Islands in Us Now

In exploring the boundaries of Canadian literary studies, Christine Kim’s recent editorial “Methods, Objects, Fields” poses a pivotal question: “[W]hat have we conventionally gravitated towards as a proper object for Canadian literary studies?” (7). Kim’s query invites a reflective examination of how Canadian literary studies defines and validates its objects of study, urging us to reconsider what is included or excluded within the field. For me, as a scholar of Caribbean Canadian cultural production, this question feels especially urgent and necessary, particularly regarding the inclusion of works by Caribbean Canadian artists.¹

 

The island motif provides a flexible and innovative framework for organizing texts and archival materials within Canadian literatures, encouraging a departure from traditional methodologies. By conceptualizing the island as more than a physical space—as a critical lens—scholars can engage in the grouping and reinterpretation of texts that defy conventional categorization. This perspective challenges established frameworks such as regionalism, diaspora, gender, sexuality, settler colonialism, and ecology, which, while foundational, may impose limiting structures that obscure more intricate narratives. Although Canada is home to between thirty and fifty thousand islands, it is seldom perceived as an archipelago.² The variability in counting methods has resulted in conflicting figures, yet it underscores the significance of islands in shaping Canada’s cultural and geographical identity. Indeed, these islands are more than just geographical features; they are central to the national consciousness, where Canada’s immense size is a source of both cultural and national pride.³

 

In Island: How Islands Transform the World, Ted Chamberlin argues that islands hold a central place in our understanding of modernity (x). As a Jamaican living in Canada, I am particularly attuned to the Caribbean’s significance, especially that of the Bahamas, known as Guanahani by its Indigenous inhabitants. This site marks Christopher Columbus’ first encounters with Indigenous peoples in the Americas—a moment that resonates deeply within the broader narrative of colonialism. From a Spinozian perspective, where consequences are seen as inevitable outcomes of preceding causes, Sylvia Wynter, in “1492: A New World View,” contends that the post-Columbian settlement and colonization of the Americas served as a crucible for a newly racialized concept of humanity. Wynter’s analysis suggests that this first encounter laid the groundwork for the emergence of modernity, influencing the development of contemporary nation-states, including Canada, which remain profoundly shaped by the enduring legacy of settler colonialism traceable to that first contact.

 

Chamberlin deepens his exploration of the island’s significance by illustrating its versatile nature—representational, symbolic, and historical. He portrays islands as embodying a spectrum of often-competing characteristics: they can both constrain and liberate, nurture love and foster hatred, and serve to unite or divide. He contrasts islands that hold spiritual significance and are reserved for select groups—such as prisoners or the ultra-wealthy—with those that are ephemeral or imaginary (x–xiii). This diverse conceptualization of islands helps to avoid essentializing them, instead recognizing their varied roles as motif, setting, and perspective. In this light, islands become not just geographic entities but complex symbols through which we can better understand the forces that shape modernity and its enduring consequences.

 

Anne Collett, in her chapter from Beyond “Understanding Canada,” considers the challenges of recognizing Olive Senior’s poetry within the Canadian literary canon. Collett highlights that Senior’s work, often grounded in the Caribbean, has faced limited reception in Canada due to a prevailing perception that her Caribbean themes fall outside the traditional boundaries of Canadian literature. Collett contests this narrow view, arguing that instead of fixating on the apparent absence of “Canada” in Senior’s poetry, we should appreciate how her work deepens our understanding of the Canada-Caribbean relationship (87). Senior’s poetry offers valuable insights into the economic and historical ties between Canada and the Caribbean—connections that are too often overlooked.

