Brittany Meets Naturalism and Sentimentalism: Pierre Loti’s An Iceland Fisherman
Pierre Loti’s classic novel is a delightful marriage of naturalist literature and emotion
The Celtic region of Brittany has held a special place in the national imagination of France: it used to be seen as a place that clings to traditional values and a peaceful, rural existence in contrast to the bustling, noisy life of Paris and other large European metropolises. Evidence of this are numerous artistic and literary works taking place there, most notably a series of paintings by Paul Gauguin depicting rural life there in the late 19th century and early 20th century. In literature, a novel that similarly adheres to the notion of the tranquil Brittany is Pierre Loti’s most lauded novel, An Iceland Fisherman (Pêcheur d’Islande,1886). Loti, mostly known for several novels taking place in far more exotic locales with (unfortunately, it must be said) colonial overtones, stayed for the most part in Brittany for this novel. Nonetheless, Loti’s prose still exudes exoticism — at times it might feel as if one is reading a guide to living in coastal Brittany right before the start of the 20th century, with tales of children running around, sailors and cabarets lingering on the background. Much like his colleagues Émile Zola and Honoré de Balzac who sought to document human behavior through literary archetypes of people living in Paris and the provinces, Loti takes a quasi-sociological approach to documenting the way of living of a specific population. Nonetheless, in spite of this semi-anthropological approach to the Bretons, the novel does not neglect emotion at all. In fact, it uses it to show that people in this seemingly peaceful paradise struggle to get by just as much as working-class Parisians. Because of this ability to make people feel the life of the Bretons, Loti’s novel is nothing short of a triumph.
An Iceland Fisherman has a relatively straight-forward plot. We get to meet Sylvestre, a 17 year-old boy, and his friend Yann, a 28 year-old man, two fishermen working in the Northern Sea close to Iceland during the summer. The depiction of the vast, empty sea with its unpredictable weather is featured prominently throughout the text as a strong reminder that Breton fishermen have a risky job.We also meet Gaud, a local maiden and cousin to Sylvestre in his early 20s who once lived in Paris but returned with her well-off single father to her hometown in Brittany. Gaud never quite adjusted to life in the French capital and upon returning is still seen as somewhat of an outsider to the Bretons. She finds comfort soon, however, when she and Yann start a short-lived romance that is sadly interrupted when Yann must leave for the fishing season.
Upon returning, two important events unfold. Sylvestre must complete his military service and is sent abroad to Indochina — at the time in the process of being colonized by France — and dies there while in battle. This means that Gaud, who in a twist of fate lost her father and his wealth due to his massive debt, must move in with her grandmother to take care of her. She also starts working as a maid for bourgeois households while hoping that Yann will remember her. Yann, however, refuses for a long time to even meet with her because he had always said he was a loner who would never get married. It isn’t until later that he decides he can’t fight his love for her any longer and marries her. This is too blissful of an ending, nonetheless, and Loti tells us that upon leaving for the next fishing season, Yann “married the sea,” as he once jokingly told his colleagues the previous fishing season.
While Loti’s novel is, as previously mentioned, typical of its era with its ethnographic approach to documenting a subpopulation — it still pays attention to the individual. Loti devotes most chapters to documenting the thought process of the young Gaud, who in an effort to drown her alienation and social displacement fixates on the affection provided by Yann. It also follows Yann as he portrays himself as an unbreakable man for his colleagues and family but is quite sensitive and afraid of his own emotions. Even Sylvestre gets its own section as we see him eagerly look forward to his compulsory military service in Indochina even though he misses Brittany tremendously while there. Although these characters exist in a literary realm that is very Breton, they still retain a unique, deep psychology.
An additional strength of the novel is, of course, the possibility of a Marxist analysis. Although Loti beautifully transcribes the passion of the Breton fishermen on his pages, he still acknowledges that is a very tough and risky job that has cost hundreds of lives and separates fathers from his families for the entirety of the summer. Furthermore, Sylvestre’s account during his compulsory military service might serve as commentary against the French state recruiting working-class people from the French provinces to help towards colonization efforts abroad. Seeing the state sell Sylvestre’s possessions, do a quick burial somewhere in Malaysia and coldly notify his grandmother of his death certainly serve as reminders of how disposable young men were at the time for the French state.
Still, neither the naturalism (the study of specific populations via literature) nor the sentimentalism alone make An Iceland Fisherman a great read. It is the perfect intersection of both that makes this novel a great accomplishment. This is not a pamphlet advocating for better working conditions for the Breton fishermen nor a romance nor even an existentialist manifesto. It successfully is all three, and that is why it has remained a favorite in the French literary canon for so long.
