It's always a pleasant surprise to receive positive feedback about one's writing. Two people had encouraging things to say about Winter Moon (Ottawa, Baico, 2010, $18.95 baico@bellnet.ca)
A member of a round robin writers' group to which I belong wrote me the following email:
With all the preparations for Christmas I didn't have time to look at your book, but this week I finally was able to pick it up. I certainly did enjoy every story. You have such a good variety of story lines. They are down to earth but they make one think. I marvel at writers who come up with so many good story ideas."
And a cousin wrote: "I really liked "Snake in the House" (one of the stories in Winter Moon) I have been reading R [husband] stories at bedtime and have only about five stories left to read."
I also received some other good news. My short story, "Momma Tried" will appear in the January 19th issue of The Wrap, published by the Ottawa Citizen.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
True Grit
During the holidays, Roger and I went to see the Coen brothers' version of True Grit, starring Hailee Steinfeld, Jeff Bridges and Matt Damon. Having read the novel (1968) by Charles Portis some years ago, I am reading it again.
We were glued to the screen throughout the entire movie.
I was impressed by Portis's evocation of a bygone time by means of language use, allusions and presentation of social customs. Like Portis, the Coen brothers are grittily realistic in showing a violent culture in which life is cheap. Presenting the story through fourteen year old Mattie Ross allows irony. Mattie takes for granted such facts of life as public hangings and dead bodies. At the same time, she is a typical fourteen year old, a mixture of childish notions (comparing the hunt for an outlaw to a raccoon hunt) and adult behaviour, as when she bargains with a horse trader.
Some reviewers, admiring this extraordinary character played to perfection by Hailee Steinfeld, have compared Mattie to that other famous child-protagonist in American fiction, Huck Finn. But Mattie is not a social rebel. She doesn't aspire to "light out for the territory" in search of freedom; instead, she wants someone to go with her there to pursue her father's murderer and bring him to justice. Mattie's ideal is a peaceful, orderly, well-governed society.
Watching the fourteen year old protagonist portrayed on the screen, I tried to remember myself at that age. I was as bossy and sharp-tongued as Mattie, but not as persistent. Also, I was timid, and a bundle of emotions. Mattie is very self-controlled. She sheds no tears on viewing her father's body; the only time she cries is when her horse, Little Blackie, has to be shot. Her lack of emotional display may be explained by her religion or the stoicism of the era (compared to ours).
Some commentators say that the character of Mattie is unrealistically drawn; that no young person could bargain so tenaciously, be so frugal and so determined to get value for money. One must put her behaviour in context. The novel is set during the administration of U.S. President Rutherford B. Hayes, first elected in 1877, a period of rapid industrial expansion and a big gap between rich and poor. Mattie would have been born during the Civil War (1861-5) and would have grown up in the defeated South. Although her father owned a lot of acreage, his fortunes would have declined dramatically with the defeat of the Confederacy. This was a pre-"social-safety-net" society. Money was important.
Mattie's family configuration suggests reasons for her extraordinary toughness and high self-esteem. Her brother and sister are much younger than she is. In an era where women often had a new baby every eighteen months, a family of only three children, with wide age gaps, suggests ill-health, malnutrition and infant mortality. Mattie was probably the apple of her father's eye because for a while she would have been the only child. Her mother, Mattie says, could hardly spell "cat", and had no skill with figures, so it must have been her father who educated her and made her his "little book-keeper". Her resolve in pursuing justice on her father's behalf (or seeking revenge for his murder) must have come from having been treated with kindness and respect.
In this movie, Mattie is the character with true grit. The two principal male characters are eccentric and funny, but look like risky companions for her quest. Marshall Cogburn is out of shape and drinks. On the trail, he tells Mattie that he had a wife once but that she went back to her first husband, taking his boy with her. "He didn't like me anyhow," he says - and we realize he means his son! "I guess I did speak awful rough to him but I didn't mean anything by it." The Texas ranger, LaBoeuf, initially comes across as a dandy, a braggart and a bully. He has been on Chaney's trail to catch him for crimes in Texas, but has missed two opportunities to apprehend him.
