River of the Brokenhearted

River of the Brokenhearted

David Adams Richards

Language: English

Pages: 400

ISBN: 1559707127

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In the 1920s, Janie McLeary and George King run one of the first movie theatres in the Maritimes. The marriage of the young Irish Catholic woman to an older English man is thought scandalous, but they work happily together, playing music to accompany the films. When George succumbs to illness and dies, leaving Janie with one young child and another on the way, the unscrupulous Joey Elias tries to take over the business. But Janie guards the theatre with a shotgun, and still in mourning, re-opens it herself. “If there was no real bliss in Janie’s life,” recounts her grandson, “there were moments of triumph.”

One night, deceived by the bank manager and Elias into believing she will lose her mortgage, Janie resolves to go and ask for money from the Catholic houses. Elias has sent out men to stop her, so she leaps out the back window and with a broken rib she swims in the dark across the icy Miramichi River, doubting her own sanity. Yet, seeing these people swayed into immoral actions because of their desire to please others and their fear of being outcast, she thinks to herself that “…all her life she had been forced to act in a way uncommon with others… Was sanity doing what they did? And if it was, was it moral or justified to be sane?”

Astonishingly, she finds herself face to face that night with influential Lord Beaverbrook, who sees in her tremendous character and saves her business. Not only does she survive, she prospers; she becomes wealthy, but ostracized. Even her own father helps Elias plot against her. Yet Janie McLeary King thwarts them and brings first-run talking pictures to the town.

Meanwhile, she employs Rebecca from the rival Druken family to look after her children. Jealous, and a protégé of Elias, Rebecca mistreats her young charges. The boy Miles longs to be a performer, but Rebecca convinces him he is hated, and he inherits his mother’s enemies. The only person who truly loves her, he is kept under his mother’s influence until, eventually, he takes a job as the theatre’s projectionist. He drinks heavily all his life, tends his flowers, and talks of things no-one believes, until the mystery at the heart of the novel finally unravels.

“At six I began to realize that my father was somewhat different,” says Miles King’s son Wendell, who narrates the saga in an attempt to find answers in the past and understand “how I was damned.” It is a many-layered epic of rivalries, misunderstandings, rumours; the abuse of power, what weak people will do for love, and the true power of doing right; of a pioneer and her legacy in the lives of her son and grandchildren.

“David Adams Richards is perhaps the greatest Canadian writer alive,” wrote Lynn Coady in the Vancouver Sun. From this winner of the Giller Prize and the Governor General’s Award comes a story of a woman’s determined struggle against small town prejudice, and her son’s long battle against deceit. Richards’ own family ran Newcastle’s Uptown Theatre from 1911 to 1980, and Janie is based on his grandmother. Cast upon this history is a drama that explores morality and “the question of how one should live,” as The Atlantic Monthly said of Mercy Among the Children, his previous novel.

Reviewers agree that Richards’ fiction sits firmly in the tradition of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky by concerning itself explicitly with good and evil and the human freedom to choose between them. Once again, in River of the Brokenhearted, his twelfth novel, Richards has created a work of compassion and assured, poetic sophistication which finds in the hearts of its characters venality and goodwill, cruelty and love.

Un vent se lève qui éparpille

Le Temps qui m'est donné

The Short Stories from 1909-1922

Gaby Bernier, Tome 2: 1927-1940

À grandes gorgées de poussière

A Rhinestone Button

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

nose extended almost to his chin. Now his lips curled upwards in a sly smile. My great-grandfather had the reputation that D. H. Lawrence’s father must have had — that is, when Lawrence and his wife were forced to leave their house, who was at the gate scorning them but his own father. “But she keeps movies,” he reminded Jimmy. “The very reason you crossed her out of your life.” ‘Yes — that is true,” old Jimmy said, looking up. “But even so, who am I or you, Brother Henry — I mean, who are we

your business and is willing to kill me for it — I knew it since I was seven years old!” “Absolute rubbish,” my grandmother said. The 1940s film noir seemed right for Miles — those films with Bogey and Mitchum, those with palm trees in the dark, those with stairways leading to forlorn patios, those with large cars and indifferent dreams, that ocean waves seemed to wash away. He in his cadet uniform smoking cigarettes alone in the dark theatre, looking like Fitzgerald himself, while the howls of

would drink away our rent. “I can fight almost anything — except a ghost,” my mother said. I studied the pictures, faded with time, cracked and dazed by a kind of glow that made a halo around the child’s head. There she was, my little aunt Georgina, shy after a fashion, just the way he had dressed her that day, in her dress and her hat and what must have been her purple gloves, staring up at the camera trying to look — what, into the future or her mother’s gaze? There was a delight of life on

that it was bogus. Anything associated with harmonizing matrimony seemed bogus in these days, what with my mother and father. There was also about her the impression that her purpose in life had just begun, which to me is an unremarkable trait in middle-aged women. Now she was with Dingle as his caregiver, and worked as well as a counsellor to some women in the subdivision above us. She had her sign up at Dingle’s house. She told fortunes on the side. She had also made inquiries into Elias’s

“That is what he has managed to convince those easily convinced that he is.” But there was something else — something that Dr. Mahoney in helping Ginger could never have foreseen, which played into her hand, like the age old game of the pea. Ginger knew that I feared Noel was the one person who might seduce her, and in that way capture some of Father’s business. Now Ginger — like a fly testing the strength of a spider’s web — must see for herself what I was worried about, to rebuke me as her

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