It is not difficult to figure out why the English translation of Daniel Poliquin’s A Secret Between Us has been shortlisted for the 2007 Soctiabank Giller Prize as it is competently written with stylistic and technical flourishes, has its fill of requisite Canadiana, and paints a seemingly realistic and not-so-rosy picture of a period in this country’s history that is rarely portrayed as nothing less than heroic, honourable and moral. And yet, the novel leaves little beyond a blank impression that it has been read and, boy, it was nearly 300 pages.

Set primarily during the first world war and the years following, A Secret Between Us follows the misadventures of Lusignan. Born to a mentally unbalanced and overly pious mother, he grows up a strange child who then becomes a strange man, except not really. He works as a journalist, a writer and an interpreter before obtaining a cushy military position that he gives up once overseas. After the war, he does little except wander around Ottawa and drink.

Told from Lusignan’s perspective, the novel seems unsure what to do with him. He is neither a character that elicits sympathy nor derision, and he offers little explanation for his actions as events are skimmed over at a brisk pace. He does nothing so outrageous as to entertain, but offers little insight in order to enlighten. Lusignan simply floats through the book, which very well may have been the intention of Poliquin, but proves a poor decision when creating a central character of a novel.

To make matters worse, there seems to be two Lusignans in the novel, one for the first half and one for the second. The first half of the novel shows promise of direction and growth and resolution as Lusignan reveals his past and what remains the defining moment of his life: a homosexual encounter with Essiambre d’Argenteuil, a fellow soldier. Through Essiambre, Lusignan is given purpose as he attempts to contact Essiambre’s fake fiancée, Amalia Driscoll, and use her as a means to reacquire a connection to the now-deceased soldier.

Amalia becomes the co-narrator of the novel as Poliquin provides several letters she writes to Essiambre at the front, all of which go unread, save by Lusignan. Here, Poliquin provides the most rounded and complex character of the novel as Amalia is a snobbish young woman without the means to justify said snobbery. She is remarkably self-aware, almost to the point of implausibility, but the fact that she provides much-needed entertainment overshadows that flaw.

Throughout the second half of the novel, Lusignan encounters two more people who share remarkable connections to himself, Essiambre and Amalia, again to the point of implausibility. Thankfully, Poliquin rarely keeps these connections hidden for long as the mere mention of a man fitting Essiambre’s description immediately causes eye-rolling and lamenting that it could not be that aristocratic yet humble man when it always is.

During the second half of the novel, the pace of events also quickens, which makes things seem rushed. Years pass with little explanation, events are given weight unearned, and Lusignan himself undergoes changes in character with little explanation beyond a hint that that is what happens as people grow older.

Strangely, the only events that Poliquin devotes time to are events of the characters’ pasts. Explanations as to why a Capuchin monk friend of Lusignan was not sent overseas as a missionary are given more space and presence than explanations as to why characters fall in love.

A stylistic quirk of Poliquin is the habit of announcing an action and then spending the next chapter or two explaining how that action came to be. He does this over and over again, and it does work well sometimes, but it also becomes frustrating and tedious as the novel progresses. Not only that, but knowing what time period the narration is discussing at certain points in the novel is confusing, because there is so much jumping around.

However, Poliquin provides an interesting look at the period surrounding World War I, specifically in Ottawa and on the front. Lusignan’s experiences as a gravedigger are humorous and shocking in their banality. As well, Lusignan’s methods of manipulating the press through pseudonyms to build a reputation as a novelist is inspired, especially when someone else co-opts those pseudonyms to pan his third book.

A Secret Between Us is by no means a bad novel. It has a charming style and some interesting characters that defy preconceived notions of the time period. Nevertheless, the novel lacks a specific purpose save for invoking a specific time period. However, this invocation provides very little of depth or consequence, but does make for an enjoyable enough read for a novel of its type.