Northrop Frye created something of a revolution in Canadian literature by refusing to play the rating game. He treated fiction as a collective body of work, identified themes, links to the Western canon and what it all had to say about the Canadian psyche.
Under the gaze of an internationally respected critic, an ever-fledgling literature got a much needed break from the debilitating extremes of self-flagellation and puffery. Frye showed how it was possible to find literature interesting without worrying about whether it was great or not. He was, of course, an academic whose reputation was made by what he had to say about William Blake, Shakespeare and the Bible. He didn’t have to answer to newspaper editors, who have to think of readers and consumers.
Most people who review fiction feel obliged to make some kind of judgement about the work under consideration. To offer anything less than a clear answer to the question ‘how did you like the book?’ is to risk seeming evasive. Still, when a critic of novels puts out an entire book on the subject, it isn’t the judgements we look for, it’s the collective wisdom of all those solo reviews, the common themes, links, an overall feeling of what contemporary Canadian fiction is all about.
I can easily describe Terrance Rigelhof’s Hooked on Canadian Books as a long-awaited volume, not only because news of its existence has been around for ages, but because the Westmount native and Dawson College teacher has proven himself one of the most consistently fine reviewers of novels over many years. A contributing editor to the Globe and Mail’s book pages, he’s the one who gets first choice of the season’s fiction crop, whose reviews take up the most space. What he writes is always worth reading – a cut above most of the rest. (For the record, he has never reviewed my novels.)
Earlier reviews of Hooked have complained that Rigelhof raves about all of the books discussed, an odd complaint since the subtitle promises “The Good, the Better and the Best Canadian Novels Since 1984.” The man chose to talk about books he liked. Still, it does come as a surprise to find out how many of the writers he talks about seem to be dear friends. The volume is blessed and cursed with an extreme generosity of spirit. He often quotes from other reviews, sometimes letting others do the dirty work when he wants to complain, other times, bolstering his own positive views of a writer.
And yet, despite the overall very positive tone, as the pages turned, I began to sense another book – or at least another conversation – waiting to be held in which T.F. would let rip on what he really thinks about Canadian fiction. Forget the personalities, the many memories, the painful labour of creation. What does he think about Canadian fiction?
Here’s a hint, gleaned from an aside on page 182, on the possibility of a Great Canadian Novel: “… a decade ago, I asked myself which of the many talented women who write today dreamed of writing “the big one” – a novel that confronts a taboo, looks into the heart of darkness, alters cultural climates as radically and explosively as a hydrogen bomb upsets the environment. And my answer was no one – female or male.”
Or this, on a writer he considers likely to win the Nobel Prize: “Margaret Atwood is one of our strongest novelists, far less inadequate than just about anybody else…” Far less inadequate? I’m not sure I even know what that means, but it sounds like faint praise.
So, how did I like his book? Well. It’s definitely worth dipping into. Juicy, snacky. Generally sweet with the odd thrilling tartness, but hopefully not the last word on what Terrance Rigelhof really thinks about Canadian literature.
Marianne Ackerman has written three novels, including Piers’ Desire, which came out this spring.