We readers/viewers are familiar with the "hero's journey" plot in which the protagonists are changed for the better by the challenges they encounter on their quest. In this story, both men redeem themselves. At first there seems a big discepancy between LaBoeuf's claims and his actual achievements, but the Ranger subsequently proves himself in crises. Cogburn behaved heroically.
Usually in "hero's journey" scripts, the change is positive; the main characters blossom into their best selves. Accordingly, we readers/viewers find the change in Mattie a surprise, to say the least. Several commentators have criticized the Coens for giving the movie a "sad ending". In fact, the movie ends more or less the way the novel does. In gaining her objective, Mattie pays a serious price. When the older Mattie (the narrator of the novel) appears at the end of the film, she is not quite how we would have expected her to turn out.
To me, the ending is realistic and even positive. So as not to spoil the plot, I'll tell you what DOESN'T happen to Mattie.
1) She doesn't die in childbirth like so many women in the 19th century.
2) She doesn't live in poverty in her old age.
3) She doesn't end up dependent on one of the wild, self-destructive men in the film.
4) She doesn't forget those who helped her.
As the movie faded out and the credits came on, I was transfixed by the voice of country singer Iris Dement singing a hymn written in the 19th century: "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms." My mother used to sing it. Its lyrics are hopeful and confident.
We were glued to the screen throughout the entire movie.
I was impressed by Portis's evocation of a bygone time by means of language use, allusions and presentation of social customs. Like Portis, the Coen brothers are grittily realistic in showing a violent culture in which life is cheap. Presenting the story through fourteen year old Mattie Ross allows irony. Mattie takes for granted such facts of life as public hangings and dead bodies. At the same time, she is a typical fourteen year old, a mixture of childish notions (comparing the hunt for an outlaw to a raccoon hunt) and adult behaviour, as when she bargains with a horse trader.
Some reviewers, admiring this extraordinary character played to perfection by Hailee Steinfeld, have compared Mattie to that other famous child-protagonist in American fiction, Huck Finn. But Mattie is not a social rebel. She doesn't aspire to "light out for the territory" in search of freedom; instead, she wants someone to go with her there to pursue her father's murderer and bring him to justice. Mattie's ideal is a peaceful, orderly, well-governed society.
Watching the fourteen year old protagonist portrayed on the screen, I tried to remember myself at that age. I was as bossy and sharp-tongued as Mattie, but not as persistent. Also, I was timid, and a bundle of emotions. Mattie is very self-controlled. She sheds no tears on viewing her father's body; the only time she cries is when her horse, Little Blackie, has to be shot. Her lack of emotional display may be explained by her religion or the stoicism of the era (compared to ours).
Some commentators say that the character of Mattie is unrealistically drawn; that no young person could bargain so tenaciously, be so frugal and so determined to get value for money. One must put her behaviour in context. The novel is set during the administration of U.S. President Rutherford B. Hayes, first elected in 1877, a period of rapid industrial expansion and a big gap between rich and poor. Mattie would have been born during the Civil War (1861-5) and would have grown up in the defeated South. Although her father owned a lot of acreage, his fortunes would have declined dramatically with the defeat of the Confederacy. This was a pre-"social-safety-net" society. Money was important.
Mattie's family configuration suggests reasons for her extraordinary toughness and high self-esteem. Her brother and sister are much younger than she is. In an era where women often had a new baby every eighteen months, a family of only three children, with wide age gaps, suggests ill-health, malnutrition and infant mortality. Mattie was probably the apple of her father's eye because for a while she would have been the only child. Her mother, Mattie says, could hardly spell "cat", and had no skill with figures, so it must have been her father who educated her and made her his "little book-keeper". Her resolve in pursuing justice on her father's behalf (or seeking revenge for his murder) must have come from having been treated with kindness and respect.
In this movie, Mattie is the character with true grit. The two principal male characters are eccentric and funny, but look like risky companions for her quest. Marshall Cogburn is out of shape and drinks. On the trail, he tells Mattie that he had a wife once but that she went back to her first husband, taking his boy with her. "He didn't like me anyhow," he says - and we realize he means his son! "I guess I did speak awful rough to him but I didn't mean anything by it." The Texas ranger, LaBoeuf, initially comes across as a dandy, a braggart and a bully. He has been on Chaney's trail to catch him for crimes in Texas, but has missed two opportunities to apprehend him.
