By Megan Amato
Content warning: rape
As a lover of all things folkloric, selkie stories are both right up my alley and my worst nightmare. I find the benevolent creature fascinating to read about, but the nature of the myth itself always makes me feel boxed in and claustrophobic. Michelle Grierson’s Becoming Leidah is no different, both drawing me in with its beautiful prose, folklore, and imagery, while I try to claw my way out of the “love story” it professes to be.
The story is set in a small Nordic village converted from its pagan roots to Christianity and begins with a storm that washes fisherman Pieter up onto rocks, where he finds Maeva seemingly waiting for him. He makes love to her and takes her home to marry, and even though she seems reluctant to even talk to him, he is obsessively in love with her. They have a child, the spirited Leidah, who grows close to her father, who dotes on her but continually argues with her overprotective mother. As the story progresses, you realize that this isn’t about a fairy tale romance, but about a magical woman who can’t leave the marriage she was forced into because her husband has hidden her seal skin. When Leidah begins to show signs of magic, Maeva will do anything to escape the village that hates her and return to the sea with her daughter—even as her desperate husband does everything in his and his witch lover’s power to stop her.
Told from multiple perspectives, this story moved me in many ways—not all good. It was beautifully written, filled with Nordic mythology and descriptions so breathtaking that I could weep. And weep I did when I discovered that the first scene on the rocks, told in wistful glimpses of prose, was non-consensual, and so is Maeva’s marriage to Pieter. I know this is done purposely—selkie stories rarely end happily. Even if the selkie in question loves the human, the sea always calls them back and only hiding their seal skin keeps them from returning to the sea. Even knowing this, I couldn’t help but be angry at how the story unfolds and the lack of accountability Pieter faces throughout the novel—even if that, too, is realistic.
Despite how this story makes me feel, I cannot deny the magic delivered within each line and how deliberately Grierson voiced each character so that each chapter felt like you were in the character’s head or diary. My favourite perspective to read was wee Leidah as she begins to grow into herself and her magic. She’s an impartial and innocent figure outside of her parents’ awful marriage; she loves her father and desperately wants her mother to love her, and is unwittingly drawn into her mother’s quest for freedom. While both Maeva and Leidah’s characters and motivations were well developed, I felt that Pieter’s was lacking. All we know about him is that he is obsessed with keeping his wife—despite her asking for freedom throughout the novel—and even in his POV chapters, we never really understand why. While his actions wouldn’t have been justified even if we knew, it would have made the story stronger—and possibly made me less angry.
My last complaint about the story is that the last quarter came undone in a way that left me confused and dissatisfied. And while I do enjoy the parallel of Pieter and Maeva’s lives coming undone in an unsatisfying and confusing fashion, I genuinely don’t think I could describe what happened in the end—and not in an ambiguous ending kind of way, but with a “huh?” However, despite these faults, I would still recommend Becoming Leidah to other readers. It’s a beautiful and emotional tale and deserves the chance to be read by folklore lovers and readers alike.
*Thank you Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!