The island motif is central to this discussion, as it underscores the tensions between conventional literary archives and the inclusion of Caribbean Canadian cultural production. Take, for example, Austin Clarke’s The Polished Hoe, a novel that, despite its critical acclaim, is set outside Canada, revealing a paradox in the way the works of Caribbean Canadian writers are institutionalized. This disparity points to a broader issue: Caribbean Canadian contributions are often arbitrarily either celebrated or marginalized for their non-Canadian settings, which complicates their inclusion within the Canadian literary canon. Collett’s critique of this exclusion suggests that Senior’s works, and the works of other Caribbean Canadian artists who focalize the Caribbean, should be valued not solely for their geographical setting, but also for how they reflect Canada’s global economic and historical connections. By advocating for a reassessment of how Canadian literary studies engages with works that reflect Canada’s international relations, Collett calls for a broader, more inclusive definition of “Canadian literature.”

 

To understand how islands influence the reception of Caribbean Canadian writers, it is important to contextualize this approach within Canada’s historical entanglements with the Caribbean. Throughout the early twentieth century, Canada’s relationship with the Caribbean was marked by efforts to integrate the region into its economic and geopolitical domain. At various times in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Canadian officials considered the possibility of establishing a Caribbean province, with discussions focusing on territories such as Jamaica, Turks and Caicos, Barbados, and the Bahamas. These discussions reveal Canada’s strategic interest in these islands, highlighting how the nation’s historical and ongoing interactions with the Caribbean have in turn shaped its literary and cultural landscape. The island motif thereby functions as a critical framework for examining the complexities of Caribbean Canadian contributions, prompting a re-evaluation of the boundaries of Canadian literature and identity in the context of these transnational and global connections.⁴

 

Canada’s historical ambitions reveal a persistent colonial mindset, suggesting that the challenges of positioning Caribbean Canadian literature within the Canadian canon are rooted in more than just geographical concerns. These ambitions are reflective of broader historical and economic strategies that have shaped Canada’s interactions with the Caribbean, underscoring how imperial aspirations and economic priorities have influenced the reception of literature. In her research, Paula Pears Hastings explores the ideological and material processes that shaped the Canadian nation in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, offering essential context for understanding these complexities. Her work supports the view that the Canadian nation-state should not be understood as a fixed geographical entity, but rather as one shaped by its historical connections with islands. This perspective again challenges us to rethink the Canadian literary canon, emphasizing the importance of recognizing the global interactions and imperial legacies that have influenced its development.

 

The notion of islands provides a framework for understanding continuous movements and diasporic experiences. Kaie Kellough’s Dominoes at the Crossroads begins with “La question ordinaire et extraordinaire,” a story framed as a lecture delivered by Kellough’s great-grandson, 150 years in the future. This lecture reflects on Montréal in the early twenty-first century, revealing how Black histories were marginalized compared to official Québec histories. It critiques the suppression of Black Quebeckers’ contributions to Québec culture. Central to Kellough’s story is the depiction of the island of Montréal’s dramatic physical transformation. The St. Lawrence River encroaches upon the island, causing flooding and rendering once-livable areas, such as Nun’s Island, Île Ste-Hélène, Île Notre-Dame, and Longueuil, uninhabitable. This portrayal of submersion illustrates the island’s vulnerability and instability. By depicting the island’s dynamic and precarious state, Kellough challenges the perception of islands as permanent and immutable, highlighting their susceptibility to environmental changes and external forces.

 

The historical and speculative dimensions of the island are key to understanding its representation in Kellough’s text. The narrative references pivotal historical events, such as the alleged burning of Montréal by Marie-Joseph Angélique, to illustrate how the island’s identity is shaped by its past and continually reconfigured. Angélique, an enslaved Black woman in eighteenth-century Montréal, was accused of setting a fire in 1734 that led to the destruction of a sizable portion of the city. This act, which some interpret as a form of resistance against her enslavement, has been analyzed by scholars such as Afua Cooper and Katherine McKittrick, who argue that it was not merely an act of arson but a powerful statement against the brutal conditions Angélique endured.⁵ The resulting devastation forced the citizens of Montréal to reimagine and rebuild the city, marking a radical transformation. This event underscores that the island is not static, but is continually reshaped by history and human actions, with Angélique’s defiance serving as a reminder of how marginalized voices can drive profound change in the geographic understanding of a place.

