31 December 2010

In Search of George Pepki, Poet




Yesterday's Globe and Mail featured a short work of fiction by Preston Manning. Titled "2018: The new health care", it's of a particular, peculiar, unnamed genre in which political types imagine a future where their greatest fantasy is realized.

I don't know... let's call it porn.

What Mr Manning does – what all who write these pieces do – is set up a row of carefully chosen dominos, each in itself a fantasy, which when set in motion culminate in the greatest fantasy of all.

Call it a climax.

Here Mr Manning imagines the election in Quebec of a "reform-minded government", the death of the Bloc Québécois, a Wikileak that exposes "media executives, editorialists, journalists and television personalities" as health care hypocrites and a "Nobel Prize-winner [sic]" who has Liberals and New Democrats eating crow. And the greatest fantasy of all? The abolition of medicare, of course:
The House, now enlightened by science and buoyed with Christmas cheer, unanimously approved a motion endorsing the "mixed systems" approach to health care and commending it to all provinces and territories. The motion specifically affirmed that such a system was completely compatible with the Canadian way, since, as all members had always known in their hearts, "mixed systems are the very essence of Canada’s national identity."
God bless us, every one!

As I say, one man's fantasy... but what interests me is the domino that Mr Manning calls "The Pepki Case":
George Pepki was a retired Alberta farmer who suffered from a kidney ailment and was referred by his family doctor to a specialist. While waiting for over four months to see the specialist, George's condition became critical and his family rushed him to the emergency ward of an Edmonton hospital. After waiting there for more than six hours and receiving no help, the family in desperation flew George to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Ariz., where he was diagnosed, treated and released within 72 hours. The family sought to recover the entire cost of the unauthorized trip and treatment from Alberta Health Services, which refused to pay. The Pepkis then took Alberta to court, the case eventually reaching the Supreme Court of Canada about the same time as Quebec was instituting its health-care reforms.
George Pepki is one of only two names featured in "2018: The new health care". The other, Nobel Prize winner Dr Lars Aalborg, is a figment of Mr Manning's imagination, but George Pepki is very much a real person. How do I know? Because Mr Manning has mentioned George Pepki before – from the floor of the House of Commons, no less. Here's Mr Manning on 2 October 1996 debating Bill C-45:
Thinking of the ineffectiveness of bureaucratic action in these areas, the inability of bureaucratic measures and institutions to protect people or to rehabilitate criminals, I am reminded of a poem by the Canadian poet George Pepki, inspired by the children's nursery rhyme "Humpty-Dumpty'':

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king's horses and all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
And what is the moral to this little rhyme?
A moral with meaning for men in our time?
The moral is this, and its lesson is true:
There are certain things that the state cannot do.
If all the King's horses and all the King's men
Cannot put an egg together again,
Is it not a false hope, an illusion, a sin,
To ask civil servants to reconstruct men?

Now, we don't hear much poetry recited in the House of Commons, so you'll understand why this particular poem and the proud Pepki name have stayed with me. But here's the thing: in the fourteen years since, I've not seen another poem by "Canadian poet George Pepki". Not only have there been no volumes of verse and nothing in our little magazines, no more than this morsel from Hansard has made its way onto the web.

When yesterday's Globe and Mail hit the stands I'd all but forgotten George Pepki, but he's now very much front of mind. Has the poet actually suffered a kidney ailment? Did his family fly him down to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona? Was he really diagnosed, treated and released within 72 hours? Is there a case now winding its way to the Supreme Court? Or is Mr Manning simply imagining a future in which these trials will be visited upon George Pepki?

I've written the former Reform leader about the poet George Pepki, but have yet to receive a response.

Update: On 4 January I received a very generous email from Preston Manning in answer to my queries. Mystery solved... for me, at least; Mr Manning has asked that I keep the contents confidential. It's my hope that one day he'll share the secret of George Pepki with the public at large.

26 December 2010

The 75-Year-Old Virgin and Others I Acquired



Published in 1935 by les Éditions du Quotidien, a first edition by one of the most important Canadian writers of the twentieth century. I bought Sébastien Pierre this year for ten dollars. A full 75 years after publication, its pages remained uncut. Three of the 23 illustrations featured are revealed here for the first time.

Such a sad commentary on the country's literature, and yet... and yet this same sorry situation enables souls like myself to amass a fairly nice collection of interesting and unusual Canadiana.