We readers/viewers are familiar with the "hero's journey" plot in which the protagonists are changed for the better by the challenges they encounter on their quest. In this story, both men redeem themselves. At first there seems a big discepancy between LaBoeuf's claims and his actual achievements, but the Ranger subsequently proves himself in crises. Cogburn behaved heroically.
Usually in "hero's journey" scripts, the change is positive; the main characters blossom into their best selves. Accordingly, we readers/viewers find the change in Mattie a surprise, to say the least. Several commentators have criticized the Coens for giving the movie a "sad ending". In fact, the movie ends more or less the way the novel does. In gaining her objective, Mattie pays a serious price. When the older Mattie (the narrator of the novel) appears at the end of the film, she is not quite how we would have expected her to turn out.
To me, the ending is realistic and even positive. So as not to spoil the plot, I'll tell you what DOESN'T happen to Mattie.
1) She doesn't die in childbirth like so many women in the 19th century.
2) She doesn't live in poverty in her old age.
3) She doesn't end up dependent on one of the wild, self-destructive men in the film.
4) She doesn't forget those who helped her.
As the movie faded out and the credits came on, I was transfixed by the voice of country singer Iris Dement singing a hymn written in the 19th century: "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms." My mother used to sing it. Its lyrics are hopeful and confident.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
When ignorance is bliss...
For the last six months I've been participating in a book club. I have great respect for the background knowledge and analytical powers of several of the members. I feel kindly disposed to all of them; I like people who read.
On a couple of occasions only a few people have shown up and we have veered away from the book of the day towards a more general discussion. One participant, K (not her real initial) likes to complain about the sad state of literacy among young people today. Although I suspect that there is truth in her rants, I get contrary and start thinking of exceptions to her generalization, such as the twenty-year old from a working class family whose emails to me are well-composed, grammatically correct, and show a way with words.
Recently, the group discussed a biography of a famous deceased Canadian author, written by a well-known novelist of today. As the discussion went on, it became apparent that K and others had skimmed the book and had come to conclusions that were not substantiated by the text on the page. She and others also skipped the bibliography which listed the biographer's sources. K complained that the biographer's take on the late great author had destroyed her (K's) illusions and spoiled her enjoyment of the famous author's classic works. I and others pointed out that the biographer had consulted source materials; she hadn't fabricated the life story out of thin air.
The young are not the only ones with poor reading habits. One need not have a degree in English or a knowledge of research methods to read carefully what is printed on the page and to examine all parts of the book in one's hand, including the bibliography, the introduction, the author's bio note and so on.
Now, not all members of the group are of the "head in the sand" school of literary criticism. No one has actually said, "I don't know anything about art [in this case, literary art] but I know what I like," or "I know what I think, don't confuse me with facts." So I think I'll continue with the group, for now, and make nice. I'm learning from being there, though not learning what I anticipated.
On a couple of occasions only a few people have shown up and we have veered away from the book of the day towards a more general discussion. One participant, K (not her real initial) likes to complain about the sad state of literacy among young people today. Although I suspect that there is truth in her rants, I get contrary and start thinking of exceptions to her generalization, such as the twenty-year old from a working class family whose emails to me are well-composed, grammatically correct, and show a way with words.
Recently, the group discussed a biography of a famous deceased Canadian author, written by a well-known novelist of today. As the discussion went on, it became apparent that K and others had skimmed the book and had come to conclusions that were not substantiated by the text on the page. She and others also skipped the bibliography which listed the biographer's sources. K complained that the biographer's take on the late great author had destroyed her (K's) illusions and spoiled her enjoyment of the famous author's classic works. I and others pointed out that the biographer had consulted source materials; she hadn't fabricated the life story out of thin air.
The young are not the only ones with poor reading habits. One need not have a degree in English or a knowledge of research methods to read carefully what is printed on the page and to examine all parts of the book in one's hand, including the bibliography, the introduction, the author's bio note and so on.
