books you may love: Taaqtumi compiled by Neil Christopher (Part 3)

I don't think I've ever cared to read a zombie story. I can't recall whether I've tried to read one and given up, or simply never tried in the first place.

I do remember having watched zombie movies/TV shows and mostly shaking my head at the turn of events. Because there's almost always one person determined to be reckless, mistaking stubborn-headed bravado for bravery, and putting themselves and everyone else in danger.

Anyway, all that doesn't matter. Because Taaqtumi introduced me to Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona.

The story begins with a young girl named Aliisa keeping night watch. What she's guarding against is not very clear right away. But it's obvious she (and some others) have been living a different kind of existence.

She couldn't tell how long exactly she had been up. They had stopped telling time with hours a long time ago.

It's actually been years, I guess, she thought to herself. It didn't really matter, though; they didn't need to be anywhere at any particular time.

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

This reminds me of the time when we went to India two years ago and stayed with my parents on vacation. Time became a fluid entity.

For us, there was no rush to be anywhere at any particular time — the purpose of the trip was to spend time with family rather than to go sightseeing — and time became rather irrelevant.

Which also helped make peace with the fact that if someone promised to come home at 9 AM but eventually only showed up at 6 PM, it was no big deal. Really.

"It's not like we have anywhere else to be," my mom sagely pointed out.

It's obvious though that Aliisa and her companions are certainly not on vacation. They are in survival mode, keeping themselves safe from an as-yet-unnamed danger.

Their year was defined by the seasons: times when they caught Arctic char in the rivers or lakes, times when berries covered the tundra, times when the sea ice froze and they could catch sunning seals. The dark, cold part of mid-winter and the glorious spring when the world seemed to open up.

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

What if, like time, money could become irrelevant too? And no, I'm not buying into Elon Musk's argument that at some point in the future there'd be such an abundance of resources that money would no longer be required.

There's perhaps already enough money in the world to ensure everyone's basic needs are met; why should we buy into the arguments of a handful of rich, powerful people that at some point in the future, there will be enough to go around?

Anyhoo, I digress.

Because then comes the ijiraujaq.

And our brave Aliisa, shy of her thirteenth birthday, takes it out with a clean aim of her rifle.

ijiraujaq (e-yi-ROW-yaq) = zombie
ijiraujat (e-yi-ROW-yat) = zombies
(From the Glossary at the back of the book.)

It was a hunting tradition. If you pointed the carcass of an animal towards camp it would bring you better luck; more animals would come to you. Except with ijiraujat, with zombies, they pointed the bodies away from where they lived. Might as well try, right?

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

#

Then comes a helicopter. With two white men. A doctor from the University of Toronto and a pilot.

"... A year ago, the CRCCD developed a vaccine for the virus that decimated 86% of the population. We began treating the infected, and the vaccine has been quite effective in preventing infection in healthy individuals. All survivors of the pandemic must be relocated to regional treatment centres set up around the country. It was communicated that some Inuit went back to the land to escape the infection. I, along with Greg here,"—he motioned toward the pilot approaching—"have been tasked with rounding up the remainder of you and bringing you to Igloolik, where triage will assess you. You'll then be transferred to Hamilton, Ontario, for quarantine or placement in the required remediation group. Now can I get your names please?"

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

These lines, oh so seemingly sensible and harmless, almost rational, in fact. Infuriatingly so! But doesn't this get right to the heart of the matter?

And it is eerily reminiscent of all that went down during the COVID pandemic.

My neighbours at the time, John and Natasha, were an old Canadian-Macedonian couple. Their daughter worked with AstraZeneca in the US.

When people over the age of 40 were asked to get their shots, despite the risk of blood clot that was associated with it, I asked John if he had any information on whether the vaccine was safe or not. He said he'd check with his daughter and get back to me.

A few days later, I got my shot and was returning home when I met John in the driveway. He asked me where I was coming from. I said I went to get my vaccine shot.

"Which one?" he asked.

"AstraZeneca," I replied.

His face fell. "OK," he said and turned away.

"You were about to ask me something earlier?" I inquired.

"No, no, nothing," he said and shuffled away.

My overactive imagination can't stop thinking that John might have had something sinister to share with me about the vaccine but decided to not divulge it after having learnt that I had taken the shot.

Of course, it was also very likely that he may have simply wanted to confirm that it was perfectly alright to take that vaccine. But where's the drama in thinking so sensibly?

But that still doesn't answer the question of who gets to make these decisions about what an entire population ought to do in the event of a widespread emergency or danger?

I have an entire post on this, dissecting what the powers-that-be mean when they talk about the 'greater good', but the excerpt from that post that I'd like to share here is a few lines from David Baldacci's Long Road To Mercy.

In some ways—no, maybe in the only way—the figure of Justitia represented all there was in the world to Pine. Justice. It wasn't about the greater good. It was about what was right and wrong on an individual basis. Person by person. Because if you neglected the people, the idea of a greater good was a pipe dream created by those whose idea of the "greater good" almost always tended to favour themselves and people like them.

~ An excerpt from Long Road To Mercy by David Baldacci

#

It was only when I recently watched Below, a Canadian thriller TV show on Netflix, that I learnt of the government program of resettlement in Newfoundland & Labrador, during 1954—1975.

