I'm honoured to have been invited to interview author Jim Dooley at the Canadian launch of Red Set: A History of Gang of Four, published by Repeater Books.
Jim's an old friend.
The band is an old favourite.
Because I'm old, I was around to take some of the photos in the book.
Longtime readers may remember me writing here of teenage adventures smuggling cameras into concerts. Sadly, in middle age, those acts still rank amongst my most daring. What I failed to mention is that the resulting photos ended up in the pages of Bandersnsnatch, the student newspaper of John Abbott College, for which I served as entertainment editor. We were offered press screenings to Hollywood films and had tickets waiting at the Centaur Theatre box office, but music dominated our coverage. Anyone distributed by Polygram had a
A Durutti Column column
leg up because the company sent us records. The Durutti Column received more notice in Bandersnatch than all the Southam and Thompson papers combined.
Lest anyone think we teens could be bought with freebees, two non-Polygram acts, David Bowie and Gang of Four, received by far the most column inches. I penned the paper's reviews of Scary Monsters, "Up the Hill Backwards," Baal, "Under Pressure," and "Cat People," as well as reissues of his own teenage work with the Mannish Boys, the King Bees, and the Lower Third.
Gang of Four didn't have nearly so long a history. Bandersnatch was there from the beginning, praising Entertainment! and the Gang of Four EP. I wrote those reviews, and saw the band's 4 July 1981 concert at Montreal's Beer Gardens. The photos I took at that show – with smuggled camera – decorated further reviews of Solid Gold, Another Day/Another Dollar, and everything else I wrote about Gang of Four.
Going over old issues of Bandersnatch – even then, I knew to save them – I see those same photos have taken on a sepia tone. They're cleaner in Red Set: A History of Gang of Four, a new book by my friend Jim Dooley.
I first met Jim the year after those heady days at Bandersnatch came to an end. Back then, I doubt either of us would've dreamt – or even dared dream – that he'd one day write the authoritative history of this band we both loved so much. I can say with certainty that I never thought the photos I took all those years ago at the Beer Garden would feature in that same book.
I'm honoured. Jim is one of the most astute critics and music historians I've ever read.
Today marks the UK release of Red Set, published by London's Repeater Books. On June 19, the book will be available in Canada and the United States. Well worth the wait.
Grandma's Little Darling Stephen R. George New York: Zebra, 1990 320 pages
Horror hasn't much figured here, yet the genre dominated my adolescent reading. James Herbert was my favourite author; there was something in the rhythm to his work – one chapter focusing on horror, the next on sex, then back to horror, then sex – that appealed. One particular passage from his second novel, The Fog, was read over and over. I would blush in revealing which one.
Other novelists of those awkward teenage years included Max Ehrlich (The Reincarnation of Peter Proud), Frank De Felitta (Audrey Rose), Stephen King (Carrie), Colin Wilson (The Space Vampires), Christopher Isherwood (Frankenstein: The True Story), Peter Benchley (Jaws), Richard Woodley (It's Alive), Arthur Herzog (The Swarm), Jeffrey Konvitz (The Sentinel), John Farris (The Fury), John Russo (Night of the Living Dead), David Seltzer (The Omen), and Joseph Howard (Damien: Omen II). I'm tempted to include The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson... but, you know, it's a true story.
The only Canadian horror novel I read, Satan's Bell, was written by Joy Carroll, a woman better known as the co-author of a pink-coloured book of etiquette entitled Mind Your Manners. It was published in 1954 by Harlequin.
We Canadians were slow to capitalize on the horror paperback craze. The first to make repeated stabs was Michael Slade with Headhunter and Ghoul, but these were published in the mid-eighties, by which the market had begun to wane and my interest had vanished. The decade was almost over when Stephen R. George, appeared on the scene. His debut novel, Brain Child, was published in 1989, as were his second (Beasts) and third (Dark Miracle). The following year saw Dark Reunion and Grandma's Little Darling, a novel I bought for its cover illustration. A riff on Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 (Whister's Mother), it had me thinking that the novel might be set in nineteenth-century New England or Victorian London.
I was wrong.
Grandma's Little Darling begins twenty-three centuries ago in the Egyptian boudoir of Lamena, trophy wife of wealthy merchant Fasim Konar. Once "the most beautiful woman in Sandakla," she's been overtaken by her daughter Maline. Such is the girl's beauty that it has attracted the eyes of Riamon, a prince from neighbouring Zhima. Lamena cannot deny the signs of aging reflected in her polished silver looking glass.
