This was a heartbreaker. Tidewater first came on my radar when I started reading up on Pocahontas and Jamestown over the summer. I don’t read a lot of fiction, and when I do, I don’t normally get so emotional. But I cried my eyes out at the end of this one, and I found myself wishing, however fruitlessly, that things would end differently—that she would survive and live out the rest of her life with her family back in Virginia, but also that her son would be able to make the trip back across the sea, that his father wouldn’t die before they were reunited, that the fragile peace between the colonists and Indians would hold, and that the world Pocahontas knew wasn’t about to end for good. But of course, this is still history, even if it is fictionalized, and there is no changing the past.
There’s some beautiful prose here, and Hawker doesn’t shy away from writing flawed characters (something which is especially noteworthy given how most historians and anthropologists tend to idealize Pocahontas). Of the three POV characters, Opecancanough is probably the best-written in this respect, despite having the fewest chapters. There’s something compelling and even sympathetic about the man, even knowing the many terrible deeds he’ll one day commit. (Hopefully Hawker will one day write that sequel about him. If I had to guess why she hasn’t yet, it’s probably because this book came out right around when the sentiment that writers should only write about characters of the same race and ethnicity as themselves was taking hold. If that’s the case, then it’s a true shame.) Hawker clearly put in a huge amount of research about the Powhatan and their way of life, and it allows you to feel as if you’re really there in Werewocomoco with them.
Her portrayal of Pocahontas and John Smith is a bit more mixed. I love when historical fiction writers are able to come up with plausible explanations for why people behaved the way that they did, and I thought Hawker’s decision to have Pocahontas be driven by a desire for status and importance within her tribe was very clever. That said, it was a bit heavy-handed, at least in the first half. Rather than letting actions speak for itself, lots of people tell Pocahontas that she’s selfish and greedy and that no one likes her. Smith, a commoner among gentlemen, says things like “it’s because I’m common, isn’t it?” in nearly every chapter. Smith was the weakest part of the story for me, in part because his chapters felt like a detour from the main story about Pocahontas and her family, but also because I’m still not quite sure what his motivation was. Aside from a throwaway line about achieving greatness, it wasn’t clear why Smith was doggedly determined to see through a mission that he admitted he hated, nor appeared to hold any reward for him. Smith’s extreme actions are justified by his determination to save his men, with the only issue being that he loathes pretty much all of them, and half of them want him dead anyway (unfortunately, Hawker falls into the David Price trap of portraying Smith as basically the only settler pre-time skip with a brain).
I appreciated the author’s determination to depict Pocahontas’ relationship with Smith as one that was explicitly non-romantic, but something about it still felt a little off to me, almost a bit icky even. Their bond is written as fraternal, but the idea that they had a deep soulful connection, and understood each other better than anyone else in the world (another Price interpretation) was just odd. The people who actually played a much greater role in Pocahontas’ life, including both of her husbands and her son, were given much less reverence. I found myself relieved when Smith finally departed Virginia and I no longer had to read any more of their painfully awkward conversations.
Looking at Hawker’s bibliography, it appears that most of her stories about historical figures were trilogies, and I think Tidewater would have worked better as a duology than a standalone novel. As the author herself admitted, this is a long book, but there’s also a sharp tonal difference between the first two-thirds of the story and the last third. The first two-thirds are split between the three POVs and are a very meticulous account of a short period—at times painfully so. While I can appreciate Hawker’s faithfulness to history, the constant wagering and back-stabbing became very repetitive, and it made the Powhatan look foolish for continuing to work with Smith after he betrayed them time and time again. The last third, post time-skip, is almost entirely about Pocahontas and her integration with Jamestown. Pocahontas’ personality changes significantly between the two sections, and Hawker frames this as Pocahontas having chosen to give up on her childish ambitions and greediness and think of her people instead, with the irony being that doing so is what eventually earns her the fame and fortune she once craved. Pocahontas blames her ambition for the English’s continued presence in Virginia, and thinks of her marriage to John Rolfe as a sacrifice to bring peace to the region. Despite the solemnity, this is some faulty logic: as we know (and as Pocahontas herself eventually realizes) the English would have come back whether Jamestown survived or not, and Pocahontas’ “sacrifice” is essentially her consenting to wearing stuffy clothing. The other stuff—like living in a nice house, having a lighter workload, and being married to a dreamy guy who adores her—doesn’t really seem like much of a sacrifice, if we’re being perfectly honest.
Unfortunately, we don’t get to see much of this part of her life: after her wedding to Rolfe, the story skips forward again to right before they depart for London. We get to see the Powhatan and the English in their separate homelands, but not at the meeting point, the inception of what would become the United States, Jamestown. This became more of a sticking point towards the end of the book, when Pocahontas considers staying in London because it might be safer for her son (most accounts agree she wanted to stay longer in England, but usually because she wanted to do more exploring, not because she feared an English invasion). It was heartbreaking to read about Pocahontas’ fears, her pain over seeing her people diminished, and her confession that she’d rather Thomas have no recollection of Tsenacomoco than for him to see his people destroyed as she was. This, combined with having watched Pocahontas grow up from childhood, is part of what makes her death so devastating, especially since we know what’s coming.
And yet. . . Thomas wouldn’t really be affected by an English invasion in the same way Pocahontas was, because the Powhatan weren’t really his people—nor, for that matter, were the English. He was born in the Virginia settlement, and so would have grown up among a motley group of immigrants (mostly English, but also from a handful of other countries), indentured servants (black and white), Indians who decided to take up residence in the town, and a growing number of people like him, born in the colonies. And sure enough, that was the world he decided to return to upon reaching adulthood. The Americas changed because of the colonists, but the colonists were also changed by the Americas, and just from the reading I’ve done, it's clear that some settlers were already beginning to view themselves as a separate people from the homeland they left, 150 years before the Revolution.
In her long but very informative author’s note, Hawker expresses her discomfort with the idealized “noble savage” trope, but that is ultimately what she falls back on in the end. The things she condemns Chief Powhatan for—among them wiping out entire tribes, forcing young women to marry him, and separating his children from their mothers—are glossed over in the story (curiously, Pocahontas never spares a thought for her own mother besides lamenting that she too was common). For whatever reason, almost no writer wants to acknowledge just how rampant slavery already was pre-contact. Ratcliffe’s grisly death is omitted, and Wowinchopunck’s wife is sexually assaulted before being murdered in this retelling—something that, as far as I’ve seen, no historian has ever claimed happened. Hawker also acknowledges that she had to consolidate some characters for simplicity’s sake. This works for the most part, but there are a few characters that I don’t think should have been cut. One is Thomas Dale, the governor who, more so than Smith, was responsible for whipping Jamestown into shape through a brutal regime. The other, much bigger omission are the “English boys” who lived among the Indians in order to learn their language and act as interpreters. One of the boys, Thomas Savage, pops up briefly, but no mention is made of him living among the Powhatan. Omitting the boys makes Pocahontas and Smith’s relationship more “special” as the only interpreters, I suppose, but it also makes the world smaller and works against humanizing the colonists.
Anyway, I could go on for ages, but this review, like most of my Jamestown reviews, is much too long already. Long story short, Tidewater was good, at times excellent, but there was still room for improvement. I plan on checking out more of Hawker's work soon.