Terranova: The Spanish Cod Fishery on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland in the Twentieth Century by Rosa García-Orellán (review)

Rosa García-Orellán, an anthropologist at the Universidad Pública de Navarra in Spain, presents a comprehensive history of Spain’s cod fishing industry from the time the pioneering fleet was formed in 1926, through its era of economic success in the 1960s, to its status today in the wake of decimated cod populations. García-Orellán uses oral history interviews with the men who worked in the industry to illustrate these changes, and she frames her study within the social and economic conditions that affected their livelihood.

Through the voices of her narrators, we hear about the early years of going after the cod on the Grand Banks: sailing with crews of Bretons to learn the trade, following the Icelandic model of processing a catch, and operating a Danish-built, steam-powered trawler with coal. While life on board these ships was exceptionally hard (incredibly cold temperatures, long days, and months at a time spent at sea), the job of a trawlerman was coveted and promised good pay compared to jobs on land, of which there were few in the years following the economic upheavals caused by the Great Depression, the Spanish Civil War, and World War II. As the industry grew throughout the 1940s and ’50s, a highly specialized and skilled labor force developed both on- and off-shore, and with technological developments and increasing financial assistance from the government, the industry became a respected competitor in the international market. The next generation of men who joined the industry in the 1960s had learned of life aboard the trawlers—its good and bad aspects—from fathers, uncles, and men in their villages. As a result, they were better organized and fought for improved living and working conditions. To be a crew member on the Spanish cod fleet became a respected profession and also one of the few ways to leave one’s village and see the world: “It was exciting, the idea of seeing firsthand that world that I’d heard so much about all my life . . . that’s what you dreamt about—about being a seaman in Newfoundland” (José Manuel Muñiz, 194–5).

The most engaging section of the book is the discussion of Saint Pierre, the French island off the coast of Newfoundland where the earlier Spanish ships would stop to refuel, to receive general maintenance, and to allow their crews to enjoy much-needed shore leave in a city that, despite being in the North Atlantic, was still European and thus was a great comfort. The stories seamen had told of the island upon returning home to Spain—of dancehalls, the friendliness of the locals, the prospects for entertainment—made the place a legend to the young men who began fishing in the mid-1970s. Yet members of this youngest cohort tell of their disappointment upon discovering that the island did not live up to their fantastical expectations in terms of fun and excitement. García-Orellán’s use of oral history, in this case, illuminates the transmission of memory between generations and shows how a confrontation with reality can force a reinterpretation of that memory, thus casting history in a new light.

Frequent visits by Spanish ships over the years had also made Saint Pierre the site of an impressive network of personal services for seamen, from medical facilities for routine checkups to a social center that offered a library, meeting space, laundromat, and telephones and letter-writing supplies for contacting people at home. The narrators’ descriptions of these services and their importance reveal the lasting effect of Spanish trawlermen’s presence on the island; an entire study could focus on the real physical and emotional infrastructure resulting from the cumulative effect of so many brief visits. García-Orellán’s work is strongest when she illuminates networks...