Deepening lines calling for desperate measures, she visits the wizard Yashim. "I want to become young again," says she. "I want the life my daughter is about to have."
On the condition that he be granted access to Prince Riamon's court – "I long for the company of men." – Yashid casts a spell that will make it so mother and daughter switch bodies. On what would have been her wedding day, Maline awakens in horror to find herself in her mother's body, being caressed by her father.
Prince Riamon is pleased because his new wife, though clearly a virgin, exhibits "expertise in the bedchamber." True, every once in awhile he wonders about his young wife's mature ways... but, you know, "expertise in the bedchamber." Besides, the prince is exhausted.
Lamena’s downfall comes when she betrays Yashim. Concerned that the wizard will blab, she has him banished from the court. As might be predicted, this causes Yashim to do the very thing she sought to prevent. The wizard tells Riamon that his bride’s body is occupied by his mother-in-law, adding that Lamena is now able to leap from body to body.
The two search the palace, ending up in the common room of all the prince’s wives. There they find Maline – or the body of Maline – foaming at the mouth. Lamena has moved on!
“Wizard, you have brought evil to this place, and you shall pay for it,” says the prince. To be safe, he has his other wives taken to the courtyard, where they are soaked in pitch and set alight. Having fled to the body of a newborn girl, Lamena hears their screams.
This is all part of a prologue lasting less than six pages. It’s a lot to take in, though readers are afforded more than enough chance to catch their breaths in the sluggish pages that follow.
The first chapter skips to fin du millénaire – the last one – and the Minneapolis Children’s Home, where we’re introduced to twelve-year-old Nora Harris, the girl depicted on the cover in Ruth Bader Ginsburg garb. Four years earlier, her parents and only sibling were killed. She’s had a rough go of it ever since. Social worker Cheryl Gibson has been doing her best to place the girl with couples interested in adoption, but nothing has quite worked out. Nora is about to begin her seventh placement in suburban Minneapolis. She’s told this is her last chance, so the pressure is on. Prospective parents the Johnsons are okay, and their son, Buddy, proves a pal, but Grandma – everyone calls her Grandma – looks to be a challenge.
Recently widowed, Grandma has suffered a stroke or something that has left her not quite right. What really happened is that Lamena has taken over her body… and now has her sights set on Nora!
"BE AFRAID, NORA… BE VERY AFRAID!"
Because I no longer read horror novels, and don’t remember much of those tackled in my teens, my criticisms may be unfair:
Prologue aside, the first half of the novel is slow and repetitious; the horrific is pretty much limited to old lady smells;
Lemena aside, the characters – Nora Harris, Dr Gibson, the Millers, and the Johnsons – are as unique as their surnames;
Cheryl’s live-in boyfriend just happens to be the editor of Unnatural Journal, a newsletter devoted to the paranormal.
Because I'm all about being fair, credit is due the author in setting the climax in the shopping court of Minneapolis’s IDS Centre (which looks to be a special kind of hell).
There's also a bit of a twist ending. George gives a few too many hints in advance, but it is interesting. The most intriguing part of the novel comes mid-point with the revelation that Lemena had been found out a century earlier – resulting in the murders attributed to Jack the Ripper.
Seems a brilliant idea for a novel. Has it been written?
As I say, I no longer read horror novels.
Favourite passage:
She kept thinking of Nora. Of the girl, trapped inside that old woman’s body. Of the thing inside Nora’s body.
Oh, God, what a story.
Even if others did not believe her, she could not leave the situation as it was. She owed it to Nora to do something.
The question was what?
Bonus:
Object and Access: A cheap mass market paperback with raised gold foil. Sadly, the cover illustration is uncredited.
Library and Archives Canada has a copy, but that's it as far as our libraries are concerned. Those looking to purchase a copy will find five listed for sale online beginning at US$7.50. The second cheapest is listed at US$11.52. The remaining three copies range in price from US$52.43 to US$134.45. Needless to say, condition is not a factor.
Things have been pretty quiet here, I know. Much of these past two weeks has been taken up by other writing and promotion of The Dusty Bookcase – the book. This is not to say I haven't found time to read. Just yesterday I finished Comeback, the 1983 novel by Dan Hill, brother of Lawrence. It's one of the most unusual books read in this journey through Canada's forgotten, neglected, and suppressed writing. For reasons outlined in my review, which should follow in a few days, it is also one of the most disturbing. A roman à clef infused with self-loathing and sex scenes, at time of publication Maclean's dismissed Comeback as "soft-porn."