I know too little about these developments to speak about them with any merit, but the power of stories is such that we can witness the experiences of the different characters in favour of and against the resettlement program and understand all these contrasting points of view.

To be separated from one's home is no joke, not even when it is undertaken voluntarily.

For most of my childhood, the cultural refrain was that we needed to study well and head to the US of A. The West was supposedly the place of honesty and efficiency and meritocracy.

I spent the first 30 years of my life believing that I'd only be happy if I moved abroad, and the next 15—16 years being disabused of that notion.

People are more or less the same everywhere. Our cultures and customs differ, but underneath it all we are driven by the same desires and fears, cravings of validation and approval and acceptance, and terror of rejection and failure.

Don't get me wrong. I have loved living in the UK, Singapore, Australia and now it's a privilege and a blessing to call Canada home.

The only trouble was that every time I moved to a new destination, it was because I thought I'd be 'forever happier' there. I only wish I had learnt earlier on in life that moving to one place or another wouldn't have solved all of life's problems magically.

#

qallunaaq (qal-lu-NAAQ) = a white person
qallunaat (qal-lu-NAAT) = white people

And one of my favourite words from this tale is its title.
utiqtuq (u-TIQ-tooq) = returning or going back
(From the Glossary at the back of the book.)

#

Aliisa is tempted to go with the qallunaat in the hopes that she can find out whether the rest of her family has survived. But she doesn't wish to leave her guardian, Ittuq, behind.

Aliisa looked to Ittuq and said, "I don't want to go without you. Will you come too? Please?"

He switched to Inuktitut. "Aliisa, aakuluk, dear, you don't know if he's telling the truth. You can't trust this man. I know, I've been taken from the land before. They took me from my parents to go to residential school. They told us we'd be better off, we'd be fed, and have safe places to live. It didn't work out like that. They tried to kill our language, our culture. We were barely regarded as people. He's telling you you're going to a treatment centre for quarantine. You're going to be moved around like an animal and jailed until they say you can leave. I can't do that. I want you to think hard about this. You're old enough to make your own decision, but really think about it. You have enough here, you have freedom. We have a happy life."

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

aakuluk (AA-ku-look) = dear
(From the Glossary at the back of the book.)

#

It is for these insights that I read. To understand the gamut of emotions that a character, a human being or another being, can go through, and how that leads them to the choices they make. That, to me, is endlessly fascinating.

We are all so human. And we all think we are or ought to be so much more than that.

#

The bit in the story that really broke my heart was this ...

"You're not going to need that," he [the doctor] said, gesturing to the rifle still slung across her back.

"Seriously?" Aliisa said, incredulously. "I've been carrying this every day for three years. This is why I'm still alive."

"This is a government mission. You need to be certified to carry a firearm. And besides, you're how old?"

"Thirteen," she said quietly.

"Ha! We have two adults here who are capable of taking care of you. You'll be fine without it from now on."

Aliisa definitely did not like this. But the doctor just stood there with his hand outstretched, waiting for her rifle. She took it off unwillingly and handed it to him. It felt strange to give up what had been her lifeline. The doctor set the rifle down on the ground.

"We have firearms and munitions stored properly in the back compartment. Honestly," he chuckled. "A thirteen-year-old with a firearm," she heard him mutter.

~ An excerpt from Utiqtuq by Gayle Kabloona, from Taaqtumi

This was the moment — when he utters those words "A thirteen-year-old with a firearm" — that made me lose all trust in the doctor.

Until then, I was holding out hope that Aliisa would find some good in following her instincts. The doctor's dismissive words shattered that hope.

I mean, sure, where the doctor came from, teenagers were likely too reckless to be hanging around firearms. And that is the worldview he brings to the situation, the lens through which he sweeps away the value of Aliisa's lived experiences with one careless wave of a hand.

#

This was a story I loved beyond words. All the lines that I have written above are merely records of what different aspects of the story triggered in me or reminded me of.

But who can pinpoint exactly what it is that made the story resonate with me so much?

For years after the Harry Potter books burst onto the scene and took the literary world by storm, there were countless posts attempting to dissect exactly what made the books so popular.

People came up with all sorts of explanations. The one I remember the most is an article in which the writer pointed to the fact that the children grew with each book, keeping them relatable to a readership that aged alongside.

I remember thinking, Yes, that may be so, but only in part. That doesn't tell the entire story.

Because it's like the unnameable Tao. The mystery. Once you utter its name, it's not that thing anymore. Because the very essence of it changes.

That is how I feel about these amazing stories I've read in Taaqtumi. I haven't mentioned every single one here, but I've adored each one. Every single one brought its own flavour and texture and tune to this magnificent tapestry that the anthology has turned out to be.

The closest I can come to explaining it is by referring to the title of this particular story and its meaning.

utiqtuq (u-TIQ-tooq) = returning or going back
(From the glossary at the back of the book.)

Yes. Reading these tales was like going back ...
To what?
I don't know.
Home, perhaps?
Maybe.
But that too doesn't need to be named.
In leaving it unnamed, we can keep the mystery of it undisturbed, the very essence of it intact.
So that you can read it to experience it for yourself and not have to rely on labels that I, or anyone else, might give these sacred stories.