Chains, by Laurie Halse Anderson
Anderson, Laurie Halse (2008). Chains. NY: Simon and Schuster. 320 pages.
Does the fact that I didn’t fall in love with Laurie Halse Anderson’s National Book Award honor title mean that I’m a bad person? To tell you the truth, I thought that the historical fiction was a bit manipulative (particularly the end of the first chapter, in which the race of the narrator is “revealed” in a sort of dramatic fashion) and that (God help me) M.T. Anderson did the whole thing better with his “Octavian Nothing” pair of novels. The first person narrative of a female slave during the Revolutionary War, Chains follows Isabel, the novel’s narrator, and her sister Ruth who, following the death of their mistress, are sold to British loyalists who reside in Manhattan. As one considered unworthy of notice, Isabel is privy to the secret plots of her master and she shares this information with a fellow slave and Washington supporter in hopes of earning back the freedom papers stolen from her and her sister.
While the novel was rather engrossing and moved quite urgently thanks to the short chapters featuring mildly cliffhanging endings, I didn’t feel like it added anything new to the genre. Towards the end of the novel, when Isabel comes to the conclusion that though she is literally chained to her situation, her mind is unbound, it didn’t feel like the emotional climax I believe it was meant to be. If I hadn’t read and thoroughly enjoyed and been challenged by the M.T. Anderson novels, I’m not sure I would be judging the L.H. Anderson novel as harshly as I am now. Even the fact that Chained concludes with a cliffhanger and the promise of a further installment of Isabel’s trials sort of bothered me, if only because the first M.T. Anderson novel concluded on a similar (but, in my opinion, more nuanced) note.
I can’t really say how I feel about L.H. Anderson’s adoption of an historical black voice for her first-person narrative. I’m not necessarily one of those people who insists on a “for us by us” ethic vis a vis writing Outside One’s Experience (and, I know, M.T. Anderson does the same with “Octavian”). Maybe because L.H. Anderson’s fictional setting and situation remained traditional–versus the almost unbelievable situation of the narrator of M.T. Anderson’s novels–I sort of bristled at the cooptation of voice.
Then again, maybe I’m just trying to resolve my own issues with being a curmudgeon and with my growing identity as The Person Who Doesn’t Tend To Like Award-Winning Novels.