Because used copies listed online begin at C$115 ("20 pages throughout the book have splatter stains" – coffee, I hope), I present these excerpts.
You may wish to close your eyes and hide.
1
She felt awkward – no man had undressed her before. Her legs were pressed so tightly together that he finally had to pull off her suit in hurried jerky motions. She felt his warm breath against the opening of her vagina. As his hands opened her legs she shuddered and whispered. "No – please – don't."
"It's alright," he murmured, his breath pounding into her, "it's alright."
2
Her nipples felt as soft and pliant as the erasers at the tip of a pencil, but her breasts were hard and unyielding – like a pair of Prince Edward Island potatoes
3
She drew my mouth against hers, kissing me with unusual tenderness, but the moment I closed my eyes she slid her hand into the salad bowl, scooped up a handful of grapes, and dropping them down the front of my pants. I squawked indignantly, sliding down the refrigerator and toppling on the floor, pulling her down on top of me as I fell. The salad bowl hit the floor with a crack and I slid it out of our way, leaving Maria and me a good double bed's worth of space to flop around in.
4
"You can touch it if you like."
I timidly obliged.
"Now trace your way down...slowly...softly...until you reach the opening.... That's right...hmmmmm...hmmmm...that's right, you're catching on...just a little at a time.... Oooohhhh, that feels like...hmmmm...like you've got the knack of it...."
5
She started running her hand up and down my thigh, as if I were nothing more than an extension of the bedspread, something that needed to be unwrinkled, smoothed over.
6
I felt her hands pull down my pants, felt her mouth take me in – gradually, a little at a time. My body stiffened, coiling itself up for impending release. I tried to step away. But she clasped her hands around my buttocks and drew me closer, deeper, and I lost myself to the sensation sweeping through me like a waterfall. I started falling to the floor – I didn't care – and my hands grabbed hold of her shoulders, pulling her with me. Somehow her mouth stayed fastened to me – my body curled around either side of her face – her mouth still sucking long after the last drop had trailed down her throat.
Shadow on the Hearth Judith Merril New York: Doubleday, 1950 Westchester housewife Gladys Mitchell is leading the life of June Cleaver. True, there had been struggles in her past – the Great Depression, for example – but things are now going swimmingly. She and husband Jon, a highly successful engineer with his own firm in Manhattan, can take pride in having provided a comfortable family home for their three children. Their eldest, freckle-faced Tom, is in the ROTC. Babsy – she now prefers "Barbara" – has begun putting on airs, but is otherwise an agreeable fifteen-year-old. And then there's Ginny, the baby of the family, an adorable little girl of five whose best friend is a stuffed toy horse.
The novel opens on a day like any other with the family – sans Tom, who is away at school – seated around the breakfast table. But then Veda, the poorly-paid Mitchell family maid, calls in sick. Barbara needs some clothing washing done, which means that Gladys won't be free to attend a ladies' luncheon. Oh, and she'd been working so to be accepted!
Jon leaves for work, dropping the girls at school along the way, and Gladys attends to the laundry. She's down in the basement, hovering over her washer and dryer, when there's a sound that is something like thunder. The light streaming through the window doubles in intensity, then becomes very dull. Dismissing it as "a freak electric storm", Gladys dons a new dress, powder and lipstick. It isn't until after the girls return, courtesy of nice new schoolteacher Miss Pollack, that Gladys comes to realize there has been an atomic attack... Atomic Attack being the title of the 1954 Motorola TV Hour adaptation. The news comes courtesy of the radio:
"For those of you who have just tuned in, we repeat: several atomic bombs of unknown origin landed in and near the harbor of New York City this afternoon. The first explosion occurred at about 1:15 P.M., Eastern Standard Time, and was followed by others over a period estimated to be approximately one half hour. It is know that no bombs were dropped after two o'clock. Eyewitnesses state that the first bomb exploded underwater at the mouth of the East River, affecting harbor shipping in New York and Brooklyn, and substantially damaging a large part of the lower tip of Manhattan Island."
Gladys listens in horror – "Jon was in the city all day!" – realizing that she alone must care for the girls and... well, the hearth. If only Veda
hadn't called in sick!
Nearly all 277 pages of Shadow on the Hearth take place in the Mitchell home, which is not to say that things aren't eventful. Early in the crisis, Gladys must deal with troublesome neighbour Edie Crowell, who persists in phoning, despite instructions to leave the lines clear. On the second day, she shows up drunk as a skunk on the front steps.
Can you blame her?
