Karolina Pawlik is a Shanghai-based researcher, lecturer and writer of mixed Polish and Russian origins. Trained in anthropology, she is mostly interested in visual culture, especially typography evolving in Shanghai since the Republican era. Some of her poems in Polish have been published in Poland. “Migraintion” is the first poetry series she has written in English.
Maud of Enduring Shores
*
“Why Prince Edward Island?” I was asked by surprisingly many friends, including even those who grew up in English speaking countries. “Because L. M. Montgomery shaped my life. She was the first to tell us that girls could write, experience thrill of getting their poetry published, win competitions, go to university, love performing in public, be devoted teachers, confess love first. She encouraged us to judge men depending on the quality of the essays they write and the books they inspire one to read, and not merely by their smiles or social status. She was the one to teach us that friendships with equally intelligent men are inevitably complicated, but worthwhile. She instilled in us confidence that girls, and women, can be persistent in their dreams and strive for equality, and yet she did not come to ‘liberate’ us. She did not question aggressively, disdain, or reject conservative morality in which so many of us grew up as well, but showed us instead how to discreetly negotiate self-growth and how to create one’s own secret, genuine, beautiful spaces. It had incredible impact in that small town, which transitioned from a heavily industrial to a postindustrial phase, and where many people still joke about unmarried women today. She shaped my enthusiasm for life, my love of the sea and the forest, and my ability to find beauty in every struggle, and something delightful in the most miserable room in town.”
*
The plane descended on a rainy night into an overwhelming fragrance of resin. I stayed in an old wooden house, which had once belonged to a rich merchant, in an old-fashioned room with floral wallpaper, overlooking a big tree. Over breakfast my host asked for my name. It was difficult for her to pronounce, so I smiled and said “I actually have a Chinese name too”. Since then, she only called me “Yafeng 雅风” or “my girl”, which made me feel home in a new, unprecedented way. In such unforeseen circumstances, amid the Canadian autumn, my Chinese name acquired new meaning and additional sparkle. The host had moved to Charlottetown from northern China, and had visited Shanghai with her mother not long ago.
*
I was sitting with a book by the lighthouse, awaiting the sunset accompanied by hundreds of crows flying over the waters, when a young student arrived with a diary and began writing. Suddenly she asked, “Maybe you would like me to take a photo for you? I guess you don’t get too many chances, and it’s such a beautiful spot. It’s getting dark, but still nice”. I hardly get pictures of me taken by strangers, but her offer was so considerate that I decided to accept. I offered to take a picture of her in return.
“Are you here for Anne?”
“Actually for Maud, I think. She is so much more than Anne for me. I didn’t read all of the Anne series, but I read so many other books and The Blue Castle was one of the most important for me. In fact, the first room I had of my own was all in blue. Preparing for this trip I read two volumes of Maud’s diaries and I keep thinking how hard and difficult it was for her, of her persistence, of the contribution she made along with many other women, who pushed step by step to obtain things we have today and which we so often take for granted. It really touches me when I read about her doubts about remaining single for much longer, and I want to tell her ‘Do not compromise – you will regret it’, but at the same time I understand that she will regret destroying herself as well, with a complete lack of financial stability, of support, or home – fighting her literary battle day by day, so often feeling so cold and hungry. So somehow I really feel I am here to express gratitude for what a role model she remained for us when we grew up, and to feel inspired in these times when women’s freedom and equality is questioned again in so many places across the world, and evil parochial morality takes over families and societies that believe themselves to be proudly Christian. What if we owe something to the next generations of women too? However, I have been told here that she is not read much in Canada anymore.”
“Yes, that is true. But now that we are talking I begin to think maybe I should actually read something. You know how sometimes your own things do not feel exciting enough, because they are too familiar? My family is actually related to Montgomery. My grandmother used to stay in that house in Green Gables. We are reading some of Montgomery’s diaries for one of our psychology major classes. Some people believe she committed suicide.”
*
Out of the schools in which L. M. Montgomery taught only one survives. Tourist season was over and there were no volunteers willing to take care of this relatively remote place, so I could only peek through the windows from the outside.
My driver was waiting patiently nearby. I knew I was paying him with money I earned myself at the university, and I was very happy and grateful that such simple deal was possible, or in other words that I did not have to be bothered to sustain any special relationships with men, just to be taken to more distant or inaccessible places, as Maud constantly had to. He mentioned Anne again, and I said one more time “I adored and still adore Anne, and I decided I will keep all of her books my whole life, but Montgomery is really much more than that single book or protagonist. I am actually truly disappointed by how it’s all just about Anne all the time here. L. M. Montgomery was such an important person as a feminist, a teacher, a reader, a writer, a critically thinking believer, a nature lover, a pen friend, a keen observer of social life. She had such a great sense of humor and duty too. I actually thought your shops would be full of inspirational quotes for those struggling with their writing, or family, or a Church-related crisis of faith, or education reforms – to empower people, to make them smile and reimagine things, but it’s just all about Anne – as cute, innocent, and pale as she could possibly be. Did anyone try, for instance, having creative writing workshops or oratory courses next to this school?”
The driver squinted in the bright sun, and smiled in the way of old uncles from Maud’s novels – with little understanding of the core issue this girl in front of him was struggling with, but full of touching support and faith. “Tourists want Anne, so we give them the Anne they are looking for. But who knows – maybe one day a young lady will write something very different, or move here, and things will change.”
*
In the morning I sat with a cup of coffee, recalling my walk on the red shore, with oyster shells underneath dry seaweed crunching under my feet. I wondered if Maud was reincarnated, as she so much wanted to be, and if so, in whose body is her soul now? I thought of the many female writers I have admired over the years, of the hardships of their writing, and their distinct life paths. I thought of generations of women struggling to gain a voice, be taken seriously, and be heard. I thought of how many insightful comments and valid observations on social life and spirituality survive in Maud’s diaries, yet they could never be made in public. I wondered how much we have failed to notice, and learn, and understand, because so many equally bright women were effectively discouraged from sharing their critical thoughts and dissimilar experiences in any form. I also looked at the news, after a long offline detox, and learned that Olga Tokarczuk – author of my beloved Flights – was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. It somehow made this journey complete.
*
Over Christmas, as I went back to reading L. M. Montgomery’s books, I suddenly realized that I never edited this text and sent it to any literary journal, as planned, after returning from Canada. I also understood in my little home in the lane, named lovingly like properties in Maud’s stories, that one major reason why I keep responding so strongly to her books must be because for years I have lived this anxiety she captured so thoroughly and touchingly – the constant threat of being sent away from the place one loves more than anything in the world, because of a wrong thought or a disrespectful action. It suddenly occurred to me how many of us love Shanghai so dearly while always knowing that there is this other life to which one may be sent back against one’s will. No matter how much devotion or admiration we have, we will never be allowed to belong entirely here – there will be always someone to remind us that we came from elsewhere, and cannot decide our own fate. Fortunately this can never take away much of the beauty. And our gratitude for the people who welcomed us and learned to cherish our presence will always be stronger than any fear.