Sylvanus Now

by Donna Morrissey

  It was toward this end she strained as they cut through the neck and entered the arm, and she saw Syllie standing on the stage, watching them draw near.

  If the flushed look on Ambrose’s face didn’t give it away to him, then certainly Suze’s “My son, she’s the case” left no doubt in his mind who the gill nets were for, she thought, seeing the repulsed look marring his face as he caught the painter Am was tossing him, staring down at the nets.

  “Before you says anything, let me say this,” she said clearly enough. “I’m staying in Cooney Arm whether you stays or not.”

  Sylvanus beckoned toward his mother’s. “Go on in,” he said deeply.

  “I means what I say, Syllie, you never listens—”

  “And you do, I suppose. Oh, don’t argue with me, Addie, just bloody listen for once, and get the hell in. Mother wants a toddy.”

  She rose, feeling suitably chastened, and allowed him to help her onto the stage. Unexpectedly, he squeezed her hand, dropping a kiss to the side of her mouth. She stood for a second, watching the back of his head as he helped up Suze, a flush of warmth foolishly flooding her face. Cutting through the stage, she waved at Eva, who was standing by her gate.

  Waiting for me, I suppose, she thought, and hurried onto the path. Something across the footbridge caught her eye, and she stumbled, her mouth falling open. It was ripped out. The back of her house was mostly ripped out. Perched beside it was a window, a big window, bigger than the southern one overlooking the neck.

  “Well, sir,” she whispered in some surprise. “Well, sir.”

  THE SUN HAD YET TO RISE the following morning, and the sea was white, without wrinkle, beneath a pearly sky. Just the nose of Sylvanus’s boat was onshore. Tipping it onto its keel, he put his shoulder to the bow, easing it into the water. Loath to disturb the mother’s quiet on this morning, he left his motor alone and drifted instead from shore, his boat slipping quietly with the current across the arm. Closer to the neck, the mother stirred beneath him, her swells rubbing lazily against the loins of that narrow opening. Outside the head, he kept drifting, his back to the open ocean. Old Saw Tooth passed his portside, and then the scarred remnants of Little Trite. He sat forward, jolted by her blackened grass, the trickles of smoke rising from her deeply smouldering coals.

  He turned from the sight, toward the bend where Pollock’s Brook flowed out of the estuary into the sea. He remembered standing there, jigging, that first morning he’d finished building his house, and how he had wished his Addie was standing beside him, seeing how he had created himself out of the sea, out of his father’s stage, and how, if he were to constellate himself against the heavens, he’d be the swan in the Milky Way, his bowed legs its wings, and the sea of stars around him the milt from which his creation was spawned.

  He grunted this morning at the unlikelihood of such a notion. He hove on his flywheel, opened throttle, and motored quickly past the brook, past Gregan’s Hole and Widow’s Inlet and Gull Rock and Peggy’s Plate, and then, upon approaching Nolly’s Shelf, he veered straight out to sea till he could look back and see a gorge cut deep by Petticoat Falls on top of the fourth rolling hill east of the head. Cutting his motor, he stood straddling his boat, seeing in the distance the dark shapes of five, maybe six trawlers hovering on the horizon. He couldn’t turn his back today as he’d done the days before. He couldn’t spit in disdain toward their presence, curse them, hate them. He turned instead to the bulk of netting filling his bow, and started lifting the lead line that would anchor it. It slipped from his hands and he cursed, snatching hold of it again, hauling it free from the hoard of netting resting beneath it. With a good ten, twenty feet of the netting bundled into his arms, he turned awkwardly portside. Taking a long look at the mother, he heaved it overboard and stood back, a lesser god than yesterday.

