I'm sure many of you have been stuck working with people who rely upon the rest of the group to get the project done and all through the project, you can feel that the morale is down and people are frustrated with having to do extra work because of this one person. I've been there countless times and will probably be there again in the future; it is inescapable because jobs often involve teamwork.
I was reading a book on organizational behavior and I came across the term "social loafing". It refers to a group member who contributes very little (or nothing at all) of their time, effort or any other resource to the group. To think that there has been a word out there to descibe those annoying group members! And, I would never have guessed that "loafing" would be an official term.
About.com suggests some explanations for social loafing:
There have been times where I have lacked the motivation for the project because I didn't like the people I had been put with, I didn't like the project we were given or other people in the group immediately took on the role of leader so I would step back and keep an eye on the direction of the conversation and project. But I always have the sense of getting the job done and done right whether I like what I'm doing or not because there is a deadline to meet or marks to be earned and I know I won't be working on this project for the rest of my life.
However, not everyone thinks or feels this way.
What I use for motivation is music and movies. Two of my favorites for motivation are "Number 1" by Chaz Jankel in Real Genius (starring Val Kilmner) and "Win in the End" by Mark Safan at the end of the film Teen Wolf (starring Michael J. Fox). What can I say? I have a soft spot for 80s music and movies!
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I prefer the act of writing for its:
I like typing for its:
I didn't grow up in an environment that was dependent upon computers and I didn't have the luxury of having portable electronic devices. Because I don't have any portable electronic devices, I keep a notebook with me and whenever inspiration strikes, I write. My travel time is rather long so I spend my time writing out stories, poems and, of course, blog posts.
When I was at the bus depot waiting for my bus, I was writing a poem when suddenly this young guy--I'd said he was a senor in high school--asked me what I was doing. I told him I was writing a poem and he replied, "You don't see that anymore." He even said he thought poetry was dead! I gave him a confused look and said, "No," and continued writing before I lost my thoughts.
I've included this Ted Talk which helped me write this blog post. I hope you enjoy it as much I did:
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And is continually explored by Éric Soucy (aka FI3200) and myself (aka The (Only) Red Wolf).
The Goblin Tunnels are underground portals belonging to another dimension. Different creatures live in them and they enter our world to cause havoc and to bring things, and people, back into the Goblin Tunnels.
To see past installments, click here and here. Victor and Éric produce the mind-blowing photographs and I provide them with the occasional written piece (poetry and stories).
Warning: Here is the latest installment but to better understand the following story, please read "Resurgence" first.
IN MEMORY OF DAVID BOWIE: 1947-2016
The Goblin Tunnels: Hail to the King (and His Final Moments)
He watched his followers invade the other world. He waited for the last of them to exit the atrium before he withdrew into the Goblin Tunnels.
The Goblin King meandered ponderously into the hallway. His feet were silent against the cold cement floor. After delivering his speech, his blood was beginning to cool, the heat soaked up by the architecture around him.
Wires were a major decoration of the Goblin Tunnels. They snaked the floors, ready to catch the clumsiest of creatures. In some of the smaller hallways, such as this one, there was an abundance of wires hanging down; a couple of them were looped and camouflaged in this rubber jungle so the few creatures who would blindly run through would be caught by the neck thereby thinning out the herd.
The Goblin King pushed aside wire after wire. He knew the locations of all the traps since he had helped build many of the Goblin Tunnels. He was also very curious as to how things worked and he liked being several steps ahead of his enemies as well as those who were not his enemies. The only creature you could trust was yourself.
The Goblin King ascended the staircase and stood before an immense in-ground pool of light. Thin wisps of heat were emitted by the lights, encompassing the Goblin King in a warm fog; he felt shivers slithering across his body.
Normally, he would have gone with his followers to the human world. Normally, the Goblin King enjoyed watching what his words caused his devoted creatures to do in the name of fear and havoc. But on this occasion of the empty Goblin Tunnels, he just wanted to listen to the silence. As he did, the shadows in the corners seemed to grow and the expanse of the room seemed to gradually shrink. With his every breath, the Goblin King had the sense that the room wanted to swallow him and for the first time, the Goblin Tunnels reminded him of a tomb. He hurried out into the hallway, his heart hammering wildly. Looking back into the room, all was as it should be.
Continuing down the hallway at a slow pace, the Goblin King took deep breaths. The path he took twisted and turned. It was for some time he walked and he would have continued on uninterrupted had it not been for a sudden light appearing in the corner of his eye. Turning, he knowingly stared at that portal, remembering the shock and fear. The Goblin King had gone through that portal as a lad. And through that portal were steam pipes.
It had only been a few months since the Goblin Tunnels had acquired him, but he had already grown accustom to his new way of life. The physical and physiological changes had already begun and he had gone through many portals prior to this one. There had been nothing to worry about; however he was alone this time. The young Goblin walked through the faint, pulsating light that signalled the existence of a portal and he was immediately hit with a heat wave.
"That place was welcoming", recalled the Goblin King, "Until those pipes emitted that... sound. That cursèd sound."
The young Goblin had frozen in panic as the piercing, high-pitched whistle blew. The familiarity of the sound had shocked his mind and caused him to flee back into the safety of the Goblin Tunnels. The Goblin King turned abruptly, continuing down the hall for the memory of her voice to return to its grave in the steam pipes.
He entered a storage room with square shelving built into the walls. The Goblin King had been exceptionally proud of this project, for who would have thought to organize chaos? He ran a clawed hand over the glittering green limestone and when he came to a smooth patch, it gave him reason to pause. The Goblin King now had a clear view of his appearance. There was that human face of his staring back. He had never fully turned into a goblin and he never understood why that was, however, he had been accepted despite this abnormality. After several years had passed, he had earned the title of King for his visionary outlook and his service to the Goblin Tunnels.
The Goblin King ran his eyes all over his reflection in wonderment. He couldn't remember if his eyes had always been two different colors or if his nose had changed shape. Really, all that the Goblin Tunnels had done to him was exaggerate his own features: a few teeth had transformed into fangs, his finger and toe nails had elongated into claws and the hair on his head and chest had grown three times longer from their original length (whatever that had been). As he stared at his unchanged face, the question turned round his mind. As if in defiance, he dragged his claws across his reflection, pleasurably cringing at the sound they made on the stonework before he left the room.
Up another set of stairs and the Goblin King was at the entrance to his throne room. With red walls several stories high standing resolutely before him, pride swelled within him. This was his favorite part of the Goblin Tunnels. He believed that the entrance represented his essence. The Goblin King was a sentinel that would lead his creatures out of the Dark Ages and restore the world the humans had destroyed. As a smirk grew on his face, he entered.
The throne room matched the height of the entrance with a golden throne standing at the farthest end; this was where he granted an audience with his loyal subjects and where all gathered after venturing into the human world. He imagined what they would bring back from this particularly passionate attack. The Goblin King stood at the center of the room, turning his back on his golden throne. He was lost in revelry as he admired all that he had done since his succession.
"So this is where you've been all this time."
The Goblin King's body became rigid. It was the voice from the steam pipes. He turned around with dread and saw a young woman sitting on his throne. She was a woman he remembered all too well; she was a woman he should not have remembered at all.
"You shouldn't be here!" he impulsively shouted.
"Is that how you welcome me to your kingdom?" she asked as she rose. He reluctantly eyed her slender, dark skin as she moved towards him like a tiger in her slinky gold dress. Emotions he had buried long ago began to crawl out of their graves and take hold of him.
"No!" he shouted in rebellion.
She stopped, startled, "But, you promised. You said you'd be mine forever," she showed him her hand that had a ring on one of her fingers, "You're my love, my Da--"
He rushed at her and pointed his clawed finger at her neck.
"That is not my name. Don't ever say that name. I am the Goblin King!" he roared.
"But, Da--"
He struck her across the face, his claws scratching her eye. She fell to the tiled floor and clutched her face. Despite the stabbing pain and blood she felt, the blow had hurt him more.
She began to sob. Without thinking, he knelt down beside her.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Hot tears blinded him as he put his arms around her, "I'm so sorry."
With his head against hers, he rocked back and forth, "I don't know what I am anymore. I was of your world, then this world and now... I don't know anymore," his body shook as he tried to keep everything in.
She raised her bloody hand to his face, mingling his tears with her blood. Looking up at him, she said, "My darling, you see what this world has done to you, but you don't see that inside, you're still human."
"I don't know what to do."
She turned to face him, still encircled by his arms, "Open up your heart to me once more."
They were inches from each other. He could feel the warmth from her body. The memories were coming back to him, bringing him back to life.
"You haven't changed," she said with a small smile despite the pain, "Nothing could ever make you change."
And with that, he pressed his lips to hers with an almost-forgotten passion that overwhelmed him.
* * *
The devoted creatures of the Goblin Tunnels returned victoriously: many were covered in blood, carrying parts to use in the Goblin Tunnels' expansion and others had new, unconscious recruits slung over their shoulders.
They filed through the portals with cheers on their lips or stories of their moments in battle as they headed towards the Goblin King's golden throne. After venturing into the human world, it was there they always gathered to bring their stolen goods before his worthy gaze.
Through this labyrinth of tunnels, they reached his Royal Highness's throne and upon entering were greeted with a shocking sight. They drew near. Seated on his throne was the Goblin King, his arms open and laying on the arm rests and his head resting against his motionless chest. The Goblin King was still in his war uniform, apparently unscathed. Upon further inspection, one of the creatures cried, "He's bleeding!"
They opened his jacket and saw a bloody, gaping hole where his heart should have been.
"The King is dead!"
"The King has been killed!"
"An intruder! An intruder!"
"Find the intruder!"
Like lightening, the cry spread through the immense crowd of creatures returning from battle. They scrambled to find the intruder, all the while in disbelief that such a thing had happened. None of them had bothered to look at the Goblin King's face; although, even if they had, they would never have understood his expression. The creatures understood very little of the human race.
Out into the labyrinth of tunnels they ran and searched and searched and ran, but they would never find the intruder, if there had ever been one. They would never find his heart either, for although the Goblin Tunnels had claimed the Goblin King's body long ago, they would never have his heart.
]]>Last week when David Bowie's latest, (and now last), album Blackstar came out, I watched the video he did for his song "Blackstar" and I found that the video was jam-packed with religious symbolism; this was odd even for Bowie, in my opinion, because I have listened to a wide range of Bowie's music and observed his changing styles and themes and his consistent ones and felt that something was off. I wondered, why is there so much of this theme? And as I listened to his other songs on the album, my suspicions and questions grew. Why are there so many repetitions of death and death-reated things like tombstones and heaven? Watching Bowie himself in his video of "Blackstar" also made me wonder why he looked so much older.
It was only this morning when I heard news of his passing and his 18 months of battling cancer and I was deeply saddened. ANd as I played his various albums to personally commemorate his achievements, a thought struck me: "Black. Star. Black often means death and star is a synonym for a celebrity. Was his album connected to his illness?" and like a flash, I went onto the internet and immediately found this article that matched my train-of-thought:
http://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2016/jan/11/was-david-bowie-saying-goodbye-on-blackstar
And it is confirmed that Blackstar was his "parting gift":
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/celebritynews/12092542/Bowies-last-album-was-parting-gift-for-fans-in-carefully-planned-finale.html
We all say "thank you" to you, David Bowie, David Jones. He was a brilliant writer to whom I shall always turn to help me write, to help me stay true to myself and to comfort me in my sadness.
As Felix Felicis (@LuckoftheDraw86) on Twitter wrote: "May the Labyrinth guide you home."
I have written a fanfiction based on Bowie's Labyinth character Jared the Gobin King and I have included him in another project I am collaborating on with Éric Soucy called the Goblin Tunnels:
Fanfiction Pt 1: http://redwolfsroom.blogspot.ca/2014/03/as-world-falls-down-wolfina-escapade.html
Fanfiction Pt 2: http://redwolfsroom.blogspot.ca/2014/04/as-world-falls-down-wolfina-escapade.html
The Goblin Tunnels: https://medium.com/goblin-tunnel/the-goblin-tunnel-resurgence-1d685f25c0a0#.xq5vvecd9
]]>After several days of having a cold, my mind is eventually swept under waves of confusion, repetition and forgetfulness. Out of these three types of waves, the one I hate the most is repetition. Things said, seen or heard will repeat endlessly in my mind and I lack the energy to push it away and focus on something else. It's as if my mind cannot absorb the usual information it receives so everything seeps in at an extremely slow pace. Being only the third day of having a cold, I mostly have clarity, however, the want to stare at a wall all day is tempting right now as well as going back to bed.
I wonder if it's best to have a cold as school recommences since there aren't any projects yet, heavy studying or exams to complete.
Colds turn writing into very long chores because thinking is difficult enough without having to focus on what it is you have to write about. And when I'm finally finished writing and I go back over my work, I'm not even sure I'm making any sense. Reading is equally arduous; the mind wanders constantly before you realize you're still holding the book without a clue as to what it says.
Unfortunaltely, colds are an occupational hazard for us writers. And students.
Here's to your health!
]]>Restraining your creative impulses only creates a build-up of negative energy that leads to destruction of yourself or of relationships with those around you. Creativity is as important as exercise. It must be done a little each day.
We all need to do activities that help us escape, either mentally or physically, our present life. That's why we create in the first place. We need a place where we can go to cope with sorrow and anger or to celebrate our happiness. I have several creative activities that I do depending on my mood or the amount of free time I have. Among other things, I birdwatch. Here are some of my snapshots:
American Goldfinch
I also write poetry and short stories. And, of course, blogging is another one of my creative activities.
So, keep creatiing!
]]>L'irruption into Freedom
The words flowed well. The drums were powerful; the guitar electrifying. The rhythm helped her feel stronger even though she knew it was only temporary. She understood the meaningful lyrics despite her oblivion to the entire language. As the song ended, her strength slowly drained from her and she was brought back to her problem. A problem which she faced daily ever since she could remember.
Véronique sat in the booth alone with her Walkman. She finished her fries and replaced her Walkman in her bag, zipping it shut. Nearby, Véronique could hear a group of teens talking. They were speaking English, she knew. She knew because she often listened to English music behind her mother's back. Véronique wanted to join in the conversation but couldn't because of the boundaries her mother had set ever since Véronique had begun to speak. She lived in Quebec and could not fathom why the French will not accept any other language.
After dumping her trash, she walked home. The weather was frosty and bleak. The wind blew against her. As soon as Véronique arrived home, the phone rang.
-- Véronique ? C'est Michelle. C'que tu veux aller au Centre Ville 'vec moi et André ?
-- Euh... je...j'peux pas.
-- Ah, OK. Ben, bonne journée, Roni !
-- Oui. Toi 'si.
The phone's dial tone rang in her ear. Véronique wanted to go downtown but her mother forbad her because she believed English was the only language spoken there. Véronique felt the weight of the house's emptiness. Her father was at work and her mother was probably running errands.
Véronique relaxed in her room before going to work the late shift at La Cache boutique. Originally, she had wanted to work at Simons or The Bay but most of Véronique's preferred stores had English names for which her mother held a grudge.
She left the house and arrived at work punctually. Véronique's colleagues were already there, getting ready for their shifts.
After running the cash for awhile, she went on the floor to fix the clothing racks. Véronique ran into one of her guy friends.
-- Salut, Roni ! She turned upon hearing her name.
-- Rémi ! Qu'est c'que tu fais ici?
Véronique had a crush on Rémi. His sleek, long black hair and dark eyes gave him a mysterious allure. It took her breath away.
-- Ma mère cherche des nouveaux draps de lit. Et, toi ?
-- Ben, je travaille ici. Ça fait quelques mois. She smiled.
-- Tu sais, ça fait un long bout d' temps qu'on s'connaît, n'est-ce-pas ?
-- Ben...oui.
Véronique wasn't sure what Rémi was trying to say. It was a struggle for him to get the words out, at first.
-- Veux-tu... venir 'vec moi ....après ton shift?
Véronique was about to accept his offer when she heard a horrible sound.
"Remy? Oh, there you are! I've found some sheets," Remy's mother saw Véronique, "Is this a friend from school?"
"Yes, this is Véronique."
-- Véronique, ma mère.
Before she knew what she was saying, Véronique blurted out, "Hi."
She didn't know what had happened. All she could think about was her mother's horrified expression because she spoke a different language.
