Yesterday, I chatted about one of my favourites from this year’s Giller Prize longlist. Tomorrow, I’ll be chatting about the most talked-about from this year’s longlist, Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments, as part of #MARM Margaret Atwood Reading Month. So, today, the other books on the longlist, the ones I haven’t talked about yet, are on my mind: Michael Christie’s Greenwood and Adam Foulds’ Dream Sequence.
[One other longlisted title, previously discussed here, is André Alexis’ Days by Moonlight. My review of Zalika Reid-Benta’s Frying Plantain will be published by Prism international next month. And my reviews of the shortlisted titles are here: David Bezmozgis’ Immigrant City, Megan Gail Coles’ Small Game Hunting at the Local Coward Gun Club, Michael Crummey’s The Innocents, Alix Ohlin’s Dual Citizens, Stephen Price’s Lampedusa, and Ian Williams’ Reproduction. Other Giller links are here.]
What Greenwood and Dream Sequence have in common is a focus on characters who long for what they do not have. But whereas Greenwood sprawls, across a few generations and a few hundred pages, Dream Sequence is one of those tidy little publications that you could slip into an oversized pocket. I read the latter in an afternoon, the former claimed many hours. They’re a terrific – if unlikely – pair.
If you choose to, you can read Dream Sequence as a short realist novel. You can step briefly into Henry and Kristen’s lives and spend a couple of hours in their company and move along. “What Henry wanted was to be someone on screen, not performing someone in the theatre with its vocal projection and the strain of transformation.” And “Kristin had expected more from Buckingham Palace. Broad, blank, set back behind its black gates, it had nothing of the castle about it, no towers or turrets.”
There’s some interesting commentary about public identity and fulfillment, about social disconnect and privilege. And enough characterization to take hold. (And, possibly, identify with their dissatisfaction.)
But you also might take this passage into account: “On the corner at a cross street the wind whisked up the surface snow and spun it in a little tornado and stopped and did it again. The wind must always spin like that, Kristin suddenly understood, only now it was visible. The snow illustrated the wind and Kristin, noticing, had a little bit more of the secrets of the world revealed to her, things you can’t see but are as true as true. The world is a magical place.”
There’s another way to read this: a way in which ordinary details can suddenly become “visible”, in which you look for “secrets” in this narrative, for things that are “as true as true”. This makes it a more complicated – and more satisfying – story.
In this vein, two characters observing a painting in the London gallery are not only looking at a work of art (a painting by Velázquez, depicting Jesus Christ after the whipping, in which a child, as the “Christian Soul” looks on). It’s a direct comment on one of the observers: “And this coercion of the child, I feel it in my childhood. That is very dark…” and an indirect comment on the other (although the connection isn’t drawn clearly until near the end of the novel).
Slightly strange and disorienting, there is a dream-like feel to Foulds’ prose throughout. That could also be said of Michael Christie’s Greenwood. But for more immediately apparent reasons: it opens more than a decade into the future, with a dystopic setting.
As with many of the characters in Michael Christie’s debut collection of stories, The Beggar’s Garden (2011), which was also nominated for the Giller Prize, the opening narrative is presented from the perspective of a character who lacks power and agency in a profoundly damaged world. In this world, it is after The Withering has taken hold, and very few trees remain.
A double-spread illustration reveals that the narratives are to be visualized like rings in the trunk of a tree: there are gaps of time between them, and Greenwood presents a cross-section view, so as you move through the story from the outside of the “tree”, you move back in time, until you reach the centre, and, then, as you continue to move towards the opposite side, you move forward in time, intersecting with each ring just once more.
Moving across more than one hundred years, there are connections between the narratives and timelines and, if not answers, at least possibilities. Certainly patterns. Consider this passage, in the second segment:
“She wonders about her father and if he also drank and whether that’s what made him ‘troubled’. If he did, Jake already forgives him. Maybe she drinks because of his genes. Or because of his absence. Or maybe his genes created his absence, which created her drinking. Or maybe he felt just as unwelcome in the world as she does now, and drinking was the only thing that allowed him any reprieve. Or maybe her roots are all too tangled, and there’s no single story to be told about any of it.”
Part of the fun of Greenwood lies in unearthing connections and experiencing the leaps between events and characters, so I’m keen to avoid even general spoilers. This passage doesn’t give away many specifics, although it’s true that absence is as important as presence (i.e. the gaps are intended to be as much fun to explore as the content). This passage is a great indicator of the kind of questions that preoccupy the novel’s characters.
For my taste, Christie answers just a few more questions than I would have preferred but not so many that I feel the stitching is too tight. There’s a lot of room for imagination (but not enough to make this a puzzle novel, which I would have adored).
