66 pages • 2 hours read
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Content Warning: The source material features depictions of traumatic injury, gun violence, and misuse of opioids.
Bury Your Dead is a sweeping detective novel with multiple timelines and locations. While on one level the central preoccupation is fundamental to the genre—who committed a crime, and why—Penny also asks why individuals grieve and experience remorse, and how recovery, or its absence, can shape a person’s future.
The work opens with the reader already aware that Gamache may be facing serious consequences, as the flashback to the factory raid ends with the line: “Too late, Chief Inspector Gamache realized he’d made a mistake” (3). Immediately, Penny shifts timelines, using Reine-Marie Gamache’s anxiety to show that the family has recently experienced a profound trial. What that consists of remains mysterious, though obviously work-related and violent, as Gamache has flashbacks to gunfire and funerals. Penny thus establishes that Gamache is experiencing survivor’s guilt but does not reveal who has died. Soon after, the reader is shown Gamache’s letter from Gabri Dubeau, asking Gamache to reconsider Olivier’s guilt in the murder of the Hermit. Penny reveals that Gamache does doubt Olivier’s guilt—and, more fundamentally, his own fitness to investigate: He turns down invitations to consult on the Renaud case and realizes that only Jean-Guy can revisit the question of Olivier’s guilt. Only later, with the introduction of Paul Morin’s voice, does Penny indicate for whom Gamache is grieving—and the extent of the remorse he feels for breaking a promise to his protégé.
Though they run parallel investigations, Beauvoir and Gamache are united in their preoccupations with loss. Beauvoir feels distant and resentful of his wife, declaring that he “hated himself for hating her” (62). Gamache, while his usual pleasant self in many ways, avoids confiding in anyone about his losses and wonders if the Renaud case is simply his way of “replacing one ghost with a fresher one” (258). Beauvoir, unexpectedly, finds relief in confiding in Ruth Zardo, relieved that she “looked at him as if he were a stranger” after the first time he began to tell her the truth about the factory raid (287). In taking over Gamache’s usual role in Three Pines, Beauvoir finds community and overcomes his usual cynicism to trust others. At the same time, he and Gamache both uncover murders where guilt leads others to destroy their lives: Hancock feels powerless to save the English community, and so murders Renaud. Gamache almost admires him, saying, “their suffering hurts you, almost physically” (498). Hancock attempts to die by suicide, turning his communal guilt into self-destruction. Old Mundin’s grief for his father gives way to “hatred” for the man he believes to be his killer (456), ruining his own hopes of seeing his son grow up. Both killers are cautionary tales for their investigators, on the importance of facing grief in community rather than isolation. Gamache’s choice to watch the video with Émile underlines that he has absorbed the lesson, just as Beauvoir has by confiding in Ruth.
Both the narrative structure and the plot of Bury Your Dead rely on the significance of both national and personal pasts. Penny uses each to illuminate the struggles of her characters and to construct arguments about the nature of suffering and belonging. The work opens without context or temporal anchor: Gamache is with an armed team of officers, trying to rescue an unnamed person. Then, in the present, the reader learns that he has a newly developed hand tremor and has left Montreal for Québec City. He is also immersed in historical research about the Battle of Québec, in a little-known library, the Anglophone Literary and Historical Society. Gamache’s mentor, Émile Comeau, hopes that his research will prove to be a respite from murder, “[a]n intellectual pursuit, nothing more” (7). Yet Penny soon introduces the members of the Literary and Historical Society and their passionate concern with every detail, as well as their dread at the arrival of amateur archeologist Augustin Renaud. She immediately counters the idea that history is ever abstract or impersonal. The Renaud case establishes that Samuel de Champlain, the long-dead founder of the province, remains important enough to drive a person to horrific violence. Gamache reminds his colleague Langlois that however unpopular and ridiculed Renaud was in life, the public “took his search seriously“ (79).
