58. Scrapbook of My Years as a Zealot by Nicole Markotic
(Spoiler alert)
A young woman is the youngest of three girls born to immigrant parents outside of Calgary (or what the jacket copy calls “boomtown western Canada…). Raised to be more or less an atheist, the narrator is nevertheless seduced by the order, ritual, camaraderie and promise of heaven represented by Mormonism as practiced by her best friend Vera’s family. As the story moves back and forth between the narrator’s childhood in a small town and her adult life in Calgary where she deals with a painful breakup and works with troubled teens, first as a front-line worker and then as an administrator, Markotic quietly makes a case for what the bounds of normativity are or should be. She does this slowly, carefully, subtly, building the story like an argument so the full force of Markotic’s ability/disability themes do not hit the reader till the very end, like a full on sucker punch to the gut.
Scrapbook… is funny, wise, knowing, urbane and embodied. One chapter devolves into a series of quite hilarious prose poems depicting the early life of Mormonism’s founder Joseph Smith (here called “Joey”) and the angel Moroni. The implied rejection of the narrator’s parents’ customs and beliefs by her fanatical embrace of Mormonism is handled deftly and sensitively.
There is a section towards the end, believable within the context of the story, that depicts the brutality and horror of Nazi Germany’s campaign to exterminate the disabled. I read knowing what the outcome had to be while hoping vainly that there would be some shift, some twist that would not lead me to that horrible denouement. No such luck: the scenes played as they must, neither Life Is Beautiful prettied-up nor graphic sensationalism, till the end came as it did for hundreds of thousands of real people, and I wept for the fictional girl in the story, for the real lives senselessly and cruelly taken, and for humanity’s capacity for brutality. My crying woke up Jonathon. He wrapped his arms around me and I sobbed and sobbed into his chest.
Then I almost emailed Nicole and told her “Your stupid book made me weep,” but thought better of it. It’s not a stupid book, it’s a masterful and important book that deserves more attention than it has received, in my ever so humble opinion.
-Nikki