There are also some moving and tender relationships as well as a couple of haunting/magical scenes. And an occasional lyric line, like the way texts could “keep his phone buzzing as constantly as a pair of barber’s clippers”. And here’s another, with a glimpse of how plotty the story can be too, how a bullet might enter a man’s “back, slipping between the ribs of his left side, but it also came through the cabin’s cedar siding, so it lacked the power to exit him and now rattles around in his lung like a pick lost in the body of a guitar”.
And as a finishing touch, there is a full page at the end of the novel which outlines the efforts that publisher Penguin Random House made, so this book’s production less environmentally devastating than the average printed book. One of the questions in the narrative is this: “Why is it that people are engineered to live just long enough to pile up a lifetime of mistakes, but not long enough to fix them?” Throughout my reading of the book, I was floored by the irony of this book about the value of trees being printed on their backs: it’s heartening to see this unusual effort made towards more sustainable practices for this particular story.
Ewww people do that? Gross. Perhaps the only exception to that rule is when a tree is dying, or close to dead, and we’ve paid an arborist to cut it down for us. But, whenever we did that, I always had a new tree planted in it’s place!!! I want to plant some new trees at our house here, but they can be quite expensive, and we’ve got powerlines right by us so I may need to settle with some perennial shrubs, we will see 😉
There have been a lot of giant trees cut down in this neighbourhood in the past couple of years: it’s very disheartening. Several walnut trees, so it’s impacting the food supply for critters, too, as well as all the usual important tree business. Did you know there are also houseplants that can improve the air quality in your indoor space? (Books on this are also very clear about which ones are pet-safe and kiddie-safe too.) And I think I’ve also read somewhere that planting shrubs can be helpful in mitigating potential side-effects of EMFs when you’re located near high-voltage powerlines?
Shrubs are always a good thing! I have a great landscaper friend who helps me find things that are good for the environment (and bees!) to plant, so I’ll have to ask him about that-thank you! Unfortunately I’m not so great at keeping houseplants alive, but i really want to get better at it because they are so nice to have. And now that my cats are gone I can finally bring plants back into the house!
They really do make a house seem cozier. But they do require constant tending. And quite often it’s the kind of task that you tend to think about when you are least capable of addressing the need (e.g. when you’re about to turn out the light at night, when you’ve just gone back into the house to fetch something you’ve forgotten and you notice a yellowing leaf sigh). Also, they’re less whiny than kids. Up-side for you, down-side for the plants. You’re lucky to have a friend with expertise!
After reading the comments, I’m now scared to read Greenwood – it’s going to make me feel guilty for loving books so much. Because I also love trees! But I’m also very curious, and want to see what he has to say about it.
I’ve seen some people say they think this one should have made the shortlist. Do you have an opinion on that?
That was in me to start with – it’s really not a prominent theme in the novel. (Although it’s obviously connected.) In fact, it could sway in the opposite direction: it might make you want to collect and protect your collection even more fiercely.
I think if a jury was more focussed on story and plot, that this one would have made it to the shortlist (or maybe even have won) but this year’s jury seemed less focussed on story and more on structural and crafting elements. (Bet I know the reader you’re talking about too!)
You will definitely enjoy this one though – regardless of its placement (maybe even more than I did – because there’s a strong historical element at the centre of things). It might be a good one to read over the holidays (unless you have something else lined up) as it’s quite a pageturner.
I enjoyed Dream Sequence and, like you, read much of it in one day. A book I’m currently reading is reminding me of it in certain ways: The Heavens by Sandra Newman.
Greenwood sounds like The Overstory: many reviewers made remarks about the irony of so many trees being cut down to produce a 500-page novel about saving trees. It’s a tough one: being environmentally minded, I can see how really we should all be reading e-books, and I do read them when it’s expedient, yet I just don’t relate to the stories in the same way, and my life would feel diminished if my house wasn’t full to bursting with print books.
And as we both enjoy reading books in small bits across longer periods of time, it’s quite an indicator of just how strangely absorbing this story is!
Sandra Newman, I’ve not read, but I have her Ice Cream book on my TBR (in a long-term, vague, maybe someday, kind of way). Did you enjoy it?
I liked Dream Sequence too, although it’s quite awhile ago now that I read it. I haven’t read Greenwood, and it’s funny every review I read of it i get a different sense of what the book is like. Now, it sounds like we’ve got some gun shots??? I never would have expected that. The idea of trees withering away is a particularly frightening one I think, because when we hear all this terrible news of climate change i tend to look at trees for reassurance, like they are there to protect us somehow. I think the end of trees will mean the end of all of us.
That is funny! Maybe it’s partly because it’s a 500-page-long novel, so each reader can focus on the parts that please them? I actually didn’t say ANYthing about the part that I liked best. But I wasn’t expecting it and it was so beautiful — I didn’t want to give it away!
And that’s true: it will. I’m sad and angry when I hear about people who are cutting down trees because they are interfering with the resale value of their homes (say, what?) or making more work for landscapers (i.e. costing them too much money in the autumn when it’s time for raking – because of course they don’t have “time” to rake their own yards). So horrifically short-sighted.