Newfoundland has produced a parcel of young writers. The move from storyteller to written page seemingly a short distance. Alas most of them seem to need to leave home to embark on their trade. Nostalgia it seems is best engaged in from a distance. Donna Morrisey cunningly evokes the claustrophobia of outport life where outside males are brought in to keep bloodlines clean. There are few secrets in a small closed community, the sense of being under constant scrutiny can become oppressive. And it’s the secrets kept from one that can serve to cause the greatest heartache.
“It ain’t fair.
“No it isn’t. And the fault is ours for expecting it to be so.
“No! I’m done listenin’. I’ve been listenin’ to others all m life. And fightin’! Fightin’ to hold onto what’s mine. And thankin’ everybody for lettin’ me do so. Well, I’m tired of smilin’ for your blessin’s, all the time smilin’, feelin’ grateful but never proud. I want to live my own life, as I see fit.”
Charity may be good for the soul of the giver but exacts a burden upon the needy. Outport life is primal and complicated in its simplicity.
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