The Other Side of the Bridge

I enjoy reading books when they span several generations. This book does this with a great story.

There will be debate about which is the better book, Mary Lawson's first novel, Crow Lake, or this second, The Other Side of the Bridge. Both are quite well-written, engaging, readable, and memorable enough that I wanted my own copies to re-read, having initially read library copies. If I had to declare one better, it would be The Other Side of the Bridge, as more fully realized from start to finish. The characters are believably alive and humanly real, and what happens in their lives is equally believable. I'm sometimes reminded of Willa Cather, who created people I might have known in a setting unfamiliar to me. I'm looking forward to Mary Lawson's next novel.

Mary Lawson is a remarkable storyteller - her two novels to date are superb. She has a straightforward style but as other reviewers have noted there are moments of great poetry. Her subtle use of language is in keeping with the broad, open, evocative landscape she describes. She is truly an author whose works I wish were twice as long as they are. How well she has understood the rivalry at the basis of this story! And how carefully she has balanced the twin generational timelines, the shocking effects of war on a small community, the daily grind of farm labour. She is most certainly a major writer, one to watch.

..and was finally rewarded with this beautiful book. And no, it's not quite as wonderful as Crow Lake, but darn close. I have always been angered by the parable of the Prodigal Son, wondering why the son who stayed at home was less important, less valued than the son who went away. This book explores that old parable and sets it on its ear. I won't bother with a plot synopsis, because others have already done that. I will talk about the difficult task the writer has set for herself. She tells a large part of this story from the viewpoint of the least interesting character, Arthur. Such is her gift that even though we are seeing the world through the dumbfounded eyes of the good son who remains on the farm, we still understand the pain and complexity of the emotional life swirling around him, even though it is almost completely lost on Arthur. I'm not quite sure how Lawson carried it off, but I can say that if you loved Crow Lake, you will not be disappointed.

This, Mary Lawson's second novel (her worthy) first is Crow Lake), is a flat-out stunner. A story quietly told but laden with tension and anxiety, beauty and depth. It will stay with me for a long time. It is sure to be my list of year's best reads. Will be giving it to friends over the holidays, too.

From childhood, Arthur Dunn is burdened by his size and doleful personality. Living on a farm in remote Struan, in northern Canada, Arthur and his younger brother, Jake, make an uneasy peace with their differences: "Jake was a subtle bully, a devious bully." Jake has been blessed with a sunny personality, articulate and charismatic, his mother's blessing, a shining son with a world of promise ahead. In contrast, Arthur toils beside his father on the farm, but suffers the ignominy of a sluggish mind through years of school he endures for his mother's sake. A pivotal moment occurs between the brothers when Jake suffers a terrible accident, certainly his own fault, yet weight of blame shifts to Arthur, who can barely comprehend his own confused reaction: "He felt breathless with a kind of excitement, made up in equal parts of rage and retribution." Thereafter a spirit of enmity grows between Jake and Arthur, one that will poison their relationship and inextricably tie them to the past. What began as a sly one-upmanship on Jake's part accelerates to a campaign, their mother Jake's unwitting pawn. As reliable as a farm animal, Arthur is predictable in every respect, unquestioning, obedient and focused on the survival of the family farm. Falling in love with the preacher's daughter, Laura is Arthur's undoing; as soon as the handsome, charming Jake realizes Arthur's predicament, the die is cast. Buffeted by economic insecurity and the devastation of a world war, the brothers act out their roles as if the terrible conclusion is preordained. Arthur survives, his back bent to the work at hand. True to his nature, Arthur cleans up his brother's wreckage, yet is of little comfort to the mother casually devastated by Jake's two-line goodbye note. Years later, a local young man, Ian Christopherson, son of the town's only doctor, begins working for Arthur, driven in part by an adolescent attraction to Laura, the boy the unwitting catalyst in the novel's powerful denouement. When Jake returns after a long absence, Ian is drawn to his easy affability, at the same time, comforted by Arthur's steadiness, unaware that he is a critical cog in the unfolding drama. Lawson speaks the language of that murky territory beneath the external lives of her characters, digging into the tortured dynamics of two brothers with different needs, a woman caught in the excitement of first love, a young man running away from his future and a country decimated by the loss of sons in war. Unable to act on his instincts, Arthur resists a primal knowledge, sheathed in fear, while Jake is unerring in destroying his brother's dreams. Lawson is an astute observer of family dynamics and the instantaneous decisions that alter the future, a vast wheel turning inexorably toward resolution and a shattering conclusion. Luan Gaines/2006.