There's a gas leak, which probably has nothing to do with the bombs, but does add to the drama. At another point, thugs try to break in, but are beat back by Dr Garson Levy, the high school's science teacher. Barbara fills her mother in on the doctor's background:
"He knows everything about atom bombs. He was at Oak Ridge and everything… Only he got black-listed or something on account of refusing to do war work, and making a lot of speeches and being on committees, so he had to go be a teacher."
Yes, he had to go to be a teacher.
Levy has been running from house to house informing parents that their children have been exposed to radioactive rain. Local Civil Defence officials are in hot pursuit. When the heat becomes to great, Levy is offered temporary refuge in the Mitchell home, filling something of the void left by missing husband Jon. He fixes a toy, boards windows, and devises a clever solution to that pesky gas problem. Gladys comes to think of him as "Mr Fit-It", but he's so much more. Garson Levy comes equipped with personal geiger counter and everything required to monitor the white blood cells of the Mitchell children.
It's all a bit much.
Fortunately other characters are better drawn, the most interesting being Jim Turner. The Mitchell's hard-nosed next-door neighbour, Gladys is surprised to learn that Turner is the leader of the local Civil Defense squadron.
"Well, nobody else knew either," he assured her. "Nobody who wasn't in it. When you want to win you got to keep a poker face and play it close to the vest. And any time the government let out any information about what we were going some scientist would start yelling about warmongers, or some reds would have a demonstration."
Turner turns up frequently, revelling in his newfound authority, and doing prep work to put the moves on Gladys. As evacuation looks imminent, he tries to dictate where she will live and what she will be doing. Maid Veda reenters the story, dragged in by soldiers who are investigating whether she is a foreign agent. Neighbour Edie plants the seed that maybe, just maybe, the Civil Defense would prefer people like herself dead. We learn that Peter Spinelli, the young medical doctor who accompanies Turner on his route, was denied funding for his studies because of his association with pacifist groups. The press is censored and then disappears, replaced by government broadcasting that consists almost exclusively of lengthy lists of casualties.
These sinister elements run beneath the surface, overwhelmed by a flurry of activity and the ever increasing challenges faced by the survivors. It's such that a broadcast reference to "the military government" passes without comment. Before anyone has a chance to catch their breath, the war comes to an abrupt end. The news comes over the radio:
"Five thirty-seven A.M., Friday, May seventh,” a hoarse voice intoned. “That is the historic moment. We have just received official news from General Headquarters. The war is over! The enemy conceded at 5:37 A.M., Eastern Standard Time, just five minutes ago. Ladies and gentleman, the national anthem!"
As for Jon, he somehow survived the bombs that rain down on Manhattan. In fleeting scenes – vignettes, really – he escapes an infirmary and makes his way to Westchester. Nearing home, he's shot through the shoulder, loses a good amount of blood, and is carried the rest of the way by good Dr Spinelli. Merril's original ending had Jon die. Doubleday wanted a happy ending... so why am I left with the impression that things are only going to get worse? Object: A first edition of the author's first book, my copy was purchased last year in London at Attic Books. Price: $6.25. The ugly jacket was designed by Edward Kasper, a man whose awkward work I first encountered in the inner gatefold of The Band's Moondog Matinee.
Access: The 1950 Doubleday was followed three years later by Sedgwick & Jackson's first British edition (above left). Remarkably, Shadow on the Hearth has appeared only once in paperback: a 1966, edition published in the UK by Compact Books (above right). It is currently available in Spaced Out: Three Novels of Tomorrow, a collection of Merril's novels published by the New England Science Fiction Association.
There are plenty of first editions listed online, the least expensive being a Good Sedgwick & Jackson at £7.00.
At US$375, the most expensive is a Very Good signed copy of the Doubleday first once belonging to International Festival of Authors' founding Artistic Director Greg Gatenby... but let's not get into that. The bookseller is throwing in a copy of the festival's newspaper tribute to Merril signed by Samuel Delany, Michael Moorcock, Frederick Pohl, Spider Robinson and the lady herself. I recommend the Fine signed copy being offered by a Michigan bookseller. Price: US$87.00.
A German translation, Dunkle Schatten (Dark Shadows), was published in 1983, complete with cover that looks every bit like it comes from the Reagan Era... because it does. In fact, the enemy is never identified. The Italians did a much better job with the covers on their translation, Orrore su Manhattan (Horror of Manhattan), which has twice seen print (1956 and 1992).
Library patrons will be disappointed. Library and Archives Canada, the Toronto Public Library, and six of our universities have copies.
Your lights are on, but you're not home.
Your mind is not your own.
