Culture & Conversation

La révolution not so tranquille

Rothman delves into a chapter in our history that most have left untouched

Rothman delves into a chapter in our history that most have left untouched

My October, Claire Holden Rothman, Penguin Canada

Let’s just get this out of the way: this is one of the most politically audacious novels I have ever read. Claire Holden Rothman crawls under rugs most of us in this province have left untouched, and the dust she stirs up is impressive.

It begins innocently – if not a little lethargically. Set in 2001, Luc Lévesque is a Québec icon, a writer who has personified a parochial and noble Québécois de souche in his novels. A kind of serious Michel Tremblay, he is revered wherever he goes. There had been a collective gasp when he married a Westmount anglo – more about her later – but les gens du pays got over it and moved on. He lives a simple writing life in St. Henri with his wife and son. The mistress on the side, a young francophone publicist, lets him have his gateau and eat it too.

“There is a shocking appearance in My October of a key person from the October crisis and much articulate challenge to the dominant narrative of everything from la revolution tranquille to les nègres blancs to la loi 101.”

It’s his teenage son, Hugo, who is responsible for the eventual unravelling of Luc Lévesque’s life and, consequently, the opening of a tear large enough to let some hard truths out of the bag. While Hugo’s anger is initially chaotic, it is soon channelled into a history project by a nationalist teacher, Vien, an old friend of Luc. Vien wants Hugo to study the noble history of the FLQ and the October Crisis. Too predictable for the mercurial Hugo; he settles on James Cross, the English diplomat kidnapped and held at gunpoint for two months.

This troubles Hugo’s parents, but for very different reasons. Hannah, his mother, is the daughter of Alfred Stern, a lawyer who had sent key members of the FLQ to prison. For Luc, having all this history thrown back up in his face is just too much. He leaves the family and begins a downward spiral of frothy anger and guilt. Hannah, for her part, begins a journey towards acceptance and love. She is the conscience and heart of both the family and the novel. Eventually, she runs into her own life, “a woman in her forties running hard, the way few women do, with a purpose.” (My favourite line in the book.)

“The thrill of reading My October is akin to finding an old lover’s diary that you really shouldn’t read, but – of course! – you do.”

Hugo is undeterred. His mission to explore James Cross’s experience is a daring one, an anvil on which his own political opinions and views are forged. That each of his parents intimately represent warring views is not lost on him.

There is a shocking appearance in My October of a key person from the October crisis – who knew he was still alive? – and much articulate challenge (often in the voice of Hugo, occasionally Hannah) to the dominant narrative of everything from la revolution tranquille to les nègres blancs to la loi 101.

My October gets off to a slow start, but the details are important and inform later action. Elsewhere it feels like the effort to reveal the linguistic tensions creates awkward scenes where people eye each other a little too suspiciously, occasionally threatening to veer into caricature – not a good look for a novel of ideas and politics. In spite of this, My October holds together like an old stone house in a storm. In other words, very well.

The thrill of reading My October is akin to finding an old lover’s diary that you really shouldn’t read, but – of course! – you do. The things you find out!

My October launches on September 4th at 7 pm at Drawn & Quarterly (211 Bernard Ouest). Go here for more details.


Leila Marshy is the former editor of Rover

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