A powerful story of community, of family, and of the hard work of forgiveness.
Plot: Matthew is stuck inside of a crippling depression that has plagued him his whole life. He used to be able to play the part of a happy person, a person present for his wife and daughter, but the last few years it has swallowed him whole. This has meant that he has stopped seeing his family, stopped knowing how to connect to them, and they in turn and grown to resent his distance, his unreliability, and his inability to see past himself. Holly, his daughter, seems to be following in his footsteps. Her behaviour becomes more and more erratic and dangerous in a desperate attempt to force him to pay attention to her. It takes a tragedy to force them out of their painful but comfortable habits, and even as they learn that struggling together instead of alone makes all the difference, the land provides.
I think the next time I hear someone say that Canada doesn’t produce great literature, I’m going to get a hardcover copy of this book and beat them about the face with it. Robertson weaves an absolutely heartbreaking story of complex PTSD, of having endured not only your own hardships but having to carry the heavy hardships of previous generations. A lot of settler people in Canada have tried over the last few years to educate themselves about the systemic wrongs committed against Indigenous people over the last two hundred years. Folks typically know now about things like residential schools now, but it’s still talked about as a thing that affects past generations only. The Theory of Crows forces the reader to confront the reality that harm caused fifty years ago and a hundred years ago and two hundred years ago is actually continuing to actively cause harm today. That the trauma of systemic persecution is not one that is solved by ending an oppressive policy (especially when others are still alive and kicking), and that the impacts of these broad reaching programs have very personal impacts on real people.
I think the real triumph of Robertson’s work is how he manages to craft a story that is so personal and specific yet feels so universal. Matthew grapples with the possibility of the family trapline being lost to time because of his father’s deteriorating health, with his guilt over losing the opportunity to learn Cree, which his family refused to teach him for fear of him suffering for it as they did in their youth, with his even worse guilt that not having learned these things means that he is also robbing the next generation of the knowledge he feels would have filled a gaping hole inside himself. As I read about that, I couldn’t help think about the family history and culture and language I’ve lost because of similar fears borne of systemic anti-semitic policies. The way similar policies also robbed my mother-in-law and her family of culture and community and opportunity in Sri Lanka. Indeed, people the world over have had experience with systemic loss of culture and community. And sadly, depression is even more universal.
It’s such an impossibly hard thing to explain, this weird pain that comes out of a trauma you didn’t actually experience but that has been a formative part of your life. A trauma you didn’t experience, but feel to your bones. A harm that is shared, but is experienced so differently that it has also created what sometimes feels like an uncrossable gulf between you and the generations that went through it in real time. And the ways in which trauma can turn people kind people into angry, petty narcissists that will absolutely destroy you without even realizing it. You’re family, but you’re aliens to each other, hostiles even.
It’s important to note that while I’ve focused on the dark corners of the story, but the book is far from heavy handed. There is a generosity in how Robertson wrote this book. We never linger too long on the sadness before we get hit with a joke or a pop culture reference. I don’t think he wants you to walk away from this story feeling broken and depressed, but hopeful. Nothing is ever so broken that it can’t be fixed if the people involved are willing to be brave, and vulnerable, and put in the work to move forward in a better way.
Trigger warnings: parental neglect, substance abuse, depression, suicidal ideation, self harm, and emotional affairs.