"Hello," she smiled before turning to Remy, "I'll be at the cash, okay?"
"Alright," His mother walked away.
-- Tu parles...anglais ?
-- Ouais. Alors... le souper ?
-- Oui ...euh, non...oui...j'ai aucune idée.
-- J'comprend pas.
-- Est-c'que j'peux te téléphoner demain ?
-- Euh, ouais.
-- D'accord. Faut que j'range les vêtements.
Véronique turned and walked away, broken-hearted and confused. If her mother ever found out that she was friends with someone English... Véronique stopped. She wanted to be with Rémi and she was not going to let a little thing like language get in her way. After sixteen years of not crossing her mother's line, Véronique had had enough.
When she arrived home from work, her mother, Janelle, was already there. Janelle was a short woman with good taste in jewellery and clothes, but not in make-up. She wore too much rouge. It clashed with her hair color which was also a shade of red. Véronique was more like her father.
-- Véronique, qu'est ce que tu veux manger ce soir?
Véronique took a deep breath...and answered:
"I want to have pizza for supper."
Her mother froze; her face ghostly pale.
-- QUOI!?
Véronique stood firm. She boldly repeated her response and without a translation.
Janelle pointed a finger at her.
-- Ici, dans cette maison et dans ce pays, on parle le FRAAAN. ÇAIS !
-- Mais ça pas d'bon sens ! On utilise le smoking, le week-end, une pizza. Pourquoi pas toute la langue ?
-- Parce que c'est comme ça. Point finale.
Janelle opened a cabinet to retrieve the dishes.
-- Non. Je parlerai c'que je veux...
Janelle looked at her daughter and parted her thick red lips to speak, but Véronique plowed on.
-- Et j'me tiendrais 'vec les gens qui me plaît. She walked towards her room.
-- AIE ! Tu restes ici, Véronique !!
Véronique whirled around to face her mother.
"You can't stop me. C'est fini, Ma, pour toujours!" Véronique went to her room and shut the door.
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What inspired me to bring a journal on my travels were the Nancy Drew mystery games made by Herinteractive. In most of the games, the mystery begins with Nancy reading a letter she has written to her friends, father, housekeeper or boyfriend and in later games, she has a journal which gamers can refer to for observations, phones numbers and the like. In the Herinteractive Merchandise store, you can even purchase a Nancy Drew-themed journal which, of course, I had to have! I long to fill my journals with my travels to Ireland, England, Denmark, New York, Venice, Australia...the list continues. That's another reason why I am so in love with those Nancy Drew games; with their combination of music and graphics, the countries Nancy visits fuel my want to travel.
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Yes, they are--but that's what's so great about them! Books are from the past, and since everyone is born at one point in time and dies at another, who better to teach us about what we aren't around to see than books?
Books have been around for about five thousand years and in many different forms. They were in the form of portable clay tablets that were used by Mesopotamians; Egyptians used papyrus scrolls; then parchment was the preferred material used for bookmaking all over Europe.
People use books everyday. Books are our teachers, our entertainers. They are the key to the past and a window into the minds of others. Books contain stories and knowledge. And "knowledge is power" (Sir Francis Bacon).
Books can speak to individuals and help them cope with their problems or simply show them that they are not alone. They can bring people together who share the same loves and interests by drawing them out of themselves to become part of a community, whether it's in a local capacity (like a book club) or, globally (in the publishing world). But the one thing books always do is inspire.
Books are also our guides to life's obstacles and curve-balls. Jesse Lee Bennett said, "Books are the compasses and telescopes and sextants and charts which other men have prepared to help us navigate the dangerous seas of human life." Not only are they educators, they reveal many of life's wonders. Books reveal the mystical stories behind the stars, the greatness of Abraham Lincoln and Socrates. Books show us the strangeness of Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales and reveal the the world's scientific discoveries like Marie Curie's work with radioactivity. Books let us experience the blazing hot sands of the Sahara desert and the majestic beauty of the Amazon forest. But the best part about books is that they let our imaginations run rampant.
Although I am more of a brick-and-mortar type of person when it comes to books, I like e-books because they allow even more people the chance to read because so many now have electronic devices and don't always fancy carrying a brick-like book on their back or shoulder.
I read Harper Lee's novel To Kill a Mockingbird and in it, the characters say that mockingbirds don't do anything except sing melodious notes. Her book made me think about books in general and that it would be sad if books ever became extinct because they do nothing but enlighten us and help us pass the time. If books ever disappeared... then it would be like shooting a mockingbird.
Check out more of my posts on http://redwolfsroom.blogspot.ca/
In one of my classes in cegep, we had to make a portfolio of whatever medium we were interested in and we had to present it to the class. I wrote several short stories and for my presentation, I read one of them. It was Friday and our last class of the day so my classmates were tired and somewhat anxious to go home, but when I read my story, (I had turned out the lights so people would relax), no one interrupted or were on their phones trying not to be seen. They were all listening. Afterwards, there was a Q&A period and several of the students said that they enjoyed my presentation immensely because it reminded them of when they were in elementary school and listened to their teacher read a story. They felt nostagic because they are always preoccupied with social media and everyone is so busy. They enjoyed being able to relax and imagine again.
In the following video, Susan Cooley talks about stories helping youths find themselves and how much stories and writng have helped her in her own life.
Let your imagination run rampant.
]]>Today, we remember all who have fought in war and who are currently fighting. I have included some intersting facts about the author of "In Flanders Fields", John McCrae:
"On December 8, 1915, Punch magazine published a poem commemorating the dead of World War I. "In Flanders Fields" was written by John McCrae of Guelph, Ontario, after his experiences in the trench warfare around Ypres, Belgium.
...
McCrae published other poems before the war in McGill University's University Magazine. "In Flanders Fields" is one of a collection of poems published posthumously in 1919 as In Flanders Fields and Other Poems.
He was educated at the University of Toronto and in 1900 was appointed fellow in pathology at McGill University in Montréal. He later became a physician at the Alexandra Hospital and assistant physician at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montréal."
Source:
https://www.historicacanada.ca/content/heritage-minutes/john-mccrae?media_type=&media_category=35
]]>Reading the works of the Early Romantics, (Blake, Wordsworth and Coleridge), brings me closer to nature and helps me feel peace. However, I believe that in order for one to fully comprehend their words, one must feel them. One must find a place away from the sounds of people and traffic. Quiet the mind, listen to the chirping birds, rustling leaves and breathe in the wind that has blown for eternity. Only then can one read and feel nature's meaning. It may take some travel, but it is well worth the trouble.
In honor of the Early Romantics, I wrote a short poem about the constant struggle between city and country:
Forgetting Romantics
Dare I dream of yesterdays?
Trees wholly ablaze
And Man's burdens falling away,
As the silence, save that of a stream,
Refreshes mind, body, soul of today.
But they round up the unknowing mules,
Encompassing within rigid rules
To erase memories of winds so cool;
Yet clear is the baaing of sheep,
The graduated fools.
How the curtains shut and remain,
Making our souls writher in their chains
And our minds wander among barren plains.
Aging flesh hanging, falling away,
As we, tortured rebels, become insane.
]]>For several years, I kept a hand-out my secondary two teacher gave out. It was Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken". We had analyzed it in class and I decided to keep it, without knowing why:
The Road Not Taken
Growing up, I frequented two places daily: home and school. People's reactions to my behaviour and my interests always made me feel like I was not normal. I preferred being alone to being with people I didn't like and that made me weird. The stories I wrote which were full of emotions were also considered weird. People spoke over me and tried to force their opinions onto me. I didn't have any support; I was alone.
Five years later, I was in cegep and started my first job in a boutique. As I became acquainted with the staff, I found that my manager, although he was a photographer as opposed to a writer, shared my interests and I, at last, had found one solid connection in life. After reading two of my poems, he said, "It is a harduous path [following your heart] because only the bravest choose these paths. But it is yours..."
Two years later, I was listening to the soundtrack from one of my favourite television shows, Quantum Leap. The show features a man who is able to leap into other people's bodies throughout time and, in order to leap out again, has to fix things in the people's lives to change history for the better. The show demonstrates that leaping can be lonely and one of the songs on the soundtrack, "Fate's Wide Wheel", features loneliness as its main theme:
Fate's Wide Wheel
There is a cemetery at the edge of the village.
Carpathian Mountains,
field of sunflowers.
By the river Maros, Kisjenö.
Gilded icon guards white-washed farm house.
Mud-brick fireplace. Stone benches.
Spinning wheel, bed, table, and chairs.
Accordion with violin,
cimbalom, the zither.
Great-grandmother Victoria wears a párta diadem,
woven of gold and silk and crystal glass beads.
Embroidered linen blouse, cashmere skirt.
Calla lilies and white roses bridal bouquet.
Three sons and one daughter.
Grandmother Mariska
has no memory of her mother.
Not to know her mother's hands.
Green gooseberry of a thorny shrub.
Tree trunks limed against the codling moth.
Peach tree and pear. Cackling hens, geese.
Close to the house, stables.
Great-grandfather György deserting his wife.
The year was 1897. Victoria farmed out
her daughter. Kept her three sons at home.
Faded homespun, knee-high boots.
Four years of grade school. A servant girl at nine.
Tallow candles and oil burning lamps.
On the oak table, bean soup with dumplings.
Maize bread baked in outdoor clay oven.
Palascinta filled with ground walnuts and sugar.
Served with warm apricot marmalade.
Ilona Martonfi is the author of three poetry books,
Blue Poppy, (Coracle Press, 2009.) Black Grass,
(Broken Rules Press, 2012). The Snow Kimono,
(Inanna Publications, 2015).
Image courtesy of Wikicommons.
]]>
How many dispossessed?
"Enemies of the people"
for many long years
labour camps in the Ural taiga
white sun, white sky
uninhabited.
"You have 15 minutes!"
pack a bag, sepia photographs.
Grandfather's sister, Lia,
brother Yaakov, deported
accused of being a kulak
owner of lands
in Sudilkov village
windowless cattle cars
for one thousand versts around:
Where to? For how long?
Wolf carcasses
earth dugouts and huts
ragged, lice-ridden.
Logging timber
rye bread rations
thin, watery soup
barbed wire of the camp.
But how long can a song last?
Smuggled out with prison letters
sphagnum, bog cranberry
steppe wildflowers
buried beyond the river.
Ilona Martonfi is the author of three poetry books, Blue Poppy, (Coracle Press, 2009.) Black Grass, (Broken Rules Press, 2012). The Snow Kimono, (Inanna Publications, 2015).
In honour of trees
leave a blank page
at the site on behalf of Inuit.
This is for you
aligning holes between rocks
in likeness of a person
its extended arms
a flock of ravens
leave Inukshuk stone carving
almondshaped openings
in honour of Cpl. Cirillo
sacred katajjaq --
throat singing
other side of the hill
ominously reply
issue ultimatums
as parliament returns
day after shooting
direction markers
constructed as memorial
a soldier's final journey
along Highway of Heroes:
keep people silent
still frame taken from video
hearse procession.
That dividing line,
humbleness to that man
burden only he can carry
cross-shaped cairn
keeps vigil over the land
not the caw of a seagull
I heard no sound.
(Nunatsiaq News: Staff with Inuit, Tapiriit Kanatami, laid a card and an Inukshuk carving at the granite cenotaph National War Memorial in Ottawa in honour of Corporal Nathan Cirillo, who was killed there October 22 2014).
Photo courtesy of ITK.
Ilona Martonfi is the author of three poetry books, Blue Poppy, (Coracle Press, 2009.) Black Grass, (Broken Rules Press, 2012). The Snow Kimono, (Inanna Publications, 2015).
First, the reader should be made to understand that the term fanfiction, is in and of itself relatively new. The term fanfiction has only emerged in the past few decades, and its widespread use and definition, can be somewhat attributed to the advent of the internet. Nonetheless, the concept of fanfiction - the concept of "using existing characters and situations to develop new plots" has been around for centuries.
Now, we might go on and on about the subject, and retrace the origins of fanfiction all the way back to ancient times. We could go into extensive detail about how ancient cultures were overly fond of merging various folktales, or how they would often incorporate the mythologies of other cultures, specifically those cultures which they had conquered, into their own mythologies - all in a bid to avoid alienating the newly incorporated populace, and homogenise their society and cultural history. This, of course, is one of the reasons why there are so many different versions of the same myth. For example, the abundance of flood myths found throughout ancient cultures. As a result of their different origins, the characters themselves often differ. But the end result is almost always the same. The human populace is washed clean, and made anew through one surving pair. Now, whether humanity is reconstructed through traditional means, or by throwing rocks over one's head, is once again dictated by the myth's origin.
Again, we can go on...
But really, we'd rather not - if only for the sake of expediency and a set word count.
]]>Fanfiction in the Time of Dragons - "King Arthur & the Knights of the Round Table".
Dating back over a thousand years, the characters of King Arthur, and that of his knights of the round table, have been dominant literary figures, all but since the time of Geoffrey of Monmouth himself. In following centuries, authors such as Marie de France, Chretien DeTroyes, Sir Thomas Mallory, and numerous others (some of which are anonymous, such as the author "Sir Gawain & the Green Knight"), contributed numerous poems and romances to the legend. These were all inspired by the original Arthurian legends, or the work of other authors such as themselves, who had taken up the mantle of the Arthurian tradition. Thus, these authors were not only, for all intents and purposes, writing their own fanfiction based on the original manuscripts, but writing fanfiction of fanfictions as well. It makes you wonder just how much of the literary canon could be legitimately termed as fanfiction, doesn't it?
When one ponders the subject, it becomes easy enough to assume that these Arthurian fanfictions undoubtedly played a part in keeping the legends alive and thriving within the public conscious. The steadfast emergence of new Arthurian romances undoubtedly renewed the general interest in the mythological figure of King Arthur, thus resulting in an all but constant resurgence of Arthurian legends, whether they be from the original source, or otherwise. Which might explain why, over a thousand years later, the figure of the Once and Future King, the figure of King Arthur, still retains a tenable hold over the contemporary mind. The works of modern and contemporary authors such as T.H. White, John Steinbeck, and Gwen Rowley attests to that fact - not to mention the emergence of various television series such as "Camelot" & "Merlin."
The Tory Age - Fanfiction As Political Ammunition.
In 1740, Samuel Richardson published "Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded," an epistolary novel which was deemed highly controversial at the time. The protagonist of the story is a lowly, virtuous maidservant by the name of Pamela Andrews. The antagonist of the story, is the nefarious Mr. B., a nobleman who repeatedly attempts to debauch Pamela at every turn, with no success whatsoever. Although the novel itself was extremely popular at the time, opinions on the morals of the novel and on its protagonist differed greatly.
The Pro-Pamela's praised her character for her modesty, and her steadfast resolution to remain virtuous despite all of Mr. B.'s schemes. Pamela Andrews was considered to be an exemplary role model for young women - the novel was often integrated into sermons in order to underline the importance of good morals and virtue - as well as their inherent rewards.
The Anti-Pamela's, however, had a very different view on things. They criticized Pamela's character in the most ridiculous of ways. Their main arguments typically underlined her lowly social status, that of a commoner. The basis of the arguments seemed to purport that a commoner such as she could not possibly have the slightest notion of virtuous principles, much less any virtuous notion surpassing a nobleman's. They, the traditionalist of English society, otherwise known as Tories, disparaged the novel for supporting a relationship between a nobleman and a lowly commoner. The offence was twofold in their eyes, for not only does Mr. B marry Pamela, but the maidservant is eventually accepted into upper-class society. This resulted in a number of unauthorised sequels, the most popular of which was "An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews" - a satire that upheld the Tory plight, and did its best to display the character in a grotesque light - one which a traditionalist would find more congruent with their notions on the state of morality amongst commoners.
"Once Upon A Time" - A Whole New Twist in the Tale.
You want to know the biggest irony in fanfiction history? Fanfictions weren't really frowned upon prior to the advent of the copyright infringement laws. And even afterwards, they didn't kick up much of a fuss. It was often the case that, at this particular moment in time, popular novels would often garner a number of unauthorized sequels and even fanzines - such as was the case with the works of Jane Austen and with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes" - just to name a few.
