There is something both familiar and recognizably heart-wrenching in the story of a person who is pulled into the position of caring for someone who has become, either suddenly or over a long duration, completely dependent. We see this tale played out regularly by those with aging parents needing help with daily tasks, and perhaps we know or have heard of those caring for victims of accidents or degenerative conditions. Almost always in these stories, there is a sense that something is being, and has been, lost by the caregiver. A loss of freedom, a loss of financial resources, a loss of leisure—in short, the implication that the caregiver is bound without benefit to the one who requires help.
Donna Thomson, in her memoir The Four Walls of My Freedom, shifts this narrative, and shifts it intentionally and unapologetically. Throughout her book about her life spent caring for her son, Nicholas, who is affected by cerebral palsy, she states again and again how much her son, and others like him with major disabilities, has to offer the world around him. Her refrain enters our Canadian social consciousness at a timely moment, as we (at the moment of this writing) sift through the ethical questions surrounding physician-assisted suicide, and as further debate regarding euthanasia catches fire in the public sphere. She addresses many of the questions of this debate explicitly in her autobiographical tale of her life with her son: What role can suffering have in human life? How do we value lives that do not only ever contribute economically to our system, but that even require additional resources from us? Who is responsible for caring for the sick, disabled, and elderly? What does it mean to be a citizen and to have rights, and what, if any, changes should be made in the case of the disabled?
Thomson’s book is at once a story of her family, and a story of disabilities activism. She illuminates the world of raising a child with severe disabilities in Canada as one of facing constant battles with healthcare providers, funding and support associations, governments, and the general public. Throughout her book, she points to the central issue being one of public perception of the rights of people with disabilities versus those of people without disabilities, and how and why they do and should differ. She argues, through introducing her reader on a personal level to her son and revealing the intensity of love and dynamism present in him and his life with his family, that people with disabilities are exactly that: people, and citizens, and as such, deserve the same rights as other citizens of our country.
This seems like a simple statement, but she develops the idea further with each chapter, filling out the different facets of her argument in an essay-like form. Without quite realizing it, Thomson is forced into a position of not only have to defend the value of a vulnerable person’s life, but also of trying to convince a public audience that seems to have largely ignored or forgotten any sort of existing definition at all of what it means to be a human person. Our system is one that tends to privilege economic success and contribution over any other activity, and mistakes the possession of wealth for an end rather than simply a means of attaining freedom and happiness. As a result, it becomes altogether too easy, and in fact, intuitive, to base a person’s worth on his or her abilities rather than nature. Drawing from various theologians and philosophers, Thomson rejects any definition of human worth that is based in abilities, capacities, or relationships. Rather, she states that worth is intrinsic, that dignity is part and parcel of being human, and that as such, it cannot be added to or taken away.
Threaded throughout Thomson’s narrative are instances of frustration with the way in which Canada has set up care, education, and treatment for children with disabilities. She paints her move towards disability activism as the logical outcome for any parent faced with the inefficiencies and injustices she faced. She states simply that, “activism was and continues to be a core part of my sense of being a good mother.” As an activist, she has brought her vision of citizen rights for people with disabilities to the forefront of discussions surrounding funding, accessibility, and care. She emphasizes the rights of parents in particular to not be forced into providing 24-hour, lifelong care for their child with disabilities, but to still be able to maintain an active role in their child’s life without relinquishing custody or any parental rights to the state. Describing the numerous challenges that parents of children with disabilities face, Thomson seeks to convince her readers of the necessity for change, and of the need for the support from those outside of the disabilities community.
One would assume that the title of her book is a way of describing Nicholas’ life, confined as he is now as an adult to his bed, unable to move without assistance and intense pain. Thomson instead describes to the reader how the title—taken from a line of the Trappist monk Thomas Merton’s autobiography—was actually chosen as a way of describing her own life. She describes the loneliness that is faced by most parents of children with disabilities, and the very real experience that she and many others have had of letting go completely of their own desires, ambitions, and dreams for their futures. She describes this process as painful, strengthening, and finally, life-giving. She realizes that giving up a cornerstone virtue of our modern society, freedom of choice, was key to her survival and happiness. In submitting to her role as caregiver, and in choosing to love her son Nicholas, “normal” things like going back to work, going out with friends for a carefree evening, and traveling, among others, were simply no longer options. She suggests that mourning these losses is what seems to be expected of her by those who would hear her story. But a state of mourning is no way to live life. She again draws her reader back to the ways in which she insists that her life has become more beautiful and full as a result of caring for Nicholas, and of all of the ways in which he is a gift to that world around him that so quickly moves to pity and then dismiss him.