While Gamache finds himself embroiled in both the search for Champlain and the hunt for a contemporary killer, he is dogged even more persistently by the memory of Paul Morin. He walks the former battlefield accompanied by his voice, thinking of Québec’s motto: “Je me souviens […] That was the problem, always the problem. I remember everything” (120). Gamache’s escape into history does not solve his fundamental problem—his deep regret and personal loss. Beauvoir suffers similarly in Three Pines, and in his Montreal home, due not only to his own pain but also to the memory of nearly losing Gamache. Loss, real and perceived, dominates why the past is so crucial in the text—the Anglophone Québécois fear their diminishing relevance, so that even the sale of library books is a controversy, while Francophones harbor resentment of British dominance and some hold separatist views. The misanthropy of the chief archeologist, Serge Croix, and his rivalry with Renaud, suggests that immersion in the past to the exclusion of all else can divide one from the rest of society.
Gamache and Beauvoir each find relief by solving their respective cases. Beauvoir finds that Old Mundin was so consumed by grief for his father that he murdered the Hermit in an act of vengeance, while Tom Hancock believed that Renaud’s discoveries about Champlain might further imperil the English community. Each discovers that the past, whether historical or personal, has immense destructive power, and turns instead to their hopes for the future. Beauvoir embraces Three Pines through his unlikely friendship with Ruth, while Gamache, too, returns to the village, finally able to exonerate Olivier.
While Three Pines and Québec City have little in common on the surface, Penny depicts each as a fractured community, if for different reasons. The legacies of clashing empires—French and English—are still felt in Québec City via modern tensions over separatism. In Three Pines, the tensions are more recent, given Olivier’s recent arrest for murder. Both Gamache and Beauvoir find themselves navigating across the fault lines, with the help of allies, and needing to understand how past conflicts shape their work.
From the first, Gamache confronts the reality of Québec’s national divides, as he calls the province a “nesting doll” with many layers—the Anglophone library of the Literary and Historical Society among its smallest, leading Gamache to ask whether it was “nesting or hiding” (26). Though the books hold power for him, and for the members who prize the library, they are also a sign of frailty and recent marginalization. Throughout the investigation, Gamache does his best to increase trust or at least reduce stereotyping. He upbraids a young officer, telling him, “They’re no more tête carré [square heads, or blockheads] than you and I are frogs” (67). He finds himself empathizing with Tom Hancock’s hopes to revive the community and admiring Elizabeth MacWhirter’s quiet dignity and leadership. At the same time, he respects Émile’s separatist views, or at least does not challenge them openly. Gamache’s discovery of Champlain’s secret Huguenot origins and the Literary and Historical Society founder’s decision to bury them in the 19th century bring the members closer to a united front. Gamache observes that “it was pulling together, mending, and it would be very strong indeed because it was so broken” (455). He also notes Émile offering silent camaraderie to Elizabeth MacWhirter, as if to suggest that nationalist tensions may be diffused by personal bonds.
Beauvoir, in Three Pines, deliberately sets himself apart from its community, and only Ruth Zardo notices, informing him, “You never liked it here“ (287). Beyond his personal preferences, however, is the discomfort his investigation creates, as Carole Gilbert seems tempted to refuse his request for a snowmobile to visit the Hermit’s former home. In working with Beauvoir, Clara Morrow finds she is newly required to be suspicious of her neighbors, one of whom has killed and let Olivier take the blame for their deed. Beauvoir exploits these tensions further in his final confrontation with the killer, planting false suggestions before revealing the full truth, such as the idea that “Woo” refers to Carole Gilbert’s maiden name of Woloshyn (447). While Beauvoir’s exposure of Old Mundin fractures that family forever, Olivier is restored to his community, and Gabri’s faith in him is vindicated. Gamache himself is able to return to Three Pines and say goodbye to Paul Morin—suggesting that the key to repair is not perfection but authenticity.
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By Louise Penny