This book is the transcript of four lectures author Margaret Atwood delivered in spring, 1991 at Oxford University, part of the Clarendon Lecture Series in English Literature, which as she wrote was a series of lectures designed as “a kind of half-way house between the non-specialist public and the ivory tower – between those who gobble up the literary comestibles, in other words, and those who inform them about the structure and nutritional content.”
The four lectures basically did read like academic literature, with long quotes, but the quotes being excerpts of novels or poems (or I believe several entire poems or nearly so) still read nicely and made me want to find several of the sources quoted and referenced and read them myself purely for pleasure (I have already ordered one novel on the Wendigo, titled _Winter Hunger_ by Ann Tracy, a 1990 novel). She was quite witty and very rarely ever dry and if she was dry it was only for a moment. She also summed up and reiterated points perfectly, both helping the reader understand the points she was trying to make all while not being tedious or repetitive.
The first lecture was on the use and portrayal of the doomed Franklin expedition in Canadian literature and also about the fatal allure of the far North as portrayed in Canada’s literature. She discussed how why being lost, going crazy, and possibly if not probably dying in the frozen North was “still alive and kicking as a Canadian theme, even though most Canadians live in cities,” and how the North came “to be thought of as a frigid but sparkling fin de siècle femme fatale, who entices and hypnotizes male protagonists and leads them to their doom” (but not female protagonists as she discussed in the fourth lecture). Through a series of quotes and references, Atwood showed that early on Canadian literature showed that more often than not the North was established as an “uncanny, awe-inspiring in an almost religious way, hostile to white men, but alluring” sort of place, that “it would lead you on and do you in; that it would drive you crazy, and, finally, would claim you for its own.” It was interesting that she showed that the North was almost always depicted as “active, female, and sinister,” and also that the “Franklin story and the Titanic story have interpenetrated one another,” how one has influenced the other as far as how they are portrayed or referenced in Canadian literature. I had read about the Franklin expedition but hadn’t appreciated how it resonated with Canadian authors and readers.
The second lecture was titled “The Grey Owl Syndrome,” about “that curious phenomenon, the desire among non-Natives to turn themselves into Natives; a desire that becomes entwined with a version of wilderness itself, not as a demonic ice-goddess who will claim you for her own, but as the repository of salvation and new life” (the Grey Owl in the title name is discussed at length in the lecture, a Englishman named Archie Belaney of Hastings, England, who emigrated to Canada and became enamored with the Ojibway Indians and the North, later changing his name and his history to become Grey Owl, a world-famous naturalist and writer, only later found out by the public to not be a Native American, tarnishing his reputation after his death).
Atwood noted that this subject is “of course, a minefield,” as swirling around it is the “appropriation debate,” with the anti-appropriationists saying that non-Natives have no right to write as if they were in fact Native peoples, or even write about Native issues, or even to put Native characters in their books (or more reasonably point out that Natives “are tired of being defined and spoken for by non-Natives,” though some as ironically trying to defend Natives by saying that non-Natives should not write about them miss the point that if non-Natives never get to write about Natives, this would “render Native people invisible or non-existent in the work of non-Natives”). More reasonable still are those who say that “non-Natives – whether writers or anthropologists – should not retell Native myths and legends without understanding them,” and that “this argument is not based on genetic or racial entitlement but on knowledge and accuracy.”
Lots to digest in this chapter, from the positive transformative power of the North in many Canadian stories (such as in _Wacousta_ by John Richardson, published in 1832, where in “the British part of the narrative…[the protagonist is] a wronged and pathetic figure, but as Wacousta he is possessed of supernatural strength and ferocity, and is somehow, well, taller”), the Woodcraft Indian movement (“an experiment in boy-control”) which later was, speaking of appropriation, taken over and pushed aside by the Boy Scouts, notes on the duality of the Grey Owl syndrome (“Grey Owl is a quester in search of himself, a doomed hero who renders himself alien both to his original homeland and to his adopted space”), with Atwood closing with an admonishment to not “repudiate or ridicule…grown men playing feather dress-ups – but to take it a step further: if white Canadians would adopt a more traditionally Native attitude towards the natural world, a less exploitive and more respectful attitude, they might be able to reverse the galloping environmental carnage of the late twentieth century and salvage for themselves some of the wilderness they keep saying they identify with and need.”
