Review: The Returning by Christine Hinwood (US edition: April 2011; Australian edition: 2009)
The Returning begins where many books end, with a soldier back home from the war. Cam Attling was barely a teenager when he set off to fight, and six years later he returns home wanting only to forget. He can’t, of course. Not only did he lose an arm in the war, he’s the only surviving veteran from his village of Kayforl, so the questions come flying thick and fast. How did my father die? my brother? What happened to my son?
“How often do I need to ask you, to let me forget?” Cam shouts in a rare moment of anger.
If Cam were alive today, he’d be diagnosed with severe psychological trauma. But his story takes place in a fictional, quasi-medieval world where the villagers work hard just to survive. Most of them will never venture far from Kayforl, and since the battles were fought many miles away, the villagers know nothing about the realities of war. But they understand grief, and they can’t comprehend why Cam won’t talk.
Hinwood has written a beautiful after-the-war book that defies all expectations. Here’s how the story could have gone: Cam has angry encounters with fellow villagers. Later, while brooding or in nightmares, he relives the war’s most dramatic moments. At some point he gets closure, or not. Instead, Hinwood goes for a slow, meandering pace. The story gets told in everyday moments—crops get planted, a child mourns the loss of his pet, a girl grows into adulthood. The best description for the book might be understated epic. It’s epic because Hinwood paints the picture of an entire world. The writing switches point of view every chapter so you meet the whole spectrum of survivors: children who lost their parents in the war, parents who lost their children, Cam’s uncomprehending sister, even Cam’s enemy—the soldier who cut off his arm but spared his life—gets his story told. So even though Cam remains the main character, the book’s scope is so much bigger.
And it’s understated because Hinwood refuses to deal in absolutes. We know that the war was fought between Cam’s people (Downlanders) and a neighboring group of Uplanders, but the alternative history means we don’t have any pre-conceived notions about good and bad. Kayforl resembles a generic European village. Later on, when you meet the Uplanders, it slowly becomes apparent that their culture has a vaguely Asian feel (artistically, at least). But by then you’ve met enough characters to sympathize with both sides.
Hinwood also does something I’ve never seen before: she keeps Cam hidden. The jacket flap makes it obvious that Cam is the protagonist, but we’re a quarter of the way in before we get a chapter from his point of view. I know some people couldn’t stand this slow, diffuse opening, but I loved it. It made me feel like I was one of the villagers scrutinizing Cam every time he enters a scene. He’s like the invisible engine that turns the story—everything stops and everyone stares whenever he shows up. When we finally get into his head, it’s not the flashback you’d expect. We don’t get memories of bloody battles; the deaths are told sparingly, and it’s the quiet moments, the private one-on-one meetings with the enemy that truly matter.
The most disturbing passage in the book actually deals with humdrum village life. At one point Graceful Fenister, twelve years old and already betrothed, summarizes what she can expect for her future:
She knew, oh, that every summer she would cut the flax with the women of the house; that every winter she would weave it; the names of her children (firstborn son after Father, second-born after her husband, third after his father, firstborn daughter after Mother, second-born daughter after Stepmother, third after herself).
The course of her life was laid out like the Highway was laid through the valley…There were two things Graceful did not know about her life: how many children she would have, and when she would die.
No wonder Cam ran off to war. The villagers didn’t join the army out of patriotism or duty: they were simply bored. When the soldiers came marching by, fathers and sons fell into step towards the exciting unknown. And it’s not just the boys who find a way out: once in awhile a mysterious, cultish group of women travel past Kayforl singing and dancing, and young girls, if they’re not kept inside, follow along. For boys their pied piper is the drumbeat of war. For girls, the promise of life in a beautiful faraway house.
From the reviews I’ve read, people seem to either love or hate this book, and nothing’s more contentious than the language. The characters speak in a way that sounds strangely roundabout, especially when it comes to verbs:
“He did not kill me and he could have. Should have. You do see?”
“And he does feed them on milk and grain and grape juice, until they grow too fat to get back into their shells.”
I’m a fan of the dialect. It forces the dialogue to slow down, as if every word costs effort. It would have been a lot more jarring if the villagers were in the business of emoting or going on CAPS LOCK rants. All the characters are pretty stoic, and the lack of communication just shows how unprepared they are to deal with Cam’s needs.
A note about the title: in Australia this book was sold as Bloodflower. I prefer the American title, as the process of returning sums up everything. Being physically present doesn’t mean Cam has returned, and it takes another journey, a trip away from home before he can truly return: A remarkable book, and a grim reminder that what happens after the war may require more bravery than the war itself.
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