Review of Valentine in Montreal by Heather O’Neill

New Heather O’Neill? You know I am on it. Valentine in Montreal is an interesting departure, in many ways, from her earlier work, yet it is also clearly very much in line with her style and motifs. Its most notable conceit, of course, is how O’Neill wrote and released it in a serialized fashion in The Montréal Gazette. I love this idea of bringing back serialized fiction!

The eponymous Valentine works in a depanneur in the Berri-UQAM station of the Montreal metro. She has never left Montreal, and indeed, she is deeply attached to the metro system that runs though its heart. She loves nothing more than to ride the metro. One day, however, she encounters a doppelganger on her way home. Intrigued, she follows her twin, only to become embroiled in a strange conspiracy of a mob boss, a dancer, and a composer. It’s a weird, whimsical novel, yet nothing surprising from someone like O’Neill.

I love Montreal. I have visited it several times, mostly because my bestie moved there nearly a decade ago. I especially love its metro—when I first visited, coming from Thunder Bay, I was worried I would find riding the metro intimidating. Yet it proved easy, affordable, and reliable (especially in contrast to my experiences with the Toronto subway). I love the vibe of Old Montreal in the summer and all the various neighbourhoods throughout the island.

Many of O’Neill’s novels have been set in Montreal, yet none has approached the status of love letter as closely as this one. By naming each chapter after on of the metro stations, O’Neill ties her story inextricably to the geography of Canada’s oldest European city. I love the way she takes time to celebrate the architecture of many of these stations. For those of us who have been there, it’s this beautiful connection to memories. For those who have never been, it reifies the setting in a personal, intimate way.

The whimsical line-drawing illustrations by Arizona, O’Neill’s daughter and a professional illustrator, add a nice touch as well.

The serialized nature of the book shows in its story. O’Neill reflects in her introduction how the pressure to turn in a chapter every week affected the creative process for better and worse. It’s such an interesting artistic experiment, and I don’t mean to knock it when I say that Valentine in Montreal is not one of my favourites of hers. Not only is its scope and length far more restrained, but it just feels a bit slapdash in its narrative. It’s almost a romp, almost a thriller, almost absurdism—Valentine’s backstory and Bella as a character are just so ludicrous. There is a flatness to most of the characters that I didn’t find appealing at all.

Nevertheless, I want to recognize the beauty and thoughtfulness within the story. I keep coming back to the word “whimsy,” yet I think this description is a disservice. O’Neill is trying to tell a story about gradually embracing adventure; Valentine is not “called” so much as she slowly dips her toe into the water and discovers she likes it. As a homebody who has spread her wings more and more over the years, I can really relate to this. There’s something beautiful in watching someone (especially a young woman) discover she is capable of more than minding a store, and that’s what this book gives us.

There was a moment where I seriously wondered if Valentine was meant to be Baby, from Lullabies for Little Criminals, all growed up. There are some superficial similarities (Baby lost her mom in a car crash; Valentine lost her parents). Alas, it’s total headcanon on my part. Still, Valentine has elements of a spiritual successor to Baby’s story—but maybe that’s just a sign of how much the other novel continues to live on in my brain.

Highly recommended for O’Neill fans, Montreal fans, or anyone looking for a short and cozy read.