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A review by ravenbait
Island of Wings by Karin Altenberg
3.0
When I started, I believed I was about to read a non-fiction book about island life on St Kilda. What I found was a novelisation of the true story of Lizzie and Neil MacKenzie, who were the first and last occupiers of the Church of Scotland manse on Hirta in the 19th Century.
The novel takes an omniscient third as its point of view, which I tried to think of as being the island itself, because otherwise it was jarring to be bumped from POV to POV as I read; although it arguably could have been God's, given the obsession of Neil MacKenzie, the missionary who is portrayed as coming to think of the islanders as recidivist heathens. I lean more towards the island because it was dispassionate and non-judgemental.
There are passages where the language of the prose is beautiful, notably where Altenberg is describing some aspect of the island's scenery or wildlife, or reflecting upon the emotional state of her protagonists by reflecting the scenery and wildlife in it. A couple of scenes are breathtaking, such as the burial of a child on the pure white wing of a swan, as there were no trees or wood from which to make coffins; or in the reverential yet matter-of-fact description of the man who freezes to death.
And yet I found the story dissatisfying, much as Lizzie found her marriage. There was much distress and suffering and yet no one came away from it having learned anything of great note. MacKenzie took Christianity to the islanders and left them with jealousy, consumerism and competition without seeing what great harm he had done; neither did any of the terrible things that happened seem to leave deep and abiding impressions in ways I could feel. A child dies; turn the page and it's three years later and another has been born. Rare were the moments when I connected with any of the characters portrayed in a way that moved me; I think this may have been partly because of this dispassionate narrator that was the island itself, who did not, after all, care for the humans whose lives we follow through the book.
For all the intensity of our view into the secret inner lives of the characters, this was a distant book, for me, somewhat like being a naturalist observing the comings and goings of birds, their squabbles and battles, without ever really feeling I knew any of them.
Save for one, young Duncan, whose brief time in the spotlight bridged the gap between island and mainland thoughts.
There is a lot of death in the book, just as there was on St Kilda. Tetanus was found in the soil, which went some way to explaining the high infant mortality rate. Ultimately, island life was not sustainable, and so it is fitting, perhaps, that Island of Wings is imbued with the lack of connection brought by the minister's changes, and which may have contributed to the demise of the community.
The novel takes an omniscient third as its point of view, which I tried to think of as being the island itself, because otherwise it was jarring to be bumped from POV to POV as I read; although it arguably could have been God's, given the obsession of Neil MacKenzie, the missionary who is portrayed as coming to think of the islanders as recidivist heathens. I lean more towards the island because it was dispassionate and non-judgemental.
There are passages where the language of the prose is beautiful, notably where Altenberg is describing some aspect of the island's scenery or wildlife, or reflecting upon the emotional state of her protagonists by reflecting the scenery and wildlife in it. A couple of scenes are breathtaking, such as the burial of a child on the pure white wing of a swan, as there were no trees or wood from which to make coffins; or in the reverential yet matter-of-fact description of the man who freezes to death.
And yet I found the story dissatisfying, much as Lizzie found her marriage. There was much distress and suffering and yet no one came away from it having learned anything of great note. MacKenzie took Christianity to the islanders and left them with jealousy, consumerism and competition without seeing what great harm he had done; neither did any of the terrible things that happened seem to leave deep and abiding impressions in ways I could feel. A child dies; turn the page and it's three years later and another has been born. Rare were the moments when I connected with any of the characters portrayed in a way that moved me; I think this may have been partly because of this dispassionate narrator that was the island itself, who did not, after all, care for the humans whose lives we follow through the book.
For all the intensity of our view into the secret inner lives of the characters, this was a distant book, for me, somewhat like being a naturalist observing the comings and goings of birds, their squabbles and battles, without ever really feeling I knew any of them.
Save for one, young Duncan, whose brief time in the spotlight bridged the gap between island and mainland thoughts.
There is a lot of death in the book, just as there was on St Kilda. Tetanus was found in the soil, which went some way to explaining the high infant mortality rate. Ultimately, island life was not sustainable, and so it is fitting, perhaps, that Island of Wings is imbued with the lack of connection brought by the minister's changes, and which may have contributed to the demise of the community.