Hello Gentle Reader
Gardening has never been my forte. Weeds and flowers all look the same, to me in some degree. They were green when they started. They all have leaves. They all survive by the same biological laws. The same laws force them to cast shadows as my own. Yet it's the act of pulling. Selective acts of destruction. Passing judgement of what lives and what goes. It's in an act of discrimination. Some people find it a very tranquil experience. The act of pruning, weeding, pulling - all of it an act of being one with nature; but also a simulation of control. If nature is left unattended, it sprawls and grows wild. This than forces it to implode on itself. Organisms within itself begin to fight for control and dominance. Some win and some loose; and the concept of creation by the dying out of the older or the weaker takes hold. Life and renewal, comes and passes as the changing seasons. A quartered cycle, that spins ever so slowly like a lazy Susan. In it though one sees perfect balance of predator and prey. Social Darwinism at its finest. The strongest do survive, because they are the fittest to survive. Eventually it makes sense why such wonders of nature do what they do. Why plants crawl up larger more sturdy trees and structures to reach sunlight, and absorb moisture in the air. Then comes the reasons why some plants eat - literally digest in the manner of an animal; and why prey and predators are equipped with their own unique survival skills. Yet its human beings who think we have won. We have prevailed over this unnecessary unruly sprawl. We are now the stewards of nature. Quick to pull the weeds and toss them aside. Cut worms and maggots, and other pests are quickly disposed of with chemicals. Gophers/ground hog/prairie dog are always fighting against the attempts of their extermination. Even their name is compatible with cowardice and being a pest. The very act of cruelty is even encouraged. Running them over with cars. Shooting them with pellet and airsoft guns. Yet we are outraged when the natural order takes vengeance on us. Coyotes that slink into yards at night, killing cats to feed themselves and their pups. Birds that steal food. Raccoon's breaking and entering. The natural world intrudes on our own world, as much as we intrude on its. Still in the end, gardening is something that I love and yet something that is out of reach for me. Admiring the finished product is about as far as my gardening goes. For the most part, the rough work, of weeding is far too interesting. I am more interested in to knowing what makes a weed a weed; and their own unique characteristics, the characteristics of all plants.
Gerbrand Bakker is a gardener by trade. Though not a tamer of nature; but more of an admirer of nature itself. Yet in the end he has become a writer. Though there is a physical understanding to his writing. The natural landscape often becomes a mirror to the psychological landscape, and the meditations of daily life, often become suspenseful actions. Actions one drudgingly does. Chores become labour meditations: feeding sheep, picking eggs, and milking cows. Actions, that speaks of regrets. Of a path that was not meant to be taken. Yet small consolations come. Often in the smallest of miracles. Gerbrand Bakker is an author who in his writing contemplates. His pace is extremely slow. Yet not painstakingly; all because he is not a long winded author. Gerbrand Bakker writes in cool laconic prose. He cuts the fat, and doesn't mince words. He is an author of direct and decisive story telling. It reflects that of the main character Helmer; a lonely mid-fifties farmer. He's cold and appears rather directionless. He's not one to open up much. He doesn't talk much. Instead he's a casual and at times detached observer. The farm imagery becomes a rhythmic beat that, flows underneath the narrative. Quietly always there - with a feeling both resentment and being the only world that is known, much like Helmer describing his now elderly and sickly father:
"He sat there like a calf that's just a couple of minutes old, before it's been licked clean: with a directionless, wobbly head and eyes that drift over things."
Yet Helmer's coldness to his father, which borders on cruelty often, makes one very apprehensive of him. Denying his father basic necessities - seeing a doctor; and what would appear to be food and water, with a cool reply "sometimes I get hungry," or "sometimes I get thirsty," - all leaves one with a sense of a very casual cruelty. Then in just a few pages time, we are given the memory of this same, weary eyed, vague man; running over stray kittens in a bag. It's this quick sense, of revelatory story telling through immediate and often carefully sketched details, that one can begin to understand, that Gerbrand Bakker's characters do not inhabit the plain world of black and white, but rather are residents of the ambiguity of the grey area. As their actions often, talk of a different man of both the past and the present. It is also this kind of irony that quickly reveals the emotional landscapes in which the characters reside. This contrast works well, within this observant novel. It is in these regards that the novel was first born; as Gerbrand Bakker points out, the initial concept of the novel came from the idea of a son doing something horrible to his father. In those regards, Helmer has done just that. He's packed his father away. In a sense he places him out of the way. He becomes out of sight and out of mind. Yet his presence, hovers over the house like an oppressive shadow.
Helmer quickly gets to work through the beginning of this novel, of changing the home. He rips the carpet up, paints, removes the clutter. Everything he can do, that becomes symbolic of changing the home of what it was, and burying his own past away. This is how this novel works. Much of it is rooted in the past, and how it works its way into the present. Helmer's twin - Henk and his accidental death; their own different personalities, and a longing - that almost appear like Helmer is incomplete. When Henk died in a car accident, which happened thirty some years prior to this novels present events, there is a feeling that it just happened yesterday. Yet it's not a dour novel. It very well could be; but Bakker has a sense of humour. It's not outrageous or loud; but it is there and offers for a lightheartedness. It's the few rays of sunshine that comes through the thickness of the fog of this novel.
