Author: Monique (Page 125 of 130)

I was thinking about Yahoo today and how competitive it is with Google, and how good competition drives creativity. Which led me to think about creativity instead of competition, which in turn started me thinking about Gulliver’s Travels. Gulliver’s Travels, being my first encounter with the word Yahoo …

Yahoo is not a particularly flattering term. Yahoos are a strange sort of animal. But then again my reminiscence on yahoo was cut short when I remembered that I was once nicknamed Lilliput.

Like Gulliver, there was a time when I was surrounded by little people. I coached grade one soccer. I was rubbish at soccer but I did manage to keep my charges from bloodying each others’ noses. Little boys are strange sorts themselves.

A fellow coach gave me the name when he looked over one day to see me towering above a mass of thigh-high gaffers. Much like Gulliver I was hoping my gentleness and good behaviour would secure me my liberty.

Such was not the case.

I just Harry Pottered. Vancouver Kidsbooks fed through hundreds kids. The street was blocked off, there was a parade with stilt walkers and musicians and three white vans rolled down Broadway with Owl Post labels. Mayor Larry Campbell was up on stage making bad jokes, dressed as Dumbledore.

My most favourite part is when the kids get their books and there is this look of awe in their eyes, they’re walking down the street and they’re already cracking the book open, or clutching it to their chests. It is exciting. And the kids are not just little people, I’m including the young at heart. Now I’m going to read a chapter and go to bed.

I was talking about geese last night. Geese fly in a V-formation so that they have more time to glide. Gliding allows them to conserve energy. This is the same reason why cyclists in the Tour de France ride in teams and have a “draft zone.” According to James, knower of all things I forget, this is 30% more efficient.

Because I’m an editor, I look these things up.

The efficiencies actually increase the farther back you are. According to Outside magazine, at race speeds, it is 17% easier for the second rider, 38% for the next and 40% for the fourth position on the back. Even the guy at the front uses 3% less energy. (Outside magazine)

Geese and cyclists. One difference is that when one cyclist goes down, the rest of the team keeps going. One geese goes down, and two go down with it. The two will stay with the injured one until it dies or heals. This is advantageous for all. Two can still create efficiencies in flight if the third dies. Three is even better.

A gaggle of geese.

A rascal of boys.

A mustering of storks.

An exaltation of larks.

A miscellany of thoughts.

Canada Day seems like a long time ago. I’ve tried to be steadfast in posting the answers to the quiz, but the day job is getting in the way. Read the original quiz

Here’s the skinny:

1. Arnason
“Jerry was fifty years old when his daughters denounced him, as he had always known they would.” David Arnason, King Jerry

[This is a great satire of King Lear. In some ways the writing reminds me of David Lodge, perhaps that is just because the setting is a university campus, but I don’t think so. Arnason is a fantastic storyteller. His collections of short stories are my favourites, If Pigs Could Fly and Fifty Stories and a Piece of Advice.]

2. Brand
“Marie Ursule woke up this morning knowing what morning it was and that it might be her last.” Dionne Brand, at the full and change of the moon, Full post

3. Davies
“My lifelong involvement with Mrs Dempster began at 5:58 oíclock p.m. on 27 December 1908, at which time I was ten years and seven months old.” Robertson Davies, Fifth Business, Full post

4. Findley
“All night long, Hooker Winslowís eyes were open.” Timothy Findley, The Last of the Crazy People, Full post

5. Kroetsch
“The pizza man.”
Robert Kroetsch, The Puppeteer
[A great novel. Like Fifth Business, the master of magicians wrecks havoc with the reader’s sense of truth. Crazy characters, murder, madness, what else could you ask for?]

6. MacLennan
“Northwest of Montreal, through a valley always in sight of the low mountains of the Laurentian Shield, the Ottawa River flows out of Protestant Ontario into Catholic Quebec.” Hugh MacLennan, Two Solitudes

[This is a sad book for me. First published in 1945, MacLennan’s novel deals with the events of the First World War to the Second, in particular the drafting of French Canadians. Some similar themes as The English Patient: self-realization, betrayal, national identity and social conflict.]

7. MacLeod
“‘Weíll just have to sell him,’ I remember my mother saying with finality.” Alistair MacLeod, The Lost Salt Gift of Blood, ìIn the Fallî
[MacLeod’s collection of short stories, The Lost Salt Gift of Blood, is one of my all-time favourite collections. The stories are little windows on a big world. They seem to be self-contained worlds, but I think about these stories long after I’ve closed the book. MacLeod is a natural storyteller and you can hear his voice, the cadence of it, in the writing.]

