Michael Ondaatje’s In the Skin of a Lion
Knopf, 1987
I first read this as a teenager. I’d already been reading a lot of adult literature, even if I was still regularly re-reading childhood favourites like the Anne books and still discovering some classics like K.M. Peyton’s Flambards stories and John Christopher’s Tripod series. (Did you read these too?)
But the bulk of my adult reading was true crime and popular fiction, everything from Danielle Steele to Sidney Sheldon to Stephen King. Also in the mix, however, were novels like Timothy Findley’s The Last of the Crazy People, Margaret Atwood’s Life Before Man, Robertson Davies’ Fifth Business, and Michael Ondaatje’s In the Skin of a Lion.
And how I loved In the Skin of a Lion. I remember browsing the shelves of the university bookstore a few years later and being astonished to find skinny books of poetry by Michael Ondaatje, thrilled to have found “more”.
I gushed and gushed and gushed some more. And I was positively stunned that not everybody loved this book. That some people decidedly did not love the way that this author worked with words, played with words, made words do things that I hadn’t thought they could do. (Maybe this disbelief never completely disappears? When you fall hard for a book, sometimes it seems impossible that other readers might feel differently.)
But I read The English Patient when I was in university. I picked it up and put it down again so many times — around papers and quizzes, exams and labs — that I lost the threads. (Not the way to read this author’s work: I realize that now.)
But I didn’t love it the same way that I had loved In the Skin of a Lion. So as the years past, I started to wonder if maybe my love for In the Skin of a Lion wasn’t a matter of innocence rather than experience. I started to worry that, if I re-read it, I might not love it.
And yet, when I picked up Amy Lavender Harris’ Imagining Toronto, it seemed that she loved it too. It was just the kind of encouragement I needed. And re-reading it was just the kind of re-reading I wanted. My love for In the Skin of a Lion remains intact.
And, in many ways, this novel is a love story. Love between people and love between people and places. So it seems a fitting choice to share some quotes from this novel on Valentine’s Day.
From Nicholas Temelcoff:
“He is aware of her now, the twin. What holds them together is not the act which saved her life but those moments since. The lost song on the radio. His offhand and relaxed flattery to a nun with regard to her beauty. Then he had leaned his head back, closed his eyes for too long, and slept.”
From Patrick Lewis, about Union Station in Toronto:
“Now, in the city, he was new even to himself, the past locked away. He saw his image in the glass of telephone booths. He ran his hands over the smooth pink marble pillars that reached up into the rotunda. This train station was a palace, its niches and caverns an intimate city.”
And, about a couple in the novel:
“His room when they got there was full of bright daylight and traffic noises came through the open window. they slept almost immediately, holding each other’s hands.”
And another couple:
He has come across a love story. This is only a love story. He does not wish for plot and all its consequences. Let me stay in this field with [her]…
And, yet another couple:
He removes nothing. Only the chemise she withdraws from, as if skin. He carries nothing but the jewellery pinned to his arm, a footstep of blood on his shoulder. The feather of her lip on his mouth.
A last plate tips over to the next shelf. He waits for her eye to open. Here comes the first kiss.
(And, no, there aren’t quite that many characters as the number of quotes from couples up there might lead you to believe, but I don’t want to give anything away. Some of the love-lines overlap in this novel.)
Have you read this novel? Have you been anxious about re-reading something that turned out to be just as amazing as you’d hoped?
I second your sentiments completely. I love love love this book and read it first as a teenager. I’m still trying to get through the English Patient – I keep picking it up and putting it down and as you said “losing the threads”
Kate: I find your comment intriguing because I think that, had I read TEP with the same intensity that I approached ITSOAL, both as a teenager and on this recent re-read, which took place in short order too, I could well have enjoyed it just as much. I’m wondering if perhaps his style simply requires a particular attentiveness; when I turn to his more recent novels, I’ll aim to set aside a chunk of reading time to see if that holds true.
Olduvai: Bear in mind that part of the gushiness comes from my love for this city, which is like a character all its own in this novel. If you love another city, parts of this will resonate for you anyhow, but ‘net searches would also bring up historical and contemporary images that might bring the tale to life in another way. (Especially of the construction of the bridge and the plant.)
Aarti: I hadn’t thought of Anil’s Ghost being assigned reading. I definitely need to make time for his more recent novels!
Nathalie: That’s my favourite too. My Viaduct crossings (which used to be a daily event) brought this novel to mind, yes, but also Dionne Brand’s What We All Long For. Perhaps ALH will tell me if I should be thinking about other Viaduct reads!
Bibliblio: Let me know if you’d be interested in co-reading the Tripod series. I would love to revisit them! And I agree that a book that alters us in some way is more likely to retain a certain significance for us, even years later, even hundreds of books later.
Thanks for all the comments!
I think that our perceptions of books are often consistent with when we read it and how it may fit into our reading lives at the time. Maybe we’ll occasionally be disappointed by objective quality (mostly, I think, in books we enjoyed, less so books that inherently altered us), but for the most part I feel that readers do hold onto some of their original impressions of books, even many years later.
Interestingly enough, I recently came across the Tripods series again and wondered why I remembered hating them, yet reading them all the way through. I’ve been contemplating reading through the whole series again and I’m actually really curious to see what my impression will be…
My favourite passage is from the prologue: “This is a story a young girl gathers in a car during the early hours of the morning. She listens and asks questions as the vehicle travels through darkness. Outside, the countryside is unbetrayed. The man who is driving could say, “In that field is a castle,” and it would be possible for her to believe him.” I never cross the Bloor Street Viaduct without thinking of this book.
I’ve only ever read Anil’s Ghost by Ondaatje. I read it in college and don’t remember exactly how I felt about the book itself, but I remember that reading it really made me much more interested in learning more about Sri Lankan history, so it clearly sparked an interest!
I’ve always felt kind of neutral about Ondaatje. English Patient wasn’t too bad. Didn’t really like Anil’s Ghost… but I am intrigued by your gushy love for this book! It’s now firmly on my TBR list.
I love this book too, but not as much as I love The English Patient. I read The English Patient back in first year university and couldn’t put it down – I remember finishing it (in the middle of a calculus tutorial!) and immediately turning back to the first page and starting over again because I didn’t want it to end. I picked up In The Skin of a Lion not too long after; and while I still loved it, it didn’t have the same magic as The English Patient. I have not enjoyed Ondaatje’s later books as much (Anil’s Ghost, Divisidero), but haven’t given up on him and look forward to his newest book scheduled to come out later this year.