That being said it's the routine of this novel. The constant feeling that everything happens, because it has always been that way, predominates this novel. The milking of the cows; the yearlings; feeding the animals; getting up at five thirty - it all runs like clockwork. This timelessness is also commented on. How the farm could survive throughout the years, and never truly change. As pointed out by an observer by a canoe:
"It's here on this road now, but it might just as well be 1967 or 1930."
It's these abrupt superficial changes, that at first don't appear to have much meaning; and are just mundane actions; but as pointed out before Bakker is a driven and a purposeful writer. He doesn't waste time or words, with overtly wasteful things. I suspect he (as Wisława Szymborska pointed out once) that he has a trash bin. There are moments, where the two young boys from the farm over, Teun and Ronald and their slightly nosey mother Ada with the hair lip; appear to offer the sense of family that Helmer himself wished he could have had; and maybe should have had. These moments, usually in the form of Ada, that often allow for welcomed disturbances, and even humour.
This novel could have been overdone; overtly dramatic and dour and trite. It is though none of these. With humour, and a slow revealing plot, and straightforward matter of fact way, of telling the story, does the story truly achieve in an essential form a high regard of realism. The thoughts and actions orbit the everyday actions and chores. It is with these actions that he allows for the story to be more human and ordinary. It's that quiet peacefulness that holds this story and makes it a moving one at that; and so excellent. The tension of the family is evident and clear. Each character is carefully drawn. Helmer's father was (and presumably is still) a hard old farmer; who had to work hard at his life, and sees no purpose in life without hard work, and that it alone should be paid for. Helmers deceased mother, a bleeding heart of a creature, exemplifies Helmers companion of childhood. Then there is the old farm hand Jaap who becomes a substitute father figure. Even though Helmer is the oldest of the twin by a few seconds, it has always been Henk and Helmer. Henk was the outgoing one. He was in all definitions and observations: their father's son. He would take control of the farm; as that is how it usually goes and continues to go. Helmer admits he never knew what he wanted. These flaws and foils as well as alliances make for an interesting family dynamic.
One thing one will notice with this novel about farm life is it is not by any means what one expects. Coming from a small town in Western Canada, surrounded by farmers and their cousin the redneck; is that this novel does not fall into masculine stereotypes of western novels or films. There is no horses, bucking or riding; no running with the bulls or rodeos. It's a quiet novel, that contemplates family, regrets, and in many ways life in general. This is probably what led to a lot of enjoyment in this novel. As a reader, I am not being confronted with images and stereotypical attitudes that I personally could find back home. Bakker also allows for a more symbolist and imagist like moments to be incorporated into this novel. Especially with the arrival of the hooded crow. Yet they are not over-handed they are ambiguous, though at first impressions they can become slightly, a bit of annoyance. Though in time these visual references and images; as repetitive, as they become; also become more poetic in their own right. Much like Helmer repeating the names of places in Denmark before he goes to bed, becomes a verbal repetitive ritual, of both absolutely no meaning other than places he has not been; and yet holds weight on its own, and speaks volumes of his character and a certain feeling of longing for somewhere else; someplace different:
"I close my bedroom door and go over to stand in front of the map of Denmark. "Helsingor," I say. "Stenstrup, Esrum, Blistrup, Tisvildeleje." Five names spoken slowly are not enough tonight. I do a few extra islands. "Samso, Aero, Anholt, Mon."
Yet things get interesting with the arrival of Henk's old girlfriend and fiancé Reit; after her departure years ago by Helmer's father; after the accident; and it gets even more interesting with the arrival of her son Henk. Who in a sense reawakens Helmer's feelings of being a twin; and the missing half of his and of who he is and was. In all it's a story of regret. Told and painted in varying shades of grey. Though despite that it's a incredibly optimistic novel in its own way. Helmer seems cut off and shut in his own daily routine, yet is surprisingly warm and communicative after a while, and in truth human. All the characters act as if they were real people. They have no meaning to their actions; yet they're emotions and actions do not become disjointed or melodramatic. They are not exaggerated or capitalised on. They are shown and then through. Bakker is a novelist and writer who shows not tells. Yet his dialogue is acute and well sketched. Minimalist and written as need be. The conversations themselves could be and are imitations of conversations one has in real life. Short and simple; with an often business like transaction to them.
This is a delightful read. Meditative and slow paced. Simplicity is key and yet not a no-brainer or simple tale. It's intelligent but does not flout this intelligence. It's revelatory by slow details, coming to light. Drop by drop they create the story. With humour that splashes the pages Gerbrand Bakker, allows for an optimistic and quiet novel. One that is shrouded in the grey mists of the landscape, and of the emotional landscapes of the characters. It is in the end a wonderful pastoral realistic simple tale with surprising depths. Truly a great debut of fiction; that shows a very mature author who can deal with the physical and the psychological in a fluent and lucid graceful way.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
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M. Mary