The week Arnold Viersen was born, Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" topped the Billboard Hot 100. Who dares call it coincidence?
Like Preston ManningGeorge Pepki before him, the rookie MP for Peace River-Westlock has a rhyming dictionary and knows how to use it. Anyone requiring evidence need look no further than his most recent speech in the House of Commons.
The poet first captured my attention this past May, when he presented this at the Conservative Party Convention:
Straight outta Barrhead, Alberta (pop. 4,432).
Viersen is a seer. Leadership no-shows like Tony Clement were included only because lines like this are to good to let slide:
I've got the chops,
Like to drink hops.
Even on twitter
I'm a heavy hitter.
In Cabinet for ten years,
Leave the Libs in tears.
The man from Muskoka,
I'm our party's Lee Iococa.
I'll allow that Viersen's not much good at reading prose,
but when it comes to verse he really shines. Consider "Farmers: Heart of Rural Canada," which the MP performed in the House on 6 May 2016:
Springtime is here; our farmers are in their fields
Assessing the moisture, gauging their yields.
When rain is sparse and times are tough
And the price of hay is especially rough,
As Conservatives we understand
It takes hard work to till the land.
Alberta NDP passed a law for working on prairie farms:
More expensive food – don’t care who it harms.
They said, “John dear, we want your food
But only feed your cows when we’re in the mood;
No overtime or you pay the price.”
Beef and pork will cost more than twice.
We’re standing up for farmers, feeding cows ’till nine.
We’re standing up for farmers, working overtime.
You eat their beef, you sit on leather,
Your feet are shoed in stormy weather.
Without their food, life would be grim
Unless you plan to be awfully thin
Family farms are getting fewer.
Once they’re gone, we’re in deep manure.
Don’t egg me on, the yolk’s on you.
If farmers leave, what will we do?
Bottom line – You want to eat?
Support our farmers – Buy their wheat.
"Don't egg me on, the yolk's on you." That line alone is worth every cent of the $170,400 the MP will earn this year.
On this Canada Day, still more English-language lyrics for 'O Canada'. These come courtesy of Violet Alice Clarke, from her 1919 collection The Vision of Democracy and Other Poems. "Published for the author" by Ryerson Press, it is her only book.
Canadian Heart Songs Charles Wesley McCrossan Toronto: William Briggs, 1912
For this day, on which we mark the 148th anniversary of Canada's birth, these words of celebration. Here Charles Wesley McCrossan takes Calixa Lavallée's "French-Canadian National Anthem", makes it British and encourages pride in a nonexistent flag.
Pure filth condemned by John Wesley's White in Re-entry(1970), his forty-four-year-old book on Christ's imminent return. Writes Dr White:
Tops of the pops like, "Have you [sic] Got Cheating on Your Mind," "Second Time Around," "Strangers in the Night," and the Rolling Stones' "Let's Spent the Night Together" are deliberately written and sung to promote immorality.
The Oxford PhD has never been very good with titles. I'm sure that by "Have you Got Cheating on Your Mind" he means "Woman, Woman", the Jim Glaser/Jimmy Payne song, which was a hit for Gary Puckett and the Union Gap. But isn't the song about being faithful? Was it really "written and sung to promote immorality"? You tell me.
A #1 single in Canada, "Woman, Woman" did indeed top the pops, but what about "Second Time Around"? Sure, the song was nominated for an Academy Award, but in the words of Frank Sinatra it "never got off the ground". Old Blue Eyes thought it should be a standard and recorded it a number of times, but it was first sung by depraved Bing Crosby in High Times (1960).
The words and music were written by the debauched duo of Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen, who are best remembered for obscenities like "High Hopes", "Come Fly with Me" and, of course, "Love and Marriage".
Sinatra bears much of the blame for "Strangers in the Night", which on 2 July 1966 topped the Billboard Hot 100 by bumping off "Paperback Writer". This video captures the singer sixteen years later in performance before an audience of reprobates:
And finally we have the Rolling Stones. Once the most licentious and lewd of all rock and roll combos, they redeemed themselves with this famous performance on The Ed Sullivan Show:
Eileen Fitzgerald's Expo Summer began forty-seven years ago – 28 April 1967 – with the opening of the World's Fair. Mine began the very same day. I was four years old, living with my parents and little sister in suburban Montreal; the author was a second-year McGill student who had just moved into a flat in the city's downtown. I'm fairly certain that our paths crossed.
Expo Summer? Fitzgerald's memoir begins with the solstice more than fifty-five days in the future, yet she manages fewer than 163 pages, a good deal of which have to do with events that occurred in March, during which time she lived in residence at the university's Royal Victoria College.
