourage immigration to the new colonies. In 1750, the anonymous "Nova Scotia: A New Ballad" emerged to sing the praises of Nova Scotia and remind people that, in the new world:

No landlords are there the poor tenants to teaze,
No lawyers to bully, nor stewards to seize;
But each honest fellow's a landlord, and dares
To spend on himself the whole fruit of his cares.

This is clearly propaganda, but other celebratory poems are perhaps less overtly tools for the attraction of new immigrants. One example of such is the joyful "Annapolis-Royal" by Roger Viets, which was actually distributed in pamphlet form.

Towards the end of the Foundational period, a real social consciousness emerged from the poets. John Arthur Phillips, for example, focused on the plight of the female workers who were making less than their male counterparts (sound familiar?) in his "The Factory Girl" in 1873:

A man gets thrice the money,
But then "a man's a man,
And women surely can't expect
To earn as much as he can."
Of his hire the laborer's worthy,
Be that laborer who it may;
If a woman can do a man's work
She should have a man's full pay,
Not to be left to starve -- or sin --
On forty cents a day.

[...]

If she sins to escape her bondage
Is there room for wonder then.

There's also the anonymous "A Popular Creed" that satirizes the idea that money is what creates a good man, and that the worst crime a man can commit is the crime of poverty. Other emergent themes are not really surprising, because they echo from the literature of the period -- a deference to God, a focus on the natural world, natives as representatives of pre-White Canada, and a sense of optimism about the choices and options available to people through immigration. These themes in large part carry through to the poetry of the Continuations period, because Canadian poetry will likely always feature things like nature in some capacity, but there are shifts that occur.

First of all, there is a stronger sense of an emergent national identity, and with that comes the beginning of a questioning of the demands of the empire. For example, as William Wilfred Campbell argues in "The Lazarus of Empire" in 1899:

But lowest and last, with his area vast,
And horizon so servile and tame,
Sits the poor beggar Colonial
Who feeds on the crumbs of her fame.

[...]

How long, O how long, the dishonor,
The servile and suppliant place?
Are we Britons who batten upon her,
Or degenerate sons of the race?

Campbell is clearly concerned with the relationship to the empire, which is interestingly early in Canada's progress as a nation. This way of exploring the Canadian identity is supplemented by a fear of brain drain and the challenges of being loyal to Canada. Charles G.D. Roberts wrote of this phenomenon as early as 1886 in a poem called "The Poet Is Bidden to Manhattan Island." This poem about 19th Century brain drain ends with the narrator of the poem referring to the United States as "pastures new," and pointing out that a Canadian poet has "piped at home, where none could pay." In the US, then, there is financial support for poetry -- the Canadian poet must choose between staying at home to develop the Canadian poetic scene. There is a sense of responsibility in the artists in Canada in this period that they are creating a national art.

This development of Canadian poetry was really important to the works of Charles G.D. Roberts. In his poem "Aye!," for example, Roberts sets an Ode to Shelley in the Tantramar. New Brunswick is inserted into the canon, here, but furthermore the Canadian marshland is equated with Shelley -- both are considered poets in the writings of Roberts, which is an interesting idea and adds legitimacy to the burgeoning poetic scene of Canada.

Not all poets saw it this way. For Bliss Carman, for example, in his "The Ships of Saint John" from 1893, he depicts Canada as a "great nurse and mother." Canada, then, is something that gives you what you need to grown, but that you eventually must leave. In this poem, Carman makes it clear that dreams are something that you fulfill elsewhere, not in Canada. This is fitting for a writer who started in Canada but eventually settled down and became a professional writer in the United States. (In "Wild Geese," he revisits this theme by lusting and longing to be with the geese who fly south -- he views it as an exodus and longs to be a part of it.)

The other major theme that emerges, especially in the Confederation Poets, is a privileging of the rural over the urban. In "Among the Timothy," for example, Archibald Lampman contrasts the "blind grey streets" of the city with the "enchanted climes" of rural Canada. There is an emerging nostalgia for the natural world that develops as a response to the urbanization and industrialization of Canada.