 

This historical context lays the groundwork for Kellough’s speculative future of Milieu (formerly Montréal), where the island’s identity and social structure have evolved. In this future, “Milieu is one cohesive island civilization, but it is also one in which there no longer exists a dominant ethnic group. No group can claim a 50% or greater share of the population” (19). Here, the island symbolizes equitable distribution and cultural diversity, transforming from a city dominated by specific groups to one characterized by balanced representation. This reflects the potential for islands to embody new social and cultural possibilities. Kellough’s work also underscores the importance of inclusive narratives in rethinking the concept of islands. By foregrounding the experiences of Black and marginalized communities, Kellough ensures that the representation of islands encompasses voices historically marginalized or erased. This approach reorients the literary treatment of islands, portraying them as spaces of dynamic and diverse experiences, rather than fixed, isolated entities.

 

This shift is exemplified in Lorna Goodison’s poem “Making Life,” where islands symbolize not just physical spaces, but also the complex, often painful process of cultural and personal reconfiguration in the wake of colonial dislocation. The poem opens with vivid imagery of Jamaica—“the cherry afterglow of Negril spring break” (70)—portraying the island as a vibrant symbol of home and cultural richness. Here, the islands are more than just geographical locations; they represent states of mind and existential conditions. Goodison’s use of the island metaphor questions whether the inability to find a sense of belonging is rooted in the experience of originating from the African continent, suggesting a fragmented or unsettled identity. This metaphor captures Goodison’s inner conflict about belonging and the search for a stable identity within the diaspora. The poem explores historical displacement, questioning whether the movement of Caribbean people across continents—such as the forced relocation of Maroons or migration to the Americas—represents a search for a home or a form of recrossing. Jamaica, depicted as a departure point due to events such as transatlantic migration, becomes a symbol of both physical and cultural departure, as well as the ongoing quest for identity across diasporic routes.

 

Goodison reflects on the Caribbean diaspora’s approach to “making life,” rather than seeing it as an exile, using islands as symbols of continuity and survival.⁶ Despite their migrations, Caribbean people maintain a powerful sense of identity tied to their island origins, suggesting that islands are central to their understanding of self and belonging. The references to “Blackbrits and Jamericans” illustrate the hybrid identities born from migration (71), with islands serving as a touchstone for cultural heritage amid assimilation. In the poem’s conclusion, Goodison asserts that they are “not really exiled” but “just making life” (71), signifying a reconciliation of their island identity with their current reality. Here, islands are not merely remnants of a past identity, but active components in the ongoing construction of the present self. This metaphorical use of islands underscores Goodison’s acceptance of a complex identity that harmonizes past and present, home and away.

 

In Austin Clarke’s short story “Leaving This Island Place,” the personal journey of a young boy, marked by the trauma of illegitimacy and social marginalization, becomes a profound exploration of identity, belonging, and the complexities of migration in a postcolonial context. The protagonist’s repeated declarations, “I am leaving this island” and “this island place,” are more than expressions of intent; they encapsulate his internal struggles, the desire to escape a painful past, and the social constraints shaping his identity. As the illegitimate son of a lower-middle-class mother who forbids contact with his lower-status father, the boy grapples with shame and alienation, further intensified by the discovery of a nude photograph of his mother among his father’s possessions. This moment severs his connection to his father and deepens his sense of isolation. Despite his success as a student and athlete, poised to leave for college in Canada, the trauma and social stigma of his illegitimacy haunt him, fuelling his need to break free from the island and the past it represents.

