Roughing it in the… boreal forest
Wildwood
by Elinor Florence
Toronto: Simon & Schuster Canada, 2026
$25.99 / 9781668227619
Reviewed by Kenna Clifford
*
In the furthermost region of Northern Alberta, just beyond the parts that back themselves off into the fold of wilderness, Molly Bannister is getting used to the cold. It’s a long ways away from Arizona, where she and her daughter had previously lived, on a tight budget. Throughout Wildwood, Invermere-based Elinor Florence thoughtfully and painstakingly describes the trials of being a single working mother to a neurodivergent child: the costs of therapy, among time and groceries, while attempting to keep up with city living. It has warped her life into a perpetual motion machine of hand-to-mouth.
So, when Molly Bannister is told that a family member has left an abandoned, off-the-grid farmhouse in her name—with the caveat that in order to sell it, she must first reside for a year on the property—she’s primed to entertain the possibility. We find Molly with barely any money in her savings, and with the city bearing little fruit for her family. Money would spell security for their future, at least foreseeably. She just needs to learn how to survive the winter, and bear the unforgiving landscape of the Canadian wilds. This is a trial that she ultimately comes to find solace in, as she uses the knowledge of a distant relative’s diary entries to navigate the harsh and unforgiving winter.
Elinor Florence’s Wildwood (which was first published in 2018 but out of print until now) is a sweet, easy to digest summer novel about coming to understand your own ancestral history. Florence details Molly’s trial of homesteading, while retaining a sense of understanding of colonial powers that aren’t often addressed within similar escapist novels of the genre, which similarly dedicate themselves to pastoral visions of living off the land. For those familiar with this type of story, they might discover something new alongside Molly—a cultural context for the forest and space which Wildwood spans.
To be entirely upfront, as a single 25-year-old living in the city I don’t think I am the target demographic for this kind of narrative.
It’s clear that the author is speaking to the reader with the intention of reaching mothers and women of a similar lived experience, through its heartfelt and frequently engaging descriptions of motherhood: its anxieties and its wonder. Molly and her daughter Bridgette’s relationship is often the strongest and most engaging part of the narrative—they speak in a language that is clearly placed, and well thought out, moving throughout the trials of nature in a familiar and enticing way. It’s clear that there was a real love and consideration for the relationship, and Florence’s dedication to providing a thoughtful representation of the concerns and daily life of a mother with a neurodivergent child.
In spite of that strength, Wildwood retains a sort of mundane reality that does not feel particularly involved in the indulgence of escapism, despite seemingly being acutely aware that the novel is writing for a demographic that is often reading for such a reason; the world that Florence (Finding Flora) paints is largely one of grocery lists and complex gas stoves, and as such it at times loses its colour and explorative momentum. As someone living in a world quite contrary to that of the novel, I had hoped that it might place me in the thicket of the rural landscape, the wilderness.
I found that the writing style lent itself to a particular kind of narrative hand-holding, and frequently lacked a level of texture or consistent tone. This is exemplified in redundant descriptions of what and how a loonie works, or the specific chore-lists of Molly’s day. I found that it made the novel hard to get through, especially during the first third, and it often took away from the more dynamic sequences of the novel’s later perilous winter months. Florence’s writing style leans detached and sometimes redundant—for example, the ninth chapter is simply the prologue, re-written word for word, save around five pages.
Wildwood does shines in its relationship between Molly and her family lineage by way of the letters Molly’s late relative, Molly Banister Lee. There are sweet moments of intimation on her life littered throughout the interconnectivity between the diaries she reads, which speak to the universality of the experience of survival, and frequently ties the novel together. Florence does a very neat job of tying together the strings of the past and the present through small narrative detail, similar word choices, and Molly’s internal dialogue which narrates and shapes the story.
It is through the relationship between the past and the present which allows Molly to not only survive, but to thrive.
*
Kenna Clifford is a writer and filmmaker based in so-called “Vancouver, B.C.” They are the founder and editor-in-chief of Semipermeable Press. Kenna’s creative nonfiction and reviews are published by RANGE, The Dry River (Crybaby Press), Inkyard Press and SAD Online, as well as on the blog Speculative Fiction. Kenna likes to write about desire, culture, art, and memory—and especially the places where all those things touch. [Editor’s note: Kenna has reviewed recent books by Geoffrey D Morrison, Natalie Southworth, Brian Wilford, and Mirielle Gagńe for BCR.]
*
The British Columbia Review
Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (nonfiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie
Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an online book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster