Enchanting interludes

Winnipeg Free Press

3 days ago

Somehow, Heather O'Neill has crafted a delightfully fleeting, 200-plus page epic. Valentine in Montreal has the principal features of the daunting form, but all in charming miniature.
O'Neill, much and justly celebrated as a resoundingly successful Canadian poet, short-story writer, screenwriter, novelist and journalist, was able to fashion this riff on the traditional literary genre by adapting another conventional publication form: Valentine is not so much a modern novel as it is a compendium of a traditional serial.
In 2023, a Montreal Gazette editor asked O'Neill to compose a serialized novel, very much in the Victorian mode. Suspecting failure would accompany the unusual effort, O'Neill nonetheless dove in, hoping it would not just challenge her chops but connect her with writing and writers past, especially Charles Dickens. More, it could help her realize her belief that good fiction ought to be democratized, something the archaic serial form had done — and perhaps could still do — so expediently.
Elisa Harb photo
Heather O'Neill (right) has enlisted her daughter Arizona (left) to illustrate her two most recent books.
O'Neill is probably most famous as the unicorn double winner of CBC's Canada Reads: her own extraordinarily beautiful and moving novel, Lullabies for Little Criminals (2006), won the 2007 competition, and she last year was victorious in championing Catherine Leroux's 2020 L'Avenir (in English as The Future, 2023 translation by Susan Ouriou).
O'Neill's credentials roster is long, wondrous and vigorous, including cherished novels in 2014, 2017, 2022 and 2024 (the most recent The Capital of Dreams), as well as collections of poems (1999) and short stories (2015). Throw in the scripts for a difficult-to-find but lovely-to-behold feature film, Saint Jude (2000), and the eight-minute short End of Pinky (which can be found on YouTube), and you have here an artist bursting with talent and skill at the absolute and sustained top of her astounding game.
Our micro-epic voyageur here is Valentine Bennet, a young, shy, lone-but-not-lonely and humble heroine who is utterly content with her modest work at a dépanneur at the Berri-UQAM métro stop.
Valentine lives to dwell in her métro beneath and amidst the city, and is therefore deeply disturbed when her entrenched patterns are upset. She is quickly thrown much outside her world — or at least much further into it.
Valentine, orphan (Dickens!) and amateur poet, learns that she has a doppelganger, Yelena, a ballerina, an artist of a different stripe. Valentine must quest out into the urban world, more Yelena's than her own, using her métro as her steed. She must acquaint with eccentric strangers, she must dodge the dodgy and she must figure out who she really is. All this in 30 quite steadfastly short, serial chapters.
These instalments are all discrete and intended to be read, as O'Neill herself announces, in a single, Saturday-morning-with-coffee-and-eggs sitting. To be sure, there are recaps of whence we've been and dangles of whither we go, but it is all done without inelegant intrusion.
En route, there are cases of mistaken identity, there in an unearthing of an aged common ancestor who herself used to galivant across Europe in full bohemian but somehow lucrative mode. And there is a forbidding Montreal underbelly, something literally called 'the Mafia,' but barking more than biting.
And there is also a very dear romance in this little Romance. The dalliance cannot and does not fully fruit, but it is there, and it brings with it, too, the requisite wisdom and sadness.
Valentine in Montreal just abounds in interlude. There are moments in each of the 30 little pieces to make you grin, to make you chortle aloud; all gracefully connect and carefully construct.
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More, the book is accompanied by delightful, childlike illustrations — a least one, and often several, per chapter. The artist, Arizona O'Neill (the author's daughter), typically poaches a moment of the text, usually a figurative one, and runs with it in an absolutely frolicsome way. Because one has to pause over the images to realize what is going on, the artwork is able, most delicately, to enhance the text.
Throughout, Heather O'Neill's habitual mastery loiters. She is marvelously writes in a manner that briskly moves all things well along while peppering in, again and aptly again, turns of phrase that catch your breath and even command an immediate re-reading.
Oddly, it is not so much the subtle, lurking metaphors as the more direct, almost-preening similes that achieve this: O'Neill is writing about and revelling in writing as she writes.
'Think about how I am telling this story as I tell it,' she seems to whisper. It could not be more enchanting.
Laurence Broadhurst teaches English and religion at St. Paul's High School in Winnipeg.