Sweatman's writing flows as smoothly as a muscular northern river, with a stunning control of voice. She keeps the reader engaged every moment, introducing us to a company of intriguing characters, and makes good use of fastidious detail, as in this list of provisions for the ship: “Eighteen barrels of shot, five thousand needles, twenty blunderbusses, thirty muskets, and so on. Raisins, beer, prunes, peas, oatmeal, beef, etcetera. Pork. Thirty-seven pounds of tobacco …”

The novel is also bursting with good humour and refreshing in its willful ignorance of political correctness. The Englishmen can never quite get Des Groseilliers's name correct, calling him every variation of “Gooseberries” possible. And when Lilly meets an Indian chief, these two skilled mimics go to town: “Lilly wiped her nose with the back of her hand and curtsied. The chief mimicked her, wiping his nose and making a most astonishing curtsy. She brightened. She curtsied with greater flourish. The savage copied her with perfectly gauged exaggeration.”

Altogether, this frothy, tangy novel is tart as a green apple, far grittier and more realistic than costume dramas of the period available on TV and film. Ultimately, Sweatman creates a memorable female character making her way in a world of men: Lilly Cole, player, survivor, early Canadian.