Claudia
is a book with more than one murder in it. These killings have the potential
of pushing a story into gloom, but this work is an engaging one from
the first page and does not falter, thanks to Holmström's writing.
It moves effortlessly with flashes of imagery that evoke beauty when
least expected. She also writes with a biting humour that adds a refreshing
dimension to the story that, surprisingly, for all it entails, ends
on a confident note. You have the feeling you are sitting down with
a dear friend and having a good conversation with a strong cup of tea
for fortitude.
While waiting for
the arrival of the new millennium, Claudia Hewitt witnesses from an
attic window the consequences of a murder. And what occurs in the park
opposite her home brings back memories of other murders that have occurred
in her life. Thus, Claudia, in her early senior years and the narrator
of the novel, conjures up the past and begins to reminisce.
Born in war-torn
Latvia occupied by the Nazis, Claudia escapes with her mother, Malda,
to Sweden before the Soviet invasion. She leaves her beleaguered relatives
and the only knowledge she has of her father, who was "Claudio, an Italian
boy who plays the clarinet" (18).
Claudia and her
mother settle into a not uncomfortable life in Sweden, where her mother
trains as a nurse. Malda meets Ed Lee, a doctor visiting from Canada,
an open-hearted and generous man, whom she later marries. Eventually
he brings them to Canada and the prairies.
Shortly after their
arrival, Claudia and her mother drive beyond Winnipeg's city limits
to test Malda's new car and they see only the flat stretch of prairie;
"the sight of infinity proved too much for Mama" (29). They return home
disturbed by the discovery.
As a young adult,
Claudia earns a degree as a social worker; later she travels to Spain
for a holiday. She meets an old friend from Sweden and makes new friends
from America. Then her old school friend is murdered. But this is not
the first murder; there was another killing of another school friend
when Claudia lived in Sweden. The murders prove shocking and haunt her
for years afterwards. These acts of violence and the war-related violence
recur throughout the novel and raise the question of atrocities mankind
wages upon its own kind.
It is the everyday
living of the narrator and her family that brings some kindness and
mercy to the situations that spring up. Of her first encounter with
her future husband, Simon, Claudia says with sharp humour: "A gigantic
mallet slammed down on my head and I was out for the count. How else
to describe it?" (66) Claudia and Simon bear their children and guide
them to adulthood that is not without problems. Life goes on and then
one day Malda and Claudia are widows, Claudia at first angry in her
grieving of her husband's sudden death: "Oh, Simon. You vain, stupid
bastard." (77)
And then Malda
surprises Claudia with a request to visit her beloved Latvia. Their
journey takes them to Riga and to the past, which is also their future.
They meet Nelda, a niece. Again we are thrust into the world of violence,
this time into the world of sex slavery, and we come to ask; how does
a person acquire the courage to walk from such degradation and horror
of her past life? And how does she gain the dignity so deserving to
her? Holmström introduces a bit of magic here and it works and
we can believe there is hope for the human individual after all.
While in Riga,
Claudia learns that a person wears life like a good coat: "And from
somewhere she [Malda] reaches out and hangs her strength . . . over
my shoulders. Drapes it around me like a good coat with a fox-fur collar,
the kind that will last if you take proper care of it." (285) It is
this same strength Claudia's mother gives her that allows her also to
make peace with herself over the murders that have haunted her for several
decades.
Claudia
is a book worth reading for Holmström's intense insights into the
human condition and all its follies, for its prickly humour and for
the sense it leaves at the conclusion that it is good to be human.