Now, not all members of the group are of the "head in the sand" school of literary criticism. No one has actually said, "I don't know anything about art [in this case, literary art] but I know what I like," or "I know what I think, don't confuse me with facts." So I think I'll continue with the group, for now, and make nice. I'm learning from being there, though not learning what I anticipated.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The colour red
This Christmas, Santa is giving me the colour red.
Ever since childhood I've enjoyed wearing this bright colour, but recently I've become aware of its connotations. Of course, red always had connotations. When I was a young child, words and phrases like "Red menace" and "Red China", and "Reds under the beds", were commonly used, but I was oblivious to what was meant, and certainly wasn't making a political statement when I wore my red T-shirt.
Currently, red is associated with the political right in the United States. I believe this association began during election coverage some years ago, when a TV network assigned the colour red to designate the states where the Republicans won, and blue for states where the Democrats won.
This assignment of colours was jarring to me at first, because here in Canada, blue has been the Conservative Party's colour for many years, and red, the colour of the Liberal. I realized that this association has become deeply ingrained one Friday night when my husband and I were invited by some senior friends to have dinner with them at their retirement residence. On entering the main door, I was startled to see that most of the older adults in the main foyer were wearing red. What was the occasion? A Liberal Party fundraiser? Somehow I doubted it, since the M.P. and M.P.P. who serve that part of the city are both Conservatives.
It wasn't Valentine's Day or Canada Day either. Nor had Christmas taken me by surprise. The seniors in the residence made it a practice to wear red on Fridays to "support our troops." And there I was in my frequently-worn black T-shirt and black slacks. I murmured to my husband that I looked out of place in my Johnny Cash outfit.
Later, thinking about the evening, I recalled some of the words to Johnny Cash's song "The Man in Black". One line is, "I wear the black in mourning for the lives that could have been," and although I wore black just by chance that evening, I fit right in, for, like all Canadians, I support our troops and grieve for those who have died or have been injured, and hope that the time will come when our costly mission in Afghanistan will end.
The festive season brings with it much symbolism. Santa Claus, for instance, comes from the story of St. Nicholas, who is legendary for his generosity to the poor, and who is usually depicted in the robes of a bishop - red. So during this season I can feel good about wearing red - in honour of Santa.
Ever since childhood I've enjoyed wearing this bright colour, but recently I've become aware of its connotations. Of course, red always had connotations. When I was a young child, words and phrases like "Red menace" and "Red China", and "Reds under the beds", were commonly used, but I was oblivious to what was meant, and certainly wasn't making a political statement when I wore my red T-shirt.
Currently, red is associated with the political right in the United States. I believe this association began during election coverage some years ago, when a TV network assigned the colour red to designate the states where the Republicans won, and blue for states where the Democrats won.
This assignment of colours was jarring to me at first, because here in Canada, blue has been the Conservative Party's colour for many years, and red, the colour of the Liberal. I realized that this association has become deeply ingrained one Friday night when my husband and I were invited by some senior friends to have dinner with them at their retirement residence. On entering the main door, I was startled to see that most of the older adults in the main foyer were wearing red. What was the occasion? A Liberal Party fundraiser? Somehow I doubted it, since the M.P. and M.P.P. who serve that part of the city are both Conservatives.
It wasn't Valentine's Day or Canada Day either. Nor had Christmas taken me by surprise. The seniors in the residence made it a practice to wear red on Fridays to "support our troops." And there I was in my frequently-worn black T-shirt and black slacks. I murmured to my husband that I looked out of place in my Johnny Cash outfit.
Later, thinking about the evening, I recalled some of the words to Johnny Cash's song "The Man in Black". One line is, "I wear the black in mourning for the lives that could have been," and although I wore black just by chance that evening, I fit right in, for, like all Canadians, I support our troops and grieve for those who have died or have been injured, and hope that the time will come when our costly mission in Afghanistan will end.
The festive season brings with it much symbolism. Santa Claus, for instance, comes from the story of St. Nicholas, who is legendary for his generosity to the poor, and who is usually depicted in the robes of a bishop - red. So during this season I can feel good about wearing red - in honour of Santa.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Remembering Friends
Like many Canadians, what I know about World War II is from history books,film, and first hand information from those older than myself. Today I wear a poppy in honour of my uncles, George and Joe, who served in the Canadian army in World War II. Both went overseas. Joe was a prisoner of war. Both survived the war,came home to their wives and raised families.