While The Four Walls of My Freedom is a book that provides a well-written and heartfelt appeal to those within and outside of the disabilities community to consider more deeply the ethics of rights of the vulnerable, it could more correctly, and perhaps usefully, be read as a collection of essays. Thomson’s penchant for repeating parts of her narrative, reusing anecdotes in different contexts, and citing the same research or scholarly opinions in different chapters means that by about the halfway point, the circularity can begin to leave the reader a little confused. After another few instances of the same, that confusion develops into a touch of frustration. It appears that the book, which begins very much as an autobiographical narrative, interspersed with some helpful references and contextual information from experts and scholars, is rather a collection of essays that uses Thomson’s story as a jumping off point from which to tackle larger issues of disability rights, discussions of the definition of the human person and of citizenship, and the injustices present in a system that fails to recognize the vulnerable as entitled to care. These are important messages to share, of course, but might be more effectively communicated with some help from an editor.
Despite the organizational weaknesses of the book, The Four Walls of My Freedom remains an excellent resource that introduces and familiarizes the reader to the issues that are most relevant for those who care for vulnerable people in our society, whether they are people with disabilities, the elderly, or the sick. One cannot help but be drawn into the story of her life in all of its difficulties and joys, and to sympathize deeply with the arguments about ethics that is prevalent throughout her tale.
Something big was going to happen that night—that much I knew. Growing up in a nationalist household in Québec as a child of the 80s, I was all too aware of the gravity of that night’s referendum on sovereignty—a difficult word at that age. I had seen my mother’s distraught look as revered Bloc Québécois leader Lucien Bouchard announced his improbable diagnosis of flesh-eating disease; I had heard extended family members debating the colour of their future passports; and I had watched, past my bedtime, as Prime Minister Jean Chrétien made a last-ditch appeal for reason. Very little of it made sense to me at the time, and answers to my innocent questions remained vague and convoluted—but something was about to happen, I knew it. Only what, no one could tell me.
Twenty years later, it turns out that answers are still hard to come by. While much ink has been spent chronicling the campaign and its aftermath, very little remains known about either camp’s intentions should voters have tilted the scale the other way. Would a narrow Oui vote have been enough for a unilateral declaration of independence, or would it have led to a redistribution of powers within a federal system? What were the leaders really planning behind the double-entendres and political euphemisms? Still, no one could tell me.
In comes The Morning After, star political columnist Chantal Hébert’s hard-hitting account of the day that almost was. With the help—and personal contacts—of former federal politician Jean Lapierre, Hébert set out to interview the key actors at the centre of the referendum saga in a bid to understand what would have happened in the event of a Yes vote. Leaders, cabinet ministers, and aides all opened up—some requiring more prodding than others—and unpacked their version of events as Hébert’s recorder blinked on. Page by page, one could sense the tension in the interview room as painful memories finally saw the light of day, two decades after the fact.
The resulting revelations are perplexing, even to a veteran of the political arena like Hébert. As both sovereignists and federalists detail the events leading up to that fateful night, the reader is left with only one logical—if frustrating—conclusion: that neither side had seriously prepared for the possibility of a Yes vote. In fact, silent chaos seemed to dominate political war rooms even as votes were being counted, with the country on the brink of breakdown. On the Oui side, Hébert reveals, Québec Premier Jacques Parizeau and star campaigner Lucien Bouchard were no longer on speaking terms over their disagreement on the meaning of a Yes vote (Parizeau favoured outright independence, while Bouchard remained more cautious). Meanwhile on the Non side, Chrétien had admittedly not entertained the possibility of a Yes vote, leaving his team scrambling for a plan as polls surged in favour of independence later in the game. At times, it feels as if the whole ordeal had been lifted from a bad satire: our political leaders had all been peddling a vision that even they had not yet worked out.
Hébert is ostensibly aghast at these juicy revelations—and the book is chock-full of them—but refrains from overt judgement or scrutiny. And therein might lie the one shortcoming in this work: while it is evidently a must-read for political junkies and well-informed citizens alike, The Morning After reads like well-presented interview notes peppered with historical context, and little more. This was, it seems, Hébert’s goal all along—to record this untold part of history for others to analyze—and she has certainly achieved it. However, readers seeking Hébert’s trademark analysis will be left fending for themselves, for the most part. One could hardly be faulted for wanting just a little more of a great thing.
Something big indeed almost happened, that day in 1995—that much I still know now. Only what, it appears no one ever knew. As is often the case in Canadian politics, it took Chantal Hébert to find the answers to this decades-old mystery, however baffling and unsatisfying they may be.