I have no pretty way to end this post beyond saying that it's midnight and I'm tired. More poetry tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen.

sisters are doing it for themselves

It has been a loooooooooong day, but this blog entry marks the completion of my second-last novel from the pre-Confederation period. This means that once I survive Wacousta (doubtful as it is whether or not this is even possible), I will be finished colonial canlit. WA-HOO! Not having to read any more of this stuff is, like, a major success in my mind. It also represents the first section of my comps list that I have successfully read in its allotted timeslot.

St. Ursula's Convent Or, the Nun of Canada, Containing Scenes From Real Life
[Colonial Lit is all about the catchy catch titles.]
by Julia Catherine Beckwith Hart

As Louisa I loved you far above a brother's affection, and trembled to indulge it. My love was pure, but I feared some happy mortal would snatch from me my beloved sister. As Adelaide, I love you with increased ardour. Judge, then, if possible, the extent of my affection. I fear not death, Adelaide. It is parting with you I dread. To see you snatched away from me, by the devouring waves, I cannot dwell on the idea!

My brother, my Dudley, said Adelaide, rest assured that your affection surpasses not mine. What could have sustained me, when the unexpected discovery deprived me of every known relative? What could then have consoled me, but my love for you.

[The book is entirely composed in this schlocky, syrupy, please-let-me-die manner, by the way.]

Some books are Great Books because they are true masterpieces. Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jamaica Kincaid -- from all points in history and walks of life, we find literature that shapes the way people think, the way they view the world, and the way they make sense of their own place in history and society. Those books are great because they are texts that speak to the human condition. They are important books because they shape minds. Their power to influence, change, and inspire make them Great.

Other books are Great Books because they are historically important. They are landmark texts because they break new ground, change genres, or chronicle historically significant moments. These are books that we read because we should, because they are historical documents. These books don't have to change minds. They don't actually even have to be good. But we read them because they show us our progression as people, and we read them because they teach us where we have come from.

Part of the project of learning a field is that you have to read books from both the Great Books stacks -- the literary greats, and the historical greats. Most of the works in this colonial period are important for their historical place, but are also good works of literature in their own right. The Strickland sisters may not be scintillating to my tastes, but they craft a good narrative. Beckwith Hart's novel, however, is extremely important historically, being the first novel ever written by a person born in Canada. It's also awful. Just awful. Beckwith Hart was seventeen years old when she put pen to paper, and it shows in the most painful ways possible. Not only are there blatant incoherencies that should really have been caught by an editor (verb tense shifts, changing from third to first person, constant repetition of sentences, no normalcy in the choice between double quotation marks or single, missed words and spelling) -- or at least should have been caught by the editor of this edition and contemporized / normalized -- but the plot is really, really, really terrible. Really.

The problem for the novel rests in the fact that there is no conflict. Ever. Everything that seems like it could be a conflict is resolved by, "Everyone believes in God and therefore no one panics and deliverance arrives nearly immediately." That doesn't mean there aren't absolutely ridiculously bizarre circumstances evoked in the name of the quest for conflict. Shipwrecks, people getting shot, trapped inside mine shafts for no apparent reason, attacked by pirates, deaths, baby-swapping, incest -- it's all there. The best scene in the whole book is when Adelaide, the protagonist, discovers that she has been switched at birth with Lady Louisa -- but she was destined to marry Lady Louisa's brother, who is really her brother! Oh no! She announces it to the family, and Lady Louisa's brother says, basically, "That's okay, I was hotter for my sister anyway and now that she's not my biological sister we can be married!" And everyone rejoices at the romance of it all.

Jesus Christ.

Actually, he's a pretty major character in the novel, too; no one acts, because they are all too busy waiting for Jesus to fix things. I have no problem with people who choose to live their life in this way, but it sure as hell makes for especially boring fiction.

The other problem is that any conflicts that do arise tend to be told as stories -- told in the past tense by the person who is in peril in the story, SO YOU ALREADY KNOW HE'S OKAY AND THEREFORE THERE IS NO CONFLICT. Ugh, I am never going to get these hours back.

