Lifestyles of the Not So Famous

As historians, we are often attracted to the enigmatic figure and the imagery that accompanies this curiosity. The advent of ‘social history’ in the second half of the twentieth century emphasizes this aspect. Historians became interested and involved in the lives of those who some would deem historically ‘insignificant’. However, the minor histories of ‘insignificant’ lives builds a significant window into the world of societies past. It is now popular to delve deep and uncover what little remains of these unknown figures in order to piece together an image of a specific time and space.

We are often interested in people about which we know very little. Imagery serves to further this allure. In my last post,I commented on the Unibroue brewery’s use of French-Canadian heritage to promote their particular brands of beer. In this instance, the key to success for this type of marketing is the use of enigmatic figures. Here, the enigmatic is impersonal which accentuates the mystique. When considering, for example, the icons representing the beer Maudite (the coureurs des bois and voyageurs), images of brave, intrepid and romantic adventurers come to mind. However, these mental images are derived from tangible recreations – by which I am referring to archived sketches, works by such artists as Frances Ann Hopkins, or re-enactments.

To again use the example of Unibroue and the enigmatic figure, I point to the beer, Chambly Noire. A soldier of the Carignan-Salieres stands proud upon the label. These soldiers played a significant role in the survival of the colony of New France in its early days. However, no faces remain except for the romantic images that have been created to strengthen the appeal. This one soldier’s story, at face value, would appear insignificant, but to access it would prove invaluable in the picture that we could draw regarding the collective history. The image becomes representative and having no true identity, the figure becomes larger than life.

In, Who Killed Canadian History, J.L. Granatstein argues that the popularity of social history in academia has served to diminish the study and proliferation of a Canadian national history. Granatstein fears the loss of the great figures and epic events that comprise our political history. Yet, we get a greater sense of our own history and social fabric when we study a past that is personal and emblematic of who we are. We need not disassemble the images that represent the enigmatic to achieve this aim. We should, however, include a micro-history that familiarizes our past in order to give a more complete image. Combined, these figures can be both larger than life, but also understood. For, if we are unable to make some sort of connection, then our historical figures remain impersonal and disconnected from our own collective history.

Reference: Granatstein, J.L. Who Killed Canadian History? Toronto: Harper Collins, 1998.
Image: Canoe Manned by Voyageurs Passing a Waterfall (Ontario), 1869, by Frances Anne Hopkins

History By the Bottle

There’s a beer manufacturing company situated in Chambly, Québec, called Unibroue. What they produce, aside from delectable suds, is public history. When one considers what we do in public history, things such as museums, archives and memorials are what commonly comes to mind. However, I doubt we’ll be doing any readings on the history of beer. The barman’s cough syrup (beer) is something many Canadians do not take lightly. We exude a certain pride in our appreciation and creation of distinct lagers. Aside from this stereotypical image of the stubby drinking hoser (shades of Bob and Doug McKenzie), the brown bottle has another avenue – history, heritage and culture.
The Unibroue company produces various brands of beer, all with their own unique flavour. However, it is not the flavour of these beers that interests us here (and if it is, see Unibroue), but rather, it’s what they are marketing with the beer – heritage. Each beer is named after an interesting piece of history or legend relating to Québec, with an exciting image on the front of the bottle and a little blurb regarding the title’s inspiration on the back. There’s Maudite, an homage to the legend, La chasse galèrie, in which a group of coureurs des bois make a deal with the devil in order to return home for the New Years Eve festivities. Trois-Pistoles, a town in the bas-St. Laurent region of Québec, depicts the church and the legend of its collaboration with the devil, La légende du cheval noir. Don de Dieu is named after, and shows an image of, the ship within which Champlain crossed the Atlantic and was later used to sail up the St. Lawrence River in 1608, founding Québec. The Carignan-Salières, the regiment sent to protect New France during the early settlement days, are no longer a standing army, but they still occupy the minds of the people through the beer, Chambly Noire. There are other beers in this flavour-filled historical line-up that can be seen online at www.unibroue.com. Each beer even gets its own page with a few words on brew methods, taste, and yes, historical relevancy. That’s right: for a brief lesson in important aspects of Québec’s history, just drink a beer. And just in case you were worried about what this beer company may be promoting, there’s even a bottle (Blanche de Chambly) honouring those who fought and died defending Lower Canada during the war of 1812 (challenging the misnomer that the French in Canada were American sympathizers during this war).
So what’s the marketing ploy here? Why decorate beer with heritage? In my opinion, it sells. Popular images of a romantic and harrowing past that remind a collective group of their unique heritage is an inspirational and ‘refreshing’ change from the traditional versions. We Anglophones do it as well. Beers such as Upper Canada Ale and Wellington play the historical card to add heritage to their beers, creating the idea of a traditional beer and appealing to the people of a particular region. I’ll even admit, I feel a little more Canadian when enjoying a frosty Upper Canada Dark Ale. I fancy myself a conspirator in the reform party, whispering of political change and responsible government over a pint in some dark tavern in 1837, not far from York.
What is of most significance here are the many facets in which the practice of public history appears. It’s all around us, whether we make mental note of it or not. Not everyone wants to go to the museum or even read a plaque in the park. As public historians, we must strive to create new and different ways to reach a wider audience. So, I insist you crack a Trois-Pistoles (9%!) dark beer, and enjoy the taste of history by the bottle.


Images from www.unibroue.com