"Bubbly", says the Province. I wonder what other adjectives they used. The Gazette went with "good":
16 August 1969
Eileen Fitzgerald was not of Montreal, but Eastchester, New York. Her writing in Expo Summer suggests a sheltered life lacking in inquisitiveness. I quote from the pages in which the author and her two girlfriends hunt for off-campus accommodation:
We wandered out of the Guy Street station somewhat lost, since at that time our world in Montreal didn't stretch much further west than Mountain Street.
Now, I point out that Guy is only two stops from McGill. Guy Street itself is just eight blocks west of the university campus. The trio find a flat on Mackay, which is invariably referred to – thirty-two times – as "MacKay Street". The Décarie is "DeCarie" and Cedar Avenue is "Cedar Street". The author's flatmates, Lyn and Gate, are just as clueless:
No one knew the exact location of Place Bonaventure except that it was a Metro stop, so we took the Metro from McGill east to the Berri-de Montigny [sic] transfer, and then back west on the other line until we found ourselves in Bonaventure station. Clearly, it was going to be a lively night.
Expo 67 aficionados, of which I am one, will recognize Place Bonaventure as the venue in which François Dallegret held his pre-Expo Super Party, which featured Lothar and the Hand People, Suzanne Verdal, Tiny Tim, and the Blues Project. Juan Rodriguez wrote a very good piece on the event here, but Eileen Fitzgerald's is much more succinct:
They finally did show up on the roped-off stage, which looked like a little boxing ring rising out of the crowds of teenyboppers, costumed hippies, young sophisticates and just passers-by. But by the time we had tuned in to their sound sufficiently to tune out the steady roar of the hall, they had already finished playing and had hurried toward the periphery of the Salle Bonaventure.
You really can't expect much by way of observation from a person who doesn't know the name of the street on which she lives.
It's always a mistake for a reviewer to criticize a book for not being what he wanted it to be, but Doubleday did deceive:
A COLLEGE GIRL TELLS US HOW IT WAS AT THE GREATEST WORLD'S FAIR EVER
Expo Summer doesn't have a whole lot to do with Expo 67. Fitzgerald worked there for a bit selling postcards, and she did visit a few pavilions, but this book is more about getting that first apartment, hassles with Hydro Québec, friends crashing on couches and making meals on a budget. I have my own stories, each every bit as interesting as Fitzgerald's – some more! – but none worth writing down.
She attaches herself to a band called the Service Entrance, I think because she has something going on with one of the guitarists. For a couple of dozen pages I thought this might lead to something interesting. The band shares the bill one night with Tim Buckley at the New Penelope, but it ends up as their only Montreal gig. Author and guitarist don't so much as kiss.
Still, it's a memorable summer:
A Swiss chocolate ice cream bar stood right across the way from a Brazilian counter where they sold flavors of sherbet which no one who wasn't a Brazilian had ever heard of before, and we couldn't decide what to get, or forget them all and have Dutch ice cream. Seymour had black raspberry, and I had banana, and Lyn had pineapple rum. Mat volunteered to try the Dutch chocolate across the way. And they all were great.
I too ate sherbet at Expo, and though four, had tasted pineapple rum. The critics rave:
Young Miss Fitzgerald is a student at McGill University and golly, didn't she just practically drool to be in Montreal at Expo time. With her friends Lindsay (the moneyed one) and Gate (no one ever called her Mary) Eileen shares an apartment, works off and on at an Expo postcard palace, and pals with Mat, Josh, Eric, etc., students who were hoping to make a go with their electric rock group, the Service Entrance. Discouragement, and Mat cuts out, but there's a zoomy offer at the close and Mat returns. An occasional cut-up and jolly jape — sneaking into Labyrinth; copping a swim in an alien pool by hopping a rooftop; and the gosh-awful day when Lindsay's mother visits and discovers a boy or two in the bedroom (all innocent as a cub den). Eileen, bless her busy little pen, is undoubtedly the only member of her generation who admits to putting on a "gay summer frock." Dull as dishwater and pure as the drivelling snow.
— Kirkus, 3 July 1969
About the author:
A bonus: Not by Suzanne Verdal, but about her.
Object and Access: A slim hardcover in black and brown boards, my Fine first edition copy was bought in January from a bookseller in Woodbury, New York. At US$20, I did well. As of this writing, just one first edition – price-clipped, Near Fine – is listed for sale online (C$25). After that, you're left with a lone book club edition (US$15), and two less than pristine copies of the uncommon Curtis paperback (C$4 and US$4 – take your pick).