Chantal Hébert was about to take the stage at the Knox Presbyterian Church on Monday night, in front of a packed audience of political junkies waiting, with bated breath, for their next fix of astute political commentary. Just as she took excited first steps toward the lectern, her CBC colleague and tactful interviewer for the evening, Rosemary Barton, began reading off Hébert’s long—very long— list of accomplishments, at which point the guest of honour took a step back down to her seat, stole a sip from her glass of wine, and let out a confident laugh in the comfort of her chair.
There really needs be no introduction for Hébert nowadays. With columns in the Toronto Star and L’Actualité, a regular presence on CBC’s At Issue panel, and a legion of followers across the country, Hébert comes as close to being a rock star as a political analyst can truly be on either side of the Ottawa River. Her trademark wit and no-nonsense commentary has earned her praise, a few cold (and powerful) shoulders, and, luckily for us, was on full display that night.
Fresh from the publication of her surprising new book, The Morning After: The 1995 Quebec Referendum and the Day that Almost Was (written with the support of former federal politician Jean Lapierre), Hébert spent the evening sharing crunchy—and highly unsettling—revelations from her series of interviews with the politicians at the centre of the 1995 referendum campaign that almost tore the country apart. Focusing on both the federalist and sovereigntist camps’ plans in the event of a Oui vote on that fateful October day, she slowly built up to the stunning conclusion that neither side had prepared for that possibility. In fact, confusion and silent chaos seemed to dominate political war rooms leading up to the final vote count.
This revelation, it turns out, took even the seasoned columnist by surprise. Shaking her head in disbelief as she spoke, Hébert reported that on the day of the referendum, Québec Premier Jacques Parizeau would no longer return Bloc leader—and star of the Oui campaign—Lucien Bouchard’s calls. The sovereigntist camp, it now appears, could not agree on the significance of a Yes vote, with Bouchard seeing it as a chance for renewed federalism, whereas Parizeau was fully intent on swiftly declaring independence. “Imagine that,” she said, still exasperated.
Meanwhile, as Hébert shared with authority, Prime Minister Jean Chrétien had “not seriously entertained the notion of a separatist victory for most of the campaign,” despite Reform leader Preston Manning’s calls for action, resulting in a last-minute appeal for votes and the formation of a positively Orwellian-sounding Unity Cabinet. The author, much like her audience, was aghast at the implications of such recklessness in the face of national divorce. Yet close to 20 years later, these revelations were often greeted by laughter in the audience. The emperor had no clothes, yes, but how could we not laugh in the comfort of our seats as Hébert detailed these absurd interviews with her deadpan delivery?
“You are much funnier than Peter Mansbridge allows you to be,” quipped Rosemary Barton near the end of the evening. Perhaps so. But we would be remiss if we did not underscore the importance of Hébert’s work, in documenting the history of the day that almost was. For while we greeted her work with resigned laughter on Monday night, we—political junkies or not—owe Chantal Hébert, once again, much of our understanding of the Canadian political scene.
The theme of restoration is an inescapable one with Conrad Black. In a recent interview with Peter Scowen, Black invoked the Old Testament passage from Joel, almost as a morale-boosting incantation. It was a bit surreal to finally see Black in the flesh at the final event of the 2014 fall edition of the Festival; for his absence from the country, and relative rebuilding phase upon his return in the preceding years left a void that very few, Canadian or otherwise, can fill. The latest book that he was in Ottawa to promote is Rise to Greatness: The History of Canada from the Vikings to the Present.
Adrian Harewood, in his introduction, has noted that Black has been "at the very centre of our national conversation, he has helped shape it, and has been a subject of it." I entered Black's orbit by picking up free copies of the National Post as a Science undergrad at the University of Waterloo in the mid-2000s. As a newcomer to Canada, the Post, while perhaps past its fast and the furious salad days of its budding years, was my initiation into the Canadian polity and helped articulate much of what I had swirling in my inchoate thoughts on a wide range of subjects. Chris Cobb's fast-paced, and widely underrated account of the start of the Post features Black as a swashbuckling, brash protagonist who managed to be both a man of letters, and a man of action. Perhaps it is no surprise that Black has particularly excelled in political biography. His choice of subjects: Duplessis, Nixon, and FDR, are as varied as they are incisive. Employing prose that is characteristically (and unashamedly) mangniloquent, his reader is often required to switch into another literary gear to match the elevated terrain.
At 70, Black is far from a spent force, having recently completed both a memoir and a strategic history of the United States. His main reason for writing a (comprehensive) history of Canada was that he felt that the sweeping narrative of the country had yet been effectively attempted, and far from being penance, it is instead a paean to the quieter and no less heroic success of Canada as a bi-cultural parliamentary democracy. Excepting Will Ferguson's throughly entertaining and excellent primer, it is hard to summon a single volume title of Canadian history (Bothwell's Penguin History of Canada seems to firmly latched itself onto libraries without making any waves in the general market.)