Fascinatingly, even though this book is written by a Canadian born in Canada, everyone still ends the novel running for England or France. No one wraps up the plot in Canada. There's talk of returning in the end, but no one actually does it. This returns me to my earlier question -- what makes Canada so easy to leave? Even people born here write narratives, in this time period at least, about getting the hell out. (I'm trademarking the term 'Get The Hell Out Narrative,' heretofore referred to as the GTHO Narrative.) And the thing is, the new Lady Louisa goes to England and retires to the country, so it's not like she's seeking an urban society that isn't available in Canada in this period. There's no reason to not return to Canada, but it just seems more natural -- even to a Canadian-born writer -- to set a happy ending in another country. Talk about self-loathing!

444444444444vvvvv90ty <--- this, for the record, is what Swift has to say about the novel.

I do want to point out what I think is very interesting about the colonial period of literature in Canada, and that is the gynocentrism of the period. Every writer of note here, with the exception of John Richardson, who wrote Wacousta, is a woman. There are clearly a lot of practical reasons for this -- men were primarily taken up with the outdoor work of settlement, whether that was the hands-on work of farming, or soldiering, or any of the other active roles assigned to men. One of the benefits of being banished to the indoors and the kitchen garden seems to be that it affords time to write. What's interesting though is that there seems to have been a market for women's writing in particular. The Strickland sisters had a brother, Samuel, who wrote a book much like Moodie's many years before Moodie did -- yet no one reads Samuel Strickland in second-year CanLit class. I can't think of a place I have seen him mentioned outside of books by the Strickland sisters. I don't know what to make of this feminized period in our literature, but I'm very sad to say that it comes to a sharp end as the Confederation period emerges.

Atwood believes that Canada has been historically a good place for women writers because, as a nation marginalized by the US and the UK, we have been more willing to accept marginalized writers or writers of marginalized backgrounds. If you think of the canonical Canadian writers, there's lots of "minor writers" (in the Deleuzian sense of writers who write from a place of reduced power in comparison with the hegemonic forces of a society): Cohen [Jewish], Atwood [woman], Richler [Jewish], Laurence [woman] -- not to say we don't have our own history of while male dominance, because we do (Davies, I'm looking in your direction, you old goat). But there seems to have always been a place at least somewhere in Canadian literature, moreso perhaps per capita than in the US or the UK, for "minor writers" to develop a voice. The preponderance of writing by female authors is perhaps indicative of this idea.

In the end, we all probably should read this book. But it's not very good. If you don't read it, I won't judge you for it. I kind of feel like reading this book should add a tiny gold star to my degree.

According to the guy who edited this book, those who dislike it simply don't understand it. Colour me confused then, but this book is one of the most incoherent things I have ever sat down to read. She claims to be encouraging "native genius" through her writing but sister, this ain't it. Reviewers at the time called this book "a reviewers misery," and I'm willing to agree that it is also a grad student's misery, too! According to one reviewer:

Had this not been the first native novel that ever appeared in Canada, no consideration could have induced us to give its title a place among our pages.

But hey, she's from Fredericton.

finally, proof you didn't have to be a giant bitch to be a strickland sister

I'm floored by the difference between Catharine Parr Traill and her sister, Susanna Moodie. When I picked up this book I was fully expecting Roughing it in the Bush 2: Rougher, Bushier, and With More Hatred for the Indians. I was pleasantly surprised to find such a different voice in this text... But let me get to the blog entry with haste, because I have to get to the gym so that I can go and see Shrek the Third having accomplished much and with zero guilt. Hot.

The Backwoods of Canada: Being Letters from the Wife of and Emigrant Officer, Illustrative of the Domestic Economy of British America
[you can tell it's a bestseller, with that catchy title]
by Catharine Parr Traill (the non-bitchy Strickland sister)

... they complain that their wives are always pining for home, and lamenting that ever they crossed the seas. This seems to be the general complaint with all classes; the women are discontented and unhappy. Few enter with their whole heart into a settler's life. They miss the little domestic comforts they had been used to enjoy; they regret the friends and relations they left in the old country; and they cannot endure the loneliness of the backwoods.

This prospect does not discourage me: I know I shall find plenty of occupation within-doors, and I have sources of enjoyment when I walk abroad that will keep me from being dull. Besides, have I not a right to be cheerful and contented for the sake of my beloved partner? The change is not greater for me than him; and if for his sake I have voluntarily left home, and friends, and country, shall I therefore sadden him by useless regrets?

