This land's still raw. Human history is barely skin-deep here,
like bird tracks on clay. It's what you were born to, it's what
your eyes have seen all your young life. But there's other lands.
Places where human history runs deep, almost down to the land's
bones, and the land's muscle is our own making. Life on life on
life, generation on generation, century after century.
Having read all of his Malazan works, Rejoice: A Knife to the Heart and even the Willful Child series, I didn’t think going back to Erikson’s debut novel would surprise me. It did. Very positively. I fell in love with this book. The quote above is the archaeologist in Erikson speaking with the mouth of Walter, an old man who has seen much of the world and learned things few people have, among them how to recite Beowulf in the original language despite not understanding a word of it.
So. It’s the summer of 1971. Owen Brand is spending the summer with his new friends, having moved into a new home, a quaint little town in rural Canada, after his father bought a gas station. He’s used to moving around and replacing his entire circle of friends. He has a history of getting into fights at the start of a new school year. He reads far more advanced books than someone his age is expected to, but this is not in any way reflected in his grades. He’s the fourth member in a group of friends who are rummaging about in the early heat of their summer vacation.
The four friends, Owen, Roland, Carl and Lynk, are all individuals but at the same time they’re all people everyone knows. In his narration Owen points out that there’s a Carl in every class, and this is true. I’ve known several Lynks, fewer Rolands. Owen looks back at me from the mirror every day. I never discovered books in a hidden room in the attic like he did, instead they were picked up from an old wooden trunk after my grandfather died, and it was the Kalevala with four-leaf clovers pressed between the yellowed pages that greeted me rather than a worm-eaten Beowulf, but there it is.
The group has tension. Lynk is accustomed to being in charge, Roland is the quiet, serious type who has known him since kindergarten and usually makes excuses for his bad behaviour on account of that friendship, Carl is small, frail, easily intimidated and utterly submissive to the bullying he receives from Lynk or anyone else. Owen is a new factor, someone who easily befriend Roland, is mostly indifferent to Carl and stands up to Lynk, challenging his rule. The two are destined to become enemies.
Spoilers to follow.
As this group wander the Canadian outdoors, they discover something shocking at a beaver dam, a dead body. The identity of this bloated cadaver is a mystery to them, as is the correct course of action to take upon the discovery of it.
One could make comparisons to Stephen King here, to It or to The Body (or Stand By Me, if going by the movie adaptation), and it’s a tempting comparison to make, King was always very good at describing kids at this age, going on adventures like these. But Erikson resonates with me in ways King doesn’t. There’s a dignity here that is missing from the more entertainment-heavy writing of King’s, an interrogation of the human condition and an excavation of what lies beneath the surface (there’s that archaeology again). Horrific things happen here, abuse, both violent and sexual, manslaughter occurs, there’s animal abuse (done for sexual gratification), there’s trauma from war that continues to haunt those who participated, the book can be just as dark as Erikson’s fantasy works, on the more grounded scale of our world. Despite all that, there’s an underlying beauty to the world as well. The beauty of nature, the beauty of people, the beauty of imagination and emotion, of language – especially language, something Steven Erikson has excellent command of even at this early point in his career.
Some portions of the book are narrated by Owen in the first person, this is his story most of all. The other POV characters are narrated in the third person, giving us insight of people like Jennifer who used to date Roland. She’s the daughter of an alcoholic father and while she may not have inherited her father’s propensity to drink, she finds other substances to abuse to cope with her living situation. Other viewpoint characters include her parents Sten and Elousie, whose marriage is cracking. There’s Walter who takes care of a boat yard and remembers the past sharply even as the future and present grow dimmer and wishes to share the stories that built up inside him over the years, and Fisk, the deeply disturbed owner of a Mink farm who has every desire of not sharing his. And then there’s Miss Rhide, a new teacher at Owen’s new school.
Rhide means well, but don’t they always? Teachers like this are a dime a dozen, always arriving at the wrong time, interpreting events the wrong way, and taking the side of the bully over the victim and never, ever considering they might’ve been mistaken, teachers who take some children’s opposition to them as personal and begin an unholy crusade in turn. Owen and Jennifer both find themselves in her crosshairs, the two people in her class she immediately pegs as troublemakers.
