Su J. Sokol was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, before choosing to make her life in Montreal in the early 2000s. Her first novel, Cycling to Asylum (2014), will appear on August 15thin French in an edition entirely revised by the author and translated by Émilie Laramée. The invisible lines is a real ode to the metropolis, its excesses, its beauties, its crossbreeding, its flavors.
We discover, through its eyes, what delights those who set foot there for the first time, savor its beaver tails and its bagels, take its bike paths, marvel at the first snow, taste its solidarity, its freedom, its simplicity. And yet, it is a utopian city that she portrays, a Montreal that has become a sanctuary city, a land of asylum for all those fleeing war, dictatorship, violence, intolerance and terror.
The story takes place in a future not so distant from ours, in Manhattan. In these hyper-surveilled United States, the police reign supreme, armed to the teeth by an authoritarian state, eager to repress any form of insurrection. Apartments are arbitrarily searched for illegal immigrants or other “undesirables.” The use of Tasers is commonplace. Screens are everywhere, in the form of maps, dashboards, means of communication, bumper stickers. Paper is a scarce resource, almost impossible to find.
Laek, a former member of a radical group, suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of the abuse and torture he suffered at the hands of the authorities during his imprisonment. Living today under a new identity, he works as a teacher. Caught up by his past, he is forced, with his wife, Janie, and their two children, Siri and Simon, to flee the United States by bicycle to illegally immigrate to Montreal, where they will try to start over.
Su J. Sokol herself describes her writing as interstitial — situated in the interstices between genres. Her novel, like her practice, exists on the border between science fiction, dystopia, social engagement and exile literature. This choice — like that of telling the story from the alternative points of view of the four members of the family — allows him an interesting freedom, both in tone and in message.
As a result, the narrative is uneven and sometimes lacks clear direction. The language is simple, with little nuance, probably for consistency with the chapters told through the eyes of a child. In continuity with this logic, the whole gives off a somewhat naive, almost innocent impression, which we still want to believe.
In the end, we understand little about what led to the political situation on the other side of the border. But that’s not really important. What Su J. Sokol wants to tell, basically, through the eyes of newcomers, is what happens when a nation puts itself in a welcoming posture; a posture that gives rise to hope, recognition, will and curiosity, but also ambivalence, nostalgia, shock, lack. And through it all, the freedom to be, to define and reinvent oneself, at the junction of all one’s identities.