Case in point: Thomas P. Kelley's pseudonymous No Tears for Goldie (1950), which was purchased in February for a mere five dollars. No hits on Worldcat, absent from Abe, nothing at all at AddAll.

Rare, bizarre, but not really worth a read.







Of the obscurities reviewed here these past twelve months, the three I most recommend:


These are not great works of literature, but they are engaging and very interesting. Each depicts a dark, disturbing and gritty Canada found in very few novels of their time.

Financially speaking, my best buy was a very nice first edition (my second) of Tender is the Night (sans dust jacket), which I found just last month for $9.50 in a Montreal bookstore. The year's favourite purchase, however, is of negligible commercial value: a 1926 edition of Anatole France's Under the Rose. I came across this at a library sale, flipped through a few pages, and happened to spot the name Peregrine Acland, a subject of ongoing research, stamped ever so discretely in the front free endpaper.



What luck!

Still no luck, I'm afraid, in tracking down Sexpo '69, that elusive novel of lesbian erotica set at Expo 67. Will I never find a copy?


Of course, I will.

A Happy New Year to all!

22 December 2010

Hard Copy




Mention here is a bit late, but not so much that one can't pick up a copy as a last minute stocking stuffer. The new issue of Canadian Notes and Queries features the debut of The Dusty Bookcase on paper. Subject? Nothing less than John Glassco's most intricate piece of hoaxery: The Temple of Pederasty. Banned in Canada, pulped in the United States, its history is one involving deception, forgery, plagiarism, smuggling and a cold government bureaucrat.



I'll say no more except to point out that the very same issue features a very fine piece by Zachariah Wells' on The Mulgrave Road, Harry Bruce's 1951 collection of verse.



Neglected, not suppressed.

20 December 2010

Reclaiming Mark Strand



The Planet of Lost Things
Mark Strand (William Pène Du Bois, illus.)
New York: Potter, 1982

We're a funny lot, forever going on about Jack Kerouac's French Canadian parents, clutching Dollarton squatter Malcolm Lowry to our collective bosom, while ignoring writers who were actually born in this country. I refer here not to Wyndham Lewis, brought into this world on his father's yacht off the coast of Amherst, Nova Scotia, but to those like Saul Bellow who began their lives on Canada's fertile soil.

Yes, let's look at Bellow, a man who was born and lived the first nine years of his life on the Island of Montreal. His name is not found in The Canadian Encyclopedia, The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature or Encyclopedia of Canadian Literature. Is this Nobel Prize recipient not worthy of even a passing reference?

And what of Mark Strand? Look up his birthplace, Summerside, Prince Edward Island, on Wikipedia (that most unreliable of reference tools) and what do you find? Seven NHL players, a few singer-songwriters and an Olympic bobsleigh gold medalist. Pretty impressive for a town of just 14,000 souls. Strand was born and spent his first four years in Summerside, but we ignore that fact, just as we choose not to recognize his Pulitzer Prize or the term he spent as United States Poet Laureate... or this very fine little book. It can be found in nearly three hundred public libraries across the United States, but in Canada we must make do with one lonely copy held in the Toronto Public Library.


There's no poetry in The Planet of Lost Things... by which I mean there's no verse. A children's storybook, this is one of the oddities in Strand's bibliography. It tells the story of a young boy, Luke, who dreams of traveling the solar system in a rocket ship. When he comes across an unknown, planet, the young astronaut decides to investigate. What he finds is a building filled with lost mail, forgotten umbrellas hanging from barren trees and a park populated by lost cats and dogs.


The celestial body's only human inhabitants are the Unknown Soldier and the Missing Person, found by Luke next to a cluster of lost balloons. Together the three wander a melancholy world, breathing an atmosphere that consists largely of air that has escaped from leaking tires.

It all makes for a fun little bedtime story. The challenge for Canadian parents, of course, comes in finding a copy.

Object and Access: A sturdy hardcover with a flimsy dust jacket, the only decent volume currently listed online is being offered at US$60.

15 December 2010

A Gentleman of Pleasure



Just announced by McGill-Queen's University Press:

A Gentleman of Pleasure: One Life of John Glassco, Poet,
Memoirist, Translator, and Pornographer

Brian Busby

April 2011

The first biography of Canada's most enigmatic literary figure, a self-described "great practitioner of deceit."

