Jean Rivard - University of British Columbia

Books in Review
Archie's eyes looked at nothing, at the
chopped hair in front of him, at the hoofprints
of the horses in the snow, looked
out of the photograph in the tray. I see
them in the dark. You see them. The
squinting eyes of little Archie McLean.
The transition from the historical moment
of Archie's execution to the squinting eyes
staring out from the developing fluid of a
photographer's tray captures the novel's
theme—and its narrative method. The
effect is not unlike that achieved by the
ironic narrative asides, which, by interjecting
a sudden shift in perspective, violate
chronology and encourage the reader to see
each scene as the product of multiple contexts.
Here we are asked to bear witness not
only to the execution, but to the photographic
token which, like all narratives, is
always in the process of developing. We are
also reminded of Minjus' observation that
"When they hanged these boys they were
going to weigh shadows. They were going
to hang images."
This is a novel about the intercession of
storytellers and language, about the need to
translate the story across space, time, and
the boundaries of genre and medium. Like
the nineteenth-century photographer who
"ducked under his black hood and transferred
[the McLeans] to silver," the narrator
looks into the blackness of the McLeans'
lives to reveal the forces that conspire to
write the brief history of four Canadian
outlaws. The success of the novel—and it is
a wonderfully successful complement to
Bowering's Caprice—depends upon the
author's ability to tell multiple stories at the
same time, like a juggler creating and sustaining
a meaningful pattern by keeping the
narratives moving—keeping them in the air.
The story of the McLean Gang develops
at the intersection of multiple plot lines
and narrative perspectives. What we learn
to read is not the "history" of the McLeans,
but a story about the limitations and consequences
of following one narrative too
closely. The McLeans, for example, do not
see a future for themselves except in terms
of imported frontier myths; white society,
in turn, cannot see the McLeans as anything
but "breeds." Failure to see the whole
picture leads to a kind of blindness involving
prejudice and despair.
As readers, too, we are challenged to see
things differently. Those looking to get to
know the McLeans as fully realized characters
may find themselves initially disappointed,
for, according to traditional realist
notions of character development, the
brothers hardly exist. Such readers will
almost certainly find themselves frustrated
by the many narrative interruptions and
interludes that disrupt the linear progress
of the McLeans' story. If we look beyond
the particulars of the characters and the
drama of the moment, however, we discover
a complex, collage-like narrative
about the political, legal, racial, economic,
and linguistic constraints that backed four
young men into a small, obscure corner of
Canadian history.
Trains and Tradition
Donald MacKay and Lome Perry
Train Country: An Illustrated History of
Canadian National Railways. Douglas &
Mclntyre $45.00
Vi Plotnikoff
Head Cook At Weddings and Funerals and Other
Stories ofDoukhobor Life, Polestar $14.95
Reviewed by Bryan N.S. Gooch
In an age of jet travel and high tech it is
easy enough to forget—or to take somewhat
for granted—the earlier reliance on
railways and on the strength and courage of
people who surveyed the lines, often
through difficult terrain, and those who
built, maintained, and ran the systems that
bound this land across its wide span.
Donald MacKay and Lome Perry in Train
Country offer a readable and accurate
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