|JAPANESE FANS OF ANNE in the reconstructed village of Avonlea|
Prince Edward Island, Canada’s smallest province, is long and vaguely shark-shaped. Tourist brochures divide it into four zones; the part around Cavendish is designated “Anne’s Land.” The de facto capital of Anne’s Land is a farmhouse where some of Montgomery’s relations lived; I decided to start my tour there. Montgomery visited the house often and used it as inspiration for Green Gables, although she took great license in her depiction—Anne was not the only one prone to fanciful departures. Contemporary photos show a nondescript, unkempt home, not a “big, rambling, orchard-embowered house” with a dooryard neat enough to eat off. Montgomery liked to cite a local saying about the house: “If you wanted to see what the world looked like on the morning after the flood you should go into [the] barnyard on a rainy day!”
Anne and its several sequels were an instant sensation with readers of all ages—the Harry Potter books of the Edwardian era—and fans began streaming into Cavendish almost as soon as the first book was published. In the 1930s, the Canadian park service acquired the farm and incorporated it into a new national park. The land around the house became a golf course, and the house was fixed up to square with the descriptions in the novel, right up to the crisply painted gables. Inside, it’s bright and orderly—not at all like I’d envisioned from the novel, where it seemed full of the rough chaff of everyday farm life, with plenty of dark corners to nurture the imagination. It was as if a photo stylist had arranged everything neatly for an Architectural Digest shoot, circa 1890. I had a hard time visualizing Anne, or anyone for that matter, actually living here.
About half a mile down the road is a relatively new attraction called Avonlea (the fictional name Montgomery gave to Cavendish), which strives to re-create village life as portrayed in the novels. Like many reconstructed villages, it seemed a little too radiant, and was slightly off-kilter. For instance, a “farmhand” in overalls and a straw hat passed by on a unicycle, wanting to know whether I was going to the sack races. Also, a busload’s worth of Japanese visitors were wandering excitedly up and down the lanes.
Anne has been hugely popular in Japan since it was first translated there, in 1952; the story of an outcast rising above adversity through pluck evidently resonated with postwar Japanese, who may have seen parallels to their own situation. (Japanese fans are also fascinated by her hair: the book’s title in Japan is Akage No Anne, or “Anne of the Red Hair.”) Each year, several thousand Japanese visit the island in homage to Anne. In an essay published earlier this year in The Guardian, the novelist Margaret Atwood described asking an audience in Japan about the book’s enduring appeal. She got 32 responses, ranging from the shared love of cherry and apple blossoms to Anne’s ability to stand up to “that most formidable of Japanese dragons, the bossy older matron.”
In Avonlea, I talked to a “village resident” in a minister’s collar, who told me he was also a minister in real life and had officiated at more than 500 weddings of Japanese couples, mostly at the Anne of Green Gables Museum. This is the farm where Montgomery herself was married, and the couples go to great lengths to duplicate her ceremony, right down to the wedding cake, which is made from the same recipe. I later chatted with two college students visiting from Japan, who were sitting in a sleigh, wearing smocks over their dresses and straw hats with pre-attached red braids—headgear as easily obtained in Cavendish as Mickey Mouse hats are in Disneyland. “This has always been my dream,” one said.
All this was weirdly compelling—and explains the host of island signs and brochures in Japanese—but I began to feel as if I were falling from one Escher print into another. So I went back to the main crossroads of Cavendish, paid $4, and walked the short distance to the farm where Montgomery was raised, and where she wrote Anne. All that remains is a roped-off cellar hole, kept trim and clean as a loaf pan. I sat on a bench at the edge of the erstwhile dooryard and listened to warblers. Corduroyed fields of grain were visible to the south, looking much as they must have when Montgomery walked them each day before sitting down to write. Here, I started to feel a little more scope for the imagination.
Later that afternoon I rented a bike and went to Cavendish Grove, a park with biking and walking trails that connect to the national park and its woods of black-barked spruces draped with pale, beardlike mosses. I pedaled beneath tall trees down a deserted red-dirt road, eventually emerging at a marsh where statuelike herons stabbed at fish. A large fox trotted regally down the road ahead of me like a character from a fable, then veered off into the undergrowth. At the end of the road, I stashed the bike in the marram grass and followed a trail over the dunes to a beach lapped by quiet surf. The sand was pink and scattered with rust-colored boulders.
I found a rock the size of an ottoman and sat down. Looking out on the ocean, I recalled what Anne saw when she surveyed the same vista: “All silver and shadow and vision of things not seen.”
Anne’s Prince Edward Island is still here, I was pleased to discover. It just takes a bit of imagination to find it.