John Glassco (1909-1981) holds a unique position in Canadian letters and a somewhat notorious reputation throughout the world. He is best known for his Memoirs of Montparnasse, the controversial chronicle of his youthful adventures and encounters with celebrities in the Paris of James Joyce, Gertrude Stein, and Ernest Hemingway. Less known are his poetry, his instrumental role in the foundation of modern translation, and his numerous - and widely popular - works of pornography.

A Gentleman of Pleasure not only spans Glassco's life but delves into his background as a member of a once prominent and powerful Montreal family. In addition to Glassco's readily available work, Brian Busby draws on pseudonymous writings published as a McGill student as well as unpublished and previously unknown poems, letters, and journal entries to detail a vibrant life while pulling back the curtain on Glassco's sexuality and unconventional tastes.

In a lively account of a man given to deception, who took delight in hoaxes, Busby manages to substantiate many of the often unreliable statements Glassco made about his life and work. A Gentleman of Pleasure is a remarkable biography that captures the knowable truth about a fascinatingly complex and secretive man.


More, including pre-ordering information, can be found here.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the cover is by the talented David Drummond.

11 December 2010

And These Were Her Magnificent Breasts



This was Joanna
Niel [sic] H. Perrin [pseud. Danny Halperin]
Toronto: News Stand Library, 1949

Of all the novels read this past year, not one has left so great an impression as Neil H. Perrin's The Door Between. In the second of two posts about the book, I described it as "one of the most peculiar Canadian novels I've ever read". Here I reconsider: The Door Between might well be the most peculiar Canadian novel I've ever read. It's portrayal of 1948 Toronto as a dark, sexual sin city, populated by stricken, agonizing souls certainly runs counter to the staid and sober images that linger in popular culture.

These same sorry sods would find fit in This was Joanna, which was published twelve months earlier. We never actually meet Joanna – she's found dead on page one by an unnamed fisherman, as depicted on the cover of the publisher's American edition: "...for one witless moment he looked down on the haunting perfection that was Joanna, the closed eyes in a kind of rapture, the long, strained throat, twisted torso, magnificent breasts, profound hips, proud legs, crouched in death like a supple cat."

Profound hips...

This is not the dead woman's story, rather it concerns an ex-lover, a nameless newspaperman who attempts to solve the mystery that was Joanna. His quest brings him into contact with her other past paramours. As with The Door Between, sexual disfunction and perversity pervade. We see this on Joanna's wedding night, as described by her husband Charles:
At last she stood nude before me. When I looked at her I was shocked to see the most brazen smile on her face.
Then, without hesitation, her fingers sure, carefully, slowly, she began to undress me. I went slightly hysterical then. I began to shudder to laugh, to giggle, to squirm. I simply went berserk. In the grip of nameless emotions that shook my whole body and dazed my mind I began to fight with her, to hit her, to drag her toward the bed.
What Joanna thought of this I don't know. We have never discussed it. I only know that later, all passion spent, as I lay beside her in the muttering gloom, I realized that on our wedding night I had gone mad, had beaten my wife and had virtually raped her.
Joanna never forgives Charles, whose desperate attempts to win her back render him a cuckold. The tryst with the newspaperman is just the first in a series of extramarital flings. It's with penultimate lover Ted Wrisley that Joanna's amorous adventures come to a climax. A sensualist who owes much to J.-K. Huysmans' Jean Des Esseintes, Wrisley introduces Joanna to "the arts of which immortal Ovid and the Marquis de Sade have written." He takes delight in showing his "chamber of horrors" to the newspaperman:
On the walls of the room were hung all sorts of gadgets of torture; long needles, small, hairy whips, knouts, knives sharp as razors, silken threads of unbelievable length. Over the mantlepiece were afixed two large peacock feathers; the end of one was a rubber stopper, the end of the other a handgrip. I dared not ask the significance of these feathers for fear of being told.
Suspended from the ceiling were two long cords, obviously used to hold a person up from the floor by his (or her) thumbs. On the floor, as if alive, lay the stuffed corpse of a sinuous cobra. The most unspeakably evil paintings adorned the walls and, in one corner of the room under a blue light, sat the grinning statue of Priapus, the phallic symbol of the ages.
This was Joanna was banned in Ireland.

