Québec Chronicles I - The Quiet Revolution
Dominique Scali’s Les marins ne savent pas nager won the 2023 Prix des Libraires du Québec (Credit: Evan Richards)
Worth much more than the occasional mention in a linguistics class, Québec is a province defined by rich traditions of literature, film and music, as well as an incredibly strong sense of identity. Tired of being asked whether he “really wanted to do his year abroad there”, Evan Richards started this column to illuminate a culture ignored by the curriculum, drawing on stories from his year abroad in la Capitale Nationale (and occasional travels around the continent).
Sitting in a dimly lit classroom on my year abroad, flipping through a Québécois play recommended to me by a colleague, I had to pause for a second when I read the line, “J’fais comme j’peux pour la tranquilliser ! Chus quand même pas pour la tuer pour vous faire plaisir !” (“I'm doing my best to calm her down! I’m hardly going to kill her just to please you!”). I’d never seen French like that written down. It would probably give my supervisors a meltdown. But that line opened a door into a world I hadn’t known existed, one shaped by La Révolution tranquille (the Quiet Revolution). This was a time of massive cultural and political change, when the Catholic Church lost its grip on society, and secularism, personal freedom and social progress started to take centre stage. In the 1960s, literature became a powerful tool for expressing the hopes and struggles of a society trying to define itself in a new way. Simultaneously, Quebecers began to ask bigger questions about their identity and place within Canada. French language and culture became key to forming a new, distinct Québécois identity that rejected traditional, European influences.
During my year in Québec, I got to experience firsthand how the cultural changes of the Quiet Revolution still reverberate in the province’s identity. Indeed, I was constantly struck by how authors like Michel Tremblay, Anne Hébert and Gaston Miron left a lasting mark on the Québécois sense of self. Exploring the literary legacy of the Quiet Revolution reveals stories that shaped Québec’s past and still echo in its aspirations for the future.
Michel Tremblay’s play Les Belles-Sœurs (The Sisters-in-Law) came up often in conversations with friends and teachers alike; it was clear how much the work still resonates. Tremblay’s decision to write in joual – working-class, Montreal dialect – was groundbreaking. This wasn’t the French of Paris but a voice many Quebecers speak in their day-to-day lives. His use of joual challenged the idea that “proper” French came from Europe; it was a statement that Québec’s language and culture were powerful in their own right. Sitting in classrooms where Tremblay’s work was celebrated gave me a sense of the pride Quebecers feel about their linguistic heritage and the ways Tremblay made it visible and valued. It was as if Tremblay’s rallying cry for Québec to treasure its unique identity still rang in the air.
Anne Hébert’s novel Kamouraska (a municipality on the south shore of the Saint-Laurent River, the closest city being Rivière-du-Loup) also captures a defining theme of the Quiet Revolution: breaking free from old constraints. Hébert’s work combines psychological depth with historical narrative. Her exploration of a woman’s inner world resonated with readers in Québec as traditional gender roles were being questioned. The protagonist, trapped in an oppressive marriage, reflects the wider social mood of 1960s Québec, when many were rejecting the Catholic Church’s influence and pushing toward personal and societal freedom. Hébert’s portrayal of a woman’s struggle for independence felt especially relevant when I spoke to people who emphasised the importance of Québec’s secular identity today. Reading Hébert while living in Québec brought her writing to life; her characters’ quests for autonomy reflect a society that has spent decades embracing change and reimagining itself.
Gaston Miron’s poetry, particularly his collection L’Homme Rapaillé (called Counterpanes in its English-French publication, though “rapailler ses affaires” is used in Québec to mean “gather up scattered objects”), takes this reimagining even further. He speaks about belonging, exile and the “gathering up” of Québec’s identity – a fitting theme for a society that has repeatedly fought to maintain its distinct language and culture. Miron’s poems about resistance and cultural pride echoed through many of my conversations. Quebecers are intensely proud of their identity, a feeling that felt more like a community than an individual experience. In fact, Miron was one of the most influential literary voices of the Quiet Revolution. His vision of an independent, resilient Québec still feels like a shared rallying point.
For me, suddenly being able to access this literature was a highlight of my year abroad. I first picked up Les Belles-Sœurs after a colleague recommended it and I was instantly hooked. My free periods often found me at the bookshop around the corner from my school, flicking through Québécois books and making incredibly tough decisions as to which merited a place in my suitcase home. One of my newer favourites is Dominique Scali’s Les marins ne savent pas nager (The Sailors Don’t Know How to Swim), which won the 2023 Prix des Libraires du Québec (Quebec Booksellers’ Prize). It’s an atmospheric novel set on a fictional island in the Atlantic, which follows an orphan’s journey. Then, there’s the added bonus of learning more nautical vocabulary than you could ever imagine existed!
Today, Québec’s literary scene is as vibrant as ever. New voices continue to shape the narrative, with campaigns like Je lis autochtone (I Read Indigenous) showing how authors are still challenging norms and blending old with new. As it continues to challenge conventions and redefine what it means to be Québécois, it’s clear that, whether through exploring the past or tackling contemporary issues, literature offers a window into the province’s soul – one that is ever-evolving, fiercely proud and unafraid to question its place in the world.