8. Ondaatje
“She stands up in the garden where she has been working and looks into the distance.” Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient, Full post

9. Purdy
“He was going into the house through the woodshed when he heard his name mentioned.” Al Purdy, A Splinter in the Heart
[Al Purdy is best known for his poetry, but this is his only novel. It is set in the town of Trenton, which lies in the shadow of a dynamite factory, and well, guess the rest.]

10. Schoemperlen
“Looking back on it now, I can see there were signs.” Diane Schoemperlen, Our Lady of the Lost and Found, Full post

11. Tefs
“Hank Peterson went into the bedroom of his house one Friday morning about 6:30, carrying a shotgun, and when he came out the lives of everyone in Red Rock had changed forever.” Wayne Tefs, Red Rock
[Wayne Tefs is a great writer. Red Rock is a mystery set in a small mining town. Literary mystery I suppose. I really liked it, and I don’t often read mysteries.]

12. Winter
“Lydia leans back to laugh at something Wilf Jardine says.” Michael Winter, This All Happened, Full post

Sea Vancouver is on July 6-10. This means Tall Ships are coming to Vancouver, along with other seafaring events. The parade of ships is supposed to be tomorrow from 12 to 3 pm. I will be at work, not at the beach enjoying the sunshine and tall ships. But I was released from the shackles of the home desk this morning. My little neighbourhood is littered with white tents. They are everywhere, in particular around the sea wall and at the Maritime Museum.

I saw lots of tents, but no ships, until lo and behold, there was a ship on the horizon.

It is pretty crazy how tall it looks.

I had to go back to my desk, but I returned 20 minutes later hoping to get a closeup. I don’t know if this is the same ship, but here’s what was at the beach this morning.

“All night long, Hooker Winslow’s eyes were open.
“Around the room, the first shadows of morning began to lift themselves out of the corners and up from behind the chairs. The curtains–or something in the curtains–motioned and moved and waved. Hooker watched.” Timothy Findley, The Last of the Crazy People

———-
The Last of the Crazy People is Timothy Findley’s first novel, originally published in 1967, not by a Canadian publisher (it was passed over several times). It is the story of an 11-year-old boy who commits a shocking crime. I can’t tell you what it is because it happens in the last pages of the book, but the lead up is the bizarre tale of a brooding boy and the things that push him to take matters into his own hands.

Timothy Findley is one of my favourite authors, although I didn’t like any of his later novels. The Wars was my favourite, then You Went Away, The Last of the Crazy People, and his book of short stories Dust to Dust.

I have several of my books signed. One I bought pre-signed at a now-defunct bookstore in Winnipeg called the Heaven Art and Book Cafe. You could buy a marriage license in Heaven. Another I got signed at a reading in Vancouver and the third signed in a back office where he was signing books for a wholesaler.

Timothy Findley’s longtime partner was Bill Whitehead, who is a fantastic storyteller in his own right. If Bill ever writes a book about Findley, I’d be the first in line to buy a copy.

“Marie Ursule woke up this morning knowing what morning it was and that it might be her last.
“She had gathered the poisons the way anyone else might gather flowers, the way one gathers scents or small wishes and fondesses … she had been diligent and faithful the way any collector would be, any fervent lover … she had even felt the knowing sadness, the melancholy that lovers feel, the haunting not-enough feeling, the way one covets the flight of swifts and terns and nightjars.” Dionne Brand, At the full and change of the moon

————
At the Full and Change of the Moon is one of those lilting tales, full of great beauty and even greater sadness, the type of tale where the cadence of the narrator’s voice can carry you farther into melancholy than any rocket can carry you into space.

The novel reminds me a lot of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ One Hundred Years of Solitude. There is a map of characters at the beginning, the story is long and loops in on itself–an epic, you might call it–and there are characters named Ursula. Maybe I’m stretching but read the two sections aloud and see if you see the similiarities.

One Hundred Years of Solitude: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. At that time Macondo was a village of twenty adobe houses, built on the bank of a river of clear water that ran along a bed of polished stones, which were white and enormous, like prehistoric eggs.”

Hypnotic is the best way to describe this type of prose.