It wasn't until the 1930s to 1950s that works of fanfiction began to be actively snubbed. Ironically, from the 1950s onwards, the fanfiction phenomenon began to spread globally with the advent of the television, and later the internet. Since the 1950s, the fanfiction community has grown exponentially - despite the fact that numerous individuals have since attempted to make the practice and distribution of fanfiction illegal.
In recent years, the imaginary line between fanfictions and original work imposed in the twenty-first century has become increasingly murky. More and more popular fanfictions have been removed from the net, reworked by their authors and published as original fiction by publishing houses. One example of a recent fanfiction turned original fiction would be Cassandra Clare's"The Mortal Instruments" series, just to name one of the many. In addition, Kindle now has a fanfiction section, entitled Kindle Worlds, with which fanfiction authors can now publish their works, and legally earn money for their efforts.
And let's not forget to consider the film industry in all of this. Granted, films and/or television series based off of other materials are typically considered to be adaptations of the original material. And I believe that they are in those cases were the script writer remains as faithful to the original work as possible. But let's face it, rarely do now a days a cinematogropher/script writer does not imput his own creative liscence into their work. Once again, the line between original work and fanwork is blurred. One of the most recent, and perhaps the most popular example of this blurring of the original work through creative liscences would be ABC's "Once Upon A Time" - a drama series whose greatest attribute is that it takes whichever stories and/or characters it desires (Snow White, Peter Pan, Frankenstein, ect) and spins them about on their head.
Sources
Morrison, Ewan. "In the beginning, there was fan fiction: from the four gospels to Fifty Shades."theguardian. N.p. 13 August 2012. Web. 11 February 2014.
Temple, Emily. "The Disturbing Origins of 10 Famous Fairy Tales." Flavorwire. Flavorpill. 8 November 2012. Web. 11 February 2014.
Lulgjuraj, Susan. "Amazon expands Kindle Worlds with seven new titles." Teleread. NAPCO. 5 February 2014. Web. 11 February 2014.
Lulgjuraj, Susan. "Amazon's Kindle Worlds opens with fan fiction ready to go." Teleread. NAPCO. 29 June 2013. Web. 11 February 2014.
"Arthurian Authors." The Pendragon. N.p. n.d. Web. 11 February 2014.
King Arthur History"King Arthur History." Britannia. N.p. n.d. Web. 11 February 2014.
"Anti-Pamela and Shamela." Google Boooks. Google. 2004. Web. 11 february 2014
Images
Interview with Bones Fanfiction Author threesquares:
JV: Are you familiar with Kathy Reichs?
Threesquares: I am. I am a reader, not a tv watcher primarily. I had read all the books she had written at the time I first started watching bones, right around season 5, so 4 or so years ago.
JV: In that case, would you say that your interest in Reichs' Temperance Brennan murder mystery series is what initially attracted you to Bones?
Threesquares: Hmmm. On the one hand, I don't think so. I get very attached to characters so I was already attached to Tempe and Ryan and Katie and the whole world of Montreal vs. North Carolina. So I was kind of passively uninterested in watching Bones. But then I turned 40. And I had migraines, for the first time in my life. Took a few months to sort it all out and get medication that worked, so for a while, I would be up all night long trying to wrestle the things into submission before going to teach school. And Bones marathons were on. Then I was hooked on those characters. I know KR is involved in Bones the TV show to some extent but they really might as well be two different things.
]]> JV: Since the TV world of Temperance Brennan is so different from the book world, what would be, in your opinion, each world's strongest points?Threesquares: Hmm. Let's see.
TV world - I have loved all the women scientists in the TV world. I love how geeks were portrayed and valued. I love that Booth never ever seemed to have a problem working with a woman, not being as smart as a woman. It made him extremely sexy on top of all the other ways he was as a character and a man. They were interesting characters with a lot of possible backstories. I think that the best worlds are the ones where you find yourself imaging other stories or being there yourself. The Bones TV world is one of those for me.
Book world - As a long time mystery fan, these were just really strong mysteries. I am not a cozy reader...so no cats, if you know what I mean. I mean, it's okay for a character to have a pet, but I don't know...nothing too precious or, well...silly. So I liked the seriousness of Tempe, the way her mind works. I love the details of her job (not the bones and science, which is fine but not my main passion at all even though I'm a mathematician) but the travel between two cities and the way morgues work and pathology departments and police departments.
Actually now that I think of it, that is a similarity in both worlds that is striking. Each version of Brennan is different, but still whole unto herself, and not tied to a particular kind of femininity.
Is that the right...shape...answer for your question?
JV: Any answer you give me is the right answer. My interest in conducting this interview is to discover your thoughts and opinions, not only on the world of Bones, and Kathy Reichs' literary canon, but on fanfiction as well... Speaking of opinions, you stated earlier that you quickly became hooked on the Bones characters, would you mind sharing with me which aspects of these characters attracted or intrigued you the most?
Threesquares: Okay which aspects of these characters attracted or intrigued me most? What I loved in Brennan is that she had value other than her beauty or her femininity. I love that she reveled in being alone in her head. So many of us do. It is so rarely depicted. Booth seems less complicated to me. That he loves her is the most attractive thing about him, plus the fact that he is hot and brave and sensitive and good with kids. Fantasy man, I guess. Zach is hilarious and like people I know, and HE GETS TO BE ON TV. Yes! Geeks win. Hodgins. Same goes. But the geekiness is not just math and science, it is a passion for knowledge and experimenting and a boldness that allows him to ask Angela out. And Angela is fearless and vulnerable and a genius in her own right.
JV: You've obviously grown quite attached to the Bones characters. Despite this, would you say that you are somewhat disapointed that so few of the characters from the book series made it over to the television show?
Threesquares: Not anymore. I'm not sure I can remember how I felt at the time I started watching (season 5 so about 4 years ago). I suspect, however, that I was relieved that it was so entirely different. My disappointments always come when a movie or tv tries to match a book closely and fails. I feel like a whole new Temperance Brennan and Bones world doubles the forensic fun.
JV: Looking over your profile page, I noticed that you have quite an active history where the Bones fandom is conscerned. Not only have you published 18 works of fanfictions for Bones, but it also appears that, at a glance, all of the stories that you have favorited on your profile are Bones fanfics. Tell me, how exactly did you start out in the fanfiction world, not just as an author, but as a reader as well?
Threesquares: So I don't know how other people do it. That's not really true, I have been interested to see that people fill their favorites with stories from lots of fandoms. I like knowing a lot about things, however. I love big thick novels. I hate short stories...if they are good, I wish they were a novel. If they are bad, I'm mad I wasted my time. As an american living from 1969 now to 2014, I have watched plenty of tv and movies. I'm a child of the 80s. Remington Steele, Moonlighting, later Friends and whatever.
That said, I'm also a reader, and a fantasy and sci fi reader in addition to regular fiction. So it was always somewhat about balancing tv with books. Anyway, I started getting these migraines in my early 40s. I was a teacher then, and it was a high stress job (just as bad now) and I hadn't had a headache in my life barely. They would wake me up at 1 in the morning (who GETS a headache at 1 in the morning! It's ridiculous.) and I took medicine and tried to wait them out.
Bones marathon. That's what was on TV. I always like the weird interstitial times of the day. Being awake at 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 am, as long as it is not every day, is always kind of exciting, fun. Seeing what's on TV. Wondering about the other people who are awake. Looking out the windows to see if anyone else is awake. Realizing that I know everyone who I could possibly have a light on.
Anyway, for months, I watch Bones in the middle of the night. And they start getting me through the weeks and months, just like rereading Terry Pratchett did in the fall, or rereading Lois McMaster Bujold did last spring, or listening to the audiobooks of Harry Potter and Narnia did in the fall before that. For me a few years ago, it was Bones.
So I honestly cannot remember how I stumbled across the first fanfic story. I didn't know about ff.net, that's for sure. Or twitter. Well, I had a twitter account but I couldn't figure out how to use it. Well that's not true. I knew HOW to use it cause I'm tech-y and love that stuf but didn't know why I would use it. So it sat there.
But I think...oh I remember now...I went looking for people to talk to about Bones, to laugh about the funny parts or ask questions or whatever...so I was looking for a blog or a wiki or the equivalent of the old listserv. I think I found ff that way. Maybe even from the site 100daysofbones which I still go to sometimes. After that, it was like candy. A whole made up story about Bones?! Where stuff happens the way it SHOULD happen? And you got to SEE everything, not just fade to black. Awesome.
It was, in fact, so awesome that I read little else for a while. Which, while it makes me nervous, as a teacher and lover of literature, I also know is healthy and okay and someday I'll be done. I won't be reading and rereading Bones fanfiction when I'm 60. (Oh god I hope not!...no, no I won't.) Anyway, on the one hand, I like going deeper, not sideways. So knowing all about the Bones world, Bones fanfiction fandom (I can tell you just from having swum with the fishes and paid attention which writers have formed friendships and which not and who doesn't like each other and who started as a ff writer and now is published and who has a blog and who is crazy.) was fun and interesting. And enough.
Also, if I had started reading something else, another fandom (Castle or whatever) I would have NO free time at all! And I'd be addicted forever. So Bones it is.
So I read for a little over a year and I had lots of ideas for stories but finally in August, I wrote one down. And it was weird. Not the story, the writing. Word would follow after word and I would look at it but I wouldn't know if it said what I had set out to say. I mean, I had written papers in college and grad school. I wrote all the time as a teacher and before that as a professional in a business. I wrote emails and have a bunch of blogs and write letters. But fiction. The words I admire most of all. I had long since given up on writing any. I would sit down and have nothing to say. Now, I had a story to write. And absolutely no expectation of everyone ever reading it. It is a strange thing, the fanfiction world because there is so much posted every day, I think there are people who are never read. But mostly everything gets read by someone. And there are these weird stats, like who in Zimbabwe read your story. I can send you screenshots if you want.
So that was August-ish 2012. And I wrote and posted, and gained a following, and wrote author's notes that offended people and then fixed it and thanked people and wrote them back and everything for the last year and a half. And it has been so interesting and it has saved my sanity the way that reading and rereading and watching something in a highly focused way always has. But now, it's like I have a legitimate reason for deep daydreaming. I totally have permission. It is awesome. Also scary and frustration. But really awesome.
And THEN after all that damn fluffybird (my husband loves hearing all the names) who writes these hilarious ee cummings like reviews of my stuff told me to read this NCIS story about the two lead men, and DAMN her I got slightly obsessed with them. I am watching some shows, but I'm not as into the show as I am Bones. But I am into these two characters. So what I'm writing now is a M/M story in the NCIS fandom. I've gotta go back and finish up Tony and Roxie but most of my stories in Bones are pretty closed out. So I'll finish this story and then see what I am moved to write I guess. Hoping now I actually can figure out how to write something I could legitimately share with friends. I have told people about my ff writing, but if I knew people who shared my love of Bones, I might not have started reading ff in the first place, so anyone I would tell, isn't interested in reading a Bones story. A few friends read a few.
Now my Bones writers friends, we read and review each other, give tips and supports. Recently during the process of writing my Bones Secret Santa entry, I was at wits end, sure the story was awful so I shared the google doc with three fanfic friends and we were all typing in the same document. It was fun and an interesting example of trust. I had shared docs with only one other friend. Also we are all on twitter, and watching a new Bones episode while live tweeting with folks has been a lot of fun too.
I wrote a lot, but feel like I left out a lot. If you want to know more about any one thing, I can tell you.
JV: That's quite the story. You've not only created a network of trusted friends to help you when you feel it is needed, but, if I've understood you correctly, you've also found ways to adapt popular social media platforms, such as twitter, to suit your fangirling needs [I hope you think "fangirling" is an appropriate word for it].
Tell me, did you have any reservations starting out? Any sort of problems, either adapting to the fanfiction world or technical difficulties?
Threesquares: So your next question. Yes to creating a network of trusted friends to help and various social media helps (some people do use facebook and tumblr and there are folks who make videos). I don't exactly object to the term "fangirl" but it doesn't seem to apply to me. That said, when I think about it, originally, I did have fangirl needs, I suppose. I Wanted to talk about the show with others. Later though, especially once I started writing, it was more about the writing and my own vision for my story and the characters. Less about the show.
I did have reservations - still do. I am about to move my M rated stories to livejournal because I do worry that it could affect my personal life and I don't think anything stays secret forever. Especially when you are not so good at keeping secrets. I have all kinds of friends and my husband knows, although only a few know my ff.net name and could read if they want.
But then I sort of grew out of my reservations. I think that this is what education does for us. It's why, when people meet people, actual people who are not like them, whether gay or of a different political party or a different age or ethnicity, it is hard to hold on to prejudice. It became clear that the tautology "If you read or write fanfiction, you must be dumb or silly or oversexed" was not not true because the assumptions were untrue but because meeting people made it clear that the conclusion was false. If that makes sense.
I have kind of forgotten the progression but my technical interactions with fanfiction.net were quite different in the beginning. When you only have a few stories then when you look up stats it is for each story. Once you have 18 stories (that is CRAZY. I can't believe I have 18 stories.) then you look up your combined stats more easily. The site has clearly developed organically from something that probably had some other purpose originally because now there are things that are difficult to do on it that no one would have done on purpose.
Actually, I'm not quite sure what is going on, but fanfiction.net has recently made it impossible to cut and paste from the site (which makes reviewing hard, and probably some nefarious activity that I am not aware of or they wouldn't have banned it) or to send to a site called flagfic which will download whole stories for you. I wouldn't be surprised if they were changing in some fundamental way.
JV: It sounds like some of the changes over at fanfiction.net have frustrated you. Do you think that these changes have hindered your work in any way?
Threesquares: The changes at fanfiction have not hindered my work at all. Honestly, I would write it if fanfiction didn't exist, I think. I don't know what I would DO with it (hah hah) but I would do it. I have started posting at A03 recently and I am starting to use livejournal more. I suspect that within a few months, I may be entirely at Livejournal which allows you to say who can see your work and who can't. On the other hand, I do love getting the feedback and stats on my stories.
JV: When you're writing fanfiction, what is your biggest motivation? What inspires your work?
Threesquares: What inspires my work.
Hmmm. It is like a mix between playing dolls, writing a personal narrative, and reading the holy grail of books...you know the one where you open it because you are at party and sneak away to the fancy library and there is a book that just calls to you and then you sink down, blind and driven, in a plush chair next to a blazing fire only to open the book and find the words you never knew you always wanted to read...
Wait, where was I?
Yes, like that. Breaking it down into the three parts then.
1. Playing dolls...that is the part where the characters, the setting, is already done, so playing around in that word feels safe and known. That's the fanfic hook, I think. I also think this is the genre fiction hook. So even if you do worldbuild your own world, which I will do one day, you still get to then play in it.
2. Writing a personal narrative. A lot of things that people respond the most to are personal things for me...the way Brennan counts things and relies on math to make sense of the world, I do that. The fact she sleeps half on her stomach, half on her side, I do that. The storylines I make up, the fun things they do...all things i have done or want to do. It's me, not so thinly veiled. And I didn't have to write a diary to say these things. (BOOOO-ring! :-)
3. Best Book Ever. When you are writing fanfic, the bar is so low, almost nothing is out of bounds. Amnesia, wild coincidences, boyfriends from the past, motorcycle chases....it's wild and freeing. I love that.
JV: I've trully enjoyed interviewing you, and I thank you for your time and collaboration. Before we leave off, however, I would like to ask of you one final question. In your opinion, what would be the best advice you could offer to any fellow fanfiction author, whether novice or masters of the form?
Threesquares:Interesting. Advice huh? Well, advice I would give to anyone is that if you want to write, write. Find a way. And don't write what you think you should want to write, write what you actually want to write.
Story Stat Screencap - curtesy of threesquares
]]>The long lull of Montreal winter can leave many craving the summertime sun, but as long as we're all stuck inside for a few weeks longer, why not read a good book or two? Below, I've compiled a list of Canadian books that people have been talking about as well as a few I think people should be talking about. Choose a title or two from the list to pass the time with a good literary adventure before all the slow melts and we can go off to have some adventures of our own.
]]> 1) The Orenda by Joseph BoydenMany of us may have had to read Boyden's well-known novel, Three Day Road, for an English class over the years which might make the name sound familiar. This novel is the third to be published in the trilogy that started with Three Day Road, but the novel takes place first chronologically in the story so don't let the fact that it's a trilogy let you shy away from reading. Boyden continues to do what he does best as he brings historical material into the story of The Orenda. I have heard people talking about this book for months, but its popularity increased even more since it was declared winner of Canada Reads 2014. If a group of panellists took the time to agree on this being the book Canadians should read then I definitely think it should be one to take a look at.
