A review by Jenny Farrell
Michael Crummey’s The Adversary has won the 2025 Dublin Literary Award, a prestigious prize nominated by libraries and readers worldwide for the past 30 years. This dark, atmospheric novel probes the brutal complexities of early colonial Newfoundland through an exploration of colonialism, power and class. Set in a remote coastal community marked by hardship and rigid social hierarchies, the narrative transcends a simple historical tale to interrogate the moral and human costs of colonialism, patriarchal dominance, and economic exploitation.
The Adversary is set in the early 19th century, a time when Newfoundland was a frontier colony marked by British imperial power, the Church of England, and a patchwork of settler communities often struggling for survival. References to soldiers in the King’s army, and allusions to English and Hanoverian military root the story firmly in the era of imperial expansion and colonial administration. Within this context, the community’s fears of “American marauders” and sentinels standing watch evoke the real historical tensions of the period—borderland anxieties over shifting political allegiances and the spectre of conflict with emerging US power.
A critique of colonial capitalism
At the heart of The Adversary lies a potent critique of the colonial capitalist class, exemplified in characters like Abe Strapp and his sister and arch-rival, the clever and devious Widow Caines, with a distorted allusion to Cain and Abel looming large. These figures represent the colonial capitalist elite — who have power and wealth through the exploitation of both the land and the labour of impoverished settlers and indigenous peoples. The Strapps, each in their own way, wield control over the local economy, fisheries, and labour.
Crummey’s narrative critiques how this capitalist class reproduces inequality through economic domination and social violence, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and dependency that echoes broader patterns of colonial exploitation. The rocky terrain, freezing cold, storms and the merciless sea of the unforgiving Newfoundland landscape mirror the harshness of colonial society — its cruelty, its isolation, and its relentless demands on human endurance. The settlers’ struggle against nature, including devastating plagues, reflects their struggle within a harsh social order. Pervasive cold and bleakness are not only external but internalised, creating a sense of inevitable entrapment.
One of the most compelling aspects of The Adversary is its foregrounding of female experience and perspective, especially through the character of the Widow Caines. She is a complex figure of resilience and defiance, embodying the intersections of gender and power in a deeply patriarchal society. Though she supports the dispossessed at times, the Widow ultimately pursues her own capitalist self-interests. While the Church of England buttresses colonial rule, the Quakers stand apart with a more egalitarian ethos—yet as the Widow, who joined the Quakers through her late husband, amasses power, even this independent community becomes entangled in her schemes, repurposed to serve her interests. Her manipulation of other characters, particularly Solemn, reveals how her overarching personal vendetta motivates all her actions, to the point of ruthless betrayal. Class trumps gender. Other important female figures, those who embody humanity, are the healer Mary Oram, the teacher Relief Picco, and the servant girl Bride Lambe, all of whom see through the Widow’s designs.
Another subtle but significant thread woven into The Adversary is Crummey’s nuanced portrayal of colonial attitudes towards Indigenous peoples, particularly the Inuit (referred to by the period spelling “Esquimaux”) and the Beothuk (“Red Indians”), or the inclusion of Dominic Laferrière – a former slave from Haiti. While many characters express the entrenched racism of their time, Captain Truss stands apart in his conspicuous lack of prejudice. His respect for Indigenous groups reflects Crummey’s broader literary impulse to reclaim dignity and agency for the historically oppressed. Though not a central theme in this novel, this more humane perspective within Truss’s character reinforces the book’s moral landscape: one where empathy and respect for the oppressed offer resistance to the prevailing cruelties of empire. Crummey has explored this terrain more directly in earlier works, but here, the gesture is no less significant for being subtle.
Crummey’s use of period language—rich with 19th-century English and specific Newfoundland expressions—immerses the reader in the time and place, lending authenticity and texture to the novel’s world. The narrative’s literary style powerfully supports its themes of colonial capitalist moral corruption—the rottenness of the colonial structure manifests through the excesses and depravity of its ruling class. One such scene takes place in Abe Strapp’s new mansion, the Big House, which is transformed into a brothel-casino-salon that exemplifies the complete moral degradation of the colonial masters, combining drunkenness, gambling, sexual exploitation, and nationalist posturing.
The scene of profound humiliation involving Inez Barter further exemplifies Abe Strapp’s power and Crummey’s broader critique of colonial sadism. Though the details are best left unspoiled, the guests’ complicity in the violence underscores how social hierarchies are preserved through collective silence and the normalisation of cruelty. The scene evokes the work of Chingis Aitmatov, where degradation and inhumanity are mirrored in people’s treatment of animals and the weak.
Equally disturbing is the “mumble a sparrow” contest—a grotesque, bird-biting competition that serves as a microcosm of colonial violence and social degradation. Here, violence becomes entertainment, a perverse test of masculinity, exacting a deep moral cost on both participants and spectators.
Taken together, these scenes — all of which tellingly take place in the Big House — paint a vivid picture of colonial inhumanity. The grotesque revelry, saturated with biting satire and carnivalesque chaos, strips away any veneer of civility to reveal a culture of extraction and cruelty: women commodified and debased, innocence sacrificed to satisfy base appetites. These moments embody the rot at the heart of colonial capitalism, where power is maintained through violence, degradation, and the erosion of all ethical restraint. Crummey’s piercing critique of imperial arrogance and its human cost echoes powerfully through these brutal vignettes.
Resistance persists
However, resistance, too, is present in The Adversary — largely subdued and perilous, often met with harsh, public punishments designed to crush dissent and instil fear. One brutal whipping towards the end of the book, meant to enforce obedience through terror, marks a turning point. The local community, previously passive onlookers, are now outraged by the injustice and cruelty, transforming the scene into a catalyst for collective defiance. This eruption of resistance reveals a common yearning for justice and dignity, even in a society where defiance is dangerous and often devastating. Through this episode, Crummey underscores how resistance, however quiet or fleeting, persists beneath the surface of oppression, offering hope amid relentless brutality.
The titular “Adversary” remains deliberately ambiguous and may be read as an embodiment of the relentless forces of oppression and betrayal woven throughout the narrative. It stands as a symbol of capitalist colonialist class interests and the myriad agents who serve them, crushing human nature, empathy, and goodness in their wake. By centring the story on Abe Strapp, the Widow Caines and the oppressed communities caught in their orbit, Crummey offers a deeply human, often female-centred perspective. Ultimately, The Adversary challenges readers to reckon with the legacies of history, the limits of justice, and the cost of survival in a world ruled by adversaries seen and unseen.
Crummey himself reflects on the dark tone of his work, acknowledging that the world he creates is “probably a lot darker than the reality of the time.” He explains: “The mindset of what I’m bringing to the book was my sense of what’s happening around us today. What I decided I was going to do was take the worst of the world as we have made it and compress it all down and have it play out in this tiny community in Newfoundland 200 years ago.” This compression of cruelty and corruption offers a lens for contemporary audiences, resonating with political concerns today. Crummey cites his horror at rising authoritarianism globally, including in the United States, as a key inspiration for the novel’s thematic urgency.
The Adversary is thus more than historical fiction. It is also a modern parable, challenging readers to confront the legacies of empire, the dangers of capitalist power, and the possibilities of resistance. It warns that the adversaries of justice—greed, violence, and apathy—are not confined to the past, and that reckoning with history is also a reckoning with the present.
