MY ADVENTURES WITH CANADIAN BOOKS

I left Russia as the country slid into authoritarianism and arrived in Canada knowing no one. In its novels, I found a blueprint for how to survive as a nation in the age of anger.

- ELIZAVETA TARNARUTCKAIA

BACK IN JANUARY, I FELT LIKE I WAS living in two countries at once. Trump said he wanted to annex Canada and waged an economic war. In response, Canadians bought local with patriotic fervour. But in Alberta, where I was living, it felt like the opposite sentiment was swelling. I noticed more voices calling for U.S. annexation. On X, I saw posts from former neighbours and friends of friends cheering on the idea of becoming the 51st state. A few were even planning a “patriotic” lunch at Jack in the Box. I didn’t know what future Canada would choose.

Right now, this country is taking a long, hard look at what it is and its place in the world. On instinct, we’ve turned quickly to governments, community leaders and policy experts for direction on how to be a nation. But we've forgotten one of our most powerful tools: literature. The Canadian canon offers clarity, a sensibility grounded in reflection and empathy. In the midst of our resurgent nationalism, its stories may just hold untapped potential in shaping our country’s identity.

In the Literary History of Canada, published in 1965, the critic Northrop Frye described a “garrison mentality” as a defining feature of Canadian writing. He argued that early settlers saw themselves as isolated, vulnerable and surrounded by threats—both real and imagined—and that this ethos shaped Canadian literature. Instead of tales of individualism, heroism or conquest, we told stories of endurance, traditionalism and the strong communal bonds that hold people together. Frye didn't love that. He thought the garrison mentality made for limited, even didactic, art. I disagree. There's plenty of imagination and complexity in these stories.