2) Worst. Person. Ever. by Douglas Coupland
Author of over a dozen novels, Douglas Coupland continues to write about issues of fame, technology, and contemporary culture in this novel. The novel follows Raymond Gunt, an obnoxious and impulsive Englishman who finds himself entangled in the production of a superficiality of an American reality television show. His ex-wife gets him the job as a cameraman for the show which leads him to enlist a charming homeless man as his assistant and take off to America in hopes of collecting money and women along the way. I don't know if you have ever read a book where you hate the narrator as much as you will hate Grunt, but it's worth the experience to read through chapters almost hoping bad things happen to him so we will learn how to be a respectably citizen of the world.
3) All the Broken Things by Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer
All the Broken Things is the second novel by university professor, Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer. The novel tells the story of a young boy named Bo who gets recruited by a carnival worker to take part in the bear fighting part of the travelling show. Despite his love for the thrill of the fights, Bo soon finds himself in a strange position as his boss becomes increasingly interested in making his younger sister part of the show because she has been disfigured from the effects of Agent Orange before moving to Toronto. Reading the back summary of this book got me so excited about reading this unconventional adventure novel that I could not resist adding it to my list of books to read next. With all of the interesting plot elements, the novel leaves you wondering what will happen in the end.
4) Annabel by Kathleen Winter
Set in Newfoundland in the late 1960s, Kathleen Winter's Annabel deals with a family trying to cope with the difficult decisions associated with raising a baby with atypical sexual anatomy. Wayne's parents choose to raise him a boy, but he begins to identify with feminine traits in early childhood. The subject matter addresses what many still have a hard time talking about which makes it an interesting read. This is Winter's first novel, though she has another book of short stories. As a new writer, I find this to be a good choice for a book because she offers a distinct voice many readers might not be familiar with. After growing up in Newfoundland, Winter began her writing career writing for Sesame Street and then moved to settle in Montreal. Between the topics explored in the book and the background Winter brings to her writing, I think Annabel offers readers the chance to experience something completely new.
5) Cockroach by Rawi Hage
This novel hits home in how the action takes place in Montreal. Hage writes about a young man and thief in a bad place both physically and emotionally. The man attempts suicide and fails in the opening pages of the novel which sets the stage for the whirlwind of poverty, dark memories, and misdeeds. This is not Hage's first and writing is not his first career. Having lived in many different parts of the world, Hage has a background in photography, visual art, and even spent some time working as a cab driver in Montreal. Following the trouble protagonist in Cockroach gives readers an emotional journey not to be forgotten, but that just might help distract away from the daily struggles of their own lives.
]]>When I first heard about the James Franco event in Montreal I was excited to learn more about his book, Actors Anonymous, but was soon disappointed to find out that it would be a signing event without a reading or question period. Though initially discouraged, I began to think about what the event might be like. What kind of people would wait in line just to get a signature? Would the people attending be interested in Franco as an author or as an actor in films like This is the End and Pineapple Express? What kind of relationship with these fans have with the work? What value does the signature have both in terms of emotional significance and monetary value?
]]> The event, which I initially thought would be quite popular, gathered momentum within the first few days of being announced. Twitter, Facebook, and local blogs all spread the news of Franco's visit. I was surprised, however, to see that most of the content did not talk about James Franco, did not talk about his career, and did not even mention his book or the fact that this was his second book. Instead, the event became about Montreal and about how Montreal was going to host this celebrity.Despite all of my questions, I decided to attend. According to the bookstore's website, the wristbands needed to meet Franco would be distributed at nine o'clock in the morning, but I knew I had to get there early. I found a place in line at six o'clock and was surprised to hear most fans talking about their individual experiences of meeting Franco rather than their relationship with his work or career. It was all about trying to get James Franco to take a picture with you, taking a picture of the outfit you wore to meet James Franco, or as one girl said having enough time to be able to convince James Franco "to marry you."
After getting my wristband and getting the copies of the book he was signing, I started to read the book's content which explores fame, acting, and the movie business. It was here that I began to fully appreciate the contrast between the words in the book, and the signature Franco would be scribbling on the books bought by the lucky first 500 fans. Actors Anonymous, once I read even more, seemed to be exactly the kind of book that should not be mass distributed. From its first section, Franco's narrator says, "I'm like a sophisticated prop. I'll give you all the feeling you want, all the accent you want, all the hairstyles and wardrobe changes you want, and I'll say whatever you put in front of me. But don't ask me to take pride in the work." Though he was speaking of his acting career, I had a hard time believing most of the people in line were there due to his success in the book industry. Instead, it seemed to be about being close enough to him to see him as one of the characters he plays, to see him as the lovable stoner from Pineapple Express or the dashing hero of Tristan and Isolde. After getting close enough to him, I wondered how many of these fans would actually read the book.
Much later that day I got to the actual event, I saw a stark contrast to the crowd falling asleep on the floor in their sweatpants. Instead of comfortable clothes, everyone looked like they had made an effort to look dressed up, fashionable, or desirable. The energy level had picked up quite a bit considering everyone began trying to push towards the signing area where Franco would later sit. Many of the workers in the bookstore looked stressed or confused about how to manage so many excited fans, but the bookstore benefited through the numerous cameras flashing pictures of Franco with their logo right behind, not to mention selling hundreds of books earlier in the day.
When James Franco finally arrived, I could barely hear the few sentences he spoke over the screams of those trying to push their way towards him. The line up for a signature moved quickly and the closer I got, the more flashes I saw. I heard people calling out his name, saw staff members trying to hold back the crowd, and saw the author of Actors Anonymous looking up between signings. Fans begging him to look their way, called out to him to smile, and wanted to engage him in any way possible. As Franco puts it in his book, "if you're an actor in a film, people will think that you are like your roles." Everyone wanted a glimpse of the actor they were used to seeing, wanted him to pay attention to them, and to feel like they waited all day to get a moment in which they felt like they met someone famous who interacted with them in a personal way.
]]>Interview with Lenora Colledge:
JV: Are you familiar with Kathy Reichs?
Lenora Colledge: Yes. She is the author whose books the show Bones is based upon. She's also a producer on the show.
JV: Have you ever read any of Kathy Reichs' Temperance Brennan books?
Lenora Colledge: No I haven't.
JV: Looking over your profile page, the first thing I noticed was that you have written no less than 112 fanfics for the Bones fandom. Tell me, what initially attracted you the world of Bones?
Lenora Colledge: I was and still am fascinated with the love story I see between Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan. I didn't start watching Bones until season 5. I found the story lines interesting but what drew me in was the fact that the show is character driven. I bought seasons 1 through 4 and watched them in a marathon until I caught up with the show. Watching it that way I saw the characters evolve and grow. I learned their backgrounds, their strengths and their weaknesses. I also enjoy the fact that we were also shown the growth of the characters around the stars. No one is perfect, everyone has obstacles that they've had to overcome that makes them more human, more personable.
I am also drawn to the show because one of the main characters has a military background. He's proud of his service and proud of his country. Since I am an Army Brat I take pride in a show that shows a good light on the profession of my father, brother, uncles and cousins.
JV: I see. Would you mind sharing with me which aspects of the characters, and of the Bones/Booth relationship you enjoy the most? I know you said that you enjoyed watching the characters evolve, but which parts of their journeys have affected you the most? Which aspects of their lives and/or characters has inspired you the most?
]]> Lenora Colledge: I'm most affected by the fact that these characters both had damaging childhoods that caused one to deny that love existed and the other to doubt that he was meant to have love in his life and yet they found each other and through a deep and trusting friendship overcame their emotional handicaps to eventually become a very loving couple. It's a message of hope.JV: It's obvious that you feel very strongly about these characters. Tell me, is your interest in the characters what initially motivated you into writing Bones fanfiction?
Lenora Colledge: I've been writing fanfiction since I was a child. I would write stories for myself and once a story was complete, I would throw it away and write another one. They were just for me. I didn't know that there was a place on the internet to share fan fiction until I started going on a blog titled "Bones Theory". Some of the commenters there started talking about fanfiction websites dedicated to TV shows like Bones and I checked them out. At first I just read the stories I found there and I was really impressed with the writing skills of the authors and the imaginative Bones stories they wrote. I mentioned to razztaztic (one of the authors) that I wanted to write for Bones fanfiction but I was just an amateur. She encouraged me to try it and I did. Since I really love the characters on Bones, I've been able to write stories in the Bones world that I hope entertain other Bones fans and at the same time satisfies my need to write stories about my favorite characters on TV.
JV: That's a very interesting way to start a career in fanfiction writing. Was there anything specific that razztaztic said to you in order to convince you to set your reservations aside, and take the proverbial plunge?
Lenora Colledge: She told me that everyone that writes on the fanfiction site is an amateur and that most readers are kind and fans of the show. I tried it and even though my first stories weren't that good, no one was mean about it and I actually received some very encouraging reviews. Those nice reviews spurred me on to keep writing and try to improve my style at the same time. I feel I have improved and I've made some very nice friends along the way. Most readers of fanfiction are very kind and love to give input. I have been given many story ideas from people who read my stories. My story "Hannah Stories" is reader driven. I ask for prompts and take my cue from them.
JV: You've obviously developed a keen sense of kinship with your readers, and you obviously feel that they have helped you evolve as a writer. Tell me, which aspects of your writing and/or writing style do you feel has improved the most as a result of their feedback?
Lenora Colledge: I try to be careful with spelling and grammar. I do a lot of research when I write a story to make sure it is realistic. If I write about a place I research that place and use names of businesses, streets, highways that you will find in that area. If my characters travel somewhere I google maps and use the directions I find there. One of my stories (Soul Mates) has dealt with the aftermath of brain surgery. I researched what is involved with recovery from that type of surgery and I used that in my story. I try to make my stories accurate as well as entertaining.
JV: Tell me, what inspired your first "Bones" fanfiction? Was it the characters? Were you inspired by a specific scene in the show? Or did the proverbial Plot Bunny simply refused to let you be?
Lenora Colledge: I was fascinated with Booth's fear of clowns. I wanted to write a story using that as a plot device.
JV: I can see why you thought Booth's fear of clowns would make for a good plot device. It's been years, but I still find the scene in 2x13, in which Booth shoots a clown shaped speaker on an ice cream truck hilarious. You've obviously put a lot of work into writing your fanfiction, not just research wise, but in establishing relationships with your readers. Tell me, what do you find to be the most rewarding aspect of writing fanfiction?
Lenora Colledge: Sharing my vision of what the characters mean to me.
JV: You stated earlier that you initially held back from writing "Bones" fanfiction because you considered yourself to be an amateur. Tell me, did you have any other reservations when you first started out?
Lenora Colledge: I was afraid that my idea of an interesting story might not be interesting to anyone else. All of the fan fiction I'd written in the past were Sci-Fi, based upon "Star Trek", "Babylon 5" and "X-files". Writing stories centered around criminal investigations was very new to me.
JV: How is it that you overcame this fear? Did razztaztic offer you any advice on your dilemma? For that matter, do you have any advice for fanfiction writers that might be facing the same problem?
Lenora Colledge: I just decided that the worse that could happen was no one would like my stories and I would go back to writing for myself. Since I write under a pen name no one knew me which gave me a certain amount of freedom. If I had started out publishing my stories under my real name I am certain I could not have posted anything. Pen names allow you to try and to fail. I have been very lucky. I have only encountered a few readers who really hate my stories and tell me so. I'm wise enough to know that you can't please everyone and I've had enough support from most readers and other authors when I feel ineffectual that I've been able continue my writing. I did suffer a crises a couple of months ago where someone PM'd me with a rather hate filled message. I PM'd razztaztic and threesquares (brilliant authors) and they talked me down from the ledge, so to speak. I almost gave up writing but they pointed out that one person does not make the majority. There is support out there and the venom is really limited to less that one percent of the reviews or PMs that I get. the vast majority of readers are very kind and very helpful. Some are very passionate and filled with wonderful story ideas that they are generous enough to share with me. I have had a great time writing and I truly love entertaining people with my writings. It has been worth the worry and angst I go through some times.
JV: In all of the 112 "Bones" stories you've written, would you say you have a favorite one? Or, at least, one that you've found to be more rewarding then others, in terms of reader feedback or growth in writing style?
Lenora Colledge: I have two favorites. I liked writing "A Broken Wing" and I am currently writing a story "Partners". Both stories have allowed me to experiment with serial killer cases, humor, angst, dreams and new characters. My most successful story was "It Sounds Like the Ocean". It had a lot of very enthusiastic followers.
The best compliment for a story I've ever received was for a story I have been writing for two years "Booth's Diary". Someone told me the other day that they read almost 80 chapters in a couple of days and they could see a big improvement in my writing style. I really appreciated that review. It gave me hope that I really have improved and I'm not kidding myself.
The most flattering thing that has happened to me is my story "Hannah Stories" was mentioned in a tweet. One person tweeted another to tell them that my story had influenced their memory and they could no longer remember how Hannah had been written off of the show because of my stories. She was kidding of course, but it made me happy.
JV: You've obviously learned a lot from your work as a fanfiction author. Tell me, what would you say is the most important thing that you've taken away from the experience?
Lenora Colledge: That there are a lot of generous people in the fan world who are thrilled to share their enthusiasm for the shows they like and will tolerate a wild imagination when it comes to stories set in their fan world.
JV: Yes, well, individuals with wild imaginations do make for the writers... I would now like to take the time to thank you for such a wonderful interview. Before we wrap up our interview, do you have any final comments or thoughts you would like to share? Maybe some advice for other "Bones" fanfiction writers, whether they be seasoned or novice writers?
Lenora Colledge: Be brave, write what you feel. Give your imagination wings and prepare to soar into the fascinating world of your making.
Works Cited
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Her soon-to-be novel is about two girls who go to Catholic school in Fonthill, and then in Welland, and for various reasons they are labeled 'promiscuous' and shamed by the community. The two protagonists, instead of accepting the label on its own merit, decide to reinvent God as a woman and then go on an adventure trying to find the perfect iconography. Her two female protagonists, inspired by women she knew growing up, experiment with their own identity in conjunction with other female identities they witness in the media. In her own words, the book scheduled for publication in 2014, will be political, funny, and maybe just a little bit naughty.
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In conjuction with an author profile on Kathy Reichs, I decided that interviewing Bones fanfiction authors would make for an interesting segue.The following interview with Col3725 is the first, in what I hope will be a series of three interviews - all of which explore the world of fanfiction, as well as the opinions and experiences of these fanfiction authors. Col3725 has been writing fanfiction since 2011, and has written no less than twenty-eight stories, both for the Bones and the Private Practice fandom. Click on Col3725's penname to view her fanfiction.net author profile.
]]>Interview with Col3725:
JV: Are you familiar with Kathy Reichs?
Col3725: I know of her, but I haven't read any of her books. I've been meaning to check them out, but I just don't have the time right now.
JV: In that case, would I be correct in presuming that your dedication to Bones is what fostered your interest in the Temperance Brennan murder mystery book series? And if so, what would be your main motivation in reading the books?
Col3725: I would definitely say that I heard about the books through watching Bones, but I wouldn't say that is the only factor in me wanting to check out the book series. I think my main motivation for wanting to read the books is my interest in crime related things, with the hype the books have generated due to Bones as a close second.
JV: Ah, I see. So you have a general interest in crime related things. Is this interest in crime the reason you were originally attracted you to Bones? Or was there something more at play?
Col3725: Yes and no. At the time when I started watching Bones, I was really into Private Practice and that show was ending soon, so I needed to find a new series to watch. I came back from class one day and my roommate was watching it, so I decided to watch it with her. I think it initially kept my interest because of the crime aspect, but I ultimately kept watching because of Booth and Brennan's relationship.
JV: I see. Would you mind telling me which aspects of the Bones/Booth relationship you enjoy the most? What aspects make you laugh, cry or inspires you the most? Also, given that Private Practice wrapped up its sixth season in January 2013, would I be correct in assuming that you've only recently begun watching the show? If so, have you had the chance to see all of the episodes yet?