One of the main gripes that has been made, almost uniformly, by reviewers of his book is of Black's dismissal of Aboriginal contributions to the formation of this country. Harewood posed a challenge to this Eurocentric vision by paraphrasing a section of John Ralston Saul's A Fair Country that asserts Canada as a Métis civilization. One of the things that struck me during the evening was Black's acquiescence whenever he was challenged (in contrast to the testy exchange in a BBC interview from 2012). His basic response was that he respected Saul's expertise on Aboriginal issues but that he stuck by his position that Native culture was "terribly violent, constantly at war," and "a Stone Age culture that had not yet invented the wheel." It would be quite easy to dismiss Black as prejudiced, but he also takes to task the post-Champlain Europeans whose brutality he denounces as "outrageous." In addition, he has further been chastised for downplaying the contribution of the Canadian Corps during WWI, and not giving sufficient space to Sir Arthur Currie, arguably Canada's greatest military leader. Moreover, Black—whose criticism of the US prison sytem is well documented—is very harsh on the Harper government's law and order agenda, calling it a "disgrace," concerning itself with building "prisons to accompany Native people who shouldn't be there." He would add, "no non-violent people should be sent to prison," earning a quip from Harewood that Black sounds like Angela Y. Davis.
Black is very effusive in his praise of Champlain (making me want to move Fischer's esteemed biography higher up the reading list), and the fascinating thing about Black is his willingness to disentangle personal opinion from professional judgment. Hence his ranking of Trudeau into the top tier of leaders for facing down separatism even if, in Black's opinion, the rest of his achievements were moderate at best. Even more impressive is his praise for Chrétien, despite the incident that led to Black having to renounce his citizenship to enter the House of Lords that no doubt strained their relationship. Black is also not a Harper basher; he was effusive about his managerial competence and pointed out that Harper won four straight elections with an increasing percentage of the vote each time, a feat that not even FDR managed.
Some interesting diversions led us into a discussion of Black's teaching in prison (an experience whose fruition at the graduation ceremony for his pupils he called "the most gratifying of my life"), ideas to address inequality, and the eccentricities and brilliance of W.M. King. It is evident, like this review, Black's account leaves much unsaid, but as The Globe and Mail cited in their inclusion of the book in their Top 100 for 2014, "a project this audacious cannot be ignored."
As an adult who both reads young adult literature, and who has a dear friend who is writing a young adult novel, Ann-Marie MacDonald’s event was a natural draw for me. With little familiarity with MacDonald’s style, however, I didn’t realize how entertaining and insightful this event would be. MacDonald is truly an excellent writer and also an excellent verbal storyteller. Interestingly enough, this is MacDonald’s first time participating at the Writers Festival (although she was around for Westfest in 2006). As host Lucy CBC's Lucy van Oldenbarneveld commented, I’m sure that once I get around to reading Adult Onset, it will have been worth the 11-year-wait since her last book was published.
One thing in particular to note about this novel is that there is a great blurring of the lines between fiction and non-fiction, which is what I anticipate will be its greatest service. In the same way that Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius feels like fiction when it is really real life, Ann-Marie MacDonald’s most recent work feels like real life when it is—technically—fiction.
MacDonald’s event opened with a various readings from her most recent publication, which skillfully makes indistinct the lives of Mary Rose McKinnon and Ann-Marie MacDonald’s. When talking about her process of crafting stories, MacDonald pointed out that she wrote Adult Onset from what she already had—that unlike her other works, this book didn’t require the same depth of research. Ultimately, as MacDonald happily admits, Adult Onset is a story about things that wouldn’t make the news.
For example, the first page of this novel begins with Mary Rose checking her much-neglected email on a Monday morning, an experience to which I think many of us can relate to all too well. MacDonald goes on to read another section of her novel, in which Mary Rose’s catastrophic thinking leads her to believe that a ringing phone heralds the death of not one but both of her parents. At least for myself, both of these samples prove that Ann-Marie MacDonald both knows the intimate stuff of real life and is able to articulate it on paper. She even manages to accurately capture the sound of snipping scissors—for those who are interested, that sound is “roush.”
Adult Onset takes place over the course of a week, and will give the reader a clear picture of what “the toddler trenches” are like, and what it is like to feel real anger in the midst of attempting forgiveness. Overall, this novel makes a concerted (albeit perhaps unintentional) attempt to break through the “lavender ceiling” of literature, which I think it does so quite successfully.
Ultimately, attending this event confirmed for me that, should I find myself in a Stranger Than Fiction sort of situation, I want Ann-Marie MacDonald to follow me around and narrate my life. Nonetheless, I hope we aren’t waiting another 11 years before MacDonald publishes her next novel. In the mean time, however, keep your eye out for MacDonald’s forthcoming work on an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet with Canadian band Stars to be featured at the Stratford Festival.
