I loved being an observer, not a participant. I got a nice shot of two old guys who reminded me of Hardy’s grandfather and mine, both named Horace. Heads close together as they talked, probably because they were deaf, their intent communion looked like a Fellini movie. I wrote down their names and hoped/prayed the photo would turn out.
The Observer reads as chatty and candid — as though the main character, Julia, is conversationally recalling the highlights of a past experience — and that is fitting as this is a novel based on Marina Endicott’s own early years as the spouse of an RCMP member in 1990s rural Alberta. As Julia puts her career as a playwright on hold in order to join her partner, Hardy, on his first posting, she’ll find herself not only distanced from the long-term residents of this tight-knit community but also increasingly distanced from Hardy as he struggles to deal with his policing duties (from domestic disputes to countless fatal car accidents) on the understaffed force. Salvation comes for Julia in the form of an intermittent job with the local newspaper, The Observer, and as she gets out into the community, she makes friends with both locals and other RCMP spouses, growing to understand what pressures the stoic Hardy is truly suffering with. Set in a time before a Mountie would have felt comfortable asking for mental health supports, this novel admirably exposes the stress and sacrifices historically expected of RCMP members, and their families. The chatty style makes this seem like a breezy read but Endicott uses it to creeping and devastating effect; this is true and tragic life exposed and I loved the whole thing. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
Whatever a life ever means, in the end it’s a set of stories you tell yourself, or whoever will listen. Old Mabel, wanting to be left alone out there in the woods — I had always imagined that it was better to have company, better for people to be together than alone. But then I thought of Mrs. Benson, with her broken arm. And Jim Miller, finding that difficult old maid stiff and strange in the bed, and that became his life from then on. With her. I thought about my own parents, and Hardy’s. We live, as we dream — alone together.
Overworked and underpaid, forbidden from discussing the details of his duties with anyone outside the force, as a new recruit, Hardy was rarely home — and when he was home, he was increasingly exhausted, shaky, and bottled up. Lonely, worried about the bills, and unable to get any work done on a new play she was supposed to be writing, Julia jumped at the chance to become an interim editor at The Observer. As she interviewed locals and chased down stories, Julia began to realise the trouble stewing beneath the surface of their sleepy town; trouble that Hardy needed to deal with every day, and then keep to himself. The pair stays at the posting for four years — their arrival and departure marked by passing comets — and along with exposing the pressures Hardy’s job imposed upon their lives, this is a lovely story of a relationship made stronger by those pressures.
People in Medway helped me, were kind even when I was blanked out with fear and grief. I made a few good friends. But I was always standing to one side looking on, seeing what was none of my business. The things that were my business stand out in strong relief: Hardy and the state of his mind and body and soul; my child, who needed my good attention; and in a sideways sense my self, standing and observing me, just as I did the world.
Without giving away any more of the plot, I’ll just stress that this story is relatable and engaging and feels like a slice of true life; for, after all, it is based on the author’s own experiences. All good stuff.