But I shall very soon be put to the test.

Catharine Parr Traill is Susanna Moodie's younger sister, and like Moodie, Traill married a half-pay officer and moved across the world to try her hand at starting a brand new life with her husband. Like Moodie, she and her husband cleared a patch of land, started a family, and were poor as dirt in the new country. Like Moodie, Traill was a permanent resident of Canada, and was eventually buried in her new land -- like Moodie, she never found her way back to England.

That's about where the similarities end, however, because where Moodie retains a subtle disdain for Canada throughout her narrative, and seems to sit constantly in judgement of the people and things around her, Traill has a child-like openness and excitement for all that her new country has to offer.

The difference in the two is evident from the opening. Where Moodie starts her narrative in England, which allows for her to constantly be looking backwards to her original home and allows for a constant hearkening back, Traill begins her narrative en route to Canada. At the opening of Traill's text, she is eager to touch Newfoundland and move into her new home -- she is looking towards a new future. This subtle choice of whether to start the narrative in England or heading for Canada colours the whole thrust of the text, and determines whether the narrative will be forward-moving or looking backwards. This means that Traill's narrative is significantly more positive-seeming for the reader, who instead of reading about the author's regrets, gets a more hopeful narrative.

The narrative is also more hopeful because it is a series of letters home that refer to things people are writing to her. Moodie feels extremely isolated in the bush and is angry at how everyone back in England, she believes, has forsaken her. She sees it as natural that everyone forgets about the poor, disadvantaged emigrant. Traill, conversely, shows through her text that a connection to home can be retained, no matter how infrequent -- and this from the poorer sister, the one who couldn't send letters except with people travelling to New York who could get the letters onto the boats at no charge. For Traill, it is important to convey to her readers that all of home is not lost in coming abroad. Also, through her nature sketches, botanical research, and home taxidermy, she proves not only that England's influence is needed in the colonies, but also that Canada has something to teach and send back to the mother country. Traill takes steps here to create a Canadian identity and find Canadian-ness both as opposed to and in relation to England and the United States.

Traill also finds an important connection to the land. Where Moodie says that her major connection to the land is that she has buried her children there, and thus she connects to the land through life, Traill's connection is more creative. Traill names the plants of the new world -- calling herself a "fairy godmother" -- and thus her closest connection to Canada is through life and creation. It's no wonder she remains more positive than does her sister!

In short, Traill avoids standing in judgement against people. For example, where Moodie condemned the Logging Bee as a time and place for debauchery and drunkenness at her own expense, Traill embraces the event. She doesn't condemn the drinking, but instead understands the needs of people who work hard and expend a lot of energy. She doesn't begrudge the efforts it takes to feed the group, but instead enjoys and revels in the company and the novelty of the experience. Finally, instead of looking at all that isn't done at the end of the bee (although she does comment that she didn't know what went into building a house at first!), she is grateful for the work of her friends. Traill's positive attitude and lack of judgement make the text, overall, significantly more enjoyable to read than Moodie's narrative.

That isn't to say the book isn't without issues. In the depiction of Aboriginal people, Traill is most impressed by those who have become Europeanized and Christianized -- and indeed, Traill sees this in all the First Nations who surround her, which suggests that Traill is making a trope out of these people to support her own philosophy. Traill, throughout the narrative, tries to show the balance that can be struck between what the old and the new worlds have to offer. Where Moodie saw the "half-breeds" as embodying the worst of all possible worlds, for Traill they are the embodiment of the success that comes from standing half-way between the old and the new worlds, and they show her that the success of Canada is in European immigrants adopting those Aboriginal skills that are useful. This is certainly problematic (and somewhat userous), but it's at least a more problematic and troubled reading of the situation than Moodie's own.

a rough experience through the bush, indeed

Dear Dr. E----- P-----. Consider this my official confession that, though I sat diligently in your second-year literature class, I read very few of the assigned texts. I could likely find a reason why that was your fault, but that would be fairly disingenuous. I was just kind of more interested in teaching than in keeping up in your class. As a result, my A- in your class is the only A- that I'm actually mad about because I could probably have worked a lot harder. For instance, you assigned Roughing It in the Bush. I opted to not read it, and look at how that bit me in the ass -- now I have to read the freaking thing in two days. So I apologize (a) for making you think I was paying attention in your class, and (b) for shooting myself in the goddamn foot for not taking any notes on this book. Sheesh. Kinda wishing I had been a better student in your CanLit class, because looking at my comps list I really could have at least had an idea of some of these if I wanted to.