The third lecture was “Eyes of Blood, Heart of Ice: The Wendigo,” the main lecture I was interested in when I bought a copy of this book. A well-done chapter, it showed a “specific case” of “going crazy in the North – or being driven crazy by the North,” with this specific case “Illustrating the extent to which Native motifs have infiltrated non-Native literature and thought,” that being the Wendigo, which is both a creature and something someone can become as in to “go Wendigo” or “become Wendigo.” Noting that some Canadian writers bemoaned the lack of ghosts in Canada, Atwood noted that the Natives saw that “the wilderness was not empty but full, and one of the things it was full of was monsters.” Atwood reviewed many of the appearances of Wendigos in novels and poetry (all non-Native as far as I can tell), providing a definition of the creature along the way, nothing it a giant spirit-creature, that it has a heart made of ice, has enormous strength, can travel “as fast as the wind,” may have once been a man or woman, and “its prevailing characteristic seems to be its ravenous hunger for human flesh.” She noted that the fear of the Wendigo was twofold: “fear of being eaten by one, and fear of becoming one.”
One of the most interesting observations in this lecture was that ghosts, in a traditional ghost story or Gothic tale, “may exist in one of three relationships to the human characters in the story.” The spirit may simply be a “manifestation of the environment,” such as say finding a ghost in a haunted house, that the spirit’s presence has nothing at all to do with the inner lives or past of those who encounter it, that it simply is an outgrowth or feature of whatever place it is found. A second type of relationship has the ghost or spirit or supernatural creature having some sort of specific connection to the person encountering it, be it a message or a reward or a punishment. The third type of relationship is that the ghost or spirit “is a fragment of the protagonist’s psyche, a sliver of his repressed inner life made visible.” She writes:
“Wendigoes of this third sort are likely to be human beings who have “become Wendigo,” who have turned themselves inside out, so that the creature they may have only feared or dreamed about splits off from the rest of the personality, destroys it, and becomes manifest through the victim’s body. These tales are tales of madness…”
Atwood noted that the Wendigo lends itself well to the first and third types of tales but not as well the second, as Wendigoes, being “devoid of language, are very bad at communication.”
The final lecture was on the appearance of women in Canadian literature of the North. I was prepared, to be honest, to be less interested in the topic, sorry to say, but it was as entertaining and well written as the rest of the book. She noted for instance that frequently female authors make the North feminine when in relation to male characters but are more apt to make it sexually neuter when the protagonist is a woman (and also that the wilderness offers renewal and refreshment, perhaps at least in part due to the “absence of men from the scene”). Atwood also noted that there are three patterns of female writers of the North, the tourist (such as in Anna Jameson’s _Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada_ which depicted a journey in Canada where she “was free to admire the scenery”), the coper (such as Catherine Parr Traill’s _The Canadian Settler’s Guide_, which “written as a warning to prospective immigrants…emphasizing “hardship and catastrophe – people were always stealing things from her or stuffing dead skunks up her chimney, or the house was catching fire in the middle of the winter…[p]eople in her books go mad, commit murder, get lynched”), and the “dismayed” (though to me all seemed dismayed at one point or another, as even the tourist admired the North “from a distance…up close it was too full of mosquitoes.”
The book _Winter Hunger_ I mentioned earlier, which features Wendigoes, is discussed in this lecture, not the one dedicated to the Wendigo, as Atwood at length discussed the book, noting:
“But what _Winter Hunger_ is really out to puncture is the concept of romantic love. The greed behind Alan’s hunger is his stifling wish to possess Diana, to posses all of her, especially her soul. He is devoured, in the end, by his own too-intense, too-selfish desires, and once again the Wendigo becomes the incarnation of spiritual selfishness, though this time with a sexual twist.”
A good read, I have never before given any thought to reading Canadian literature or was even aware of it, but now there are several stories I would like to track down. If you have any interest in the Wendigo this is a good resource to read.