As mentioned in the main review, Michael Crummey’s Sweetland is full of hints and suggestions of another reality beyond what we might consider the normal everyday — places which, as Moses, the protagonist notes, can’t be found on a map. It is those people whose interaction with average, everyday, civilized life is not precisely average who seem to experience this other world most frequently. Jesse, who, as Moses has come to understand, has an intensely personal internal existence, a “private landscape that surfaced now and then into the wider world,” is one example. Queenie Coffin, the agoraphobe, perhaps another, and, of course, Moses himself, in his increasingly isolated and delirious existence on the deserted island.
While Crummey never pronounces directly on the issue, he does support this air of uncanny possibility, which pervades the novel, and unnerves the reader (in a way that promotes empathy with Moses’s experiences) in a number of ways. One important strategy which contributes to this outcome is the use of predictive imagery — images encountered by the reader which later events in the story will mirror quite precisely. One’s direct knowledge of key, tragic events, is foreshadowed with imagery.
The two strongest examples of this are the symmetries found, first for the story of Moses’s brother’s (Hollis’s) death — a defining moment in Moses’s life, which contains a key secret which is gradually revealed in the story, and, secondly, in the description of Jesse sleeping, which portends the details of his eventual death.
The Death of Hollis:
His temporary work as a deckhand on a schooner shipping goods along the coast got Moses involved in an unlikely tourism initiative which involved introducing wild buffalo to Newfoundland in the hopes of attracting more big game hunters. His boat was contracted to move the animals from Cape Breton to the uninhabited island of Little Sweetland. In the chaotic process of loading the animals, a cow falls into the sea and drowns, her last moments described from Moses’s memory, as he tells the story to Jesse:
She went down slowly at first, submerging like a boat taking on water. But once she was under she sank like a stone, as though she was on a line and being dragged down from below. That dark face staring up at Sweetland on the surface, eyes wide, bubbles streaming from the massive nostrils. He could see her descending through the clear water for a long, long time (…) Lost sight of her after awhile. (page 38)
Later, on a fishing trip together, Jesse teases the story of Hollis’s drowning from Moses, a subject Moses has been touchily reticent about. According to this story, Hollis drowned when he fell into and became tangled in a trawl line of a net, heavy with fish, and was dragged overboard. Moses, in a moment of bad judgement, thinking he needed to release the terrible tension of the rope straining against the net full of fish, within which his brother was entangled, cut the line. In retrospect, it was the worst thing he could have done, as, now with nothing to prevent it, Hollis is pulled, inexorably, down into the depths by the weight of the net. As Moses describes it:
He could see the white of his brother’s face looking back up to the surface. Hundreds of pounds of fish on the trawl and the weight of it pulling Hollis down and down into that black. (page 134)
Although Moses’s completely understandable comment that, “I’d have done it all different (…) If I had my time back.” is eventually appreciated for its loaded content, this image carries an accurate image of Hollis’s death, as Moses experienced it, and which the readers have already encountered in the death of the cow. One can’t help but admire Crummey’s writerly frugality when one notices, besides its predictive function, the beautiful exactness of this description as a metaphor for the way time (the ocean) swallows up a human life. The dead remain visible, although receding, in the memories of others, for quite some time, but, eventually, all disappear into the past.
In a second striking example of this predictive imagery, Moses takes a moment at the end of a visit to check in, tenderly, on his sleeping nephew, whom he finds, fast asleep, in a pair of old pyjamas, far too small, but which he has refused to give up:
The pyjamas made him look hopelessly vulnerable in his bed, his limbs like pale shoots growing out of the fabric, the smooth expanse of his belly exposed. The little well of the navel a thimbleful of darkness. Jesse’s face was turned toward the door but angled unnaturally up toward the headboard. He looked like he’d fallen from a height, dropped from a rooftop or a headland and come to rest in that mangled posture. Sweetland wanted to ease the boy’s arms back down at his sides, to straighten the leg crooked against the wall. He wanted to lie down with the boy awhile and listen to him breathe. (page 126)
In the frantic search for Jesse, who has gone missing after it becomes known that Moses has capitulated to the relocation, his mangled body is first seen by Moses floating like flotsam, crashing against the rocks at the base of an ocean cliff. Barry Priddle, of the Priddle brothers, and Moses manage to scrabble down the cliff because of a precarious ladder drilled into the rock, an artifact from an old landing pad, but they cannot lift Jesse’s body back up to the top. Moses is left tied to the ladder, cradling Jesse’s body protectively while Barry races for help. (pages 154- 157).
The past and the future are linked through imagery, and both Moses and the reader have foreseen this tragedy.