Wrisley's playroom – which, incidentally, is soundproof – stands as Priapus in what is otherwise a remarkably flat environment. Like an American soap opera, This was Joanna is set in a neutral everyplace that is populated by the pampered and privileged. How bland compared to the torrid Toronto of The Door Between! I can't help but compare – had it not been for one I would not have read the other – and yet... and yet I still recommend the novel. This was Joanna might not be the most peculiar Canadian novel I've ever read, but it's up there.

Trivia: News Stand Library's American edition of This was Joanna, published in November 1949, two months after the Canadian, marks the last time the book saw print. Why Halperin's pseudonym was changed from Neil H. Perrin to Grant R. Brooks remains a mystery.

Object: A mass market paperback that is typical of News Stand Library's shoddy production values. Streaks of black ink run along the edges of a dozen or so pages, making for challenging reading. The author's name is misspelled on the cover and title page (but is correct on the spine and back cover). "I before E, except after C", I suppose.


Access: Only the University of Calgary has copies (both the Perrin and Brooks editions). This was Joanna might be all but absent from libraries, but that doesn't mean it's expensive. Ten copies – all fairly decent – are currently listed online at between US$7.50 and US$30. One bookseller describes his offering as "a bit misscut [sic]". Par for the course, really.

07 December 2010

Many Happy Returns



The Ottawa Citizen, 3 December 1960

McClelland and Stewart's Christmas offerings from half-a-century ago. Only This Side Jordan is in print today. Pity that, Robertson Davies' A Voice from the Attic is a particularly good match for a snowy winter's day. "A witty, robust and wonderfully opinionated book on the joys of reading and the author's own offbeat likes and dislikes." There is truth in advertising.

Which of this fall's McClelland and Stewart titles will be in print in 2060, I wonder. I'm betting against Ezra Levant's Ethical Oil (and even 2009's Shakedown, which I was once told "belongs in the category of Uncle Tom's Cabin".)

My recommendations for this season's gift-giving favours presses that are hard at work mining the neglected riches of our past.

First up, Véhicule, which this fall launched its Ricochet Books series of pulp fiction reprints. (Full disclosure: I'm consulting editor for the series.)

The Crime on Cote des Neiges
David Montrose
The series debut, returning Montrose (Charles Ross Graham) to print after after an absence of more than four decades. Originally published in 1951, this edition includes a foreword by yours truly.

Two blondes, one brunette, a roadster and a whole lotta Dow. It doesn't get much better.


Murder Over Dorval
David Montrose
Foreword by Michael Blair
"In one hand she held a plane ticket to Montreal, in the other a wad of greenbacks. She was a gorgeous looking redhead. For the sake of her lovely green eyes, Russell Teed took the plane and the money. But it wasn't long before h realized that whatever she had offered, it wasn't worth it."


Recognition of Dundurn's Voyageur Classics series is long overdue. For four years now it's been "bringing forward time-tested writing about the Canadian experience in all its varieties." This year's titles:

Hugh Garner
Introduction by Paul Stuewe








Scott Symons
Introduction by Christopher Elson







Wyndham Lewis
Introduction by Allan Pero








Grey Owl
Edited and introduced by Michael Gnarowski








Note the handy links to the publishers' websites. Of course, all are also available from booksellers, whether online or not, but I'm not playing favourites.

Related post: Books are Best

04 December 2010

The Healing Hands of Rocke and Locke



A final follow-up, of sorts, to Monday's post (and Wednesday's)...

At the beginning of this century I wrote a book about characters in Canadian literature that were inspired by real people. The subject can be a sensitive one. Understandably so. Hurt feelings and withdrawn dinner invitations are just the beginning.

In the foreword to The Canada Doctor, Clay Perry and John L.E. Pell show caution: "characters are fictional but in them will be found a composite of the hundreds of thousands who have not only sought soundness of body but have fought for faith and so have learned, as the great healer says in the story, that..." Well, you get the idea.

The novel's dust jacket is much more forthcoming. We learn, for example, that Perry "found in the northlands of Ontario a character in whom there was more romance than any he ever created, and, in collaboration with John L.E. Pell, re-created in 'Dr. Rocke of Johnsburg' a fictional counterpart of this man whose real name is on many lips."

This romantic figure of whom so many speak is Dr M.W. Locke of Williamsburg, Ontario. He's forgotten today, but in his time Locke was both very famous and very controversial. A medical man, a miracle man or a charlatan, the country doctor was celebrated the world over as one who could cure arthritis, rheumatism and related ailments by simply manipulating a patient's foot. Locke was visited by people from every continent, save Antarctica – one writer claimed he treated as many as 2500 souls a day. An exaggeration to be sure – no one was really keeping count – but there's no doubt that the number was very high.