Toronto has the only public library to carry a copy. Eleven of our university libraries come through. Expo Summer is not to be found at the author's alma mater.
A signed copy of Milton Acorn's More Poems for People, purchased at Attic Books' annual Boxing Week sale. It wasn't until after returning home that I noticed these scrawls by Acorn and others on the inside back cover:
It's been over five years since we settled in Perth County, mere kilometres from Stratford, and yet the Perth County Conspiracy and the Black Swan Coffee House meant nothing to me. Time and geography are my only excuses. I was a seven-year-old living in suburban Montreal when Columbia Records was pushing the Conspiracy; I began drinking coffee at twenty-five.
Billboard, December 1970
Still, I can't explain how it is that I'd missed Milton Acorn's involvement all these years. The son of Charlottetown co-wrote several Perth County Conspiracy songs, many with singer turned actor Cedric Smith. That's a contemplative Smith on lower left-hand corner of The Island Means Minago, for which Acorn received the 1976 Governor General's Award for Poetry or Drama.
Like the great Mekons, the Perth County Conspiracy seems fairly designed to give Peter Frame nightmares. A band that was not really a band – or was it? – you'd almost think the line-up was dictated by weather, whim and gas money. The name, either the Perth Country Conspiracy or the Perth County Conspiracy (Does Not Exist), is a bit of a mindfuck, is it not?
Just as well that I knew nothing of the PCC/PCC (DNE) back in high school – my teenage, post-punk self would've sneered. My adult self enjoyed Kevin Courrier's excellent CBC Radio documentary, Dream Times: The Perth County Conspiracy… Does Not Exist.
Old man Busby recommends it most highly, along with "The Early Days of the Perth County Conspiracy", a detailed history by Swedish scholar of psychedelia Patrick Lundborg. Musician David Woodhead shares some pretty great photos here.
National Post Editor-at-Large Diane Francis has been making the rounds flogging her latest. I've felt some sympathy. Her book, Merger of the Century: Why Canada and America Should Become One Country, landed in the midst of the government shutdown in the republic to the south. Ever the capitalist, Ms Francis did her level best of capitalize on the sorry mess, beginning her interview with Evan Solomon thusly:
If we were to merge like quickly, like East and West Germany, we'd be 35 million Democrats and the Republicans wouldn't get anywhere in the House or in the White House. So there you go.There'd be no more logjams.
That Ms Francis, a born and bred Chicagoan, thinks Canadians would flock to the Democrats en masse suggests that she has much to learn about her adopted country; that she believes Canadian children would be granted the right to vote suggests that she knows nothing at all about the Twenty-sixth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States.
Ms Francis began with the very same assertion when speaking with Anna Maria Tremonti, which leads me to think that it also features in the book itself. I don't know for certain because I just can't be bothered to check it out of the library.
Hers is a tired, old idea (see: Smith, Goldwin), one that comes around every couple of decade or so. As with Encke's Comet, no one much notices – but the few who do, like her publisher's jacket designer, find little in the way of inspiration.
Looking through my library I see that I've bought only one volume on the topic: Canamerican Union Now! Published in early 1978 by Griffin House, it's the lone book by D.K. Donnelly, a computer industry consultant from Toronto. Canamerican Union Now! was very much a knee-jerk response to the November 1976 election of the Parti Québécois. The author considered the months – months, I tell you – of handwringing that followed, before throwing up his own right and left in frustration. Canamerican Union Now! Diane Francis surrenders because, as she put it on Power & Politics, the Russians and Chinese are "wolves at our door." The author repeated the same words on The Current, in her National Post column, and in numerous –albeit identical – online posts.
Griffin House pitched its book as an open discussion, but it would seem that the computer industry consultant was talking only to himself. Though Merger of the Century, a HarperCollins lead title, ranked 8,358 on Amazon.ca at the time of this writing, I believe Ms Francis has done a bit better. Her newspaper's website has comments on the book from several dozen people, including the author herself. What's more, Amazon has three customer reviews! Someone calling himself "Interested American" informs: "the numbers and data (and new ideas) are presented here for us to take in, especially about the Arctic NW Territories [sic] I had little awareness of, and consider in light of a changing world." Jared Nova chimes in with enthusiasm: "I'm an American who's always had a great interest in Canada. But this book helped me realize how much I didn't know."
The naysayer – tellingly, I think – is the sole Canadian, who observes that "the US nearly gutted itself financially and nearly took down the rest of the western economies", then dares add that "Canada's pragmatic mix of capitalism and socialism protected us from most of the blowback." He also notes that we don't kill each other nearly as much.