  EPILOGUE

  LIKE A CLOT OF BLOOD against the morning was the red cloth his mother stood waving furiously from the front of his house. Sylvanus, sitting motionless in his rowboat, drifting about the arm, sickened. Then, with a wildly beating heart, he snatched his paddles and rowed ashore. Leaping onto the beach, he bolted up over the landwash, across the footbridge, and stood breathing heavily outside his door. His mother opened it for him. He stepped inside, near buckling from the heat and the smell of raw blood. The infant lay swaddled on the oven door as still as death in the waves of heat brimming over it from the oven.

  Is it all right? he wanted to ask, but a thick saliva filled his mouth, and he fell back dizzily, dragging in air that smelled like death; his child was born and it smelled like death. An upsurge of nausea gagged him, and he shrank back outside, laying his head against the hard, cold wood of his house.

  “Syllie.” It was Eva. She tugged on his arm, coaxing him back inside. He stumbled behind her and stood weakly as she laid the infant in his arms, all scrawny and wrinkled and red and encrusted with what appeared to be fish gurry. His vision blurred and he felt that he might be sick again. Immediately, the infant was whisked out of his hands. He watched as its mouth opened and a whimper sounded from it, then another.

  Not for nothing is it said that the lungs are the wings of the heart, for he fair flew toward the door, heeding not his mother’s cries that he stay put, and pushed through it. Ignoring the old midwife’s orders to “Get out, get out, I’m not done, yet!” he lurched to his Addie’s bedside, staring down at her face, white as marble, her hair damp upon her pillow.

  She opened her eyes, more blue than the mother’s, and closed them again, weakly reaching for his hand.

  “Sylvia,” she said. “Her name is Sylvia. Sylvia Now.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THANK YOU to biologists Michael Chadwick and Jeffery Hutchings, and to the researched work of fishery historians Cynthia Boyd, Miriam Carol Wright, Raymond Blake, and Barbara Nies. Much appreciation to Ralph Getson at the Fisheries Museum of the Atlantic in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia; to Douglas Laporte for his many referrals and errands; to the Department of Fisheries and Oceans in Moncton, New Brunswick, for the use of their library; and to John Dalton for his invaluable sermonizing.

  Thank you to the Canada Council for the Arts and the Nova Scotia Arts Council. Without their financial support, this book would not have been written.

  Thank you to my story editor, Cynthia Good, line editor Jennifer Glossop, editor Sandra Tooze for bailing me out again, my agent, Beverley Slopen, and my heart friend, Jill Aslin.

  And thank you to my uncle Bill Dyke, who stands witness to the historical drama of this novel, and to that woman, Connie Jodrey, who wept over her hoe.

  And for their appreciation of my solitude, I wish to thank my children, David and Bridgette Morrissey; my siblings, Wanda, Glenn, Tommy, and Karen; and their partners, Charlene, Lindy, Dianna, Frony, and Andy.

  And most especially, my dad, Mr. Enerchius Osmond from the Beaches, Hampden.

  A Penguin Readers Guide

  Sylvanus Now

  About the Book

  An Interview with Donna Morrissey

  Discussion Questions

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Sylvanus Now is a simple man. Born without book smarts, he nevertheless learned early on what he wants in life, and he’s succeeded in nearly everything he’s set out to do—but there are some things he can’t control.

  Donna Morrissey’s third novel, Sylvanus Now, is set in the 1950s in Cooney Arm, a small Newfoundland outport struggling to survive in the wake of national and international fishing trawlers and their overfishing of the ocean. Like all of Morrissey’s settings, this one is dominated by the sea, rocky shores, and an outport full of neighbours who can’t help themselves from sticking their noses in everybody’s business. But although the issues of conservation, modernization, and government regulation of international waters touch the inhabitants of Cooney Arm, the novel is much more a romantic love story than a polemic.

  At its heart are Sylvanus and Adelaide, a mismatched couple destined for misery. The youngest son of a fisherman and his wife
, Eva, Sylvanus is “the unsanctioned egg, the one who shuddered from her old woman’s body long after the others had been born and grown, and a month after her husband and eldest had been lost to sea.” He’s full of hope and faith that love will conquer loss, that the sea, the mother, will provide, and that Addie will eventually find happiness in Cooney Arm.

