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In Monique Proulx’s labyrinthine novel, Wildlives, nominated for the 2008 Governor-General’s Award for French-language fiction, the Laurentian landscape is practically the main character. The wilderness is camouflage and refuge for a group of individuals brought into its fold at a roughly settled swath of forested land just about to be scooped up by condo property purveyors. Its cloying and relentless presence, full of abundant beauty but with hidden dangers, is stirring enough to instigate connection where isolation might have been the goal. Ultimately, this encompassing extra character changes every person.

Lila, owner of the land and den mother of the small community, has hand-picked the cottagers. Years ago, she and her now deceased husband, Jan, had purchased the land from the rough-and-ready Gilles Clémont, whom for all these years she believes she killed with her wild mushroom concoction. In fact, he died in an auto accident. Her obsession and guilt about the past is only alleviated by the daily demands of her land and its inhabitants, reliable occasional visits from her younger lover, Simon, and particularly by the arrival of Simon’s young nephew, a troubled yet highly imaginative young boy.

• WildLives, by Monique Proulx, translated by David Homel and Fred A. Reed, Douglas & McIntyre, 328 pages, $22.95

Lila’s dominion extends from her cottagers to the land itself, within which she finds purpose, meaning and solace: “Lila took off her sandals and thrust her feet into this cool cotton wool, and her happiness was so sudden she decided to throw off her clothes, to hell with the squirrels spying on her, so her whole body could feel the soft core of existence when it was finally at hand. Just then, kneeling in the moss, legs still tangled in her panties, she saw them. Not two or three in ordinary, sparse gatherings against the tree stumps, but twenty, thirty-five squeezed into all the interstices of the moss and rock, plump from waiting so long to be discovered, bright yellow like suns, like gilded kisses, tiny pealing trumpets announcing pure pleasure. Chanterelles. A lake of chanterelles. She took the time to capture the image on her retinas, orange against emerald, so the feeling of abundance would stay with her, for all eternity if possible. Then she pounced on those closest by, slicing them off with her fast-moving knife, taking care not to uproot the embryos. Again and again, she thrust her nose into their tiny plump bodies, which exuded vanilla and apricot, and by the time she was through there wasn’t room enough in her basket for even an insect to hide.”

Jérémie, the young boy with a vivid imagination recovering from a fire he accidentally set, is brought to the cottage and his uncle Simon to avoid the acrimonious relationship between his pre-divorce parents. Doing everything in his power to avoid the day in August when the divorce becomes final, Jérémie romps around in the woods, often getting lost in reveries that involve magical incantations. He forms a special bond with Lila, who makes him memorize the names of plants and flowers. This friendship seems unlikely when they first meet, but lasts long after the boy has grown. He is one of the two galvanizing characters in the book.

The other is Violette, a woman with whom all characters in various ways become intoxicated. The frail and naive Violette has no shortage of potential male suitors, including Jérémie’s father and Simon, Lila’s former lover. This suits her since her one resolve is to have a baby before she succumbs to her unnamed illness. Violette is also still recovering from the childhood abuse she suffered at the hands of her father. Simon, whose family life is contented if not boring, falls completely under her spell from the very moment he sees her running away naked from a bad dream. So taken with her is he that he withdraws from his friendship with Lila and most other activities in his life to show Violette his wilderness, to experience it through her innocent eyes, and to keep vigil when she is hospitalized.

Claire writes murder mysteries in which little boys go missing. Considering herself lucky and blessed to be able to work on her writing from her cottage in the woods, she looks forward to romantic weekends with her partner Luc. This doesn’t preclude the odd flirtation with delivery men, whom she imagines pine for her affection. By the end, she rudely awakens to some realities and finds herself alone with the threat of losing her idyllic retreat.

At first the prose, translated by David Homel and Fred A. Reed, seems as impenetrable as the forest itself. The story flows from one character’s point of view to another, from past to present. It’s moody and thick, at times melancholy and angry. Once you’re in, though, you find Proulx’s writing has a rhythm that mimics nature itself – sometimes necessarily harsh, at times calm and peaceful, but mostly forgiving and beautiful. In the end, Proulx has written a book in which imagery and story linger.

Carla Lucchetta is a Toronto-based writer and television producer.