Brendan Kelly is a well-known name amongst Montreal Canadiens fans, at least for those based in Montreal. The Glasgow native has a column in The Gazette aptly titled “What the Puck,” which is always sure to prompt reactions from the readers. Whether you like his opinions or not, the column is always worth reading as it will make you think, and for such a passionate fanbase, that’s a treat. The same can be said of his book Habs Nation: A People’s History of the Montreal Canadiens.

I’m an avid reader, and I’ve read most of the books and biographies written about either the Canadiens, one of their players, or simply about hockey. I’ve read The Game, I’ve read Roy’s Winning and Nothing Else, Brodeur’s Beyond the Crease, Gervais’ Au coeur du vestiaire, and Lefrancois’ Chantale Machabee Desavantage numerique, you name it, I’ve read it. Among all of those, Kelly’s opus stands out because it’s more than a book about hockey, about a team; it’s about a religion for Quebecers and how they came to be throughout the years.

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From the foreword, written by hockey great Marie-Philip Poulin, to the very end, this is a page turner for everyone who was either born in Quebec or would like to understand what this team means to Quebecers, whether they are nationalists or not.

The chapters cover everything from the team’s inception through recent years, but it doesn’t just do so from a hockey standpoint; it’s also mindful of explaining the social and political context at the time the events took place. Unlike the What the Puck column, it’s not chock-full of Kelly’s opinion; it was meticulously researched and contains plenty of interviews with former players, politicians, actors, producers, and people from all walks of life who tell the reader what the Habs mean to them.

If you’re a Quebec Nordiques fan, the chapter titled The Battle of Quebec may reopen old wounds, but it will remind you of just how much influence the team from la vieille capitale had on its rivals at the other end of the freeway. You might also be interested in learning how Loco Locass’ Le but song came to be.

If you’re struggling to understand why it’s essential for a massive part of the fanbase that the Canadiens' coach speak French, this book will help you understand their point of view. I’m not saying it will convince you that it should be the case, but it will make things clearer for you.

You’ll also learn how the Canadiens have fared in the past when they had francophone players in their ranks, and how many Stanley Cups they’ve won with a higher French-speaking contingent.

From a historical perspective, it covers the Quiet Revolution, the referendums, and how that affected the team and the players inside the locker room, as well as the doom and gloom of the 80s after the PQ lost its gamble for sovereignty. As Philippe-Antoine Lupien says in the book, the people of Quebec are different in the way they dwell on and revel in their losses and defeats; that, to me, is part of the reason why they crave winning and showing the world that they, too, can be winners.

I’m French-Canadian myself, and I’ll never forget being in high school and learning about the Durham Report. A British politician who was sent over by the crown after the 1837-1838 rebellion to investigate the causes. He was the one who ultimately recommended that Upper and Lower Canada be merged into a single state, but he also wrote that the French Canadians were “a people with no literature and no history.” If there’s a better way to motivate people to show that they do have both, I don’t know it. I was 16 when I was taught about that report, and it stuck with me, as it must have with many other French Canadians.

Perhaps that’s why the book was such a compelling read, as it showcases the rich history of the people of Quebec and why it matters so much that the Canadiens be successful and dominant. For those who believe that sports and politics are two separate matters, this book may change your mind.

I’m not a nationalist, I never have been, but I am proud of my French Canadian roots. For the eight years I lived in London, England, I alternated wearing two custom-made necklaces: one was the Maple Leaf, and the other was the Fleur-de-lis. It was vital for me to represent my people. During the Halak spring, I watched the playoff run from midnight to three AM every night the Canadiens played. When they eliminated the Washington Capitals, I played Le but on my phone on the way to the train station, without headphones, and ended up realizing that I wasn’t the only Quebecer in London that day when two people came to me singing along.

Did the book convince me that having a coach speak French and having Quebecers play for the team is a must? No, because for me, the team is based in Quebec and as such will always represent the province. In a world that is rapidly evolving and where the talent pool is vast, casting a narrow net to catch francophones only would be a mistake for me, but I now understand what those who advocate for it mean.

If I had chosen a different career path and ended up being a history teacher (which is something I did consider), I would have this book as part of the Histoire du Quebec curriculum. It provides an excellent overview of our rich history. It highlights the importance of the Canadiens throughout, all the way to the pandemic, offering us hope and joy during what was a very dark period. If you’re only going to read one hockey book this year, this should be the one. The French version, Le CH et son peuple, is already available, but the English version will be released on October 1.

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