2.3 (Re)conviviality, Zombies, and S. Moodie
by Daniel Swenson
“I planted him in this country
like a flag.”
-Margaret Atwood, “The Journals of Susanna Moodie”
I first heard of Susanna Moodie, as I suspect many English majors hear of Susanna Moodie—through the poetry of Margaret Atwood. I was nineteen and backpacking through Montreal. I had just been broken up with and thought it a good idea to leave my province for another one. I spent a lot of time at the Grande Bibliothèque, poring over Atwood’s poetry and books. I was determined to have a Canadian experience and what better way than to explore Canada on my own, through the eyes of one of our most celebrated authors. Susanna Moodie was thrown at me, at a time when I was feeling alone, destitute, confused. I took out her Roughing it in the Bush (1854), and never returned the text. This is a confession, I think.
I am not trying to draw a direct comparison towards moving across Canada as a nineteen year old and Susanna Moodie’s complex negotiations of emigration. I am, however, interested in the ways that these two ideas of leaving, coming to new space, re/defining the self in relation to this space, and starting anew can be read as distinct parallels. Thinking (or feeling) through these ideas laid out to us of second Edens and empty and negotiated lands draws me to her introduction where she describes the “Salubrious climate, its fertile soil, commercial advantages, great water privileges, its proximity to the mother country” (Moodie) (emphasis added). I am fascinated by this idea of proximity in the works we are examining. What does it mean to be close to the country you have left? How does physical proximity factor into what ‘home’ can or should become? She writes in Chapter 11 of a fear that moving away from the ‘mother country’ becomes an “approaching ill” (Moodie). She goes on to say that this fear“strove to draw [her] back as from a fearful abyss, beseeching [her] not to leave England and emigrate to Canada” (Moodie). In this way, proximity becomes a way of talking about ownership. This image of a vast, “unwasted” Canada that she explores again and again only becomes less terrifying as she lays claim to it, settles it.
This double idea of an Eden at once beckoning the many English subjects who develop a “Canada mania” (Moodie) and also offering the harsh and cold realities of the earth after the Fall begin to come to light in her introduction. It is a true testament to the Enlightenment that this text offers explicit ways of knowing or coming to know Canada as a settled space. Both absencing and ignoring the fact that Canada was not absent, not ‘unwasted’, but was home to many complex and wildly differing nations and peoples before contact, Moodie’s work begins to rewrite Canada through this proximity to knowledge. Only by getting far enough away from England, and close enough to a “real” or “factual” account of settling Canada does Moodie begin to at once complicate the ideas of Eden (eg by pointing to the “cold winds and drizzling rain” in Chapter 2) , as well as paint Canada as the tax-free paradise that immigrants might come to expect. Indeed, though it is a rough gift, an “empty” “unsettled” Canada is built by Moodie as a gift from god.
The resurrection King performs of Moodie in the café scene in Green Grass, Running Water (1993) can be read as a delicate and complicated investigation of power in-text. Achilles Mbembe, a post-colonial scholar speaks to great lengths of what “conviviality” looks like in his “On the Postcolony” (1991). I turn to his complicated reading of colonialism and Africa because I think the ways in which King reanimates Moodie is a toying with these notions of conviviality (friendliness or ‘liveliness’). Moodie is brought back in a satirical way (as is King’s specialty). Immediately he renames her as “Sue” (184), and has her explain in a contemporary context that her and her companion Archie have been “roughing it” (184) in dingy hotel rooms. What King is doing here is acknowledging the deep-histories that Moodie summons in the Canadian literature canon, and toying with them, making them unrecognizable and ‘unconvivial’. Mbembe speaks of satire and humour in the discussions of postcolonialism, pointing to an unfriendliness or satirical changing in works to alter or challenge overarching stories of power.
Margaret Atwood came to speak at UBC two years ago about zombies. I remember asking a rather pretentious and long-winded question on the nature of zombies to her—she wasn’t too interested as I recall (and I don’t blame her the question was maybe reserved for a paper and not a Q&A). I am once again reeling with the thoughts of what a zombie in-text can look like. If we can read Moodie’s reconvivial state in Green Grass, Running Water, as a zombie-type character, then there is perhaps room to think about the ways in which Canada as a consumer of Moodie’s work in our building of “Canadian canon” (which also includes Atwood’s work) works in the same ‘mindless droves’ that zombies do in our ongoing history of ‘forgetting’ or ‘making invisible’ First Nations peoples.
