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53 pages 1 hour read

Thomas King

The Back of the Turtle

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2014

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Themes

Human Impact on the Environment

King paints beautiful scenes of Canada’s natural world, complete with sparkling waters, lush forests and thriving wildlife. Readers must then bear witness as Domidion wreaks havoc on these precious landscapes. Rather than blaming climate change on individuals, King calls out the large-scale destruction of Earth orchestrated by corrupt corporations, while cautioning against the normalization of said destruction.

Before The Ruin, the residents of Samaritan Bay lived in harmony with their natural surroundings. They respected the natural state of the land, knew the trails through the forest with their eyes closed, and coexisted peacefully with the other creatures that populate the area. The Indigenous folk tales they passed back and forth, including “The Woman Who Fell from the Sky,” emphasized the importance of a symbiotic relationship between a people and the land they live on.

Dorian, on the other hand, has no respect for the environment. He lives in a world of artificial grandeur, deriving all enjoyment from the inventions of other humans. He has no eye for natural beauty and perceives the natural world as existing to further his interests. To Dorian, the environment is unruly and must be controlled. Any life form that he can’t personally exploit is a disposable nuisance. Every time Domidion lays waste to another part of Canada’s wildlands, the toll is massive. Plants, animals, and humans perish, entire communities are torn apart, and landscapes are irreversibly altered.

Throughout the novel, Gabriel keeps a running list of ecological disasters caused by humans. Many of the names are familiar: Chernobyl, Fukushima, Bhopal. Others, like the Grassy Narrows mercury contamination, which severely sickened two First Nations communities in Ontario, are less known, buried among the larger stories.

Each of these catastrophes occurred because of human intervention and negligence. Each rendered the surrounding area unsuitable for life and caused vast fatality. Each tragedy is, on its own, shattering; combined, they are almost beyond comprehension. King addresses how the constant news of ecological disasters has worn out the public’s attention span, numbing people to the unthinkable consequences of these events. Powerful evildoers like Dorian know that the North American public “[doesn’t] give a damn about the environment” (422), and this apathy allows them to continue their ruinous actions.

While touring a multimillion-dollar property, Dorian muses that a pair of bear cubs that come to the edge of the house are “primordial ghosts come back to see what had happened to their forest” (14). Moments like these highlight the way human intervention has already altered the natural world massively. Still, The Back of the Turtle doesn’t abandon hope of a better future. Years after the devastation of Samaritan Bay, its plant and wildlife return, offering hope that nature is a strong enough force to withstand even repeated destruction. With the novel’s ending, King implies that the natural world will heal if left to its own devices.

Eternal Recurrence and the Triumph of Life

Eternal recurrence is the philosophical concept that all events within a single universe happen in infinitely repeating cycles. The Back of the Turtle explores the idea of “life as a circle” (472), in which certain patterns repeat over and over. The main example is the recurrent devastating, human-made ecological tragedies like the GreenSweep incident and the Athabasca River spill. In these tragedies’ immediate aftermaths, there is always a brief outcry that soon wanes as public interest dies off, and then the affected communities are left alone to rebuild. Disasters recur ad infinitum, both within and without the scope of the narrative. Yet just as inevitable as these tragedies is the indomitable power of the natural world and the resilience of the human spirit. Life in all its forms finds a way back, offering hope amid the bleak cycle of destruction.

The enigmatic Crisp believes in eternal recurrence. If the man is immortal (as the narrative strongly implies), then Crisp has seen centuries of history play out, and thus he knows that no ending is permanent. Even after The Ruin, Crisp remains certain that everything lost will return to Samaritan Bay in time. The cyclical nature of the universe means that the place where everything ends is also where it all begins anew, the place “we all comes home” to (108). Crisp knows that Gabriel will return to the ruins of his family’s old home in time for the promised new beginning.

Crisp’s optimism is validated by the return of Gabriel and, later, Samaritan Bay’s land and sea creatures. The Smoke River runs clear once more, plants grow, animals return, and nature surges back. Time completes another loop. Undoubtedly, the next human-made disaster is not far off, waiting to devastate yet another community. But while humans may temporarily destroy parts of the natural world, King reassures readers that no ending is permanent. Like the sea turtles on the shore, everything will eventually find its way back to where it belongs.

Media and the Obfuscation of the Truth

In Chapter 54, Winter repeats a famous law of propaganda attributed to Nazi propagandist Joseph Goebbels: “If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes the truth” (306). This technique, known as a “big lie,” is used to great effect by the novel’s corporate villains. King draws inspiration from the real world as he explores how modern news media leaves the public vulnerable to manipulative propaganda. Domidion’s PR team uses press coverage in a calculated manner, spreading a narrative that minimizes their real and overwhelming culpability in ecological disasters. Their strategy relies on cherry-picking the data that reach the public while waiting for the fast-moving news cycle to redirect public attention onto the next story. By gaming the media, Domidion rewrites the truth and escapes consequences.

