“I remember reading somewhere a theory to the effect that
each member of the family has a role—‘the clever one,’ ‘the pretty one,’ ‘the
selfish one.’ Once you’ve been
established in the role for a while, you’re stuck with it—no matter what you
do, people will still see you as whatever-it-was—but in the early stages—according
to the theory, you have some choice as to what your role will be.”
In this novel, the narrator recognizes the tight
compartments that family members assign to one another, yet when she goes on to
describe how her eldest brother was assigned the troublesome , irresponsible
type, she has no awareness of how grimly determined that brother is to smooth
the family chaos, to hold himself responsible for their emotional, physical and
spiritual growth.
The family lives on the edge of Crow Lake, an isolated
community in Northern Ontario. After a
family tragedy, the eldest brother does his best to hold his family together, even
if it means sacrificing his own goals and freedom. Because he has never been her favourite
brother, the narrator pays less attention to him than to her other brother, the
one she adores. Both brothers are
steadfast and caring, both equally deserving of her love.
Crow Lake is an
honest depiction of family life—the toddler never cries but roars enraged and
smashing saucepans around on the floor, diapers are left stained, carrot
peelings fall where they may.
Descriptions of the terrain are luminous, and the times resonate. The narrator is mostly recalling the tragic
events of her childhood from the viewpoint of the emotionally repressed
research scientist she has become. Her
field of research is aquatic biology, sparked by the many childhood trips to
the local ponds with her elder brother who showed her the miracles within the
teeming life forms found in the deep green waters. In her adult life, the narrator no longer
shares any miracles with this brother; her feelings of awe and adoration have
broken down to resentment and despair.
Between the vivid descriptions of family and place, Lawson
builds terrific suspense. From the onset
we know that tragedies will occur, but they aren’t necessarily predictable. Early into the novel the narrator wryly tells
us the three rules her family had always held: ‘Thou shalt not emote,’ ‘Thou shalt not admit
to being upset,’ ‘Thou Shalt on No Account Explain Why.’ These rules figure into the family traumas
and tragedies, but are not the complete source of the pain the family
endures.
As far as literature therapy goes, if you’re struggling with
a family member who isn’t fulfilling expectations, or worse still, if you are
the family member who isn’t conforming, this could be an excellent read for
you.
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