Col3725: I'll tackle the second question first since it's the easiest. I started watching Bones around November 2012. After the first episode I watched, which happened to be the season 7 finale, I started watching the rest of the series. I didn't watch the episodes in order, though. I skipped around, watching the episodes that were said to be strong episodes for Booth and Brennan and their relationship. I then went back and watched the rest. I finished the entire series, including the five episodes of season 8, within a couple of weeks. I started watching live after that and got season 1-7 on DVD that Christmas, in which I immediately watched the entire series again.
It's hard to pinpoint what aspects of their relationship I enjoy the most. When I got around to watching the pilot, I really liked how they butted heads practically the whole episode, but in the end, they came together to solve the case. That aspect of their relationship continues to fascinate me, even now that they're married. I especially like how despite how different they are as people, they both just want to find the truth and get justice for the victims. I also really like the connection they have. Even in the early episode, that connection was evident. I think one of the things I like most about them is that they get each other (most of the time) more than the other characters seem to understand them. I also like how they can talk about anything and everything and they're always there for each other, even when they're having a disagreement.
JV: You've obviously invested a lot in the Bones fandom. I mean, you've watched and re-watched the show, you've bought the DVDs and you're even planning on looking up the original material by Kathy Reichs. Tell me, is this driving interest in the characters and their relationship with one and other, the reason you decided to begin writing Bones fanfiction?
Col3725: I started reading Bones fanfiction shortly after I started watching the show, but I didn't plan on writing any, though. I didn't think I would be able to write Brennan in character. Obviously, that didn't last long.
I definitely agree that my interest in the characters and their relationship is what made me decide to write fanfiction about them. I was already familiar with writing fanfiction because of Private Practice, so even before I started writing Bones fanfiction, I kept thinking about storylines as I watched. After I finished the entire series, I gave in and began to write.
JV: Tell me, why did you decide to begin writing Bones fanfiction? You've said that you gave into the impulse of writing fanfiction after having watched the entire series, but was there one specific scene in the show that initially inspired you? Or even a culmination of certain scenes?
Col3725: I always liked how supportive Booth and Brennan were of each other, especially when it came to their families, so I guess that plus the interactions they had with Pops was what ultimately inspired me to write my first Bones fanfiction.
JV: You stated earlier that you were initially worried about whether or not you'd be able to write Brennan in character. Would you mind sharing with me how you dealt with this conundrum? In addition, do you have any advice for Bones fanfiction writers that might be facing the same problem?
Col3725: I basically just watched a few episodes and paid attention to the way Brennan spoke, not specifically what she was saying, such as how she tends to explain things in a more complicated way than is necessary, like she'll use more words to make a point than the average person or use more complicated vocabulary. I also stick mostly with AU because it gives me more flexibility.
As for advice, before you start writing, just watch a couple episodes and really pay attention to how Brennan talks, how she interacts with the other characters, and how she reacts to certain situations. Also, don't try too hard to get her character right. If you do that, it may come off forced. I think the biggest piece of advice, other than to watch episodes and study her character, is to practice. Just keep writing and watching different episodes. If you're struggling or you think you're not getting her character right, look at how other Bones fanfiction writers handle her character and use that as inspiration for your own writing. If all else fails, don't be afraid to ask for help.
JV: That's some very good advice - I'm certain that any number of Bones fanfiction writers will benefit from your insights. So far, we've talked about your interest in the fandom, the characters, and how you were inspired into writing your first Bones fanfiction, among other things. What I would like to know now is, what ultimately motivates you when writing your stories?
Col3725: What motivates me the most is reviews. The number doesn't matter to me as much as just that at least someone is reading my story and taking the time to tell me they're reading and that they liked the chapter/are waiting (im)patiently for the next one. It makes me want to write the best chapter I can, so the readers aren't disappointed. Even criticism, as long as it's constructive, helps motivate me.
JV: It's obvious from your answer that you take what the reader says about your story to heart, and that you try your hardest to produce works of the highest quality possible as a result. Tell me, do you think that your writing has evolved as a result of the feedback you've received from writing fanfiction?
Col3725: Definitely. I proofread more than once now and if a reader finds something confusing or misses something that I thought was important or obvious, I try and make things clearer from that point on.
JV: I've always believed that a good writer anticipates his/her readers needs - and you seem to go the extra mile just to make sure that your readers needs are met. I know that you didn't begin your career as a fanfiction writer in the Bones fandom, but would you mind sharing the story of how, when and why you first decided to begin writing fanfiction?
Col3725: I started writing fanfiction about two and a half years ago, shortly after I began to watch Private Practice. I read a few stories first like I did with Bones and I started to get ideas for stories that I, myself, would like to read but hadn't read. I already liked to write, so I figured I'd give it a try and see if people were interested. I didn't have as much of a reservation writing fanfiction for Private Practice because the characters weren't as complex as Brenn
an is. In the same way I was drawn to B&B, I was drawn to Charlotte and Cooper, so I wrote about them. It's a lot easier to write stories centered around characters you feel invested in. People seemed to be interested and I kept coming up with different storylines, so I kept writing. I wasn't as invested in that series towards the end of its run, so I don't have the motivation to write any more fanfiction for Private Practice. Plus Bones fanfiction readers seem to enjoy/appreciate my stories more than the Private Practice readers.
JV: Out of all the stories you have written, be it for Bones or Private Practice, would you say that you have a favorite one? Or one that you've found more rewarding than others?
Col3725: I'd have to say the answer to both questions is definitely the one I'm currently writing, The Rainbow at the End of the Storm. It's certainly my most reviewed/followed/favorited story, but I also enjoy writing it. It practically writes itself. I tend to get tired of stories quickly and want to move onto another one, especially because I keep getting ideas for new ones as I write, but with this one, I haven't gotten tired of it yet.
JV: It's fun to talk to a fanfiction writer who is so passionate and dedicated to their stories. I know that this isn't always the case - that sometimes a writer will start an amazing story, but let it fade into obscurity as their muses leave, and the proverbial Plot Bunny hops further and further away from them...
As we wrap up our interview, I have but one final question for you. In your own opinion, what do you believe would be the most critical piece of advice that you could impart upon a fellow fanfiction author? Whether they have never written a story, or written a hundred. Whether they write for the Bones fandom, or the Private Practice fandom, or any other kind of fandom. What advice would you give to any and all fanfiction writers? What do you think is the most important thing that any fanfiction author must remember when writing?
Col3725: I think it's important to remember that you shouldn't only be writing for someone else. It's great if people read your stories and review them, and it's hard to find the motivation if only a couple people are reviewing your stories, but at the end of the day, if you don't enjoy the story you're writing then you should wrap it up and move on. On the other hand, if you enjoy writing the story, but you get a few not-so-constructive criticisms, you should keep writing regardless. It can be hard because nasty reviews can drain inspiration and motivation, but if you enjoy writing the story, you should keep doing it.
I guess another important thing is if you find that you don't have the inspiration to write or find that your interest in the story is draining, you should either take a step back and return to the story later or wrap it up as quickly as you can.
Works Cited
Mistaky. "Fanfiction" Urban Dictionary. January 30th 2014. Web. August 7th 2006.
Images Sources
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Looking into Margaret Atwood's life and her influence on the literary community, gives readers only a glimpse into all that is going on in Canadian literature today. Atwood worked hard to get Canada on the map with her theories on Canadian literature as well as her bestselling novels. The influence is not lost on many of the Montreal students that I interviewed who had all heard her name before and remembered hearing she was important. Despite this importance, not everyone agreed she was the only name to know in Canadian literature. In fact, not everyone mentioned her before I brought her up.
To begin with two of the students I talked to mentioned Alice Monroe as the most influential Canadian writer which cannot be seen as a surprise since she recently won the Nobel Prize for literature. As Maria Mon, a creative writing student living in Montreal, but originally from Panama, said, Monroe "had brought Canadian literature into the spotlight." For her, however, the most influential writer will vary from person to person depending on what you're looking for in a Canadian writer. To make a writer Canadian, she says the author needs to have spent some time in Canada and want to be considered a Canadian writer.
]]>This rings true for another student I talked to with a background in French literature. Sophia Dias, having read literature in many languages, chooses Michel Tremblay as the most influential Canadian. Though many do not think about it, it is especially pertinant to Montrealers to look for writing that represents our nation in both of its official languages. These two languages considered, Dias believes there are certain things that stand out in a Canadian work. "It can involve making use of our unique scenery both natural and urban as well as our blend of cultures," she says. "This could mean French-English in Québec, immigrant issues in the other provinces, Acadian and Native, etc."
Thus, the more people you ask, the harder it is to find a definition of a national literature that works or an author who can represent a nation. A future CEGEP teacher, William Lessard, weighed in on the subject by saying that he does not think there can be a link across all of the regions, cultures, and languages in Canada. "I don't think it is possible for a writer to represent all of Canada," he says. "Considering the important cultural differences between provinces and between speakers of either official language." Though he had heard of Atwood, he did not know much about her and ended up naming other important writers when I asked such as Leonard Cohen, Timothy Finley, and Mordecai Ritchler.
In contrast to Lessard, two of the people I spoke to had heard of Atwood, but did not feel like they could identify with her at all. Tara Goodfellow, a journalism student from Ontario, where Atwood was born, chose to list other authors when I asked her about Canadian literature. She had not read Atwood, but her friends had told her not to read anything by the author because they did not enjoy it. Though she needs to read to make more of judgement, Goodfellow already can say, "she has written many novels, but I don't think she's the most influential writer, nor the most influential writer of Canada." Natacha Tremblay, a psychology student at Concordia, on the other hand, makes her decision on Atwood's work informed by some of the literature classes she took in CEGEP. At least when talking about Atwood's poetry, Tremblay believes the works are "one-dimensional when talking about certain people at certain times, not things every Canadian could identify with."
A national literature serves everyone which can be seen in the amount of time and money the Canadian government puts into ensuring Canadian authors publish works that can be enjoyed by people all over the country. Though not all of the subjects I interviewed knew a lot about the topic, they deserve to have an opinion just due to the fact that they live in Canada and contribute tax dollars to the Canadian literature project. If I can say one thing about Canadian literature, from both the information gathered in these interviews and my own experience as a literature student, it is that people do not know enough about the world that exists beyond Margaret Atwood. Though known as one of the most influential Canadian writers, many other less conventional writers can be found to represent all of the diverse backgrounds of people in this country.
For one final thought, I look to Mitchell Brown, a creative writing student at Concordia who said that he enjoyed Atwood when he read one of her "dystopic stories that chilled and fascinated simultaneously, but never once considered Handmaid's Taleto be a "Canadian" book." Thus, comes the hard question of what makes a Canadian book? Is it the same for everyone? Clearly not, which means there are many more questions to be asked and discussions to be had.
Whether you know a lot or a little about Canadian literature, Margaret Atwood would probably be one of the first names that comes to mind if someone were to ask you about Canadian authors. Atwood not only sells books internationally, but gets recognized by many scholars as an influential literary figure. No matter what discussion you might find yourself having about Canadian literature or Canadian identity, Atwood would probably end up being a big part of it. How did this come to be the case? What do we really know about the author that brings Canada so much attention from the rest of the world? I have heard varying opinions on Atwood's personality, literary theories, and ideas, but no one can refute her popularity and influence, good or bad.
Born in Ontario, Atwood spent a great deal of her childhood travelling due to her father's work line of work. Since her father did research in the field of entomology, the study of insects, this meant that Atwood spent a lot of time very close to the Canadian wilderness which would later be seen to be a source of inspiration for not only her fiction and poetry, but also her academic theories related to Canadian identity. Due to the isolated areas of Quebec and Ontario that Atwood's family often lived in, Atwood did not follow a traditional learning path. Until she was twelve, Atwood did not complete a full year of school, but instead relied on her parents to guide her education. Later, at sixteen, Atwood made a decision to become a writer for a living. This brought her to study English literature at the University of Toronto before moving on to complete a graduate degree at Harvard University.
]]> Living as an ex-patriot in Massachusetts during her university career, Atwood worked not only on her thesis in Victorian literature, but started thinking about Canadian identity. Though Boston was not far from Canada and America was seen to be similar to Canada in many ways, Atwood began to look at why Canadian literature stood out as its own topic deserving to be studied. Thus, some of Atwood's most famous literary ideas were born. These ideas later led to the publication of Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature in 1972. Still studied widely today in Canadian literature classes, this book talks about a preoccupation with survivalism in Canadian literature. Atwood argued for Canadian literature as its own field because many of the text deals with surviving in the wilderness, living through the winter, and the trials of nature overall. Many spoke out against these ideas as an oversimplification of Canadian literature, but for good or bad, Atwood made it clear that Canadian literature was distinct and important enough to be talked about at all.After moving back to Canada for a short time, Atwood returned to the United States to begin a dissertation. It was around this time that her creative writing career took off. A jump start to her career came about through being awarded the Governor General's Award for her collection of poetry entitled The Circle Game. This award led her to make important connections in the literary community which resulted in further opportunities for writing, and publication. These endeavours moved her career away from academic study which resulted in her dissertation remaining incomplete, though she has received a number of honorary degrees throughout her life. Atwood soon became a well-known name, publishing such important books as The Handmaid's Tale and Oryx and Crake.
With success, Atwood began not only to put Canadian literature on the map, but also to use her fame in various political ways. Therefore, many know Atwood as a supporter of the environment, a feminist, an advocate for the arts, and an important advocate for numerous other causes. At the age of 73, she continues to be a great player in the literary scene with new works continuing to be published, distributed, and talked about on an international scale.
Though not my favourite Canadian author, Atwood's reputation makes her a name to know if you're going to talk about Canadian literature. With fame, Atwood became one of the most important literary figures, but also one of the least accessible. A quick look over her website will tell you she now has little time to review books, appear as a guest speaker, or get involved with her fans in any personal way. Despite this lack of engagement with her audience, Atwood continues to accept to be interviewed in some cases, especially when promoting a book. In one interview she meditates on the word icon to say that, "all these things set a standard of behaviour that you don't necessarily wish to live up to. If you're put on a pedestal you're supposed to behave yourself like a pedestal type of person. Pedestals actually have a limited circumference. Not much room to move around." Many people, myself included, remain baffled by Atwood's ability to stay so current and important. Stories about Atwood's difficult personality, views on Canadian identity, and many other issues can be taken as good or bad depending your view, but through her successful career, all have to agree that she established herself a central role in Canadian literature which will not soon be forgotten.
Sources
http://margaretatwood.ca/biography
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Atwood
http://www.biography.com/people/margaret-atwood-9191928
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/10246937/Margaret-Atwood-interview.html
http://flavorwire.com/413134/7-things-you-didnt-know-about-margaret-atwood
http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/books/the-ice-queen-thaws-interview-with-margaret-atwood
]]>"Kathy Reichs, a best-selling author and forensic anthropologist who works at the Quebec government's forensic science and medical laboratory, said the central forensic lab in Montreal was put on notice to expect multiple deaths from Lac-Megantic." - Catherine Solyom
On July 6th 2013, a freight train carrying crude oil derailed in downtown Lac Megantic. The issuing explosion all but leveled the town center, destroying over thirty buildings in the process. The death toll is currently estimated at forty-seven, with forty-two confirmed deaths, and five individuals still remaining unnacounted for. In the four months since the disaster, thirty-two of the victims have been identified by the central forensic lab in Montreal, and other such Quebec forensic labs. Identifying the remaining victims of the tragedy, however, might prove more ardous.
"Reichs said it would probably be a very difficult task to recover human remains from the debris, given the intensity and duration of the fire." - Catherine Solyom
As a forensic anthropologist, Dr. Kathy Reichs is tasked with the responsibility of identifying human remains that have, for lack of a better term, been stripped down to their bare essentials - their bones. By examining the skeletal remains, Reichs is able to not only identify the victim - she is also able to determine the cause and time of death, as well as gather evidence from the remains. Dr. Kathy Reichs' work as a forensic anthropologist is as crucial as it is diverse. In recent years, Reichs has assisted in exhuming genocide victims from a mass grave in Guatemala, and testified to the fact at a UN tribunal. Dr. Kathy Reichs has also helped identify fallen soldiers from World War II, as well as victims from the 9/11 terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. What's more -Reichs is one of only eighty-two individuals to ever be certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology.
