They were not costumes; they were peeled-off parts of our mothers; without them, how could our mams be themselves, their real selves, their under-sea selves, the selves they were born into? They walked about on land with no protection, from the cold or from our dads falling in love with them, or from us boys needing them morning and night. [p. 236]
Life on the island of Rollrock is salt-stung, windswept, hand to mouth. Misskaella grows up lonely and bitter, 'a bit slanted, a bit mixed', ostracised by her family and slowly awakening to her bond with the seals that bask on the sands. She can see something within them, points of light like stars, that can be drawn together to bring a human out of a seal. She recognises that this is power, that this is freedom -- for her, not for the seal-wives that she sells. The men of the island are willing customers, casting aside their human wives, turning from the unmarried women of their own red-headed kind ('I am driven to this; none of these bitches wants me') to be beguiled by the dark, melancholy beauty of the selkies. Misskaella becomes immensely wealthy; the red-headed women leave Rollrock; the lads care for their mothers, and the girls ... do not thrive on land.
This is a beautifully-written novel, or perhaps a collection of novellas and stories, about a monstrous practice. Though Misskaella takes a seal-man as a lover, she does not offer this service to the other human women, who anyway would have no means of payment. She watches a generation of boys grow up with sad 'mams' and no sisters. (The men seem to prefer miserable seal-wives to angry human wives. '‘What did they have to be angry about?’ asks one boy. ‘Nothing,’ says another. ‘They were just like that, says my dad.') Fortunately, there are boys who want their mams happy...
I read this for a book club, and though I found it deeply unsettling, it sparked a fascinating conversation about witchcraft and misogyny, about incels and entitlement, about sadness and anger, about anthropology and escape. None of us were quite sure when or where it was set: there's an Atlantic-coast feel to it, for me, but few markers of place. There is a church (referenced only as a landmark) but no apparent religious practice. There are motor-buses and boats with engines, but no radio or electricity. None of the men go off to war. (None of the men go anywhere, except to the nearest mainland town.) The Brides of Rollrock Island is a novel with no easy answers, no firm explanations: open to many interpretations. It's especially effective because told from different points of view over a period of at least 50 years -- but it was not (for me) a pleasant read, though there were moments of great beauty. I'll read more Lanagan, in the hope of a lighter or less distressing story with the same splendid prose style.
NB This is listed as being suitable for 12-17 year-olds. I would have found it extremely unsettling at that age: sexual slavery, emotional abuse, a form of femicide, and the single word 'rendering'.
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