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AlistairMacLeod, aCanadianwriterwhoseonly
novel— composedover 13years andextracted from
himonlyafter a campaignbyhispublisher
involving
surveillance, subterfugeandoutright bribery—brought him
literary fame, a lucrativeprizeandabottleof Scotch, died
onApril 20, 2014 inWindsor,Ontario.Hewas 77.
Thecausewascomplicationsof a strokehe’d suffered in
January.
Theappearanceof MacLeod’snovel, “NoGreatMischief,”
published in1999 to rapturous reviews, augmented thequiet,
impeccablyburnished reputationhehad longhadamong
otherwriters.
In2002,TheHeraldof Glasgowdescribedhimas “oneof
thegreatest livingwriters inEnglish”; hisworkhasnowbeen
translated intomany foreign languages.
The sweepof MacLeod’s reputation today isall themore
noteworthywhenconsideredalongsidehis slenderoutput,
whichathisdeath standsat theonenovel and fewer than two-
dozen short stories.
If, ashe liked tosay, heseemedconstitutionallyequipped to
turnoutanovel onceevery60yearsor so, hehadhis reasons.
Tobeginwith, hehadaday job:Athisdeath, hewasan
emeritusprofessorof Englishat theUniversityof Windsor,
wherehehad taught formore than threedecades, leavingonly
summers forfiction.
“Idon’tmind,”MacLeod said ina2004 interview. “Fora
long time, Iwasdescribedasoneof NorthAmerica’smost
promisingwriters. Pretty soon, Iwasgoing tobeoneof North
America’smostpromisinggeriatricwriters. Promisehas tobe
fulfilled sometime.”
Whatwasmore, he shunnedcomputers, settinghiswork
down in longhandwithawatchmaker’sdeliberation, polishing
each sentence to itsfinal formbeforeproceeding to thenext.
“When I typeon thecomputerand I see iton the screen,
I think that fairiesor leprechaunswrote it,”he toldTheSanta
FeNewMexican in2004. “When Iputmy stubbyballpoint
penon thepaper, I takea lotof time thinkingaboutwhat I’m
writing.And so I say tomyself, ‘Well, now thishas tohappen,’
and Imake littlenotes tomyself, like ‘Don’t forget tomake the
parentsolder than thechildren.’ ”
LikenearlyallMacLeod’sfiction, “NoGreatMischief” is
setonCapeBreton Island inNovaScotia,wherehe spenthis
boyhoodandmaintainedahome to theendof his life.
Amultigenerational story that intertwines the fatesof
the island’sfishermenandminerswith thoseof theirScottish
forebears, thenovel exploreswhat for itsauthorwasanabiding
concern: the tensions thatpervadeacommunitycaught
between thepull of traditionand thepressureof assimilation.
NarratedbyAlexanderMacDonald,whohas forsakenhis
island roots fora lifeof bourgeoisdiscontentasanorthodontist,
thenovel issetagainstabackgroundof Gaelicspeech, old
Scottishsongsand theever-present swingof thesea.
But asMacLeod’s spare, elegiacprosemakesplain, life
onCapeBreton isnopastoral idyll.Hisnarrative is suffused
with loss, notably that of Alexander’sparents,who, traversing
the frozenwaterson foot inwintertime, slip through the ice to
theirdeaths.
“The tidewasgoingoutwhen theyvanished, leaving
nothingbut a lantern—perhaps tossedon to the icebya
sinkinghandandmiraculously landingupright andcontinuing
toglow, orperhaps, setdownafter itsarc,wildlybut carefully
byahandwhich sought to reachanother,” theauthorwrote.
“Myparentswerenot found thatday, or thenext, or in thedays
ormonths that followed.”
In2001, “NoGreatMischief”won the International Impac
DublinLiteraryAward.Theprize,more than$100,000, iswidely
describedas theworld’s largest forasingleworkof fiction.
Acoalminer’s son, JohnAlexander JosephMacLeodwas
born inNorthBattleford, Saskatchewan, onJuly20, 1936, a
descendantof ancestorswhocame toCapeBreton from the
Hebrides in the late18thcentury. (Alistair, thenamefixedon
him inchildhood, isAlexander’sGaeliccounterpart.)
Hisparents,Gaelic-speakingCapeBretonnatives, had
moved toSaskatchewan to seekworkduring theDepression,
butwhen theboywas10, pining forhome, they returnedwith
him to the island.
Workinghisway throughcollegeasa logger,minerand
fisherman,MacLeodearneda teachingcertificate from
NovaScotiaTeachersCollege, followedbybachelorof arts
andbachelorof educationdegrees fromSt. FrancisXavier
BYMARGALITFOX
AlistairMacLeodLLD ’00
ANOVELIST INNOHURRY
UWINDSOR AUTHORS