"I was a university professor, I could talk on and on and on. Give me a podium and you have to drag me off with a hook." - Kathy Reichs
In addition to her work as a forensic anthropologist, Dr. Kathy Reichs has also devoted her time to teaching others the various tools of her trade. In the United States, Reichs has not only taught FBI agents how to find and retrieve human remains, but she has also taught at Northern Illinois University, and the University of Pittsburgh. In Canada, Reichs has taught at two of Montreal's leading Universities; Concordia University and McGill University. Presently, Dr. Reichs splits her time working as a forensic anthropologist between consulting for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in North Carolina, America and the Laboratoire de Sciences Judiciaires et de Médecine Légale in Quebec, Canada. Despite her phenemonal work as a forensic anthropologist and teacher, Dr. Kathy Reichs still remains better known for her career as a best-selling New York Times murder mystery author.
"My first book was the most successful debut novel in the U.K. ever and every one of my books has reached number one in the U.K. Clearly the British know brilliance when they see it." - Kathy Reichs
Published in January 1997, Dr. Kathy Reichs' debut novel Deja Dead quickly climbed up the New York Times bestseller list, and ultimatly reached worldwide success. In addition, Deja Dead went on to win the Arthur Ellis Award for Best First Novel later that year. As result of Deja Dead's overwhelming success, Reichs released a sequel in 1999. Death du Jour, like its predesessor, focused on the professional and romantic life of forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennnan. Based on her own experiences as a foresic anthropologist, the character of Dr. Temperance Brennan acts as a medium through which Dr. Kathy Reichs may relate to the reader her own thought process and experiences as she attempts to reconstruct and identify skeletal remains, as well as solve criminal cases.
"What gives my books authenticity is that I actually do what it is I'm writing about. I think the fact that I am in the autopsy room, I go to the crime scene and I do work in the lab gives my books this flavor that otherwise they wouldn't have." - Kathy Reichs.
Since 1997, Dr. Kathy Reichs has gone on to release twenty bestselling novels. Four of these novels are young-adult fictions, whose heroine is the niece of Dr. Temperance Brennan, and the remaining sixteen comprises the Temperance Brennan murder-mystery series. Culturally diverse, the Temperance Brennan series constrasts the different social and national constructs of North Carolina, America and Quebec, Canada - as the heroine, much like Dr. Kathy Reichs herself, travels back and forth between these two locations.
In 2004, television producer/creator Hart Hanson, executive producer Barry Josephson, along with 20th Century Fox began to work on an adaptation of Dr. Kathy Reichs' Temperance Brennan book series. Starring Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz, the pilot episode of Bones, aired on September 13th 2005. Since then, Bones has won several awards, and received numerous nominations, most prominent of which, was an Emmy Award nomination in 2009. In the production of Bones, Reichs has taken on numerous roles - producer, writer and even actor. In 2006, Dr. Kathy Reichs did a cameo appearance in the eleventh episode of the show's second season, Judas on a Pole. She is often consulted by Hart Hanson and co. on various aspects of the show, including - naturally, the forensics. Bones is currently airing its ninth season - and is expected to be renewed for a tenth season.
Works Cited
Solyom, Catherine. "Could be years before some victims of Lac-Megantic train explosion are identified, coroner's office warns." National Post. July 24th 2013. Web. November 7th 2013.
Reichs, Kathy. Brainy Quotes. n.d. Web. November 7th 2013.
Bibliography
Domner, Heather. "'Bones' Renewed for Season 9." Screen Rant. March 2013. Web. November 20th 2013.
Hoggard, Liz. "Face to Face with Death." The Observer. May 21 2006. Web. November 20th 2013.
Hickey, Kathleen. "Kathy Reichs - Body of Evidence." Quill & Quire. August 1997. Web. November 7th 2013.
"About Kathy." kathyreichs.com. n.d. Web. November 7th 2013.
"Bones." imbd.com. n.d. Web. November 7th 2013.
"Kathy Reichs" imbd.com. n.d. Web. November 7th 2013.
"Timeline:Lac Megantic Rail Disaster." July 2013. November 14th 2013.
Images
"Home is where we bury our dead," she uttered, "and by the looks of things, you've been tracking cemetery dirt around for some time now."
When I consider the lives of my friends who were born in this country, I often think about how lucky they are to have spent so much time in one place. I envy them for being able to effortlessly drive past the old schools and homes they grew up in, walk through the fields, parks, and ravines in which they played as children, or revisit the mundane landmarks that are made special by enduring remembrances of young love. Do not misunderstand me - it is not that I do not consider Canada to be my home, or that I do not value the insights gained from having lived in other parts of the world, but I think that things would be much simpler had I been born a good ol' Canuck. It would save me, for instance, from having to explain to incredulous interlocutors why a good number of South Africans are not African African, or that not all of us are Dutch and British, or from insisting that among South Africa's thirteen official languages, Spanish is not counted. But more than that, however, I enjoy the thought of sharing a common and uninterrupted history with members of a community, of being stationary long enough to gather moss. Like other immigrants living in Canada, I have assimilated into this wonderful and inclusive culture, but fear that I might forever remain an outsider looking in.
]]> Generally speaking, I have been pretty well North-Americanized; I do, after all, speak with a Western vernacular, and my knowledge of popular culture extends back far enough as to successfully pass myself off as a convincing imposter. Sometimes though, if I happen to be particularly tired or intoxicated, my dormant accent reappears and I am reminded just how much I have and have not changed over the past eleven years.As I sit here trying to contextualize the formative events of my life, I find it difficult to select from among the multitude of ephemeral instances - past and present - those that have affected me more profoundly than others. Because some of my most vivid childhood memories are probably wholly unremarkable to everyone but myself, I will try and limit my exposition to those recollections I feel best attest to who I am and how I got here. For instance, I will not digress and write about the early memories I have of my fiercely dimwitted but loyal dog Buddy, a dog so dumb that a veterinarian once said that if he were to ever recognize his own name it would be no small miracle; or of the time my father and I planted a small vegetable patch in the yard that we tended to religiously, but eventually abandoned because everything grew wildly out of control.
As such, in the interest of formulating a cohesive narrative, I will start with the most pertinent details: I was born twenty-six years ago in Johannesburg, South Africa. My mother claims to have had an easy pregnancy with me, but my infancy was fraught with trial and uncertainty. While I do not remember the particulars of my first moments in this world, my parents tell me that when I arrived, I was so small that I had to spend my first two weeks inside an incubator. To make matters worse, my impossibly petit stature made it all but impossible for my solicitous parents to clothe me. My older sister, Shira, resolved the problem by gleefully suggesting the appropriation of several items from her doll collection. Thus it so happened that for the first six months of my life, my budding sartorial inclinations fell to the way of my sister's tastes in tiny, feminine sweaters and dresses. My mother has since concluded that the sheer delight and excitement my sister found in styling me, as she would the other dolls in her collection, is the reason that the two of us are so close.
Looking back with the perspective of one who is separated by both time and geography from their country of origin, I am now able to conclude that my childhood in South Africa was as fantastic as it was frightening. In one sense, it was fantastic because we lead privileged lives couched in all the splendour and majesty of the continent, yet in another, it also entailed living in a constant state of suspended-disbelief over the dire social and political conditions of the time. Our life of comfort was not without its shortcomings; the insularity of gated communities, the persistent threat of rape and murder, and the witnessing of friends and family flee their beloved homeland were all decisive factors in our decision to leave. My parents tell me that, for them, the greatest motivating factor was the insurmountable guilt and despair they felt over living in a country bent on tearing itself apart in the most tragic ways. After all, the twelve foot walls and barbed wire fences that surrounded our homes and kept us safe could not silence the plea of desperate gunshots or muffle the wretched cries of our hopeless and broken countrymen.
As the situation deteriorated, many of our friends and relatives began to question their conviction in the burgeoning aspirations of the emerging free and democratic South Africa. Following Nelson Mandela's historic ascension to office, some of us remained willfully optimistic about the fate of the post-apartheid state. Others could not, however, reconcile the everyday brutality they witnessed with the ideals of a collective desire for a unified country. After several members of my immediate family (including myself) were targeted in a series of violent attacks and robberies, my parents could no longer ignore the terrible reality of the conditions under which we were living. Given that two of my uncles had already immigrated in years past, our choice in deciding on a new home was naturally between the two countries in which we had family - as fate or chance would have it, had it not been for a minor disagreement between my mother and her brother a few weeks prior to our departure, we would have likely ended up in Australia (the country my parents had originally settled on).
During our last few weeks in South Africa, I started to realize that there was little to no chance I was ever likely to return. Considering that all of our friends and relatives had either left the country or had died, I would have no reason in the future to go back. The days leading up to our departure were completely surreal; on the one side, life went on as it always had - we still went to school every day and lived in our old house, while on the other, we knew that the life we had always known would soon be over. As the reality of what was about to happen solidified in my mind, I became increasingly nervous about the future. It became so that it was impossible for me to sleep, eat, or concentrate on anything but our impending departure. It suddenly seemed like there was not enough time to say good bye to everyone and everything, just as there was not enough time to absorb all the sights and sounds of home. By the time the actual day arrived, however, all my fear over leaving had given way to immense excitement, for as we boarded the plane I did not look back in woe, but reveled in the thought of new horizons and foreign lands.
WELCOME TO CANADA
Writing has helped me to both remember and make sense of my life. While I have often felt alone, I have never felt unloved in the company of my favorite writers.
]]>The Tiger
A True Story of Vengeance and Survival
By John Vaillant, Vintage, 329 pages, $22
The ancient tenuous relationship between man and animal, and the delicate balance between predator and prey are a major driving force behind evolution. As predator density increases, the number of prey consumed also increases, forcing the prey to adapt to avoid consumption. Disturbing this delicate balance would mean a disturbance in our ecosystem. Whether you perceive this read as a contest of wills, a struggle of power, or a fight to the finish, this remarkable book that keeps you wondering whose side you're on, remains a story of survival.
]]> John Vaillant, a journalist and the author of a previous book, "The Golden Spruce," that is in the same nature-versus-man mode, summoned his magnificent cat. His brilliant storytelling renders tiger and man as both predator and prey, and he carries us to a part of the world, foreign to most and makes us feel like we are a part of this fascinating and engaging re-creation of events. These chapters tell of the prowess of a majestic and terrifying animal, seeking out vengeance to the man who took away from him and the determination of one tracker and his team, which takes this story to the unfortunate culmination, the death of this predator. Greed a powerful force can turn a man into an animal, and the Amur into man. Whether friend or foe, hunter or the hunted, there is a balance that must be respected, and once that line has been crossed, there can only be one survivor.
Vaillant takes us on a journey through the Primorye forests, near the Chinese boarder in Far East Russia. It is December 1997, in this beautiful wilderness, where the trail of havoc and death left by one of the few Siberian tigers remaining, begins. We find the beginning and the end of a fight to the death, a vendetta like none this area has ever known before. The story of the search for the man-eater, a 500lb six-year-old male cat, - a cat, as Boyd Tonkin stated in the Independant,'that could "manifest as powerfully and invisibly as the wind" roared out of his "cool blue solitude".
This tiger, who began his quest near an old cabin, where he sought out, killed and dismembered a poacher named Vladimir Markov, is where our story begins. Vaillant so beautifully describes the strength and agility of this majestic cat, in such vivid detail, that although it is at once horrific to imagine such carnage, he uses the power of words to evoke the beauty of the chase.
Yuri Trush, a forest ranger and his team of the idealistic 'Inspection Tiger', an anti-poaching unit put together to defend the village of Sobolonye, have gone out tracking once again. The cat and mouse game, the tiger's thirst for revenge on the man who has disturbed his hunt, and the men forced to bring him down, will end in victory for the one and a great loss for the other. Vladimir Markov crossed the line when he interfered with the tiger's kill; the tiger crossed the line when his prey became man. This killing has been described by Sy Montgomery in the Washington Post as being
'... no random killing, but a case of premeditated and justified murder ... Markov, reliable sources said, was not just a hunter. He was a poacher, one who specifically targeted tigers.'
We feel the heart pounding journey that Yuri and his men felt while tracking down the Amur. We tracked along with him we came face to face with a tiger blinded with rage, we tasted the fear as he pounced to his own death. We cheered for Yuri, yet we mourned for the cat. The array of conflicting emotions was so real. This is what the author did for us, he made us feel the reality of the hunt.
Yann Martel's the Life of Pi, is the tale of a 16 year old boy who lives in India, and a tiger forced into frightening intimacy on a lifeboat for seven months; another tiger, another story about the delicate balance of the cycle of life. Zookeepers, the Patel family, decide to immigrate to Canada, packing up its menagerie on a cargo ship which sinks. Pi is the only human survivor, sharing his small lifeboat with a zebra, a hyena, an orangutan and a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger named Richard Parker. Disaster at sea forces Pi to spend months with a ravenous predator, and before too long, predator ate prey, and Pi and the tiger are the only ones left - in the same boat. Richard knows full well that Pi is his only hope for a steady food supply. The two live for months in a weird symbiosis, the tiger forcing Pi to carry on with his endless often fruitless fishing. Pi in the end must acknowledge his abject need for his savage companion. In the end he confesses it openly:
'I love you!'
The words burst out pure and unfettered, infinite. The feeling flooded my chest. 'Truly I do. I love you, Richard Parker. If I didn't have you now, I don't know what I would do. I don't think I would make it. No, I wouldn't. I would die of hopelessness.'
The balance, delicate as it is, works perfectly. Vaillant demonstrates as Martel has, that somewhere along the line, predator and prey cannot lose sight of this balance, for it will only result, in disturbance and death.
In 'The Golden Spruce', John Vaillant's first book, he takes us on a different journey, yet one that also questions our responsibility to our eco-system. This is the story of the felling of a celebrated giant golden spruce tree in British Columbia's Queen Charlotte Islands. It takes on a potent symbolism of an unprecedented act of eco-vandalism. Once again Vaillant remains a champion for the conservation of plant and animal, and the role they play in our world.
Although Vaillant has a way with words, there are many times in the story where the pace slows down, bringing the energy down as well. His words place us in the thick of this Russian wilderness, and often keep us there for too long a period of time. The action picks up when the tiger is on the prowl, which gives the reader the idea that the tiger is the one that shines in this story, instead of allowing the reader to choose its hero. Background is important in any story, but too much of it, tends to make us stray from the main event, shifting the crux of the story. Too much history and landscape, puts the hunter and the kill, in the background. However, one would argue that it is in the stillness of the moment, that clarity is attained, these moments of stillness have in fact added to the suspense of the story. His Russian wilderness is an important part of the tale; it places us in the same impossible situation as Yuri and his men, in the same environment that forces these people and animals to survive. Vaillant literally makes us feel the cold damp backwoods of Russia, which lends to the difficult task of this hunt.
This story combines a wilderness adventure and a confrontation between man and animal. The pact that has kept the people in this region living freely with tigers has been severed. This calculated hunt was not normal behaviour for the Amur tiger. It was a vendetta against one man and anyone who would get in his way. Vaillant calls it 'weretiger.' While some were advocates for conservation, others saw the opportunity to capitalize. Poaching served the market for tiger body parts for Chinese medicine, Markov saw the opportunity and took it, even if it would be the last opportunity he had. Vladimir Markov was a poacher who specifically targeted tigers. He most probably shot and wounded this animal; enter the wounded tiger, bent on revenge, and murder. He stalks and lies in wait for the opportune moment to exact his revenge. This is the story of territorial pride, vengeance, and the fight to the death. Boyd said it perfectly, 'True-crime writing driven by... empathy and compassion' at its best, truly a wonderful read.
Image source: Flickr
By John Vaillant
Reviewed by: Gabriel Millard
The world is about to lose one the most proficient and mystic predators it has ever seen. Thanks to the destruction of their homeland from forestry and mass killings by humans, the number of wild Amur tigers has dropped from around 7500 at the beginning of the 20th century to around 450 just over 100 years later, a staggering number made even more unbelievable when compared with the fact there's 2000 living in captivity in the state of Texas alone. (Vaillant 296) John Vaillant has created this novel from the gripping true story of one tiger that was driven to madness by humans' greed in order to raise awareness for this majestic species. The question Vaillant proposes is can we really sit back and watch as this majestic species that has lived with us since our humble beginnings, is simply wiped off the face of this planet.
