Published at 2:04 am. Updated at 5:00 am.
I expected that, like my last visit in February, it would be her husband, big Jacob, who greeted me, followed closely by Caroline in her wheelchair. But it was François Roy, my photographer colleague, who opened the door to the house of the writer Caroline Dawson for me that Tuesday afternoon. Behind him: Alfredo, our host’s father, who will stay in his bed today.
“We can reschedule our interview for another day, another week, another day,” I tell her quickly when I see her in her charcoal gray dress. But Caroline insists: There is no question of rescheduling our appointment, despite her low batteries and the recent news that she will have to stop chemotherapy cycles to move on to another form of treatment, immunotherapy.
We take care to set up the recording equipment correctly as Caroline tells us that while she was recently participating in another podcast show, while still in bed, a loose microphone fell directly on her forehead. We laugh. For the next hour we laugh a lot and cry under the lazy gaze of Jackal, the family cat. As well as that of Leonard Cohen, whose poster, Caroline’s first gift to her husband, hangs above the bed.
PHOTO FRANÇOIS ROY, THE PRESS
Jackal, our host’s cat
Why did she want us to meet even if today isn’t her best day? “Because it’s not that bad,” she explains, “and I’ve always found that canceling all my stuff because I’m in pain means I’m no longer living my life. Life that I am withdrawn from the domestic sphere, and that makes me angry. »
As soon as her diagnosis was announced in 2021, she asked her friends, the media and people in the literary world to continue sending her invitations. There is probably no better way to stay on the side of life than to continue to play your role in everything that shapes the beautiful everyday life.
Facing the unknown point of view
“I was seven years old when I first decided not to kill myself,” writes Caroline Dawson in her novel Là où je me terre (Éditions du stir-mage, 2020), which was followed earlier this year by the book of Poems Ce qui est tu (triptych). It is the first sentence, a shock, of a first chapter in which she remembers her fleeting but confident desire to throw herself out of the window the moment her parents tell her that the family is leaving Chile for Canada becomes.
“Only, I didn’t jump,” she writes a little further. Not out of apathy, not out of laziness. Faced with the call of nothingness, I made the first decision that mattered. The life that stretched out before me took up all the space. I had just turned seven years old and had made my first act of faith in the world that would now seem like an alien perspective, an unknown point of view. »
What is Caroline’s belief in existence and the world when a different kind of unknown perspective has been developing in front of her for more than two years, namely that of an osteosarcoma that needs to be tamed?
“She is stronger than ever,” replies the soon-to-be 44-year-old with a reinforced concrete conviction behind her trembling voice.
If you have cancer and children [Bérénice, 6 ans, et Paul, 10 ans], you get up in the morning and you have no choice. There’s no way I won’t stand up with them, that I won’t be with them. I am convinced that I will hold on with my nails in the wall until someone pulls me out to stay alive.
Caroline Dawson
From her Chilean childhood, she writes, what remains essentially is this desire to “accept existence, even if it was necessary to transfigure it.” And Caroline firmly believes in the power of literature to change reality.
“I wrote this book because I wanted my mother to become a real figure in Quebec literature,” she recalls, “and it wasn’t clear that we would find women from Latin American households. I wanted to give him this honor: you become a character and you will exist in people’s minds forever. »
Dear people, no structures
The generosity of her heart is incredible, and yet Caroline Dawson is neither a jovialist nor a fan of denial. If the flag of light is attached to one pole of his work, that of anger and indignation flies at the other.
“A beautiful story of a family that did not have it easy,” wrote Prime Minister François Legault on social networks about “Where I Ground”, a comically euphemistic formula for a work that so vividly shows the sacrifices that parents will have endured in the name the development of their children.
“I didn’t like it, I felt exploited,” remembers Caroline. I felt like my book was supposed to say nice things, but at the same time, did he actually read it? My book isn’t just that. My book is about things you could do better that you don’t. »
PHOTO FRANÇOIS ROY, THE PRESS
Caroline Dawson chats to our journalist
Despite everything that shocks her, despite all the decisions that could be made to give newcomers a sweeter life, Caroline still remains a citizen of the Land of Hope.
“The structures make me angry, but I love the people,” she says. There are so many extraordinary people. When you are in the hospital you see that there are nurses who do much more than they should. I often say to myself: “You don’t know me, why are you treating me so kindly and caring?” There are many people in my life who have made a difference. That is hope. »
Three quotes from our interview
About what she believes in
“Honestly, I don’t know, but you don’t get rid of such a strong Catholic education easily. I really liked Jérémie McEwen’s book [Je ne sais pas croire, XYZ]. He asks us to stop pretending we don’t believe when most people have some sort of spirituality. I think there’s something beautiful about it. It’s easy to say you don’t believe, but when you’re going through difficult times, you start praying. »
About chemotherapy
“I don’t think we can forget the experience of chemotherapy because it is so extensive and very difficult. Eventually you come out and you’re fine and it’s not like nothing happened, but you go back to your normal life. But I didn’t think it would change me so much. Afterwards we are much more fragile, much more vulnerable. »
About Balzac
“I read a lot and every four or five books I can no longer stand contemporary literature, which is sometimes very violent, and I turn to Balzac. There are sentences that I think are perfect in Balzac. I feel at home. »