Roughing It in the Bush
by Susanna Moodie

Reader! It is not my intention to trouble you with the sequel of our history. I have given you a faithful picture of life in the backwoods of Canada, and I leave you to draw your own conclusions. To the poor, industrious working man it presents many advantages; to the poor gentleman, none! The former works hard, puts up with coarse, scanty fare, and submits with a good grace, to hardships that would kill a domesticated animal at home. Thus he becomes independent, inasmuch as the land that he has cleared finds him in the common necessaries of life; but it seldom, if ever, in remote situations, accomplishes more than this. The gentleman can neither work so hard, live so coarsely, nor endure so many privations as his poorer but more fortunate neighbour. [...] Difficulties increase, debts grow upon him, he struggles in vain to extricate himself, and finally sees his family sink into hopeless ruin.

If these sketches should prove the means of deterring one family from sinking their property, and shipwrecking all their hopes, by going to reside in the backwoods of Canada, I shall consider myself amply repaid for revealing the secrets of the prison-house, and feel that I have not toiled and suffered in the wilderness in vain.

Based on the title, you may be expecting a titillating romp through some sort of lesbian dreamworld -- such is not the case. Instead, Susanna Moodie has created a memoir that simultaneously celebrates and completely trashes all that is Canada. On the one hand, Moodie seems to be very proud of her own achievements in coming to Canada and finding strengths and skills she could not have imagined cultivating in England. On the other hand, she tells of pain, torment, suffering, and struggle, and begs people to stay in England if that is where they more naturally belong. Indeed, Moodie seems ambivalent towards Canada -- likely because, unlike the other writers I have explored so far in the colonial period, Moodie was Canadian for keeps. There was no turning back and no changing the mind for Moodie. She knew her family could not return, and that Canada was officially her new home. Where Brooke and Jameson were both merely passing through, trying Canada as a lark with a concrete exit strategy, Moodie is a true pioneer, having to make the best of Canada for the good of her family. Furthermore, though having emerged from the same or similar class of society as Brooke and Jameson, the latter retained their socio-economic status where Moodie had to experience absolute destitution (which in my opinion nuances and layers her writing and discussions of the different people in England). Finally, of course, Jameson and Brooke were urban women (even when there isn't much to write home about it terms of urbanity), where Moodie, of course, roughed it in the bush.

I think part of what is so interesting in this book is that Moodie is ambivalent on not only Canada, but on herself, the people around her, and even her husband. Most interesting is her ideas about feminism and the abilities of women. In stark contrast to the unabashedly feminist Anna Jameson, Moodie doesn't seem to know where she herself stands on the rights and responsibilities of women. She pays very little attention to social structures and sociopolitical matters, and indeed fully leaves the political matters to be written about by her (deathly dull, boring, and insufferable) husband who is given over to writing about three or four chapters on the specific political climate of Canada. As a result, we never get to know what Moodie herself thinks of the way women are treated in Aboriginal society, which is a shame because those observations are what offered so much insight into the views of women's issues for both Jameson and Brooke.

Moodie clearly views women as the weaker sex, and says as much regularly. But it is not merely her overt references to her own weakness and the weakness of other women. Sometimes such overt discussions of feminine failure cloak more progressive actualities -- speech being one thing, and act another. Not so for Mrs. Moodie. Most telling is the fact that she is constantly surprised by her own capabilities. She never believes she can do anything before she sets out. Whether the task at hand is milking a cow, navigating a canoe, gifting a stranger with food, or making financial decisions, Moodie is always likely to assume failure. The ridiculous thing, though, is that, in comparison with her husband, Moodie is a successful Bushwoman. It is the choices of her husband that lead to the economic ruin of the family, and it is not her husband's hard work but rather her letter to the lieutenant-governor that secures the full-time military post that saves them from the bush. Moodie has every reason, by about page 300 at least, to believe in herself and have faith in her own strength. But she continues to berate her sex and look down upon her own options, choices, and abilities. Moreover, she is shocked by her every success, and complacent with her every failure. Though her husband leaves her regularly, by the end of the book, to tend to the farm alone, she does not see it as work she is suited to, and fears failure at every turn. She tends to put this down to her femininity, which she fears is lost among the people of the bush.