Like the fictitious Dr Rocke, Dr Locke would sit on a screw-chair, surrounded by a circle of sufferers, moving from one foot to the next. Once and future prime minister Mackenzie King was treated in this manner, as was the novelist Rex Beach. The latter wrote an enthusiastic piece for Cosmopolitan, describing a treatment that lasted no more than twenty seconds.

Locke lived a modest life – his death in 1942 came while cranking up his old Ford – yet he made a great deal of money. These earnings came not only from his practice, but through sales of the shoes that bore his name.

The Leader-Post, 10 July 1933

Of his own design, Lockwedge Shoes were sold exclusively through Simpson's in Halifax, Montreal, Hamilton and Regina. George H. Wilkinson sold them in Windsor. Americans had this handy advert that appeared on the back of The Canada Doctor. Clear evidence, I think, that after publication authors Perry and Pell remained welcome at Dr Locke's table.


My thanks to William Weintraub who brought The Canada Doctor to my attention and generously donated his copy to the Dusty Bookcase.

Related posts:

01 December 2010

The Canada Doctor: Second Visit



Continuing from Monday's post...

"A NOVEL OF TO-DAY" proclaims the title page, "A Romantic Novel" counters the dust jacket. A knee-jerk reaction favours the latter. Flip to the final pages and you'll find Milt Feidlestein falling for Rebecca Rubinoff as Hector Farrington's chauffeur and house-maid stroll hand in hand through an idyllic rural setting. Their employer follows with Millie Waters, "walking slowly beneath the arched torrent of petals which fluttered down at a breath of wind or a touch against branches or twigs."

It's no wonder that the closing scene belongs to
Millie
this is her love story. An "exquisite young woman, fair of skin and hair, blue of eyes, budding like a flower, an uncanonized angel in disposition," from the beginning she arouses passion in very nearly every unattached male she encounters. Milt, for one, moons over her from across the floor of Fiedelstein's Flower Shop. He's "worshipfully in love with this pretty goy girl", but cannot act. You see, t
hough Milt works hard to transform himself into an "All-American", he cannot imagine this "earthly angel condescending to the low level of the 'kike kid'". So, it's h
is father, Isaac, who makes the first move by wrapping an arm Millie's waist, holding her tight with his "claw-like" hand: "Nu, nu, you shouldn't be foolish about old Isaac, my dear! It is no goot trying to... Dese leetle gold-diggers, dey vant to remember who is de real sugar-papa. Not any of my moneys vill you get for noddinks, remember."

Millie rejects the old man, as we knew she would, though her words come as a surprise: "I don't vant your money
or Milton's either, if that's what you think. I hate you! I hate you both, you cheap kike!"

Undaunted, Isaac continues his pursuit: "You say you don't vant Milt? You hate him? Vell, you don't hate his moneys. You couldn't haff him, anyvay. I guess so you don't vant him! You vant him bad enough. You goy girls is all alike, you. It vill giff anyt'ink for moneys. Yah, efen to such old fellers as me. Vy not? Get friendly vit de pocket-book. It is a sugar-papa dat you vant. I am it for you, eh?"

You'd think this sort of exchange between employer and employee would lead to termination. Maybe – but just moments later Crinkles runs into traffic, Joan is struck by the limo, and Milt has his unfortunate facial encounter with the back end of a truck.

You gotta wonder what Milt hits. A handle? A taillight? Whatever it is, the thing alters his appearance, leaving a wound that makes him look "entirely the Jew". When Millie visits his hospital room, she finds it hard to hide her revulsion. Milt understands: "Oh, I know I look the kike I am, just now... I've seen myself in a mirror. You now see Milton Feidlestein as he really is – and as he will be, when he is old. A Jew, a cheap kike..."

So much self-loathing, and yet Milt is such a good guy. He not only covers Joan's stay in the hospital, but brings her ailing mother to see saintly Dr Rocke. "Begorry, 'tis a big-hearted kike," remarks cabby Red Hogan. "There's a lad with a soul, even though he is a Jew", observes his sister-in-law Hattie.