  But happiness has never come easy to Adelaide. With her pale skin, brilliant mind, and revulsion of the sea, Addie’s an outcast in her childhood home of Rocky Head, a fishing village not much different from Cooney Arm. Not that she cares. Addie has no use for the boys who smell of fish and the girls who long to marry and have babies and, perhaps, end up working the flakes. She resents the endless trail of brothers and sisters who follow her, making noise and mess and not caring that it’s Addie who’ll have to pick up after them and cook their meals. And she comes to despise her own parents, a hardworking couple who have child after child, and whose abandon in the bedroom spells the end of Addie’s education.

  Indeed, at fifteen, Addie has all but given up. Forced to leave school to work the flakes, she faces the two truths of outport life: a girl who leaves school never goes back, and without an education or money she never leaves the outport. Unless, of course, she marries.

  And so Addie and Sylvanus settle into a house built on a meadow with the door facing the woods, the window facing the sea, and a solid wall facing the town and flakes of Cooney Arm. Sylvanus has everything he’s always wanted. He’s master of his own boat and he loves and worships his wife, but changes outside of his control are occurring, both in the fishery and in his beloved Adelaide.

  As Addie begins to lose her battle with depression, Sylvanus realizes that he, too, is sunk. The haddock fishery is on the verge of collapse, and every fisherman—along with governments, corporations, and merchants—knows that “a fish once lost can never be found.” So what now?

  Caught between his desire to please his wife—his promise that she will never work the flakes—and his own desire for independence as well as his determination to treat his other great love, the sea, as she must be treated, Sylvanus must navigate his and Addie’s rocky future.

  AN INTERVIEW WITH DONNA MORRISSEY

  Q:

  Your second novel, Downhill Chance, was as successful and acclaimed as Kit’s Law. How did you feel when you set out to write Sylvanus Now? Was it easier to write your third book than it was to write the second? Do you feel you’ve honed the writing process in any way?

  With Sylvanus Now I felt less anxiety than writing Downhill Chance. I knew that I wasn’t a “one book” phenomenon. I also learned from writing the previous two books to trust the process of writing, that the difficult passages will be resolved, that the most I could do was give it time, not desert it, stay with it, and as before, it would come.

  Q:

  Sylvanus is a captivating and very likable character. He has a huge capacity to love and an inner calm. He reminds me a bit of Luke in Downhill Chance. What or who was the inspiration for Sylvanus?

  Sylvanus was inspired by my father. My father wasn’t a fisherman (he fished in his early years, and the opening passage regarding the suit on hold at the merchant’s was taken directly from my father’s life), but he was mainly a logger. He loved the woods, and I transplanted that love to Sylvanus’s love of the sea.

  Q:

  Adelaide is clearly suffering from depression after several miscarriages, yet people expect her to get over it. And, after the birth of Sylvie, we’re left with hope that she might. Is this how mental illness is handled in these outports?

  In the past—as most anywhere—there certainly wasn’t much known about postpartum depression. Depression was acknowledged, but the most a friend could offer was help with the housework during those trying first weeks, and no doubt the woman was expected to “get herself together” within a reasonable time period. Today there is much more help for such illnesses (thank God).

  Q:

  The lives of Addie and Sylvanus are constrained by their place of birth. Although some of your characters long to leave their home province and venture forth into the wider world, very few actually do. What is it that ties them to their homes?

  In most of the outports in Newfoundland, travel was exceedingly difficult during the fifties and early sixties. Newfoundland has ten thousand kilometres of coastline. There were few roads during those early years, and fewer dollars. It wasn’t until those outports became integrated with a cash economy and the outports linked to larger communities did travel become prevalent. And too, Newfoundlanders are known for their deep familial ties.

  Q:

  You write about fishing and the fishing industry, and life on the flakes or in the plants, with such clarity. How did you research this aspect of the novel? How do your own life experiences manifest themselves in your book?

