 Fall
on Your Knees, by Ann-Marie MacDonald. Scribner paperback, 1996.
The Piper family lived on Cape Brenton, a small island off
Nova Scotia. I say lived because they don’t anymore. Live, that is, on
Cape Brenton or anywhere else. Except Lily, but she’s different and
you will have to wait until later to hear about that. New Waterford was
the name of their town, a gray‑green rocky village built on coal.
It was a mining town, but the Pipers were not miners. James Piper made
his living with music, but it was his lovely daughter, Kathleen, that
had the gift. She sang like an angel.
With Fall on Your Knees, Ann-Marie MacDonald composed an epic
tale more akin to classic literature than contemporary fiction. Taking
on the challenge of five generations in one story is admirable, to
complete the saga so successfully is
a major literary achievement. Fall on Your Knees was celebrated
as such, too: MacDonald won the coveted Commonwealth Prize for this, her
first novel. Although she expressed pride for the award, MacDonald is no
stranger to the spotlight. A Canadian actress and playwright, she has
appeared in several films including last year’s lesbian comedy
“Better than Chocolate.” She received the Governor General’s
Award, the Chalmers Award and the Canadian Author’s Association Award
for her play, “Good night Desdemona (Good Morning Juliet).”
James Piper was eighteen when he took his child bride,
Materia Mahmoud, from her family. He was her Scottish-Irish-Canadian
piano tuner, she was almost thirteen and betrothed to a dentist in the
Old Country. The Mahmouds were from Lebanon, but they did not consider
themselves Arabs, they were “Mediterranean.” Mr. Mahmoud decided not
to kill James for dishonoring his family. James converted to
Catholicism, there was a proper ceremony and then the young couple was
disowned by the Mahmouds. Materia, for their purposes, was dead. It
wasn’t long before the separation took its toll: Materia was bloated
and sallow, depressed and unresponsive, crying all the time. James
became ashamed to be seen with her in public. Pregnant, she looked like
a child more than ever, but a grossly abused child. Materia prayed for a
son to regain her father’s love, but Kathleen was born and Materia
changed her prayer to “Please, dear Mary Mother of God, make me love
my baby.” So the Piper family came to be.
The dark circumstances surrounding the Pipers’ beginnings
were not soon forgotten. They become a dark cloud hovering over every
birth, every death and any fragment of life in between. James forgot his
wife and devoted himself to Kathleen—at three, she started the Vaccai
Practical Method of Italian Singing. At five, she began Latin lessons; at
seven, she spoke fluent Gaelic. She was a perfect golden vision, a
princess, and James loved her more than anything. Kathleen was twelve when
James first became frightened by his own devotion. She was crying, he held
her tight.
“A life and a
warmth enter his body that he hasn’t felt since—that he has rarely
felt. She will be safe with him, I’ll keep you safe my darling, oh how
he loves this girl. He holds her close, no harm, never any harm. Her hair
smells like the raw edge of spring, her skin is the silk of
a thousand spinning wheels, her breath so soft and fragrant, milk
and honey are beneath your tongue.... Then he shocks himself. He lets her
go and draws back abruptly so she will not notice what has happened to
him. Sick. I must be sick. He leaves the room and bolts through the back
door, across the yard, over the creek to the garden, where he calms down
enough to vomit.”
James spent the next few years giving Kathleen the best
education he can—away from home. Kathleen was sent to boarding school,
James forced himself to rediscover his wife as a sexual being. He proved
himself again and again. Materia bore a child, Mercedes, and loved the
daughter unconditionally. She saw the demon that rose in James and knew
what her duty was: she seduced her own husband. For the moment, James
outran the devil. Next came Frances, then Lily (also known as Other Lily).
This child died before it was even baptized. James, still running,
volunteered for overseas duty in the war. He prayed for a long assignment,
so that Kathleen would be old enough to send to New York for voice lessons
when he returned. Materia prayed that he would die. When James did return,
he re‑committed himself: Kathleen
must train in New York. James made boots, he ran illegal moonshine, dug
for coal in the black mines on which New Waterford was built. Anything for
Kathleen. Anything to keep her away.
Kathleen arrived in New York under the supervision of a
distant cousin, a taciturn retiree who was unshockable, unquestioning and
completely unsuited for chaperoning a young girl in a big city. Alone in
New York at the height of the Jazz Age, Kathleen truly found music for the
first time. MacDonald paints a mysterious, smokey life for the young woman
as she wandered the dark clubs of the Jazz scene, first alone, then with
her handsome young lover.
Meanwhile, back in New Waterford, the Pipers continued to
live their haunted life. We hear the stories of Mercedes and Frances as
they approach adulthood, which are nothing short of fascinating. MacDonald
moves easily back and forth through time, beginning her tales at the end,
using the details to twist and turn and shock the story. Remarkable sexual
undercurrents flood the torrid tale of the Piper sisters, one chaste and
clean, the other a willing prostitute. Materia grew more and more sullen
and refused to speak, retreating into the fantasy world she created during
Kathleen’s childhood. Another child was born, this time to Kathleen,
upon her sudden (and forced) return from New York. The newest child, Lily,
was visited by the ghost of her dead twin brother. Even a bloody climax
does not serve to finish the saga. In death, more questions remained. Lily
is left to walk the last mile with the reader, both literally and
figuratively. As she plods on foot to New York with her mother’s diary
we are kept on the edge of our seat. The details of Kathleen’s life
there come alive and we learn the name of her lover. The tall, handsome
black musician: her name was Rose. It is in the final pages of
Kathleen’s diary that the parentage of Lily is finally revealed. There
are truly many loves that dare not speak their name.
One cannot completely describe a story like this one and
presume to do it any justice. It is impossible to capture the magic, the
mystery, the beauty and the terrible dark secrets that hide such a burning
intensity between two lovers in a thousand words or less. MacDonald
created an epic worthy of
its own musical score; indeed, a reader can hear the swell of the
orchestra over the rapidly turning pages. Don’t expect to sleep until
MacDonald has finished her incredible tale.
 Rebecca James is an aspiring writer in Rehoboth. She recently
began practicing massage locally after completing certification at the
Baltimore School of Massage. She may be reached at 226-9685 for more
information.
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