"The above critique is infused with anti-American bigotry", responds South Carolina's "C.I. Kendrick", who also believes Tim Burton's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory rates five stars. "A new Classic!"
I was greatly disappointed by Charlie and the Chocolate Factory myself... and, truth be told, I've never taken to the idea of a union between Canada and the United States. It's not that I don't love my American cousins, but that I see their country as being, well, foreign.
Those few campaigning for union, like self-described "Canadian-American" Diane Francis, may blame my father, whose record collection introduced me to the idea before I began elementary school. From The Brothers-in-Law Strike Again! (Arc, 1966):
Oh, we share a common border with a country that you know,
Just take a look at your atlas, it's the one that's down below.
There's fifty states in the union and something should be done
To forget the War of 1812 and make it fifty-one.
Chorus:
There'll be color television,
Social security,
Racial segregation,
And the Birch Society.
You can cheer for Jimmy Hoffa,
You can join the Klan today.
You can even burn your draft card
When we're Canada, USA.
Everyone! Now the ladies... 'cause with 35 million more Democrats an Equal Rights Amendment might finally get passed.
Note to American readers: Canada now has color television. We spell it "colour". Trivia: The first Brothers-in-Law concert took place on 22 November 1963, the day the United States suffered its twenty-fifth political assassination.
There's a cultural difference for you.*
* "I have this great quote in the political chapter. Peter Drucker – who's the business guru of gurus, the late great Peter Drucker – and he said 'Culture eats strategy for breakfast.' So, I get it, but I'm a business person, I deal in facts and reality."
The new Canadian Notes & Queries has landed, bringing with it another Dusty Bookcase column. The eighth to date, it's a review of Tan Ming, a fantastic, post-apocalyptic, pseudonymously self-published novel by electric organ pioneer Morse Robb.
So dull.
Oh, but doesn't Tan Ming look good? How about that cover!
It sounded good, too. In Nuclear Holocausts: Atomic War in Fiction 1895-1984, Washington State University professor Paul Brians begins his description thusly: "An amusing fantasy in which a department store window dresser falls in love with a robot mannequin and manages to conjure into its body the soul of a princess named Tan Ming from a postholocaust future." The ever-reliable Wikipedia once claimed that the novel inspired Mannequin, the romantic comedy starring Kim Cattrell and Andrew McCarthy.
You'll remember Mannequin for "Nothing's Going to Stop Us Now", which topped the American charts back in 1987. The new CNQ comes with music – much better music – in the form of a flexidisc by Al Tuck.
When was the last time you bought a magazine with a flexidisc?
The last I picked up was the April 1981 issue of Smash Hits. It came with a live recording of "Pretending to See the Future" by Orchestral Maneoeuvres in the Dark and "Swing Shift" by our own Nash the Slash.
Not to slight Hazel O'Connor – or Messrs Lydon, Levine, Wobble and Weller – but don't you prefer this?
The cover, as always, is by Seth. Inside you'll find Mike Barnes, Michel Basilières, Devon Code, Michael Deforge, Emily Donaldson, Jennifer A. Franssen, Lorna Jackson, Mark Anthony Jarman, Evan Jones, Adrian Michael Kelly, Mark Kingwell, Lewis MacLeod, Marion MacLeod, David Mason, Ross McKie, Robert Melançon, Shame Nielson, Patricia Robertson, Ray Robertson, Sean Rogers, Mark Sampson, Michael Schmidt, Norm Sibum, Dan Wells, Paul Wells, Bruce Whiteman and Robert Wiersema.
At $20 per annum, subscriptions are a great deal. You can get one here.
A writer, ghostwriter, écrivain public, literary historian and bibliophile, I'm the author of Character Parts: Who's Really Who in CanLit (Knopf, 2003), and A Gentleman of Pleasure: One Life of John Glassco, Poet, Translator, Memoirist and Pornographer (McGill-Queen's UP, 2011; shortlisted for the Gabrielle Roy Prize). I've edited over a dozen books, including The Heart Accepts It All: Selected Letters of John Glassco (Véhicule, 2013) and George Fetherling's The Writing Life: Journals 1975-2005 (McGill-Queen's UP, 2013). I currently serve as series editor for Ricochet Books and am a contributing editor for Canadian Notes & Queries. My most recent book is The Dusty Bookcase (Biblioasis, 2017), a collection of revised and expanded reviews first published here and elsewhere.