One interesting social observation Moodie shares in the text is her perceptions of the Chippewa people -- this contrasts so intensely with Jameson's experience that it is worthy of note. Where Jameson was charmed and delighted by the Chippewa, Moodie is disgusted. She sees them as ugly, stupid, and unpleasant, and while she makes friends with some eventually, it is with a constant reminder of her own superiority to them. Jameson, conversely, found devoted friendships among the Chippewa, who she really seemed to see as her equals. Where Moodie focuses long sections on the appearance of the Chippewa, as though she can't quite believe how ugly she finds them to be, Jameson felt no such need. This is interesting especially as Moodie was closer in social status to the Chippewa than was Jameson by their respective points in the narrative -- it seems as though Moodie is desperate to draw a line between her own poverty and the poverty of the Aboriginal people, and define the latter group as a definite other in comparison with her own family.

Another point where Moodie shows her biases is in her discussion of the charivari. This barbarous custom is a way of punishing "disgraceful" marriages, but it's also a clear form of racialized violence -- in Moodie's account, a young black man is killed by a mob for marrying a white woman, and it is all taken as good fun by the community -- regrets are uttered, but no one is ever prosecuted for the crime. Moodie has an outward show of outrage at the custom, but this outrage is undercut by the fact that she prefaces the story by telling the reader she will turn to lighter things. She seems to tell the story with an eye to local colour, but the result is instead quite horrifying indeed.

In the end, I was surprised by how readable I found Moodie's account of bush life. A better writer than Jameson, I think -- Jameson is very much a journalist and gives lots of details, but Moodie is careful to ensure that every chapter (save those written by her husband) includes lots of interest building up to a major conflict, which gives fuel to the reader than Jameson fails to offer. In the end, I think it's a book every Canadian should probably read once... If only to be grateful for how far we have come!

Incidentally, if you want to "rough it" in the area where Susanna Moodie did, there's now a spa not far from her original farmstead. My Mum and I have both been there and can attest to its awesomeness -- certainly better than Moodie's accommodations, I assure you!

i've had just about enough of pre-confed canlit, and it only took two books to get me here

Really, I've had an assful of the whole colonial period of literature. I'm glad I'm starting out the summer with this stuff, because I think reading these books while being eaten by mosquitos would make me certifiably insane. Forseriously, has anyone -- ANYONE -- ever read one of these books for pleasure since about 1910? Argh. This is all such a far cry from my ultra contemporary pop culture studies interests.

Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada
by Anna Brownell Jameson

But when I hear some men declare that they cannot endure to see women eat, and others speak of brilliant health and strength in young girls as being rude and vulgar, with various notions of the same kind too grossly absurd and perverted even for ridicule, I cannot wonder at any nonsensical affectations I meet with in my own sex.

[On alcohol.] But all their taxes, and prohibitions, and excise laws, will do little good, unless they facilitate the means of education. In society, the same evening, the appearance of a very young, very pretty, sad looking creature with her first baby at her side, completed the impression of disgust and affright with which the continual spectacle of this vile habit strikes me since I have been in this country.

Anna Brownell Jameson was a feminist and a challenger of the status quo. According to her biography, Jameson came to Canada in 1836 at the behest of her estranged husband, who was the attorney general of Upper Canada and was hoping to become Vice-Chancellor. He needed his wife to come to Canada in order to show a steady domestic force at home to improve his chances at gaining the post; she, conversely, came to Canada with the intention of putting together an amicable divorce settlement so that she could live comfortably in England separated from her husband. Jameson never had any intention of staying in Canada, and conceptualized her travel memoir en route to Canada as a means of passing her time as she came to an arrangement with her husband.

