Books, Volume 13 #6

Ann Copeland, The Golden Thread. Fredericton: Goose Lane Editions, 1995. 247 pp. $14.95.

Ann Copeland, Strange Bodies on a Stranger Shore. Fredericton: Goose Lane Editions, 1994. 200 pp. $14.95.

"There's no denying experience," Sister Claire Delaney and her lunch partner agree as they review the story of her vocation. For the fictional Claire's "nun's stories" in The Golden Thread and Strange Bodies on a Stranger Shore, Ann Copeland draws emotionally, if not completely factually, on the experience of her thirteen years in a New England community. But although they are crammed with authentic "nunspeak," readers who are currently and contentedly in religious life may find the negative elements a bit strong. They need to remember that these black-and-white scenes come from a single, and inevitably selective, source.

As in most women's communities in 1955, the religious life Claire entered aspired to perfection through the strict observance of rules that ranged from the archaic (never go anywhere without a partner) to the silly (don't talk to men), and in her thoughts the words "senseless" and "absurd" recur frequently. Then Vatican II began a period of adjustment that cracked many illusions, unleashing fresh creativity in some members while sending others, like Claire, over the wall.

The Golden Thread, first published in 1989, focuses on the period from Claire's initiation into religious life (what she later compares to "boot camp") to her escape. One black-and-white element is Claire's attraction to "the seductive power of the absolute," especially as she herself confers this quality on her own ideas. For example, she drowns some kittens in accord with an eccentric view of "obedience." Later, when apparently shortsighted superiors thwart her desire to attend a specialized English course, she is obedient perforce but suffers terribly.

Claire's thirst for abstract perfection is complicated by two other passions: academic achievement and music. To satisfy them she breaks rules with or without qualm. Thus, when the early curfew threatens her chance to present a paper to a learned gathering, she finds a dimly lit attic room where night after night she develops her theme while sitting in an empty bathtub.

The cerebral Claire gradually becomes aware of the exigencies of the body. She experiences sensuous delight in a half-naked swim, fascinated pity for drooling old age, confusion in intimate encounters --first with a man, later with a Sister. Finally there is the psychosomatic complaint that signals her impending departure. Typically she rationalizes her individual choice into a general condemnation: "I no longer believe that religious life can speak effectively to this world of the love of Christ," which she defines as "love for men [sic] that is unmistakably human and forgiving, incarnating an absolute [!] respect for the sacredness of the person."

The numerically central section of the book posits the symbol of the labyrinth. Claire subconsciously decides to face the minotaur. She follows the golden thread out of this maze, where perfection is impossible, the artist within is stifled and relationship is undervalued. Closeups of the unfeeling cruelty of this minotaur describe the bitter experiences of two elderly Sisters. Placed as they are at the end of the volume, "Jubilee" and "At Peace" justify Claire's decision to leave. Significantly, she narrates the final story in the first person rather than the third, her directness a measure of her mature freedom.

The cover illustration on Strange Bodies on a Stranger Shore rightly suggests that the author is hanging out more convent laundry. While the occasion of her reflection that "nothing is undone forever" is her grown son Peter's ache over a lost love, this truth also applies to the persistence of her convent memories. By now her "nun's stories" have a larger and more varied context of motherhood and middle age. As the title suggests, perception has become less distinct and less absolute.

Although these volumes are crammed
with authentic "nun-speak," readers who
are currently and contentedly in religious
life may find the negative elements a bit strong.

This second volume fills in some gaps in the first--Claire's relationship with her parents, her infatuation with her professor, how she met her future husband, her struggles with her children, her evolution as an artist. She has developed a detachment from the church and its rules and she cannot view her former community's adaptations without a touch of irony. Nevertheless, in the final story, her interior voice rails against a broadcaster's stereotypes of religious women and against the rejection of God.

Some omissions tempt me to speculation. Why, in the earlier volume, does Claire give almost no hint of a relationship with God, that passionate personal attachment that sustains the celibate? Was it not there? In the second volume her children become characters, but why does she keep her human spouse in the shadows? The simplest explanation is artistic choice. These are not tell-it-all novels but two collections of freestanding though linked stories.

Technically Copeland ranks with the best, and The Golden Thread was a finalist for the 1990 Governor General's Award. As a student, teacher and author (she has published three other story collections), Copeland has long taken the craft of writing seriously. Her language is taut, clear and sometimes lyrical, especially when she is describing church music. Occasional dream sequences and even a "choose your own ending" story provide a counterpoint to these finely wrought vignettes.

In the role of keen observer, Claire renders exterior settings, but she herself is the locale of the action. As she reflects, "Wasn't the world of real adventure and transgression, decision and choice, interior? Invisible? Secret?" Usually the narrative comes from Claire's secret observation post, with various other personal voices juxtaposing their sardonic, witty or affirming comments: memories of earlier experiences and allusions to great drama, literature ("I have measured out my life in chocolate chips") or Scripture ("Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these" during a visit to a cosmetic shop).

This constant conversation among different facets of her personality dramatizes the inner life in ironic tones ranging from the bitter to the comic. In The Golden Thread, the irony works to expose both Claire's excesses and those of her religious community. In Strange Bodies it frequently reveals her own sense of limitation and, at last, her acceptance of life as mystery. In the last scene, surrounded by her family, resolved to tell her daughter about her bizarre convent experiences, Claire finally seems relaxed and happy. Her life has attained warmth and acceptance. Technicolour has come to the small screen.

Stephanie Vincec CSJ is director of communications of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Hamilton and an associate editor of Compass.