FFWD Weekly
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Books
by Trevor KlassenDavid Adams Richards
It is not often that a book of true greatness graces our eyes. Give thanks, then, that David Adams Richards has reappeared with a work in tow that is worthy of his previous efforts. Richards is one of only three authors to win the Governor General's Award for both non-fiction (Lines on the Water, 1998) and fiction (Evening Snow Will Bring Such Peace, 1990). He has over 20 major works to his credit, many of them prizewinners and all of them respected.
Here then is another miracle: Mercy Among the Children, which was nominated for the Giller Prize (the winner is being announced today, November 2). This latest work of great morality is inhabited by characters like Sydney Henderson – who recalls Dostoevsky's Aloshya from The Brothers Karamazov or Myshkin from The Idiot – and his wife Elly, another Christ-like figure of near Shakespearean beauty.
The book's plot is ambitious. When Sydney is 12, he pushes his neighbour Connie Devlin from the church roof. Thinking he has killed him, Sydney prays to God to spare Connie's life, and in exchange he vows to never harm another human being. The moment this pact is made, Connie arises, wipes his bloody nose, laughs and leaves. Sydney abides by his pact. The moment, then, becomes the beginning of an odyssey, and Sydney's family is soon persecuted by those who would exploit his extreme pacifism.
It is Sydney's firstborn, Lyle, who rejects his father's philosophy and becomes a predator to protect his family. So goes this tale of great scope, of utter humanity and depravity, of supreme love and hatred. Its wide cast of characters, its religiosity, its compassion – all remind one of Tolstoy.
"Tolstoy and Dostoevsky are my two major novelists," says Richards. "And I suppose Sydney's struggle is Old Testament, and maybe like the Book of Job, in that the travail of humanity matters in a universal way, and speaks to the capacity for universal joy."
Richards’s husky voice is all conviction – it seems like every syllable that passes his lips has meaning. Does he know everything when he begins writing?
"No," he says. "And if I know the end, I probably don't know the middle. One character leads into another, and they form the story."
Richards indeed seems character-driven. He compares his characters to people he has known, and in that respect, among others, he is self-taught.
"I decided at 14 to be a writer," he says. "I was expelled from school many times."
Living in Newcastle, he would hitchhike to Fredericton every Tuesday night to meet with writers he met at the University of New Brunswick. The evenings were held on campus in an outbuilding for ice storage. The group became known as the Ice House Gang, and during the time he spent with them, Richards wrote much of The Coming of Winter, his second novel.
The author’s story seems a romantic one, and it is, insofar as it speaks to literature flowing in his blood. But curb any sentimentality – Richards knew harsh and real poverty while growing up, and one senses that his maturity was largely formed by it, as was his poetic eye.
When Richards is not writing, he does things that improve it – like spending time with his family and fly-fishing. For him, fly-fishing is not merely about catching fish, it has a metaphysical beauty and truth. Richards is a born writer whose every movement relates to his vision, with talent as great as his morality.
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