The book itself is a series of sketches, and is about 300 pages too long. The first 150 pages or so, the Winter Studies section, is deathly, painfully boring. Jameson is essentially trapped in her Toronto home, without friends -- she comments that everyone uses the winter to do their visiting, but that she doesn't know anyone to visit. As a result, she talks endlessly about the lack of society in Toronto, and the few visitors who come by, but she's not particularly insightful in this section. She does have some interesting discussions of gender and social issues in these pages. For example, on witnessing a fire in Toronto and hearing someone approve of the idea because it will allow for new construction of brick housing, Jameson is disgusting, and comments on the folly of any government or social structure that depends on the pain of one to create benefit for another. These glimmers are interesting, but without any plot on connectivity to these sketches -- not even a discussion of her personal life, the people she meets, the friend she is writing to and so on -- it is hard to connect to the text. Where Brooke wrote a timeless love story that said little, Jameson says much without offering any common ground of connection.

The second section, however, dealing with Jameson's summer rambles, is the real meat of the book. There are two major flaws with this section -- it, too, just runs far too long, and again, we miss key information to string the sketches together. While this section is generally held together as a simple travel narrative where Jameson goes about exploring the wilds of Canada with her various friends and guides, there is never any reason for why the trip occurs. Even the expression of simple curiosity would help, but instead the reader is left occasionally wondering why a wealthy woman from England would even attempt such a hazardous journey.

There is a lot of good in this section. Interesting to me was the focus on Aboriginal people in this book -- very different from the background characters in Brooke's novel, for Jameson the Aboriginals are the driving force of her curiosity and the learning she accomplishes. Jameson writes of the Native people she encounters with far more compassion and far less judgement than does Brooke. Where Brooke's characters assert that the British bear no responsibility for the alcoholism among the Native population, Jameson holds the British to task for the situation and recounts stories of Aboriginals being involuntarily drugged with drink in order to ensure that they will trade more loosely their furs and goods. This is not to say that Jameson is without her prejudices -- she is struck by the "dirtiness" and "smell" of the Native populations -- but interestingly enough Jameson is aware of her prejudices and is certain that she is in the wrong for making some of her assumptions. She absolutely comes across as percieving herself as superior to the Aboriginal population, but she's certainly aware of the problems in her own perceptions.

Jameson is a social reformer and a feminist, and as such her view of Canadian society is fascinating because she sees both the positive and negative in the new world. She is neither fully engrossed with the world, nor is she disgusted by it like Brooke seems to be. This, for once, is not at least a tale of how to get the hell out of Canada. Indeed, though Jameson never intended to stay in North America, she actually expresses sadness and disappointment in not being able to stay. For Jameson, too, the wilderness is not to be feared so much as it is to be appreciated, and she encourages other women to take on the challenges and adventures that she has.

As much as one would love to read more about the personal relationship between Jameson and her husband, it's obvious why it's not there. On the whole, it's a more interesting text by far than Brooke's novel... But a plot really wouldn't go amiss. I'm not such a fan of the non-fiction these days, it seems.

how to escape canada without really trying

Back to the books today -- hopefully the nice weather will stick around as my reading is far more productive when I can sit out on the balcony reading my colonial literature and imagining I'm reading anything else...

The History of Emily Montague
by Frances Brooke

Idleness is the reigning passion here.

... in all respects naturally inferior to the Europeans ...

The general moral character of the Canadians: they are simple and hospitable, yet extremely attentive to interest, where it does not interfere with that laziness which is their governing passion.

... the uncultivated wilds of Canada, the seat of barbarism and ignorance ...

Who knew that the first novel ever written in Canada -- nay, in North America -- was the work of a woman? Frances Brooke wrote The History of Emily Montague in 1769, between the conquest of Quebec and the American Revolutionary War. It's an interesting snapshot, then, of a peaceful lull in the early life of a besieged colony.