Audience members were rushed in hurriedly, eyeing the best possible seats just before start of the program. Others were fidgeting in their seats i.e., pews, in the majestic sanctuary of Southminster United Church. In the lobby, tickets were flying away and purchased books exchanged hands with a sense of anticipated urgency.
John Ralston Saul’s fame extends from his Massey Lectures to his executive role as the International President of PEN International, along with a plethora of awards and other distinctions that assure his longevity. The evening’s opening segment was intiated by a surprised guest that needed no introduction if one is familiar with Aboriginal ceremonies.
The elder initiating the ceremony with smudge smoke was the petite yet tellingly powerful Annie Smith St-Georges, a niece of the legendary Algonquin chief of Willam Camanda. Elder St-Georges evoked his spirit by addressing the need to aknowledge the ferocious advoacy by Aboriginal youth in the Idle No More movement as well as commemorating Aboriginal ancestors. One could note that Elder St-Georges was cleverly redirecting the lingering Remembrance Day sentiments of the day towards a legacy of men and women of the past whose ghosts may still be haunting us. But the spiritual prelude set the tone as Saul stepped onto the stage.
And he began.
Commencing by acknowledging the unceded Algonquin land, followed by offering words of gratitute in the form of “Meeguesh” towards Elder St-Georges and finally welcoming the audience in an overly meek posture. That would be the last resemblance of timidity from Saul, as he would be a resounding tour de force of ideas for the rest of the evening.
He first began with an abridged version of his newly published The Comeback and explained the preamble for its inception. Saul’s talks are passionate a educational narration into the spaces of interdisciplinary subjects from ecology to the humanities, and again referencing everyone from Erasmus to Argentina’s Perón. All that to say, one must be prepared for Saul’s range; it’s truly a treasure.
Alternatively, Saul sought to transform feelings of impotency to a hopeful disposition; working diligently towards working alternatives for both Aboriginals and non-Aboriginals going forward. The mantra of the evening seemed to be “Learning how to listen,” delivered early in his talk and mentioned repeadily. Rarely did he look down at his notes, confirming how many years advocating for Aboriginal rights has become a heartfelt calling, occupying as a repository in his mind.
As Saul had alluded during this his keynote, The Comeback was chronicling a remarkable and inevitable resurgence by Aboriginals in Canada for the past century; and more importantly his premise was to place an accent on the awakening of Canadian non-Aboriginals. Saul wasn’t demanding for mere social awareness, his appeal was for his audience members, and readers of his work to consciously engage their minds and join this Aboriginal resurgence. It was less of a militant call to action and more of a compassionate challenge to become renewed allies.
There were the expected shots made at the sitting government but brilliantly erased any sign of partisanship by detailing how previous governments in the last century have either remained numb or actively destructive in their governance of matters affecting Canadian Aborginal affairs.
“. ..Canadians have an impoverished view of ourselves ”, he continued. Saul cited this as a reason for Canadians' disregard or defensiveness on dealing with Aboriginal issues.
While also taking notes, I couldn’t help but glance onto my Twitter feed to quickly sift through the online conversation. One striking statement issued by Saul was tweeted by Indigenous educator Jaime Koebel:“The most important issue in Canada today is the #IndigenousReality”
The statement was echoed throughout the evening in different ways and it seemed to be an appropriate manner to conclude his talk and transition towards the last segment of the evening. The audience members were treated to a Q & A session with relevant voices in this resurgence movement, Suzanne Keeptwo, a multi-faceted artist and writer. Also joined by Waubgeshig Rice, a veteran CBC producer.
Keeptwo stated since Idle No More, she’s observed a soft-racism, an attitude of dismissal, and an apathy shown towards the state of Indigenous people whether its the lack of media and governmental attention given to the thousands of missing Aboriginal women or the growing incarceration rate of Aboriginal young men.
Some have hailed Saul as Canada’s national conscience. A title a bit far reaching depending on your ideological leanings and political stripes. Yet for tonight, not only with his words but his presence, he called for a reimagining of ourselves as Canadians, with a better history. A history with renewed solidarity between non-Aboriginal and Aboriginal Canadians as allies in the stewarding of our nation. For tonight, stewardship, at least for non-Aborignals, began with listening.
I only discovered Scott Feschuk’s writing in September. It was a fantastic article in Maclean’s that helped to get me hooked on Scott’s writing. Fast-forward two months and I am shaking his hand at the Metropolitan Brasserie, talking about In The Loop and joking about why my parents spelled my name the way they did.
Scott’s Tuesday night event was a showcase of his personality – smart, funny, and slightly irreverent.