 

The repetition of “I am leaving this island” functions as a refrain and is loaded with finality, as it reflects the protagonist’s internal conflict: his oscillation between resolve and doubt mirrors the emotional weight of his decision to leave behind a place so integral to his sense of self. This repetition serves as both psychological preparation and a foreshadowing of the identity transformation that awaits him as he distances himself from the island’s influence. The phrase “this island place” adds depth to the narrative by blurring the line between the island as a physical space and as a metaphor for the protagonist’s lived experience. Clarke’s choice to leave the island unnamed universalizes it, representing any island where tensions between belonging and exile, home and migration are keenly felt. Clarke invites readers to see the island as more than a location—it is an embodiment of the protagonist’s heritage, personal history, and the constraints he must overcome. This abstraction transforms the island into a metonym for the broader postcolonial experience, where identity is continually negotiated between tradition and modernity.

 

The use of “this” in “this island place” subtly conveys the protagonist’s psychological detachment from the island, reflecting his need to distance himself as he prepares to leave and forge a new identity. This shift in perception—from seeing the island as home to viewing it as a place he must escape—is underscored by his avoidance of his dying father, who lives in an almshouse. The almshouse, symbolizing social and economic decline, reinforces the character’s urgent need to break away from the past and its limitations. Furthermore, the term place in “this island place” adds depth to the protagonist’s relationship with the island, suggesting it is more than a geographical location—it is infused with the legacies of forced migration, enslavement, and colonization. The island represents both the source of his identity and the constraints pushing him toward a new future. This duality is central to Clarke’s exploration of identity, as the protagonist navigates the tension between his attachment to the island and his desire for liberation. The island thus becomes a dynamic space that not only shapes but also constrains his identity, reflecting the broader complexities of postcolonial diasporic identity formation.

 

Clarke’s nuanced depiction of the island, through the carefully chosen phrases “I am leaving this island” and “this island place,” illuminates the profound challenges of identity formation in the postcolonial island context. The protagonist’s journey away from the island is not merely a physical departure; it is a psychic journey that reflects the broader experience of migration, where leaving an island signifies a complex process of reinvention and the negotiation of identity in a globalized world. By exploring the consciousness and affective experiences of island inhabitants, we deepen our engagement with Canadian literature, enabling peripherally positioned cultural productions, such as Caribbean Canadian writing, to redefine the centre.

 

Notes

1. The title of this essay is an allusion to the 1976 anthology Canada in Us Now: The First Anthology of Black Poetry and Prose in Canada, an early and important attempt to represent Black and Caribbean Canadian writing in Canada. This allusion highlights how Caribbean Canadian writing prompts reflection on Canada’s own islands and how Caribbean islands themselves have become integral to Canadian literature.

2. Royle notes that, while the existence of every island is known, the total number of islands in the world remains unclear. “This seems odd,” he writes, “since surely anybody with access to a very comprehensive map repository, sufficient time and endless patience could simply count them. The problem is not one of location, however, but of definition, for it depends on what is counted as an island” (8). He concludes, “All that can be stated authoritatively is that we cannot state authoritatively how many islands there are” (10).

3. Owram examines the Canadian expansionist movement between 1856 and 1900, highlighting how it shaped Canada’s self-image as a vast and imposing nation, especially compared to the US. Owram notes:

The initial point of comparison between Canada and the United States was sheer size. Until recently, as railway surveyor Charles Horetzky pointed out, “Canada represented but an insignificant portion of the North American continent.” Confederation and annexation changed all of this, however, and the very size of the Dominion of Canada quickly became an integral part of the nation’s self-image . . . “Our country,” wrote H. B. Gates in 1872, “has expanded into a broad empire.” Writers, in Gates’s time and since, have never tired of pointing out that Canada, whatever else it might be, is one of the earth’s largest nations. (107–08)

4. For an analysis of Canadian ambitions to create a “tropical Canada,” including the West Indies, from the late nineteenth century to the post–World War I era, see Hastings, who explores the tensions and contradictions in the Canada-West Indies union discourse, showing how race, nation, and empire shaped these expansionist goals, and tying them to Canada’s national identity and state formation.