Notably, Winter omits part of the quote. Goebbels goes on to say that big lies can be maintained only for as long as the liar can shield the public from the lie’s consequences. For some people, like the residents of Samaritan Bay, the consequences of Domidion’s lies are already felt. For everyone else, it is only a matter of time. In The Back of the Turtle, King cautions readers to critically engage the news media and uncover the big lies before consequences arrive on everyone’s doorstep.

Dorian’s pet strategy for dealing with Domidion’s frequent public relations disasters is to manipulate the narrative; the company minimizes culpability while playing up good press. After the dam breach at the Athabasca River, Dorian and his PR team release footage of their cleanup crews working on the river. Dorian knows that the cleanup effort is useless, as the toxic chemicals have already sunk to the bottom of the river, but this doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Domidion puts on “a good show” (410) for the media, convincing the public that they are springing into action to contain the spill.

Dorian also exploits the general public’s inability to maintain outrage over what doesn’t directly affect them. He knows that “North American Norm [doesn’t] give a damn about the environment” (422), so all must to do to placate the public is appear on TV and say the correct buzzwords until the next big story sweeps Domidion’s sins off the news; an example is how the Fukushima meltdown wipes the Kali Creek incident from public memory, allowing Domidion to get away with killing over 100 people.

The final tenet of Domidion’s PR strategy is to blame-shift and obfuscate: Dorian ultimately blames the Athabasca River spill on domestic eco-terrorism, advising his PR team to “park the mess on the doorstep of a couple of the more annoying environmental groups” (440).

Despite its amorality, Domidion’s PR strategy works exceedingly well. Again and again, the company’s sins are forgotten. As the novel ends, both the GreenSweep and Athabasca incidents have been wiped from the news by newer and more exciting disasters, causing Dorian to proclaim, “God bless the media” (506). Even Manisha Khan, who acts as the voice of reason amid the Athabasca controversy and confronts Dorian about Kali Creek, moves on quickly from the story when it is no longer of interest to her target market. Her willingness to discard the issue emphasizes that even someone who appears to represent the public’s best interests can still have their own agenda.

The Vitality of Community

Each character in The Back of the Turtle has a unique relationship to their community. Mara and Gabriel turned away from their First Nations backgrounds and returned too late, in the aftermath of a tragedy that severed their connections for good. Although the same disaster affects both of them, Mara and Gabriel react very differently to their situations, exemplifying the fact that “tragedy has a trick of bringing folks together […] or it can separate them from the world” (226). Mara chooses to value her connections to others in the face of her tragedy, while Gabriel struggles in isolation. Yet even through his trauma, Gabriel eventually learns the importance of building a community. His changing attitude is contrasted by Dorian, a static character who rejects community entirely. Dorian serves as a warning about the effects of choosing one’s own interests over the interests of a group.

Gabriel naturally has a hard time connecting with others. Even when his family is alive and intact, he “simply [doesn’t] feel […] [like] a part of their lives” (184). After their deaths, he rejects all close relationships, believing that loving others inevitably ends in pain. Mara has lost her entire family as well, but she knows that pain is par for the course, as “living [is] a process of losing yourself” (190). She knows that connection is vital to a fulfilled life, so she drags herself out of a grief-stricken state by honoring the memories of the dead through her art, resurrecting her lost community in her vivid portraits and bonding with a reluctant Gabriel. Mara’s attitude rubs off on him, and he allows himself to start caring for her and the other Bay residents.

At the start of the novel, Gabriel has active suicidal intentions. During his first attempt on his life, he is interrupted by the sudden need to save Mei-ling. Rescuing her and her family thwarts his attempt, and this incident becomes a microcosm of the rest of his story. After entangling his life with Mara, Crisp, and Sonny, Gabriel finds reasons to continue living in his obligations to them.

While interrupting his final suicide attempt, Mara tells Gabriel that, if he won’t save himself, he can save her. King suggests that in the wake of loss, the meaning of life can be found in new bonds with others, and the grace we owe them.

Dorian, meanwhile, forms not a single human connection. He has himself squired between elite restaurants and expensive menswear stores, exchanging only surface-level patter with a fleet of paid yes-men. Even his relationship with his wife, Olivia, lacks humanity. When the marriage frays, there are no attendant throes of passion or anger, just vague annoyance. Dorian’s distance from any kind of community allows him to remain completely unchecked. He doesn’t empathize with other people, and so feels no remorse about inflicting death and harm on them. Unlike Gabriel, who ultimately finds salvation within his ties to others, Dorian leads a hollow existence devoid of human relationship—and devoid of true fulfillment.

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