In John Vaillant's book The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival he outlines the bloody aftermath that can happen when humans blindly violate Mother Nature's code. He provides compelling examples and allusions that serve to bring awareness to the senseless destruction, we as humans are causing to the delicate ecosystem in which we are a part of. Vaillant expertly describes the current destruction of people, wildlife, and environment in eastern Russia, which makes it difficult to ignore the devastating problems faced by its inhabitants.
Image source: Flickr
This book not only outlines issues of nature, but Vaillant also touches on the social, political, and industrial issues that the fall of the communist regime has caused. "Post Perestroika" is a term used frequently in this novel, and for good reason, as the fall of communism hit many regions of Russia hard, and Primorsky Krai was no exception. In this region the jobs are sparse and the pay is minimal usually not enough to feed a family, so many residents are forced to hunt in order to survive. The catch-22 is gun licenses are hard to come by and the majority of the game is illegal to hunt. This is the cause of many of the residents turning to tiger poaching where they fetch a large ransom, especially from wealthy Chinese buyers. Another failing issue in this region is unplanned over-foresting of the area destroying the territory of the Amur tiger and many other species. Outlined in Sasha Snow's documentary Conflict Tiger, we see that each year the tiger's shrinking habitat is forcing them into conflict situations with humans that normally would have been avoided. (Conflict Tiger) Vaillant has a true talent for painting the grim situation that the residents of eastern Russia are facing, a problem not many people in western society realize exists.
So who is John Vaillant, and why should we listen to him and turn our attention to the growing problems in eastern Russia. Vaillant is an American born author, who has lived in Vancouver for the past 13 years. (Varty) The Tiger is his second full length novel, and he has also written many articles for publications such as: The New Yorker, and National Geographic. (The Author) He got the idea for The Tiger while promoting his first book The Golden Spruce at the Banff International Film Festival. There he happened to watch the documentary Conflict Tiger by Sasha Snow and thought to himself "My God, this is The Golden Spruce with stripes," after that he spent two years and multiple trips to the Primorsky Krai region in order to gather all the information necessary for this book. (Varty) Despite his literary success, and winning multiple accolades including the governor generals award for non-fiction, Vaillant has expressed an interest in quitting the profession of writing, and many are speculating he will move into becoming an activist for the conservation of the Tigers and their homeland in Primorsky Krai. (Varty)
Written through first-hand accounts of the events, The Tiger is not only an exhilarating tale with an excellent moral, but a story told through those who were there and felt the pain and fear caused by the tiger. It is this authenticity that causes the reader to really feel the emotions felt by the characters as they are real people, and this is there real story. Vaillant also throws in many historical facts and allusions to other events in the history of the region making this book even more credible.
Vaillants novel The Tiger is as much a history book as it is a narrative, and while excellently written, you sometimes feel like you're inside the head of an activist with ADD. Throughout the book you are constantly, and more often than not suddenly, thrown into a tangent about the history of the region, of tigers, and even the history of humans themselves. This can sometimes throw the reader off while you are intensively engaged in the main story, and all of a sudden are tossed into another world in another time, leaving multiple pages before you find out what will happen to Trush and the tiger.
That being said this book is an interesting read that keeps you engaged from start to finish. It is the only non-fiction book I have read that keeps the reader on edge, and yearning to find out more. It serves multiple functions with a compelling story, interesting facts and ideas on the history of man and animals, as well providing an important moral and call to action to save the region of Primorsky Krai from destroying one its most magical creatures. For these reasons I would recommend this book to anyone with the slightest interest in saving our world from destruction, and I believe those who are not could benefit as well, as this book puts conservationism in a light I have never felt or seen before.
The Tiger is not just a compelling narrative about a tiger going on a man eating rampage before being eventually being put down by a tiger control team called "Inspector Tiger". It is an important novel highlighting the devastating shape of the eastern Russian region of Primorsky Krai, and its local top predator the amur tiger. With this past century destroying their numbers from 7500 to little over 400, this powerful and mystical tiger is on the verge of extinction. (Vaillant 296) As Vaillant points out at the end of his novel saving this region and species is well within our grasps and there are a number of groups already in place trying to do just that. The main issue is the almost inconceivably small amount of funding these groups receive, leaving them with little impact on the issue as a whole. That being said with the right amount of awareness and proper funding it is entirely within our power to reverse the effect, as Trush himself says "nature has decided there should a be a tiger here." (Vaillant 295)
Works Cited
"The Author." The Tiger A True Story of Vengeance and Survival by John Vaillant. N.p., n.d. Web. 11 June 2012.
Conflict Tiger. Dir. Sasha Snow. 2006. DVD.
Vaillant, John. The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival. Toronto: Vintage Canada, 2011. Print.
Varty, Alexander. "Author John Vaillant Looks at Betrayal and Greed in The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival." Straight.com. Straight, 21 Sept. 2010. Web. 09 June 2012.
god it felt good just knowing how much I could satisfy
That dry thirst in your mouth.
While this Tweet didn't particularly get a nod, it made me wonder: when did it become okay for me to hop into someone else's bed without having to leave my own? When did I decide I wanted to know everyone's favorite sexual position? Or know the particular reason why a friend of mine's neck and jaw were sore that particular evening? When exactly did I consent to this? Not that this particularly disturbs me; it's kind of an entertaining feeling, or for a lack of a better word, involved; but the dichotomy at work behind this statement and the individual making it does disturb me. Why is it that someone could appear so bold behind block letters, and in real life awkwardly avoid making eye contact with you over mundane, every day sexual topics? If you have the balls to boast about your sexual prowess for all of the world wide web to read, why would making these very statements in the intimacy of an immediate body leave you blushing, embarrassed and looking away? All I'm saying is, if you're quick to type, stop being so prudish when I ask you to talk dirty to me.
]]>Murder of Kitty Genovese (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The vastness of the internet is a mask for anyone behind the screen, but this mask would be gone once the audience becomes actual sentient people. I would argue that having an actually human, feeling listener shatters the speaker's confidence. One's mask of boldness would shy away. Take me for example, writing pompously on delusional theories about the internal dichotomy of internet confidence versus real life confidence. I hide behind the mask of the internet and seem opinionated and sensible, all the while I could be sitting on my bed, distracted every five seconds because I have a nagging craving for a bag of Doritos all the while sporting bleaching cream on my upper lip - you'd have no idea. In fact, if I thought about this further and realized that actual human beings may very well read this, I could easily fail to be so bold for fear of judgment, confrontation, or real debate. I think this is why the internet is so successful: I can say anything I want and I can be anyone I want to be behind these impersonal block letters. It is deceitful... and a huge let down. (Before you think I`m a serious and serial online dater and have clearly been disappointed numerous times with endless blind dates - let me confirm that thought: yes. Because if you make a profile on fitness-singles.com and don't know what a deadlift is you should seriously think about cancelling that membership.)
Going back to the bystander effect, ''the presence of other people creates a diffusion of responsibility'' (Cherry). I would argue humanity is diffused in the vastness of the internet as well. There is a disconnect as we rely on a machine to expel and dispel our messages out into the world. Our messages are not traceable to any real, distinct individual. The visual script of the text itself is not personalized; it is everyone`s language; everyone shares the same tools, the same forms. There is no real 'credibility' to online web pages as information always needs to be verified and compared to legitimate works of research, basically leaving my fellow Tweeters to Tweet about sex without feeling any sense of, well, anything. The internet is a hollow place where statements are thrown in without ever hitting a nerve or bottom, there is no sense of too much or too soon. There is no sense of pretty much anything because no one is themselves on the internet, no one is their 'true' humanized selves, we all experience a quick blow pump confidence and suddenly everything is fair game.
Works Cited
Bastien, Vanessa (Vanaynayy).''No one has posted any sexy tweets in the past few minutes. I take it you're all masturbating.'' 18 Oct. 2011, 2:23 a.m. Tweet.
''The Bystander Effect.'' Cherry, Kendra. About.Psychology. n.p., n.d.
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Society is continuously being shaped, in every possible way, by an accelerating flow of information, exchange of ideas and intermingling of cultures, all of which can be quite overwhelming for the average Joe simply trying to fit into the modern mix. Finding his way amongst the complex intricacies that characterize the 21st Century is no easy task.
As for me, my nationality, in and of itself, is a can of worms I'd rather save for a rainier day. The label alone reads that I contain half a cup of Chinese, a quarter cup of Lebanese and two remaining equal parts of Scottish and French. All mustered-up with nowhere to go, I never quite knew what to make of my cultural concoction. So I decided to get a second opinion and accidentally opened up a different can of worms...
]]> I asked Citizenship and Immigration Canada for their nationalist view on what it means to be Canadian. What I got was an over-simplified version of 'Canadian multiculturalism' with beautiful socialist undertones that quickly drew to my attention the importance of lived and shared experiences.''Canadian multiculturalism is fundamental to our belief that all citizens are equal. Multiculturalism ensures that all citizens can keep their identities, can take pride in their ancestry and have a sense of belonging. Acceptance gives Canadians a feeling of security and self-confidence, making them more open to, and accepting of, diverse cultures. The Canadian experience has shown that multiculturalism encourages racial and ethnic harmony and cross-cultural understanding.''
In reality, there is a flip-side to every Canadian coin and I was eager to give it my two cents worth. To do so, I wiggled my foot back into a Chinese-made shoe belonging to a girl 'made in Canada' and measured it for comfort and authenticity.
I'll never forget how fast I was chased out of Outremont Park years ago by a couple of Hasidic boys as they threw, with six-year old strength, premature and yet age-old bigotry, oranges in my yellow direction. The fruit didn't strike me as painfully real as the tricks a little girl's mind can play on her as she blindly gives into another child's accusations. I quickly dodged another orange and jumped to the conclusion that I might actually be guilty of some God awful crime and the prospect of having killed a Rabbi's dog or worse, having eaten it at some Chinese dinner party the night before, gave me upset stomach for the remainder of the day.
Canadian multiculturalism didn't always have its' perks, and much less did the childhood experience.
We all have our private affairs with shame and pride. The two make for an awkward couple of feelings and a rather unpleasant sub-genre of childhood memories. Hand-in-hand, they come an go as they please and are just as often at heads with one another. Pride always made sure I held my head high, laughed out loud and bit my tongue each time a wise kid cracked a prejudiced joke of some unhumourless sort. It was shame, though, that swung my head low from not being able to keep up with a strangely familiar French-Canadian lingo, complete with run-on sentences and running gags that still leave me trailing behind by a long shot. Looking back, there's always more shame.
In retrospect, being Canadian was a full-time job, one I had cut out for me from the get-go.
Growing up in Montreal during the 90's as an only child to a single mother whose entire upbringing was spent overseas, studied life from a number of angles and at drastically different degrees, was quite a unique Canadian experience. What made it especially so was that, although she never married, she was fully engaged in an ongoing open relationship with Buddhism since a time before mine, when her own struggle to identify with the outside world brought her home to the very safeties of a 'no such place' philosophy. Coincidentally, we are both the products of similar cross-cultural contaminations whereby we each lost our predominant cultures to the absence of a father figure. Since nobody else in the family claimed responsibility, we were free to invent our very own product-line of pretensions. Behind the scenes, we often fought with one anothers' ambiguities but at the end of the day we were soul mates and always managed to make end's meat by following our hearts. For lack of a cookie-cutter setting, we developed an acquired taste and appreciation for the finer things in life, which still serve us warm home-cooked reminders of whomever we pick and chose to be at times of uncertainty.
Where and how does one draw the line on identity? Where would one go to get one custom-made and at what cultural cost? How does it fit? Would it match or would it clash against a social background? Finally, is identity Capitalist or do we all get a slice of the Canadian pie, only some enjoy theirs in the privacies of their own free will while others wave flags to uphold theirs?
There are many wonderfully torturous questions that come a long way to ponder minds big and small, at home and abroad, on a regular day off from being more or less simply 'Canadian'. After all, 'to be or not to be Canadian' is only as pertinent a question as 'to be or not to be thyself'.
]]>Photos: Featherstone Family Archive.
Louisville, Kentucky ,c. 1930.
Flash Blindness
Two men stare at a dead doe. The younger man smokes a cigarette, a .300 savage pressed against his left shoulder. The other man, slightly older, pulls his neck into a fur- lined coat. For a while they say nothing, then the older man clears phlegm from his throat and turns his gaze to the white sky.
Good, he says, eyes sheltered in a squint. Hair from his lower lip flosses between his teeth.
The younger man kneels beside the kill, and removes two knives from a backpack. The first knife is sheathed in its handle, a collar lock; the second has a gut hook on the end of a stained blade. The gut hook is laid on top of the snow next to the backpack. The collar lock is drawn from the handle and locked into place. The doe's head is held back while the blade of the collar lock slides then sinks into the throat. It takes pressure to puncture hide, fat, and arteries of the neck, but the sharp blade makes it fluid; blood drains from the wound. The younger man makes another cut into the lower abdomen. After setting the collar lock back into its handle and placing it into the backpack, the younger man places the tip of the gut hook just inside of the cut inside the abdomen. In a smooth motion the blade moves towards the neck opening the chest, clicking on the collarbone. He sits on the ground, knife in both hands, and pulls hard toward himself breaking the collarbone. Most of the insides remain in the ribcage. The younger man carves out the gut, warming his hands inside the ribcage, and circles around the anus, so that whatever remains inside the snow colored tubing doesn't damage the meat. The younger man gathers everything the stomach has to offer on top of the snow. The heart and liver are kept in the upper chest cavity. Steam rises from the entrails. The younger man cuts between the Achilles tendon and the anklebone on both hind legs of the doe, creating secure handgrips.
]]> Want the insides? The young man says searching through a backpack for a garbage bag to put the organs in.
You kept the heart 'n' liver? The older man asks in a way like he doesn't want the answer, but more time to figure out what to do. Keep what you can, what I don't use we'll throw round the body.
All-right, the young man says standing up.
The younger begins to walk, stopping first to put a weighted garbage bag over his shoulder and grab one of the legs, and then again, to wait for the older man to slip his hand through the slit on the other leg and grab the backpack. They walk steady.
The open field is covered in snow. Besides the doe and the two men, a few barren
trees and stumps are the only remaining shades besides white. The sun sits on the horizon reflecting light off the ground. Windblown hay has been covered by hardened snow. The doe drags on the ground behind the two men, each one of them breaking the crust of snow under their own weight. They move slowly.
Bailey, we should do this now before we lose the light, the older man says dropping his half of the weight to the ground. There, the older man says, pointing with his chin toward an overgrown branch ten feet behind them.
Don't call me that. I hate the name, the younger man says. Searching through the backpack he pulls out a rope attached to a two-by-four with hooks on each end.
Well that's your name isn't it? Hair flosses between his front teeth. Why would you hate it?
It sounds like a name for a pet, the younger man says spreading the hind legs.
Not any animal I've ever known. What should I call you then? The older man says while the younger man walks towards the branch with a rope.
Don't know, the younger man says without looking back. Some people call me
Blake. Honestly anything that starts with B and I turn around.
The rope is wrapped around the branch and pulled, towing the body towards the tree. The legs are kept open by the two-by-four, the hooks set inside the flesh handles. The older man sits his neck into the fur of his jacket, and lowers his brow, then, after some time, responds.
What about Bailey?
By this time the younger man has to put effort into pulling the rope so that the deer hangs midair. After securing the rope and checking the height, the younger man replies.
Ya well, not that. Just doesn't sound right to me, the younger man says walking
back.
Well it starts with a B?
That it does, but I don't like it. Then what do I call you?
I don't know, don't call me anything.
The younger man grabs the gut hook and makes a slight cut around the ankle, deep enough to cut through the hide and fat, but not the meat. The rounded blade cuts between the hide and the flesh, removing strings of fat sticking to the meat. A small hanging piece of loose hide is placed underneath the rounded tip of the blade, and in a smooth motion the blade opens the hide exposing more flesh and fat strings. The knife is placed deep within the palm of the left hand, while the younger man's fingers grab hold of the loose hide. With a heavy pull the fat tears away from the flesh, and a bare leg of meat is exposed. The younger man peels the hide off the flesh of the doe, adjusting his grip every so often for more strength. The hide turns inside out as it hangs off the doe's neck, exposing a body of meat and bone.
You want the head now or later? The younger man says cutting at the base of the skull to remove the hide.