Works Cited
My, my, my – thank you Daniel. I have yet to ‘get’ the whole zombie thing, but you have given me a glimmer that I can begin with: Sue in the Dead Dog cafe is a zombie: Suszanna Moody resurrected. Hmmmmmmm. O.K., I’ll read a little more theory – suggestions? Other than Atwood, I have a bad attitude toward Atwood, mostly because she was the only recognized Canadian author (other then a few old white guys) when I was a student and we had to read her to death. Thanks for an always en lighting read 🙂
Thank you for your lovely feature to this piece I wrote–I do appreciate your careful considerations and ability to piece together all of our work into one nebulous little ‘web’.
I think it’s interesting you have a bad attitude to Atwood–it’s actually one of my most common experiences in Canadian Literature classes that my profs have been ‘rubbed raw’ by all the Atwood they’ve been assigned. This is actually what made me take such a vested interest in her, a constant hearing of her and her influence, but never being assigned any of her works, save for the odd Handmaid’s Tale. I think that there is a certain “generational” gap in between literature students and their professors with this, where one was inundated with Atwood, and the other, as a result, can’t seem to get her into a syllabus. I get the feeling though, if I have to read Prufrock one more time, I’m going to claw my eyes out with a peach pit.
As for theory, I think the Mbembe I cite is one of my favourite pieces regarding zombieisms as a means to explore and interrogate colonialism.Additionally, UBC Okanagan has current custody of the most incredible book Death-in-Life: Conflation, Decolonization, and the Zombie in Empire of the Senseless which is heavy-laden with film theory but sometimes that’s a nice break.
Works Cited
Naimou, Angela, and Paris Algeria. “’Death-in-Life: Conflation, Decolonization, and the Zombie in Empire of the Senseless.” Kathy Acker and Transnationalism (2009).
Hi Daniel,
I also really enjoyed reading your blog. I love the way that you incorporated Moodie with Atwood’s zombies, especially your comparison of Canadian citizens are “mindless drones” in the way we conveniently “forget” the ugly parts of our history and act as if the Indians vanished like ghosts instead of taking responsibility for driving them from their land. I have to admit that when I read Susan Moodie’s “Roughing It in the Bush” I took a harsher stance on her, criticizing her for being closed minded and euro-centric. What you reminded me of is that she was just a girl who was displaced. You said: “I am not trying to draw a direct comparison towards moving across Canada as a nineteen year old and Susanna Moodie’s complex negotiations of emigration. I am, however, interested in the ways that these two ideas of leaving, coming to new space, re/defining the self in relation to this space, and starting anew can be read as distinct parallels.” I too have been a traveller, a wanderer, and a soul-seeker. I’ve moved to a new place and felt the loneliness of it. I now look at Moodie’s reflections with a softer focus and less judgment, she was doing her best to navigate a strange world with the tools that she had harboured and been accustomed to from birth… just like we all do when we challenge ourselves to move somewhere new and foreign .
I also really liked the terminology you chose to describe Moodie’s initial view of Canada. You said, “Indeed, though it is a rough gift, an “empty” “unsettled” Canada is built by Moodie as a gift from god.” A rough gift is the perfect was to encapsulate how Moodie envisions Canada in her introduction. She is sure to describe every challenge (both real and imaginary) to her European friends but she also stresses its beauty and its value. Your blog forced me to examine the more redeeming side of Susan Moodie and for that I am grateful.
Thank you Samantha,
I re-wrote this twice actually, before posting (as I have a bad habit of doing–writing and letting things sit before I actually post them… I just fear that I won’t do justice to some of this sensitive work so sometimes I need to sleep on it). In my original piece I explored how my original sort-of love affair with Moodie’s work was so typical of an uncritical white Canadian who has no idea of the ways in which Moodie’s work is contributing to a violent erasure of indigenous histories. I wanted a different approach, however, one that looked not so much at “how Moodie made mistakes” but rather, “how I made the mistake of loving Moodie”.
Thank you for your kind and smart reading of my post!