The plot of the story is a straightforward one. Ed Rivers, a hopeful man seeking fortune in British North America, encounters the beautiful parentless Emily Montague upon his arrival in Quebec. It's a simple story -- boy meets girl, but girl is betrothed to well-appointed but boring suitor. Girl realizes charms of boy, and takes first opportunity to end engagement with suitor. Boy can't reveal how much he cares for girl because he lacks the fortune to make her his wife. Girl thinks boy intends to marry another. All is eventually settled and the couple seem destined to find happiness together, when WHAM -- boy's mother takes ill, and boy and girl are swept back to England where they cannot marry as they do not have the wealth to make it work in England like they could in the colonies. Family in England bands together to make it possible for the couple to wed, and just as they are settling in to a life of wedded bliss and meager means, it is revealed that girl's long-lost father is a bajillionaire, pleased by the match, and willing to hand over his vast fortune to boy in order that he may look after girl.

Really, it could have been written by Jane Austen, and the novel itself does not depend upon Canada at all for its story, themes, or characters. Canada is mere backdrop in this novel, and the Natives and Quebecois are equally wooden set pieces. The book could have been set anywhere, but that it is set in Canada is interesting for the commentary that is provided about the early life of the colony. Of note, however, is the fact that the characters themselves really comment very little on the fact that they are in Canada -- other than tangential commentary on the weather and the rudeness of the Quebecois women. Interestingly, though, Brooke seems to be aware of the interest of her readers in the culture of Canada, and so she creates the character of William Fermor, father to Emily Montague's best friend Bell, whose voice is only heard through his letters back to England about the comings and goings of Canadians. It's interesting in that these letters add nearly nothing to the plot -- we seem instead to have two narratives: a plot that could occur anywhere, be it an English country manor or the wilds of Quebec, and a narrative that is exclusively about life in Canada, almost completely unrelated to the primary narrative of the text.

I think an interesting factor here is that, while everyone in the novel talks about finding peace and happiness eventually in the Canadian wilderness, no one stays in Canada. By the end of the novel, every single character has funked off back to England to stay permanently. Indeed, the last 100 pages or so of the novel take place entirely in England, and in those last hundred pages I think the experience of colonial life in Canada is mentioned maybe five times. So as exciting as it is to read the first novel set in Canada and featuring Canadians actually written by a writer living in Canada, it's disappointing to see just how little of an impact the Canadian experience has on the characters in the novel, and it's frustrating to see that the rich experiences of a new place are treated basically as a mere backdrop to the events of the novel.

That's not to say that Frances Brooke doesn't do some very interesting things in this novel. Brooke is actually a very contemporary thinker in a lot of ways, and uses the lives and loves of her characters to argue for a number of positive and progressive ideas, including:

• education for women
• the right of women to choose their own spouses
• the importance of marriage being for love rather than circumstance or arrangement
• equality within the married home
• allowing Quebecois to retain their religion and language
  

And actually, the list goes on from there. Even more interesting is that because this is an epistolary novel (a novel-in-letters), the reader is exposed to the viewpoints of people of varying gender, class, and so on -- and these progressive beliefs are universally espoused by the characters. Indeed, the young husbands are the most active proponants of the proto-feminist ideals in the text, such as the right of women to be educated (and even the assertion that it is only socialization that keeps young women ignorant in comparison to young men). While this is a very positive thing, it is unfortunate that these views are often brought about only through contrasting with the Native populations in negative and stereotypical ways -- instead of seeing the strength in Native women's right to choose the chief of her people, for example, Brooke's Bell sees only weakness in their inability to choose their own husbands. This when women's sufferage was not even to be hinted at in England, and certainly not in Canada! Brooke is so eager to make the point of who is the better at domestic life (the white, British colonists) that she misses the subtle strengths of alternate political systems (the Aboriginal social structure that seems more focused on equality).

In short, Brooke's novel is interesting in some ways and certainly has a lot to say about the gender relations of its time. As a Canadian novel, however -- well, all but about 50 pages of it could have occured anywhere else but here, and as such it seems odd to consider it a work of Canadian literature. Like much of the literature of this period, it's in many ways a book about escaping Canada, not about settling here. Does Brooke's 5 years in Quebec make her one novel about this place Canadian? At times, the depictions of Canada are heart-warming and show a real connection to the place, but in the end the novel doesn't need Canada to survive. Canadian culture, however, may need this novel. I wonder at our willingness to grasp onto early examples of CanCon... Even unflattering ones where Canada is merely a stand-in for any miserable place that may be escaped by young lovers.