This was really fucking Canadian. Schoolteacher-protagonist-on-a-farm-in-northern-Manitoba-in-the-1920s level Canadian. Everyone is lonely. The prairie winter is a metaphor for their loneliness. One dude loves flax (no, for real, dude loves him some flax) and a bunch of Swedish people are around eating fish even though they aren’t supposed to eat fish out of the sacred lake. It actually does not get more Canadian than this. This is the pinnacle. I can die now in a pile of brittle maple leaves, drowned in maple syrup, wearing a Ryan Smyth jersey. Just watch me. I have reached the Rocky Mountaintop and there is no going back.
On a bit of a more critical note, I was supposed to take an early 20th century Canadian Lit class with Ruth in the last year of my degree – I didn’t, I instead chose to take an ill-advised History of Video Games class, because I’m not great at decisions) and this was on the reading list. While I think we all agree that Ruth is the bomb.com, this book is not my favourite. I think it’s just the era, but it droned on and the same thing happened at least three times. Maybe I just have a short attention span.
Books read: 4