Later, the older man says kneeling down. I'm feeling a bit tired.
The entire hide falls in one piece, besides what's left on the head. The older man spreads the hide with the fur facing the ground.
The younger man lights a cigarette.
The older man grunts.
The younger man lowers the skinned body while the older man places it on top of the hide. The older man takes the collar lock from the backpack, and makes a two-inch cut into the hide. The sun makes a faint light on the horizon while the rope is strung through the hole in the hide. The older man carries the tools inside the backpack. The younger man carries the garbage bag and pulls the rope. The skinned body is more mobile with its weight on top of its own skin; it doesn't sink past the hard crust of snow, and floats on top. Though the walk is farther than the men had before the skinning, it takes less time.
The two men walk through the field and arrive at a small cottage surrounded by tall
trees. They walk around the front of the cottage to a shack attached to it. A wood block locks the door of the shack from the outside. They remove the block and open the door. Pocket mice and ground squirrels run out.
Scavengers, the older man says.
Once inside, they hang the carcass on a hook hanging from the roof. The older man searches through the garbage bag to pick out what organs he wants to part with, and drops what he doesn't choose on the ground around the hanging body. Soft tissues, no matter how rancid, are the first choice for small animals.
The hide is spread and nailed to the floor. Both men grab a knife and begin to
scrape the fat off in balled chucks, flinging it to the ground once scrapped. When the hide is close to finished, the younger man grabs a handful of salt from a bucket, and spreads it over the hide. The nails are taken out, and the hide is rolled and tied with a rope. The older man puts the garbage bag on top of a dresser.
Coffee? The younger man asks. Sure, the older man replies.
The younger man grabs a large pot while the older man goes inside the cottage. The pot is filled to the brim with snow and put beside the door. He collects wood from a woodpile leaning on the cottage, and chops it on top of a large stump. He collects the pieces of wood on a ledge of outstretched forearms as the sun sets. The younger man goes inside the cottage and opens a metal latch on the oven, exposing a pile of ash. Most of the wood is placed in a box next to the oven.
Where's the newspaper?
What, you wanna read it?
I'll leave that to criers and tea ladies.
Each give a slight chuckle as a half torn newspaper is taken out from underneath the armchair. A page is torn out, rolled tight, and put inside the oven. Picked pieces of wood are put inside the oven, and after lighting the paper, a fire appears. The latch is closed and the damper is opened to expose more air to the fire. The pot of snow is taken in from outside, and scooped into the top-right side of the stove that holds water. A percolator is gathered, and the right-lower side of the oven is opened, revealing a turn handle faucet. The facet is turned and the kettle is filled. Fresh grounds are put into the top of the percolator, and placed on the stove above where the fire is burning. They await their coffee.
Sorry about earlier, I shouldn't be on your case. It's not right of me to tell you how
to be.
That's alright, I knew you didn't mean anything of it. You were just curious is all. It's bit odd to not take your birth name. I get that.
Both the men nod slightly, happy how the conversation took place. Even though the sun has set the cottage is still warm. Both men take their jackets off and relax, as there is no work to be done. A cigarette is lit as feet are drawn up onto a small coffee table.
You get lonely out here? The wife gets concerned about you, why I ask. Hair from his lower lip is wet from habit.
Sometimes, but there is something about all of this that just makes it worthwhile. I'm still not sure what it is, but things are easier out here. He draws on his cigarette.
Smoke hangs in the stale air. Steam begins to rise from the percolator. He stands parting the haze, takes cups from the cupboard, and brings them back to the coffee table.
Black is fine, he says stroking his beard watching the coffee pour. The wife thinks you're hiding. He says this holding the cup in both hands about to drink. Why I ask.
Hiding? A plume of smoke appears as he sits, putting his feet back on the coffee
table, crossed at the ankle.
The only light in the room comes from the oven and lit cigarette.
Everyman's got something to hide from, if you hadn't, than you just ain't live life yet. And men young as you, he continues, ain't usually lived.
The cigarette's light swells as a breath is taken in. An outline of a face is seen, and is then dispersed back into the empty space.
I'm not hiding. The tobacco's ember is held next to the knee. Can you put more wood on the fire?
He stands wiping the coffee off his beard and goes towards the oven. The left latch is opened exposing the red remains of a healthy fire. A log is taken from the box and put on top of the coals. The latch is closed. He struggles to find his seat.
The cigarette is snuffed, and the remaining smoke sits soft in its dying form. Tell whoever wants to know, I'm not hiding, there's just different ways I want to be known. If anything ...
I get it, he interrupts wetting his lower lip, but I gotta get going here or else I won't find my way out. Thanks for the coffee. The man stands and leaves the cabin.
Before leaving he goes to the shed and grabs the garbage bag, and then walks home leaving nothing behind but night.
I'll come back in May and
I'll call you and we'll follow
The trail down to
The beach where
The waves lap at tan sands.
We'll enjoy the pollen, and
The falling seagulls gawking at
Hotdogs.
We'll pant in the heat and
Bathe in the salt and
When the crescent moon rises in
The late afternoon
We'll sip white wine in Image:Flickr
The cave I found just
A short walk from the logs.
And of course I'll carry you up the stairs when
The sun sets.
" My name is Samuel Rutledge. I try to put the right words in the right places. For my non-fiction, visit low-life.ca . For my fiction-fiction, sit tight for a home base. Throw me an email if sitting tight is not an option-- samuel.rutledge@low-life.ca ."One way to gauge a nation's progression toward gender equality is to analyze the historical fiction it has produced. According to Finke (1996), fiction is generally less politically coercive than government sanctioned media because authors generally focus on text as an art form rather than maintaining hegemonic agendas. There are, however, exceptions. While analyzing a series WWI and WWII posters, I discovered a female author named J. G. Sime, who, during WWI, was commissioned to use her vaguely feminist fiction to help coerce women who sought freedom from domestic servitude into serving the war effort instead. Her story was reprinted widely during the Second World War due to the effective nature of its propaganda.
]]>Juxtaposing Sime's story with war posters demonstrates how the notion
of gender equality was used to bait hundreds of thousands of women to
join the war efforts. This paper describes common key elements in the
posters that were supposed to have signified the empowerment of women.
Further investigation reveals how phallic symbols and erotic innuendo
subliminally convey the impending sexual liberation of woman workers,
while serving to malign those who wished to maintain the new status once
the wars had ended.
According to Arnheim (1969) the shape of a visual form is not limited
by its physical dimensions but extend to the psychological forces that
instruct the viewer on how to react through preconceptions to its
status. For example, we know that the status of a photo is static, but
that a film involves motion. We adjust our senses respectively to
experience them because we are conditioned to their status. Similarly,
as Nelson (2002) states, "socialization prepares persons for statuses
they either now occupy or will occupy sometime in the future and for the
roles attached to those statuses." He also refutes the media's claims
of being "our best friends and companions" (Nelson, 2002). The shape,
or status of wartime posters makes people believe they are experiencing
important and helpful truths (Jowett, Garth, and O'Donnell, 1999). The
"unidirectional" mood and status of mass media inherent to wartime
propaganda convinced "all the members of a demographic category"
(Nelson, 2002) to rise to the occasion of improved social status, but
did not tell them the status would be revoked. That type of bad form
persists in the federal government to this day; Bill C-10 proposed to
financially penalise films that openly disagreed with its public policy
of anti-gay rights, for example.
Symbols, characters, objects, and even text are considered form. Rather than describing posters individually, this paper describes the key forms they share, thereby exposing their messages.
Image via Wikipedia
However, other posters make implicit suggestions about how women can
best serve their countries. The question of satisfaction is
implicitly sexual, and upon closer inspection of each poster, a pattern
of phallic symbols and erotic innuendo emerges as the women are gripping
or handling equipment in subtle yet sexually suggestive ways, which
alludes to the idea that sexual liberation can be attained by taking
matters into their own hands, so to speak. If men have the capacity to
be "happy and satisfied" away from the company of women, then women
should have this freedom as well by striving to become more like men.
This is definitively illustrated in a poster that states: I Wish I Were A
Man.
This "agency-transmitted" gender socialisation falls under the precepts of the "media outlet[...] determin[ing] the specific expectations and skills they wish to endorse." Although Nelson (2002) states that the consequence of this is either "mutually reinforcing or contradictory and conflicting," in this case, it is both; women did find a level of unprecedented liberation and status, though not all of them achieved this by becoming more like men, rather, by promoting the reality of feminist strength. It is the latter group, according to Woollacott (1994), who faced the well-documented and disastrous consequences of post-war vilification. Women who were reluctant to part with the liberation advertised were often labelled as loose and dangerous carriers of sexually-transmitted diseases.
Image via Wikipedia
Sime's story Munitions! (1917), was first published in the federally
funded Saturday Night magazine which according to Keshen (1996)
practiced hegemonic and biased dedication to wartime propaganda. The
story's form is closely linked to the poster campaign; narrative is
replaced with a manipulative form of social realism where nothing occurs
except getting a job manufacturing munitions. Much like the figures in
the posters, the main character, Bertha, is a blank slate - a flat,
stock model with whom the average female reader was expected to
sympathise and emulate. She is living a "half-dead life" (Sime, p.44) as
an "excellent servant" in the "well-ordered house" of domestic
servitude (Sime, p.38). Upon learning of the opportunities provided by
the local munitions factory, she leaves her housekeeping job for a
position at the factory which is "insistent and creative." Bertha labels
those who choose to produce munitions as a means of achieving a "sense
of freedom" as "self-respecting girls," while those who do not must
forgo the possibility of being "extraordinarily happy" (Sime, p.33).
Much like the posters, the story makes vague allusions to the sexual
liberation of the "munitionettes" by hinting at, but never describing
their "masculine" behaviour and the "unprecedented candour" that came
"streaming out" on the bus-ride to the factory (Sime, p.40). Sime relies
heavily on slogan-like platitudes of "[i]t's time we lived," and
"...it's great out there" (Sime, p.42), while downplaying the "noise and
discomfort and strain" of the work as a small price to pay for such
"liberty" and "joy" and "relief" (Sime, p.43).
The story makes no mention of the copious women who became infertile or contracted debilitating illnesses from poison at the factories; who were killed or irreparably maimed in explosions of faulty munitions; who promptly lost their jobs and were relegated back to domestic servitude and second-class citizenship upon the men's return. Most women who tried to resist were quickly denigrated as unfit mothers, unworthy wives, and social rabble-rousers. Many of these feminists were institutionalised, because who but crazy women would want the jobs of men? The women who resisted this hegemonic duplicity have paved the way for true gender equality, yet it is writers like Sime who get touted as part of our literary heritage.
References.
Arnheim, R. (1969). Art and Visual Perception: The Psychology of the Creative Eye. Berkely, CA: The University of California Press. Print.
Finke, Ronald A (1996). "Imagery, Creativity, and Emergent Structure : Consciousness and Cognition." 5.3: 381--393. Print.
Jowett, Garth, and O'Donnell. (1999). Propaganda and Persuasion. 3rd ed. Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage Publications. Print.
Keshen, J. (1996) Propaganda and Censorship: During Canada's Great War. Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Print.
Nelson, A. (2002). "Development and Socialization in Childhood and Adolescence." In Gender in Canada (2nd Edition). Toronto: Pearson Prentice Hall. 112-160.
Sime, J. G. (1917) Sister Woman. Ottawa: Tecumseh Press. Print.
Woollacott, A. (1994) On Her their Lives Depend: Munitions Workers in the Great War. Berkeley: University of California Press. Print.
Many other posters were described than appear in this blog.
]]>Cover of The Girl on the Fridge: Stories
Listen to a reading of his story "Hat Trick" from his collection, The Girl on the Fridge.
Watch an interview with Keret conducted by the charasmatic and always entertaining Ira Glass, host of NPR's This American Life.
]]>
We're anticipating your entries and encourage everyone to go for it! Competition information may also be found on our twitter and facebook pages.
Good luck you talented lot!
For those who haven't attended the festival, the event is five days of intellectual food for your soul. Novelists, journalists, historians, poets, and industry experts from all over the world gather to participate in panel discussions, one-on-one interviews, readings, and lectures. Some past participants include Gore Vidal, Michel Tremblay, Paul Auster, Heather O'Neill, Norman Mailer, and Margaret Atwood, to name a few.
You don't have to be familiar with a particular author to have a great time, either; panel discussions are centered around an interesting theme, and the interviews are conducted by the industry's best, guaranteeing an engaging discussion. General topics change from year to year, but many events are focused on issues of interest to students, such as human rights and other political topics.
I stand to greet the foundation's new president and artistic director, William St-Hilaire, who ushers me into her office where the interview will take place.
" I don't consider myself a writer. I'm a passionate person who likes to DO things."
That's correct; William is a she. She gave herself the name William after being repeatedly looked over for jobs as a sailor in Quebec City. And she is just as creative and unorthodox as her name suggests.
Elegant, composed, tall, and slender, St-Hilaire is dressed in all-black and adorned with a heavy necklace and fashionable glasses, much like what you might expect an art gallery director to look like.
"I decided to try to write erotic novels to try to keep my marriage alive, which was collapsing," she tells me. " I don't consider myself a writer. I'm a passionate person who likes to DO things," adding that she continued writing as a form of therapy. Much of her work is short stories, and she writes completely organically, not planning anything out. Instead, she sits down at her computer and writes until the idea or emotion is completed.
"I write as fast as I speak and I never go back. I rarely work on my novel.... I want to enjoy myself when I write." She insists that if writing were to begin feeling like work, she would stop and take up another activity to entertain herself.
During this period of writing, William St-Hilaire worked for the CBC as chief of communications "...of something." Meaning, she demonstrated her flexibility by working in several departments--from promotions to Radio Canada International to the hip music division that is Bande A Part FM. When she was laid off during the CBC cutbacks a couple of years ago she took a contract job at Usine C.
After completing the contract, she met a headhunter who suggested she apply for the position of president and artistic director at Blue Metropolis. She did apply, but thought they would prefer an anglophone, despite 40% of the festival's clientele being francophone. As with every position she has held, she jumped right in. Although she took office last winter, this April will be the first time the festival will be completely under her direction since founder and former director, Linda Leith, resigned.
"...Sometimes tough times free you from a certain type of concept."
This is no ordinary takeover, though. Around the same time as the CBC cuts, the foundation saw a significant decrease in donations and grants not only from the government but also from individuals and businesses, making her transition a particular challenge. St-Hilaire looks on the positive side.
"The money is not there...(but) sometimes tough times free you from a certain type of concept. The model has to be redefined from scratch." The new model she refers to is one in which she envisions a much more diverse festival by incorporating more mediums, such as visual art, and by involving the community in the festival's programming.
"I think that a festival is a community affair. You have to share and bring people into your dream. More and more there is going to be the integration of other people's vision." She adds, "It's nice to have a festival in a hotel, (this year's will be at the trendy urban hotel, Opus, located on the corner of Sherbrooke and St. Laurent), but it has its limits. You have to be careful because it may just look and feel like a conference."
"A book is the beginning of a long journey, so you can create programming with just a tiny, little idea."
She plans on keeping many of the festival favourites, and would like to attract more young adults by placing a greater emphasis on alternative types of literature, such as the graphic novel, and by introducing themes popular with that age group. The subject of politics is always a big draw at the festival, with the "Writer's in Peril" series being a favourite. St-Hilaire would like to see that area expanded to include a "Journalists in Peril" series, as well as the non-fiction events broaden to include more social issues.
She expands on this, explaining how you can take a single topic and build upon it in any number of ways to include a variety of authors and events. As she discusses the possibilities, one can't help but be inspired by her enthusiasm and passion."A book is the beginning of a long journey, so you can create programming with just a little, tiny idea."
What: 14th edition of the Blue Metropolis International Literary Festival.
When: April 18-23, 2012.
Where: Opus Hotel, corner of St. Laurent and Sherbrooke.
This year's schedule will be released March 20, 2012. In the meantime, visit their new website to find out more about the foundation and this year's highlights, which include Charles Foran, winner of the 2011 Governor General's Literary Award for Non-Fiction for his book,"Mordecai:The Life and Times" about the Montreal author, Mordecai Richler; Indian novelists Amitav Ghosh and Bharati Mukherjee; and Egyptian author, Alaa al-Aswany.