Here we have a meticulously crafted book about a boy coming of age in an isolated northern town where hockey and other people’s business are the primary occupations.
The plot is mildly interesting: the lead character is a 13-year-old boy with whom we could identify a lot better if he expressed how he really felt about anything. A tough new police sergeant comes to town and becomes the new bantam boys’ hockey coach. Gradually our hero begins to suspect that this new guy is up to something and decides to investigate it himself. Turns out, he was right- the coach is working with a waitress to steal money from the local bar. When their plans get uncovered, the coach takes desperate measures.
But John Geddes’s careful structure and obvious images leave me feeling distanced from the characters and from what should have been an intensely traumatic ending. And for pity’s sake, why is he using phrases like “where the Indians lived?” It’s not only Geddes’s subtle condescension, nor is it simply his thoughtless use of archaic language that rankles. It’s also his complete failure to notice that he’s doing it!
OK, there’s one thing I like about this book. His descriptions of the seasons and of the shift into and out of the long, northern winter are cool. If you have nothing else to do one afternoon (and nothing else to read), then go ahead and visit The Sundog Season. (Sarah Nelson)
by John Geddes, $19.95, 146 pgs, Turnstone Press, Artspace Building, 607-100 Arthur Street, Winnipeg, MB, R3B 1H3, TurnstonePress.com