Authors Perry and Pell torture the character, but there's purpose behind the pain, a message that is none too subtle: stick with your own kind. Just look to the example set by the Hogans, Irish immigrants whose marriage, the only one depicted in the novel, is so happy. (Though Bridget does sometimes worry about her mate's weight: "That man of mine is like to get hungry any toime. I've knowed him to eat two breakfasts and three lunches and a dinner in wan day, fergitful loike, such an appetite he has.")

So it is that in the end long-suffering Milt comes to realize that he belongs with a Jewess who had "always thought him wonderful", the loyal chauffeur shows that he knows his place by hooking up with fellow servant Hattie, and Farrington declares his love for Millie... after learning that she comes from a wealthy family that went into decline after her heroic father was wounded in the Great War.

All three couples move toward matrimony, but not before encountering the novel's last sentence: "It is love."

So, yes, "A Novel of Romance"... but in 1933, the year in which Adolf Hitler came to power, The Canada Doctor was also very much "A NOVEL OF TO-DAY".

Related posts:

29 November 2010

The Canada Doctor: First Visit



The Canada Doctor
Clay Perry and John L.E. Pell
Boston: Hale, Cushman & Flint/[Toronto]: Thomas Allen, 1933 [?]

This is not a Canadian book, but a book about a Canadian. Or is it? The Canada Doctor is such an odd beast: a 361-page advertisement in the form of a novel that is infused with the stink of anti-Semitism.

Its authors were American. Perry and Pell penned one other book, Hell's Acres (1921), "a historical novel of the wild East in the '50s", but appear to have made more money when working apart. Of the two Pell was probably the more prosperous. In 1922, he wrote the silent film Down to the Sea in Ships, and two years later provided the "historical arrangement" to D.W. Griffith's America. The latter was a sweeping epic centred on the Revolutionary War, the former was a crummy flick that starred the stunning Clara Bow. I choose the former.

The Canada Doctor may be long, but it tells a very simple story. We open on a New York flower shop, Feidlestein's, where young Millie Waters pricks her lily white hands preparing wreaths for the bereaved. Little sister Joan spends her days at Millie's feet until her dog Crinkles dashes out the door after the shop's cat. Joan follows and is struck by a limousine. She's swept up by young Milt Feidlestein, who does damage to his face by running into the back of a truck. It's all a bit comical, but we're not meant to laugh; this is serious stuff. Joan ends up unconscious in a Manhattan hospital, while her bumbling rescuer contemplates plastic surgery.

Nearly everyone in The Canada Doctor is dealing with a health issue of some sort. The widowed Mrs Waters, mother of Millie and Joan, is bedridden with inflammatory rheumatism; their landlady, Bridget Hogan, is a fellow sufferer; neighbour Mrs Rubinoff is slowly being crippled by ill-fitting footwear; and rich guy Hector Farrington, whose limo clipped Joan, struggles with advanced arthritis and the lingering effects of a femme fatale.

The answer to all their problems just might be found in Dr Rocke, the Canada Doctor. First mentioned on page 49, he immediately becomes the subject of considerable debate. Is Rocke a miracle man, as Bridget Hogan contends, or "a toe-twister who plays upon the imaginations of women and weak-minded persons", as Farrington claims? How is the reader to know? Roche remains up in Canada – off-camera, as D.W. would say – practicing medicine in a small Ontario town not far from Cornwall. After a great deal of hemming and hawing and hand-wringing Mrs Waters, Joan, Millie, Milt, Mrs Rubinoff and her daughter Becky make their way north to see for themselves. Milt's physician, Dr Rettstein, also comes along. Oh, and let's not forget Hector Farrington, his chauffeur and his housemaid.

It's not until page 310 that we get so much as a fleeting glimpse of the title character. The Canada Doctor returns six pages later in a scene that seems designed to settle debate as to his talent. Rocke sits on a screw chair surrounded by the afflicted, moving from one to the next:
He held a stockinged foot in his hands. He rested it on one of his bent knees and with both hands made a quick movement, bending the foot. Then he released it and reached for another. His hands passed from black sock to flesh colored stocking; from cotton to silk. The flexing operation was repeated.
His movements were like those of some elaborate and precise machine, a machine which worked on gears, revolving and selecting in synchronized adjustment.
Rocke's healing hands have a particularly dramatic effect on Farrington. Resting his swollen right foot on the doctor's knee, the skeptical millionaire experiences a shock:
Involuntarily he jerked back, but the pain was momentary. It was gone. It was followed by a creeping feeling of warmth, as if blood flowed again in a chilled and atrophied member.
And so, as blood appears to begin flowing again in his member, Farrington realizes his love for Millie. Is it necessary to report that this is the climax of the novel? The millionaire and the flower girl are soon in each other's arms. Here's the passage, presented exactly as it appears in the book:
He circled her waist and drew her up to him. She became breathless... as he bent his head and kissed her soft lips... and her tears became rainbows in the sun... and the petals and apple blossoms fell upon his head and shoulders... and he did not brush them off... for her lips were like petals and the sweet scent of these flowers of Canada which have perfume was as incense to his soul...
Hard to read... and I haven't even got to the anti-Semitic stuff.