5. McKittrick emphasizes the central role of Marie-Joseph Angélique in our understanding of Black presence in Canada, particularly regarding Canadian entanglements and direct involvement in transatlantic slavery. McKittrick notes that

Angélique’s place in black Canadian history is, as far as counternarratives go, an important one. Not only does Angélique evidence slavery in Canada (a denied and deniable Canadian institution), the alleged act of arson led to a forced confession about the crime and her life in New France. (91)

McKittrick further asserts that “Marie-Joseph Angélique’s Montréal is a site where Canada, as we are meant to know and encounter it, falls apart: it is where blackness and whiteness meet, historically, presently, imaginatively, and geographically” (107). Angélique’s contested presence, McKittrick suggests, makes Black Canada visible and challenges the dominant historical narrative, creating alternative spaces to articulate Black Canadian identity.

6. In his insightful review of Goodison’s Controlling the Silver, which includes the poem “Making Life,” Baugh argues that the Jamaican expression “making life” embodies and affirms a variation of a universal phenomenon. By transforming “exile” into “making life,” the poem showcases the creative capacity of a people—their ability to “make” something from circumstance, necessity, and lack, much like the Jamaican saying, “turn you hand make fashion.” This poem, Baugh suggests, highlights one of Goodison’s significant achievements: her ability to inscribe Jamaican sensibility and culture onto the world’s literary canvas—an accomplishment that is far from trivial. This depiction of Goodison as a Caribbean Canadian writer who imprints Caribbean sensibility onto the global stage aligns with Collett’s argument concerning Senior’s poetics, which reveals Canada’s place in the world.

Works Cited

Baugh, Edward. “Making Life.” Caribbean Review of Books, Feb. 2006, caribbeanreviewofbooks.com/crb-archive/7-february-2006/making-life.

Chamberlin, J. Edward. Island: How Islands Transform the World. Elliott & Thompson, 2013.

Clarke, Austin. “Leaving This Island Place.” When He Was Free and Young and Used to Wear Silks, Little Brown, 1973, pp. 21–32.

—. The Polished Hoe. Dundurn Press, 2002.

Collett, Anne A. “‘Why don’t you write about Canada’: Olive Senior’s Poetry, Everybody’s History, and the ‘Condition of Resonance.’” Beyond “Understanding Canada”: Transnational Perspectives on Canadian Literature, edited by Melissa
Tanti et al., U of Alberta P, 2017, pp. 79–98.

Cooper, Afua. The Hanging of Angélique: The Untold Story of Canadian Slavery and the Burning of Old Montréal. U of Georgia P, 2007.

Goodison, Lorna. “Making Life.” Controlling the Silver. U of Illinois P, 2005, pp. 70–71.

Hastings, Paula Pears. Dreams of a Tropical Canada: Race, Nation, and Canadian Aspirations in the Caribbean Basin, 1883–1919. Duke University, PhD dissertation, 2010.

Kellough, Kaie. Dominoes at the Crossroads: Stories. Esplanade Books/Véhicule Press, 2020.

Kim, Christine. “Editorial: Methods, Objects, Fields.” Canadian Literature, no. 255, 2023, pp. 7–14.

McKittrick, Katherine. Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle. U of Minnesota P, 2006.

Owram, Doug. Promise of Eden: The Canadian Expansionist Movement and the Idea of the West, 1856–1900. U of Toronto P, 1992.

Royle, Stephen A. A Geography of Islands. Routledge, 2002.

Wynter, Sylvia. “1492: A New World View.” Race, Discourse, and the Origin of the Americas: A New World View, edited by Vera Lawrence Hyatt and Rex Nettleford, Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995, pp. 5–57.

 

Cornel Bogle is an assistant professor of Caribbean and Black diasporic literatures at Simon Fraser University. His creative writing and literary criticism have appeared in several publications. He is co-editor, with Michael Bucknor, of Recognition and Recovery of Caribbean Canadian Cultural Production, a special issue of Canada and Beyond: A Journal of Canadian Literary and Cultural Studies. Among other distinctions, his critical work on Austin Clarke was awarded the Herb Wyile Prize in Canadian Literature.