The evening began with Tim Harper and Susan Delacourt reading segments from Chapter 4 of The Future and Why We Should Avoid It. The year is 2021, and Prime Minister Rob Ford—played on Tuesday by Tim Harper—is delivering the Speech from the Throne with Governor General Busty McKnockers, as read by Susan Delacourt. This less-than-ideal future was brought to life for Tuesday night’s crowd as Tim Harper prophetically read, “I probably shouldn’t have got so drunk at the state funeral.”
This segment was followed by another reading. Not of the book, but a reading of real comments left on one of Scott’s articles. To highlight the insanity of Internet comments, they were read as a mock debate between Scott and Jason Kenney, Minister of Employment and Social Development. Jason Kenney took the Conservative position, sharing such brilliant words such as “lieberals.” Scott, meanwhile, counterpointed with the Liberal comments, eloquently calling out “Prime Minister Harptard.” Just hearing Jason Kenney utter the words “Scott Feceschuk” made the whole evening worthwhile.
The third and final segment of the evening was a musical rendition of Internet comments as performed by Ottawa a cappella group The Acafellas. “Send him to Ebolaland” almost sounds poetic when sung a cappela.
Like his writing, Scott brought a unique flavour to his Writers Festival event. The guest stars made the event a lot of fun for the seventy-or-so people in attendance. Scott’s wit was brought alive, even if he himself was barely at the mic. The event was also short enough to keep everyone’s attention span. Lasting less than an hour, Scott still managed to make the crowd laugh and give great insights into his style of writing.
You cannot deny Alan Neal’s enthusiasm for Canadian music. Watching him watch musicians is to fall instantly in love with his pure, measured delight. At the Neal-hosted musical finale of the Writersfest, I watched a stream of smartphones make their way close to the stage, capturing not the star-studded stage, but Alan, watching, in their illuminated frames.
The All in a Day Songwriter’s circle has been part of the Ottawa Writersfest for four years now, its popularity quickly moving it into the festival finale position. Alan Neal, host of the popular drive home show “All in a Day,” brings quirky themes and a rich roster of Canadian musicians to each show. The loose structure provides a great set of music as well as the opportunity for conversation between artists that do not normally appear on stage together as well as with Neal.
This year, the theme was “Namedropper,” the recent album of cover songs written by Canadian artists and performed by Toronto singer Oh Susanna. Suzy Ungerleider (Oh Susanna’s real name). Ungerleider was inspired to do the album when she realized that the music she listened to was slowly orienting itself away from “dead musicians” to people she actually knew—and was friends with! Jim Bryson, the indie pride of Ottawa and producer on the album, came up with the idea of having each artist write new material for the album. This resulted in fourteen tracks of fabulous new songs by artists such as Joel Plaskett, Jim Cuddy, Ron Sexsmith, Whitehorse, Amelia Curran and more. Amelia Curran referred to the album as Wrestlemania, Canadian Indie edition. “It was honestly just a random thought I vocalized,” Bryson remembers, “and dang me if it didn’t work out great!”
The format for the evening featured a number of songs off the Namedropper album, followed by songs by each artist. Oh Susanna performed each one with the author of the song, although she performs them solo on the record. The camaraderie between the artists grew as more and more of Canada’s indie elite appeared on the stage. “This is my chance for Jim [Bryson] and I to stare into each other’s eyes and pretend we’re lovers,” joked Ungerleider before their performance of Royal Wood’s “Goodnight.” “It pisses off my husband [her drummer].” “Is Luke here?” someone asked, referring to the second half of the husband and wife band Whitehorse, as if Luke Doucet might have just been hanging out somewhere, maybe whipping up some pancakes in the kitchen, and should come join the fun. A nifty fedora was stuck out from back stage and waggled a hello at the audience. “Oh right, there he is!”
The insight into the performers was a rare opportunity for music lovers – or anyone who loves the creative process. The musicians, unused to performing the pieces together, watched each other closely, bobbing carefully in time, breaking into that iconic musician smile-and-nod when a particular section came together. They described how they reacted when they got the call from Ungerleider, revealing intimate details about their songwriting process and habits. “Who took the longest?” asked Neal with a gossipy glint. “I would never say …..that Jim Cuddy took forever,” Ungerleider shot back.
The Songwriters Circle concept is ideal for the Writers Festival because it is a concert with words. All of us word lovers, who instinctively memorize lyrics and bore our friends with our analysis – Alan is our ally. Neal knows these lyrics. He juggles them and tosses them at the artists right and left, noting that weather appears in the majority of the songs, that Amelia Curran specializes in evoking tactility, and that Jim Bryson’s song Oregon might have special meaning for former West Coaster Suzy. “Jim, what were you describing when you said ‘the city squirms and the city screams’? Suzy, what does it mean to you?” Bryson answered with his trademark depressed bedroom burr: “Well you know. Oregon is a town. With people and streets and weather. So yeah.” Ungerleider enthused: “I love Jim’s words so much. Because…. because I DON’T know what they mean!”
