The Wind Seller [Paperback]

 

 

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I discovered Rachael Preston's novels ('Tent of Blue' and this one, 'The Wind Seller') strictly as a result of my writing ambitions: she was teaching a course at Mohawk I'd wanted to take. This was last year...in fact, more than a year ago. It had always been my intent to read her books before taking her class; I wanted some idea of where she stood on her own writing path, in much the same way I had with Paul Quarrington more than a decade ago at The Humber School For Writers. And so over the past five days, I finally had the books in my hands, and read them, back-to-back. This is my habit, to read new, female novelists, and if they've published more then one, read whatever they've produced, in succession. (It's ironic that I've now read them, and Ms Preston's course was not offered this semester.)

The book is, with certain reservations, a wonderful accomplishment. Clearly Ms Preston has a love of writing that is matched by her obvious craft-work, her affinity with words, as well as a certain ease of approach to communication. (By this I'm referring to her 'default setting' regarding tone, one of fairly 'bare-bones'...although because of the aforementioned affinity with words, she doesn't reduce her vocabulary to the commonplace, she makes good use of words in her quiver that some might shrink at, therefore seasoning her writing evenly...and naturally.) As with 'Tent of Blue', Ms Preston's storytelling technique is one of multiple threads and multiple time-references, and she executes these deftly...though I should say not with as much alacrity as she does in ''Tent'.

And perhaps in this area I'll march out my initial reservation. This story, the premise, is a marvellous one. (And its backbone initially hidden from me, due to the novel's name and cover, something I'll return to momentarily.) Upon reading her 'Acknowledgements', I had to grin at her explanation of how the story came to her; this is exactly how we're often gifted by Creation, in a whimsical, quite serendipitous way. But to this reader/writer's eyes, the premise was not entirely mined-out. Or more accurately, its awesome depth and breadth was not utilized, was not presented in a fashion that *I* would have preferred. (Keeping in mind that a review is a personal, wholly-subjective take on something, the result of not only the consumption of the item in question, but also the injection of the 'reviewer's' biases and prejudices, and filtered through their own experiences, desires and expectations.) Rum-running Pirates. The Roaring Twenties. The First World War. The Halifax Explosion. Familial Discord. Class Snobbism and Reverse Snobbism on The East Coast. Love, Lust and Forbidden Cravings. I confess that with all of this as her 'ingredients', I felt disappointed with Ms Preston's economical approach, a little cheated-out of what could have been a staggering tale.

The tile and the cover art. Ah, yes. I'll admit right up front that *many* of the novels I've read over the years have been purchased by me as a result of great marketing. (Yes, that means I've missed some gems. But it also means I've found some that many of you might never have heard of, or considered reading.) I didn't feel 'Tent of Blue' was an appropriate title for her début novel (all things considered, its reference was not as strong enough an element in the story to warrant it being used in the title), and I couldn't stand the cover. 'The Wind Seller' rankles me all the moreso. Once again, the reference within the tale 'to me, anyway' is slight, and is not a powerful enough one to merit its use. And the cover... Bleuch. Considering what's within...? Nope. Sorry. Bad marketing. I'm sorry if I'm sounding negative here; please take this as an indication of how I feel about the novel itself, that it deserved far more than it got.

When I read a novel, I'm looking for what I refer to as 'arrogance'. It requires this in order to write *anything*. You must believe you have something to say, something that deserves being read...and this is, to me, a kind of arrogance. I also look for this in a writer's capacity, their talent, their ability to present a story that is compelling, told in a way where, on the one hand, you want to sprint through paragraph after paragraph because you're engrossed...and yet you also want to stroll, making the most of every word, every snippet, every indulgence, every aspect of *writing* the author exerts. (Truly, I want to be staggered by a writer's offering. Such as the first forty or so pages of Don DeLillo's 'Underworld'.)

There were moments in 'The Wind Seller' when I felt under Ms Preston's thrall. When I was mesmerized, when I felt the world slip away, and was *there*, in the tale, as it all unfolded around me. But those moments were not strung together as closely as I'd have expected, nor were they executed to their fullest. Again, I'm relating all this with how I came to view her talents as a writer as well as the premise in mind: I craved *more*.

Sometimes a spare approach is best. When what you're striving for as a writer...an intimate, intense telling...is best served with simplicity. But if you're going to present a story with the elements I mentioned earlier, because this wasn't Ms Preston's 'ultra-personal, from-her-blood-sweat-and-tears first novel', I expected something as meaty as the elements. And it wasn't. Weighty, that is.

I felt repeatedly that she had a too perfunctory approach to what was being relayed to the reader. Times when I found myself muttering 'Come on! What more do you want?!? You've got a beautiful opportunity to have your way with me...!' The more I read, the further along I got, the more the disparate pieces were assembled (again, deftly-so), the greater my disappointment at it all *not* being something else. That is, same story, with an entirely different approach. And the thing is, I believe Ms Preston is more than capable of delivering this kind of novel. The kind of novel that should be considered for The Giller and The Governor General's awards. (My apologies at this point if I haven't been clear in my belief in Ms Preston's abilities. I may seem harsh in my sentiments, but it's only because I am convinced of her substantive talents.) As it stands, I was reminded too often of the writer's credo 'Show, don't tell.' To wit, Ms Preston's third-person-omniscient, present-tense/past-tense, back-and-forth mostly came across as an easy-out, when she should have been striving for more, gotten the reader more involved in the unspoken collaborative effort that is a hallmark of great writing.

In the end, I'd highly recommend this book. It's a lovely read, it's very entertaining...if only to have provided me ample reason to examine it and wonder 'What if...?'

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