  I grew up in the outports, where fishing and curing and flakes were a part of everyday life. I also read quite a few books on the industry during the researching of this book. Two years preceding my university years I worked in a fish plant. This was invaluable to me in describing Adelaide’s experiences.

  Q:

  Themes from the Bible run through all your novels, including Sylvanus Now. Why? Which comes first when you’re writing—stories and passages from the Bible, or the story itself?

  I love the imagery and profundities found in the Bible. It gives such strong impressions and says so much more than mere words. Story always comes first. Imagery from the Bible helps strengthen the story.

  Q:

  Since Sylvanus Now was first published, the public perception of our need to act on environmental issues has heightened dramatically. If you were writing this story today, would you change anything?

  No. Sylvanus Now is about character and the impact of the devastation of the fishery on his life and that of his family. I don’t write to give messages. I write to tell stories.

  Q:

  One review of Downhill Chance commented that there’s no mention of the greater political situation in Newfoundland. There’s no talk of Joey Smallwood; people aren’t “ferociously political.” Why is this? Why aren’t your books more political?

  I write about characters who are near to my heart and to my experience. Given that I have not been politically inclined, there has been no need to delve more deeply into the political scene.

  Q:

  Your characters seem particularly real, and much has been said about your expert use of the Newfoundland dialect in the novel. How did you go about crafting characters and dialogue that ring so true?

  The Newfoundland dialect isn’t a thing I need to craft, as it is still very much present in the outport where I was born and raised. I continue hearing it every day from my brothers, sisters, aunts, etc. We always speak in dialect when we’re together. Times when I’m writing and I go too far afield, I simply close my eyes and listen for one of my aunts’ or my 333 uncles’ voices and there it is … a whole sentence, a thought, totally rewritten in that beautiful, metaphoric manner the outport Newfoundlanders so casually call upon.

  Q:

  What They Wanted, published in 2008, continues Addie and Sylvanus’s story. It’s the first time you’ve followed up on some of your characters. What was it about Sylvanus and Addie that made you want to return to them? Has their story ended with this last book?

  What They Wanted was supposed to have been part two of Sylvanus Now. But a book has a way of dictating what it wants, not what the author wants. Thus, there wasn’t room for What They Wanted in Sylvanus Now. It demanded its own covers. Stubborn, eh?? And I’m not sure if their story has ended. Well, actually, I know their story hasn’t ended. But will it continue in the characters already put forth? I don’t know yet.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Why do you think Morrissey named her main character Sylvanus Now?

  2. Sylvanus knows he isn’t good at math, but that he has other smarts. He knows how many cords of wood it takes to fill a crawlspace and how long it
takes to cure a fish in brine. Addie, on the other hand, laments that she can’t go further in her education. But given their prospects, is a formal education a good thing? Would Addie have been better off without learning things that lie beyond her own reality?

  3. Sylvanus feels proud when he releases a mother fish, her belly filled with roe. Where do you think Sylvanus gained his respect for the natural world? How can pride be used to motivate others to respect the environment?

  4. Morrissey once said in an interview, “People either had to compromise who they were or leave, which was also compromising who they were. It was either be exploited or become an exploiter.” What do you think Sylvanus and Addie should have done when faced with this choice?

  5. Sylvanus can’t imagine leaving his home; it would mean leaving behind too large a piece of himself. Do you think this is the result of living in a small community? Does it hold true for you?

  6. It seems commonplace for people to lose their loved ones to the sea in Newfoundland. Eva handled it by taking walks by herself. Do you think, though, that she’s really accepted the death of her son and husband?

  7. The Trapps are clearly the villains of the novel. Do you think they deserve the treatment they receive?

  8. What do you think of Eva’s “widow’s walk” and the idea of marking the steps of “those still labouring”?

  9. Addie and Sylvanus finally succeed in their struggle to have a baby. How do you think Addie will fare as a mother? Will their child face similar disappointments in life?