Neal had more luck probing some of the other artists as to their motivations and meanings. Ron Sexsmith in particular provided magnificently melancholy insight into his beautiful song “Waiting ‘til the Sun Comes Up.” “Sometimes, with the music industry like it is, I feel as if no one cares. Like I’m making antique chairs and peddling them around town: ‘won’t anybody buy my lovely chairs? I think all of us have times where we need to remind ourselves that we’ll feel better tomorrow.”
By the end of the night, everyone in Knox Presbyterian had a sense of chummy familiarity. In comparison to music, words are a laborious way to form a connection (although Neal’s expansive hosting does help). As one, the crowd grew appreciatively silent, laughed easily and leapt to their feet after the group finale. Even Neal’s new baby, huge headphones on, dancing with the help of his mom (musician Jill Zmud) loved it. And he didn’t understand a word.
The Program quote intrigued me—Ralph Waldo Emerson's advice is this: "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." The evening's introduction to the three acclaimed authors and the ensuing lively discussion among them will leave more than "a trail" in my and many other listeners' minds.
Sandra Ridley, Ottawa-based award winning poet, added her own personal touch to this session. She became very much part of the discussion. She was especially interested in exploring, with the authors, the secrets and puzzles they built into their stories. But first the introductions to the three authors and their books. All three are acclaimed, award-winning authors, currently living in Toronto.
The Search for Heinrich Schlögel by Martha Baillie is the story of a young man who has escaped the claustrophobia of small-town Germany by travelling to Canada, where he sets out on a long solo hike into the interior of Baffin Island. For some reason time begins to play tricks on him and he moves from some time in the 20th century, without realizing it himself, into the 21st. As a result Heinrich returns to the place of departure disoriented and confused. Gina Ochsner wrote that "The Search for Heinrich Schlögel is a hymn to brooding memory, the enduring need to inhabit story, and a haunting insistence upon endless possibilities within possibility. That is to say, hope.”
The Betrayers by David Bezmozgis, shortlisted for the 2014 Scotiabank Giller Prize, tells the story of one momentous day in the life of Baruch Kotler, a disgraced Israeli politician. When he refuses to back down from a contrarian but principled stand regarding the West Bank settlements, his political opponents expose his affair with a mistress decades his junior. He and the fierce young Leora flee the scandal for Yalta, where he comes face to face with the former friend who denounced him to the KGB almost forty years earlier. In a mere twenty-four hours, Kotler must face the ultimate reckoning, both with those who have betrayed him and with those whom he has betrayed.
Love Enough by poet, essayist and novelist Dionne Brand, draws us into the intersecting stories of characters caught in the middle of choices, apprehensions and fears. Each of the tales here opens a different window on the city they all live in, mostly in parallel, but occasionally, delicately, touching and crossing one another. Each story radiates other stories. In these pages, the urban landscape cannot be untangled from the emotional one; they mingle, shift and cleave to one another.
Sandra Ridley opened the discussion by reflecting on the common themes or elements in the novels despite the very different central characters and their circumstances: how did the authors move through the paths of puzzles and secrets? It seemed to Sandra that as she progressed through each novel she was discovering ever more secrets. What is the truth of someone's story? What traces do leave people behind?
Martha's story begins with a picture that motivates a researcher to find information about Heinrich, the central character. Martha is interested in the conflict between generations, but also the shifting landscapes over time. Another interest is Canadian history, especially in the North and the different perspectives on that history that we have lived with. Dionne is interested in exploring how paths of individuals cross and leave impressions. Often we don't realize when we cross them until afterwards. What is going on when paths cross? She described her writing here as operating on three planes: they can run in parallel or they can suddenly take a different turn and cross in surprising ways. David's novel centers on two men where one betrays the other. He started with writing the novel from one person's voice only, but while writing changed his mind. Betrayal becomes a central theme. As does the question of identity. Both characters have to ask themselves who they are. Both had to reassess themselves because of politics, painful changes as a result of how the country had changed. Martha explained her postcard project, the Schlögel Archive. Close to finalizing her novel, she had the sense that something was missing. So she embarked on a project writing parts of the novel onto hundreds of postcards, with old and new, but relevant images, and sent them to friends far and wide. What happened since is a fascinating story that you can read here.
Another theme engaged the authors and the host: what is the difference between being a witness to being a voyeur? Is it relevant in a historical context? Is being a witness important? In contrast to the other two novels, Dionne's central character is not interested in the past of the people she meets, nor is she revealing her own past. She lives (and loves) in the present and refuses to explain why.