Trivia: Perry and Pell stumble when it comes to Canadian geography or should that be Canada geography? in having Hector Farrington cross the border from Vermont into Ontario. The authors tell us that from there he will be heading through Lachine and "Ste. Anne de Belleville" (Ste-Anne-de-Bellevue).

Object: Typical of the time and of publisher Hale, Cushman & Flint, the book's dust jacket is curious in that it bears the name of Toronto publisher Thomas Allen.

Access: An uncommon, though inexpensive book. Three copies are currently listed online – US$9.00 to US$10.99 – none of which have a dust jacket. Four universities in Canada have copies; eight more have it south of the border. Not found in any public library.

Related posts:

26 November 2010

James at 100 (Jasper at 62)



As a kid, Jasper was everywhere – the daily newspaper, Maclean's, postcards, T-shirts, buttons and ball caps – but now he's seen nowhere outside the national park that gave him his name. Out of sight, out of mind, I hadn't thought of the bear in years until stumbling over the fact that today marks the centenary of Jasper creator James Simpkins' birth.

A commercial artist, Winnipeg born and bred, Simpkins' talent extended much farther than Jasper. Here's one example, a 1956 postage stamp:


And then there were other cartoons, like Simpkins' Montreal:

The Gazette, 29 August 1962

But the bear was pervasive; a friend's parents had Jasper salt and pepper shakers, he had a copy of McClelland and Stewart's 1972 Jasper. Was it the same as Ryerson's similarly titled 1954 collection or the one published by Rinehart six years later? I have no idea. Jasper books are so very hard to come by these days, all the more reason why a revival – very much overdue – would be welcome. Drawn and Quarterly? Seth?

22 November 2010

A Neglected Author's Forgotten Novel



Gambling with Fire
David Montrose [pseud., Charles Ross Graham]
Don Mills, ON: Longmans Canada, [1969]

Until this year, I had no idea that Gambling with Fire existed; most Montrose bibliographies – few and far between – don't recognize the title. Easy to see how it's missed. Where the author's other novels – The Crime on Cote des Neiges, Murder Over Dorval and The Body on Mount Royal – were cheap paperback originals from the early 'fifties, this hardcover landed in shops at about the same time as Abbey Road. I wonder if anyone was waiting. I wonder whether anyone noticed.

I've seen nothing more than a very brief Saturday Night review, and no adverts. There must be something else out there – in Quill & Quire, perhaps – but it appears that Montrose's fourth and last novel just drifted by, meeting the same fate as his pulps: a single printing. It could not have helped sales that the author died while it was in press.

Let's assume for a second that there was a Montrose fan out there, someone who had waited those fifteen years for the next novel. I imagine there would have been some initial disappointment. Gone is private detective Russell Teed, the good-natured, mildly quirky hero of the first three novels. In his place we have impoverished Austrian aristocrat Franz Loebek, a displaced person in a post-war world. Loebek is so very staid, less likable, and less of a character, though he does share Teed's appreciation of interior decoration and a love for what was then Canada's largest city:
Here was this great city of Montreal, old and seeming as educated in vice as European cities; berthed in her docks, ships of the world. Bars like London, churches like Paris, narrow streets that could be Marseilles, neon streets that could be New York.
Yes, this was Montreal – in many ways it still is – but the metropolis one encounters in Gambling with Fire pre-dates the novel's publication. Montrose presents us with a city that is "one-third English. Of which part, perhaps one-thousandth are the controllers of the industry, the business, the financial houses, the banks." This is a Montreal untouched by Jean Drapeau, the Quiet Revolution, the FLQ and Expo 67. In keeping with previous Montrose novels, this is very much an English metropolis. That said, though the French speaking characters are few in Gambling with Fire, they have a much greater presence. There's Nicole Porter-Smythe (née Desmarais), Loebeck's great love; Julius Trebonne, Loebeck's loyal cabby ; and Rosaire Beaumage, Loebeck's mortal enemy.