More recently, in teaching writing courses, I've met many people who have shared their memories of World War II with me. Today I think of the women who contributed memoir excerpts to my 1992 book, The Memory of All That: Canadian Women Remember World War II (Renfew, General Store Publishing House) Some of these women were in the armed forces; others were civilians; all of them were profoundly affected by the Second World War.
Among my writer friends were Lorne, who served as a mechanic in the R.C.A.F. and wrote of test-flying large aircraft on airfields in England, Glenn, a navigator in the R.C.A.F, and Ray, who was in the wartime Canadian Navy. They have passed on now.
Still alive and currently revising his memoirs, is Ernest, who was in the Canadian army in Europe.
Valerie, who was with the British Women's Auxiliary Air Force and served in the Middle East, has written of her wartime experiences for the Memory Project, and today is reading "For the Fallen" as part of the Remembrance Day observances at the retirement residence where she lives.
I have learned so much from all of them!
To quote John Lennon's In my Life: "Some are dead and some are living. In my life, I've loved them all,"
More recently, in teaching writing courses, I've met many people who have shared their memories of World War II with me. Today I think of the women who contributed memoir excerpts to my 1992 book, The Memory of All That: Canadian Women Remember World War II (Renfew, General Store Publishing House) Some of these women were in the armed forces; others were civilians; all of them were profoundly affected by the Second World War.
Among my writer friends were Lorne, who served as a mechanic in the R.C.A.F. and wrote of test-flying large aircraft on airfields in England, Glenn, a navigator in the R.C.A.F, and Ray, who was in the wartime Canadian Navy. They have passed on now.
Still alive and currently revising his memoirs, is Ernest, who was in the Canadian army in Europe.
Valerie, who was with the British Women's Auxiliary Air Force and served in the Middle East, has written of her wartime experiences for the Memory Project, and today is reading "For the Fallen" as part of the Remembrance Day observances at the retirement residence where she lives.
I have learned so much from all of them!
To quote John Lennon's In my Life: "Some are dead and some are living. In my life, I've loved them all,"
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Excerpt from "Keeping Faith."
My new book, Winter Moon, (Ottawa, Baico, 2010, $18.95 ISBN 1-926596-92-1), a collection of my short stories, has just been published.
Some ideas are big enough for novels. Others can be developed in 2,000 to 3500 words. I take time out from working on a novel to write a short story when I get a suitable idea.
I'm always pleased when a story gets published, or wins a prize, but the thrill is temporary, as all too soon the magazine publishes the next issue, or the organization invites submissions to the next year's contest. Stories and poems are like autumn leaves, noticed in all their glory for a moment, but quickly turning into compost. Collecting the best into book form is one way of making them available to prospective readers for as long as the book is kept in the National Library.
Here is the first paragraph of one of the stories: "Keeping Faith."
"He kept a picture of his first wife, Faith, in a silver frame on a chest of drawers. For a long time I refused to admit even to myself that it bothered me. After all, Faith was dead. She wasn't an ex, always on the telephone nagging about child support payments and repairs to the house. As Wife Number Two, I should have considered myself lucky, judging from my colleagues' stories at work. Faith was out of the picture - at least, in one sense."
Some ideas are big enough for novels. Others can be developed in 2,000 to 3500 words. I take time out from working on a novel to write a short story when I get a suitable idea.
I'm always pleased when a story gets published, or wins a prize, but the thrill is temporary, as all too soon the magazine publishes the next issue, or the organization invites submissions to the next year's contest. Stories and poems are like autumn leaves, noticed in all their glory for a moment, but quickly turning into compost. Collecting the best into book form is one way of making them available to prospective readers for as long as the book is kept in the National Library.
Here is the first paragraph of one of the stories: "Keeping Faith."
"He kept a picture of his first wife, Faith, in a silver frame on a chest of drawers. For a long time I refused to admit even to myself that it bothered me. After all, Faith was dead. She wasn't an ex, always on the telephone nagging about child support payments and repairs to the house. As Wife Number Two, I should have considered myself lucky, judging from my colleagues' stories at work. Faith was out of the picture - at least, in one sense."
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