(should clean up eventually)
this was probably the biggest surprise of the year for me, in the gap between what I expected to engage with and what actually pulled me in. through the lens of rural Canadian Mennonite life, told in interlocking vignettes, it's a graphic novel that deals with one central question that anchors everything: how do inherited beliefs learn to share space with the world as it is?
the story frames itself kind of the way a play might: a cast of players introduced upfront, a unique ensemble of opinions, followed by a slow widening. as the story opens up, private lives begin to surface, belief starts to fray, and there’s a gradual revelation of how much work it takes to keep a shared system intact.
within that structure, there’s a pastor trying to reconcile his love for his queer daughter with a congregation that won’t grant her legitimacy; voices insisting that the community has drifted too far into “worldliness,” trading tradition for comfort without admitting it; a pipeline proposal that splits a town between economic survival and ecological risk, putting prosperity and preservation into direct opposition; and a local Remembrance Day colliding with a military recruitment effort at a high school
there are also simpler moments too. times when kindness appears without warning, strangers offering shelter after a roadside accident (although slowly revealing how conditional that generosity can be). new, warm, and tender relationships begin to form as new people enter the community, (particularly in Thomas’s story). moments where characters are forced to reconsider what they thought they once knew, (like when Métis characters speak about the ecological and cultural damage caused by the arrival of the Mennonites)
taken together, what tied all of this together for me wasn’t any single issue. i knew nothing about Mennonites before reading this, and i only know a little more now (and i can’t really verify the accuracy of the range of opinions i was shown). instead, what made it work for me was the way Dyck approached it all. his patience - his willingness to let stories breathe, to trust the reader to sit with ambiguity, and to allow empathy to develop over time - let me sit with the questions he wanted to ask and kept my attention while doing so, even coming into it with no prior interest in the subject and no real impetus to keep reading.
it was compelling to watch this sustained reckoning unfold. Can communities change without losing themselves, and what gets sacrificed when they refuse to? What happens to belief when the security it provides is threatened? Who is asked to bend first?