It is Beaumage's murder of Loebek's old friend Morris Winter that sets all in motion. I won't go on for fear of spoiling the plot. Gambling with Fire is worth a read. In fact, approaching the end, I was prepared to describe this as the best-written of the four Montrose novels. What prevented me is the final chapter which seems a grasping, hurried attempt at tying up loose ends and providing redemptive, happy endings for each and every character. I have no reservation in declaring these twelve pages the weakest the author ever published. A sad conclusion to a wonderful oeuvre... but, oh, the aftertaste!

Dedication: "To my most compassionate friend, LEV CHIPMAN". Stepping onto a limb, I suggest that the dedicatee is a descendant of Leverett de Veber Chipman of the Nova Scotia Chipmans.

Access: Toronto's public library comes through, though all others fail. Gambling with Fire can also be found in eight of our university libraries, but not any located in Montreal. For shame. Regular readers will not be surprised to learn that Library and Archives Canada doesn't have so much as a listing. Only two copies are currently on offer from online booksellers – at US$15 and US$18.75. As an old prof used to say, "run, don't walk".

Related post:

21 November 2010

A.J.M. Smith Memorial Plaque



It was thirty years ago today that A.J.M. Smith died. This coming Saturday afternoon will see the unveiling of a memorial plaque to the poet at the chapel of Montreal's St James the Apostle Anglican Church. All are welcome!

St James the Apostle Anglican Church
1439 St Catherine Street West
Montreal, Quebec

(entrance Bishop Street)

5:00 pm, Saturday, 27 November 2010

17 November 2010

'Snainef spelled backwards is Fenians'



The Passionate Invaders
John Clare
New York: Doubleday, 1965

Had it not been for the nineteenth-century English poet John Clare, I doubt that I would've noticed this novel, found several weeks ago in a London thrift store. The Canadian John Clare meant nothing to me, though he did once serve as editor for a number of Toronto-based periodicals. Here he is in a 1948 advert for Maclean's:

The Ottawa Citizen, 18 February 1948

Just how well Clare practiced his precepts in the short story format I cannot say – there is no collection – but this, his first and only novel, is a great disappointment. Here I admit that I was hoping for another forgotten, entertaining satire like The Chartered Libertine by Ralph Allen (top row, first from the left). Instead, what I encountered was a slight, self-indulgent work. Oh, but the cover held such promise!

All centres on Magnus Dillon, a wise-cracking Toronto magazine editor who is assigned to track down "The Snainef", a group of Canadian terrorists intent on invading the United States. Truth be told, he barely tries. Despite great pressure from his boss, Dillon spends most of his time drinking and thinking about the past.

There's no suspense in this "SATIRIC, RICHLY COMIC SUSPENSE NOVEL"; the author doesn't want us on the edge of our seats, he'd rather we sit back as he recounts the boyish pranks Dillon pulled during his stint in the RCAF. (Clare served as a flight lieutenant during the Second World War.) There's also a lengthy history of our hero's favourite watering hole, an inconsequential four-page letter from a friend, and Dillon's rather dry attempts to explain Canada and Canadians to any and all Americans he encounters. The greater part of The Passionate Invaders passes before protagonist and reader so much as encounter the Snainef.


Throughout it all, the prose coughs, sputters and chokes. Witness the beginning of chapter two:
Gus had driven half the distance from his office to the Carfleet house (he was going to meet his wife at the party – she was diving out with a friend), when it occurred to him that Charlie Carfleet might well be a likely suspect after all.
The author told Scott Young (top row, second from the right) that Doubleday accepted his novel "on sight". Clare further claimed that the publisher asked for no changes: "They didn't lay a glove on it."

Shame, really.

An aside: I can't help but feel that the folks down in New York were hoping for a success along the lines of Leonard Wibberley's The Mouse that Roared and its many spinoffs.


Trivia: The Passionate Invaders cover art is by the late Eldon Dedini, best remembered for his New Yorker and Playboy cartoons.


Object and Access: Found in public libraries across the United States, though only that belonging to the City of Toronto serves north of the border. Rob Ford might just put an end to that. Those looking to purchase this, the first and only edition, will find that Very Good copies start at US$8. Two booksellers from an alternate universe are asking US$75 and US$99 respectively.