How do authors transfer ideas to the page? For Dionne the story could go one way or the other. She loves the side stories, collecting bits and bringing them together. Martha adds that she often finds herself "stealing" bits of information or observation that she weaves into the story. David compares his writing to putting together fragments. He knew from the beginning where his story was going to end. But, like watching through Google maps, you can only get close to a certain point. Then there are barriers. His story's source is based in real people. His interest is the moral question. He is concerned about Israel as a country and its future.
The discussion left the audience at Knox Church in attentive silence. There is much more to say, much more to explore with the three novels. They may not all be as familiar to us as one or the other, but all three promise to be an intellectual and emotional feast.
At this year’s Ottawa Writers Festival’s Lament for a Nation featured a duo of prolific intellectuals in Dr. Anthony Stewart and David Austin on a Sunday evening tête-à-tête moderated by the magnetic presence of CBC Ottawa’s own Adrian Harewood.
It has become an outright expectation at functions attempting to discuss race that inflamatory emotions run high and sensationalist voices dominate. En revanche, the subject of identity politics can be merely treated in an "objective" fashion, akin to a cerebral exercise amongst an elite group. In short, my past experiences in these spaces lead me to forecast an indimidating, uninviting milieu mired in liberal-progressive speak.
Sunday evening happily proved me wrong.
Harewood as the poised, probing inquirer, created an ethos of comraderie with the standing room audience. This rapport lended a forumla of ease as Stewart, Austin and Harewood were gregarious in their interaction with each other, with the air of a reunion of old friends over a meal.
Both Stewart and Austin were promoting literary projects that complimented one another in stunning ways yet also offered distinct approaches on the subject of race and identity politics. For Stewart, the evening was an elated homecoming with Visitor: My Life in Canada, which payed homage and offered a stern critique to the city (and country) of his birth. Unfortunately for Stewart, the old adage "a prophet is not without honour, but in his own country" is apropos consideringVisitor is a prophetic polemic deconstructing Canada’s national image as a liberal and tolerant society.
In the style and tradition of Cecil Foster and Dany Laferrière before him, Stewart was not reserved in his reflection as a visible minority in the Northern Lights country and the unsuing dilemmas it brings to racialized groups. In addition, Visitor picks up where Stewart left off in his masterfully titled You must be a Basketball Player: Rethinking Integration in University. The most striking episode inVisitor, which Stewart made a point to emphasize in his lecture was outlining the motivation that led to his transition from Dalhousie University to Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Pennslyvania. Stewart testifies that his departure from a high profile adjuct position on the Faculty of English at the prestigious Halifax institution was a form of protest against the racial anathema he and many others continue to face in Canada regarldess of status, relative achievement and especially in light of thefaux-narrative Canadians uphold of a post-racial society. Though the audience was left to ponder Stewart’s contradictory decision for departing to a nearby nation still haunted by its own racial history, it was either an intended or unintentional marketing tactic which led many racing to purchase his book by event’s end.
Meanwhile, David Austin was invited to re-introduce the festival’s audience to his chef-d’oeuvre from 2013 titled Fear of a Black Nation. Austin offered the festival audience an expanded findings from his research while plunging into the germane topics du jour in the racial discourse; either from the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri to the chasm between President Barack Obama’s policies and the marginal impact it has on the lives African-Americans.
Austin recounted the period of the 1960s Montreal overarched by Quebec’s Quiet Revolution but also at the height of the potent Black Power movement around the world. Austin also explained the meaning of the black politic within a Canadian context, which was cultivated at the Congress of Black Writers in 1968 at McGill University which gathered illustrious Black thinkers and activists from across the world in C.L.R. James, Walter Rodney, Miriam Makeba, Stokely Carmichael, and Rocky Jones. Unbeknownst to many, Montreal had become the place for Afro-Canadian self-determination but unfortunately it led to severe concern from the state apparatus to which Austin suggests continues until this day.
In Lament for a Nation, both authors sought to communicate a the sense disenchatment and loss for an interreptation of Canadian history. A version of Canada which was once deemed as the mythicalCanaan for many escaped African-American slaves finding refuge north of the 49th parallel; but today from Afro-Canadians, South Asians, Aboriginals and many other minority groups, many are excluded from Canada’s social contract and often omited from Canada’s grand narrative.
And yet, Austin and Stewart would be quick to remind us that the arduous problem of race in Canada is not to be solved like a mathematical equation rather it is to be wrestled through with intellectual vigour and integrity because only there lies the hope that lingers when the lament recedes. One can only hope that conversations like these lead Canadians to aspire to become the mosaic our society founded to be.