At the Full and Change of the Moon, according to the back cover, is set in 1824 on the island of Trinidad. Marie Ursule, queen of a secret society of militant slaves, plots a mass suicide–a quiet, passionate act of revolt. But she cannot bring herself to kill her small daughter, Bola. Bola survives and her children and grand-children and great-grand-children spread out around the world. The novel is the interconnected stories of six generations of Marie Ursule’s descendents.

Hmm, sound familiar? One Hundred Years of Solitude, the finest epic of modern time, chronicles the lives of six Buendia generations, starting with Jose Arcadio and Ursula.

These are two very fine novels.

“She stands up in the garden where she has been working and looks into the distance. She has sensed a shift in the weather. There is another gust of wind, a buckle of noise in the air, and the tall cypresses sway.” Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

———–
Be patient. I’m sure you suffered through the movie. But the movie is not the book. There are whole plot lines missing in the movie. I think this book is about communication, storytelling, cultures, love and lies. I suppose most of the books I put in the Canada Day quiz are about lies of some form. Not sure what that says about the books I like, but ignoring that, the truth is The English Patient is a fine novel.

In case you missed the movie hype, the characters are a Canadian nurse and a Sikh bomb-disposal expert (who have a love affair), a thief turned spy, a man burnt beyond recognition, and the characters in the burnt man’s mind, in particular his love Katharine.

There are fantastic stories within the story, and lots of great quotes. Like “there are betrayals in war that are childlike compared with our human betrayals during peace.” I know out of context it drips melodrama, but I still like it.

I’m going to have to read this one again.

“My lifelong involvement with Mrs Dempster began at 5:58 o’clock p.m. on 27 December 1908, at which time I was ten years and seven months old.

“I am able to date the occasion with complete certainty because that afternoon I had been sledding with my lifelong friend and enemy Percy Boyd Staunton, and we had quarrelled, beause his fine new Christmas sled would not go as fast as my old one.” Robertson Davies, Fifth Business

———
Fifth Buisness is the first novel in the Deptford trilogy by Robertson Davies: Fifth Business, The Manticore, World of Wonders. It is the story of Dunstan Ramsay, and it is the most read work by Davies.

The opening scene that follows the above quote is of a snowball being thrown at Mrs. Dempster, a pregnant Mrs. Dempster, who goes into premature labour. The story, as I recall, is Dunstan’s confession. The snowball was apparently aimed at him, he ducked, it hit her. Dunny has a lot of guilt for a Protestant boy.

The beauty of Fifth Business is in the melodrama. Davies creates a world of myth, Jungian archetypes, miracles, circus acts, and lies. It is truly a world of wonders. And what is wonderful is the way that Dunny lulls the careless reader into taking his confession and absolving him of his guilt. He cleverly establishes his credibility, states his confession then appeals to the audience. But it is a bit of a smoke and mirrors show.

The thing to remember with any great magic act is that what you don’t see (or read) is as important as what you do.

Who really did throw that snowball? And who put the rock into it?

“Lydia leans back to laugh at something Wilf Jardine says. Her breasts are the closest thing to Wilf, and he is looking down her taut white throat. Lydia’s teeth and lips a crescent of broken apple. Offering up her breasts and throat to Wilf. She wants to go elsewhere after the midnight fireworks, and that ambition to persist, I have decided, is drawing me to her.” Michael Winter, This All Happened

————
This All Happened is structurally organized as the diary of Gabriel English. The novel has 12 chapters, one for each month of the year, and 365 entries. It’s a year in the life of Gabriel English, struggling writer and funny guy, who is smitten with Lydia. Gabriel’s passion for Lydia is of course his undoing. He is pushed from love to jealousy.

This All Happened is set in St. John’s, and although I’ve never been there, I did by the first chapter feel like I had a sense of the place, and knew the characters. I discovered This All Happened in Duthie Books on 4th Avenue in Vancouver. I’d heard about it and then there it was.

Michael Winter is a pretty crazy guy. I met him in Toronto last year and then again at the Vancouver Writers Festival. As I recall he talked about blow jobs. It was pretty early in the morning, but I thought it was funny. If you can hear Michael read it is well worth it, and not just for the blow jobs, sometimes he sings.

You can journey with Michael on his Canadian book tour for The Big Why. I recommend reading at least a few posts. Blog on, Michael: http://mhardywinter.blogspot.com/