It would be easy to make her a completely unsympathetic villain, but Erikson never falls into that trap. There are far worse people in the book, people who do far more horrible things, yet all of them remain consistently human throughout it all, even at their lowest point they’re still capable of some level of human decency, which only serves to remind the reader of the inseparable human capacity for both good and evil: nobody is a monster, nobody is a saint. Everyone is a person with reasons for why they do what they do, and understanding these reasons doesn’t excuse their actions, yet understand them we must lest we deny their very humanity. And humanity is also what’s at stake during Owen’s battles against his enemies.
I alluded earlier to Owen discovering books, and he does. There’s a closed off room in the attic of his new house, where he discovers the mouldy remains of a library, belonging to a stranger long gone. Books like the aforementioned Beowulf, Les Miserables, Greek histories, Gibbon, books on various other mythologies, Joseph Conrad, all manner of worthwhile works, many in shape too awful to be actually read, but with the help of the local library Owen is able to obtain legible copies and set about discovering the contents of these works during the summer, finding himself challenged by words and concepts beyond his comprehension.
Much can be said about the importance of reading beyond your reading level. The challenge itself makes you grow; it makes your mind expand. A boy of twelve reading such works is feeding a hunger few his age know exists, but some do. I remember it well. Always reach for more than you can grasp with your reading, this will dig deeper the well of your soul, and little Owen’s well runs deep. He learns words those around him cannot understand, he carefully observes the minutiae of the world around him, with the eyes of one whose attention to detail will one day produce writing of his own rather than merely consuming it voraciously. He observes the natural world, he observes the behaviour of others, he observes the muscles on the mouth of a girl sucking on a cigarette. Sometimes he speaks in ways that frighten the adults around him, because the depths he draws from do not belong to a child his age. Jennifer is also a character who is forced to grow up and mature faster than her years, but this is due to external circumstances, while Owen’s change occurs internally.
‘Please, son,’ he whispered, his voice ragged.
‘There’s something inside you – it’s what you
look at when you look inside yourself. I know
– it’s drowning, I can hear it in your voice. But
please, don’t let it die. Please Owen, don’t.‘
Another quote from Walter, who shares much wisdom, a few private adventures, and a genuine friendship with Owen despite the difference in their ages. Indeed, Walter has known enough of these old souls in his day to know how precious is the spark that Owen carries, and in this conversation, he is concerned because the forces of Owen’s antagonists are seeking to snuff it out.
For so many people in life, this spark is lost not long after the age Owen is at during the story, he stands on a precipice. It’s not usually opposition from teachers (Jennifer for example may have an enemy in Rhide, but the math teacher Lyle is very much an ally who sees her talent for mathematics as something to cultivate), but rather pressure from one’s peers. The Lynks of the world, just by being themselves, drag down everyone around them. Any genuine passion, sincerity without a hint of irony, is often punished in the company of Lynks. This is not a matter of bullying per se, but rather just a smothering of a part of the human spirit that is alien and therefore unpleasant to them.
It's not really a matter of intelligence either, Owen is no super genius despite his reading and the depth of his thinking. He doesn’t apply the same effort he applies to his reading to any other subject, and so there is no fruit to harvest there. What literature has offered him is something every single Lynk in the world, the specific Lynk of this book included, could have if they simply chose to do so, but it is not a coherent thought to them; why waste your time on reading when you could be forcibly groping a girl’s breasts and calling her a slut for not letting you have access to their body? This is not a metaphor, Lynk does this. At any rate, the forces of such people are often arrayed against those like Owen who carry within them that spark, and too often the spark is snuffed and it is always a precious thing lost, a thing Walter fears greatly on Owen’s behalf, because Owen is too young to comprehend what it is that he has.
There is so much more to talk about. Fisk’s complexity as someone mourning still a dead wife with whom he was never blessed with children while also being a sadistic prick, a man who has his first erection in years after electrocuting a mink with a cattle prod, who all the same emerges as the voice of moral outrage when faced with Sten (Jennifer’s father) at his lowest point. Jennifer’s mother’s long silence as she is first robbed of her speech by a broken jaw and later by willing muteness. The thores of young love between Jennifer and Owen. The support some find with their families, and some don’t. So much, but this is already too long.
It’s just a damn good book and I can’t think of the words needed to convey my gratitude it exists.