No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod ~ 1999. This edition: McClelland and Stuart, 1999. Hardcover. ISBN: 0-7710-5567-6. 283 pages.
One of a long tradition of Canadian Family Saga Novels, set, as many of them are, in the ruggeder bits of Eastern Canada. In this case Cape Breton, with discursions into northern Ontario uranium mining country and the meaner streets of Toronto.
The particular (fictional) branch of the MacDonald family which this novel concerns came to Cape Breton from Scotland in 1779, and the tale of their journey is now legend with their descendents. There’s a lot of referencing Bonnie Prince Charlie and the rebellion of 1745 – the MacDonalds were “for” – and Culloden is discussed in the 1950s and 60s as if it happened just last week.
The title of the novel comes from a quote attributed to General Wolfe before the Battle of Quebec on the Plains of Abraham in 1759, that the Highlanders (including those of the MacDonald clan) will be useful in the assault on the French because “they are hardy, intrepid, accustomed to a rough country, and no great mischief if they fall.”
Yes, indeed. And fall MacLeod’s MacDonalds do, in various tragic ways.
Here’s the plot summary from the flyleaf of my 1999 edition:
That was a bit of a cheat, me using the scan versus condensing things myself. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to rehash things, and here’s the reason.
Deep breath.
This is it: No Great Mischief is, for me, something of a dud.
That said, let me back up and sugarcoat that statement by agreeing with its many fans that parts of it are excellent. The opening chapters are brilliant, as are large sections throughout. It’s deeply and lovingly evocative of a very unique place. Life affirming even though brim full of tragic, too-soon deaths. Gloriously funny here and there. And earnest and sincere and sincere and earnest and so blinking repetitive that I kept thinking I’d somehow gone back a chapter or two without noticing. Oops, sugar-coating cracked just there, didn’t it?
I guess my biggest problem with this novel is that the thing just doesn’t convince; the family legends have been told too often; they are approaching facile in how they trip off the tongue of each subsequent teller. It’s the storyteller Alistair MacLeod presenting the tale of the storyteller Alexander MacDonald who is in turn repeating the stories of every generation before him. The material is over-handled. Oh, and every few pages everyone breaks into song. Crooning away in Gaelic, in perfect harmony. How nice, but it lost its effect after the tenth time or so.
The best bits are the contemporary passages, and even those are repeated and repeated, dulling the impact of the perfectly captured moment. I wanted to shout “Stop! Right there! You have me in the palm of your hand! Leave it there!” Nope, wham wham wham, MacLeod keeps driving his point home.
And the ending was ridiculously contrived. A book toss was a near, near thing.
So there we have it.
I wanted to love this novel so much. I came to it open to loving it, eager to embrace it. And then, despite its fine qualities, it ended up repelling me by the time I made it to the end.
Your experience may differ. As might mine on a second reading, if that ever happens.
The rating for right now, then.
Despite my cruel words, I will give No Great Mischief its due. Let’s say 8/10, because it was a good novel much of the time, and came so close to winning me over. I am truly sad that it was ultimately disappointing, because I had been looking forward to it as a treat-to-myself on the strength of its stellar “Great Can-Lit” reputation, and I thought it would be an easy 10.
Leaves & Pages 
I read this when it first came out and adored it. I loved the sense of place, of history, and of family. And what’s more, it pushed me to read even more of MacLeod’s work and discover that was even better than this. I have no idea what I’d think of it now (age 31 rather than 13); I like to think I’d still enjoy it but honestly the quibbles you mention are things I would less easily overlook these days. Might be time for a reread soon.
I was quite enamoured at first, but as the saga progressed it crossed a certain line into what felt like over-the-topness even for the genre. MacLeod could certainly write, but I don’t know that his skill with his short stories was quite enough to carry him into the longer novel form. This thing reads like a “first novel” , which it really was, so there it is, I guess. I’d be interested in hearing your opinion if you do read it again. The ending in particular felt “off” – it was not at all plausible, though it was well drenched in pathos.
[…] ~ No Great Mischief by Alistair MacLeod ~ 1999. From Scotland to Cape Breton: an extended family cherishes its roots […]
Oh no! This is one of my favourite books of all time, I love it so much. That said, I put it forward for my bookgroup, and half of them found it dreary and dull and basically hated it. A couple of people loved it as much as I did – one of them said ‘it made me happy to think there are books like this in the world, and I’ve never heard of them, and they are waiting for me when I find them’ – isn’t that marvellous? But it was completely divisive, nobody felt it was fine, or OK, they loved it or hated it.
Bits of it are seared in my mind, and I think of them often. We are all the better for being loved…
I certainly don’t hate it; maybe it’s just that it’s so very, very Can-Lit, piled on so very deep.
And some things just don’t ring true. (That ending! What the heck is wrong with the brother? He’s driving the car one minute and dead the next. Good timing? Did he will himself to die as the tires touched Cape Breton? I don’t really get it! It felt way too contrived. As did some of the other deaths. Of which there were an awful lot, no?)
Many parts were excellent – I did rate it 8/10, in recognition of those parts. And yes, that strand all the way through about love…I did like that.