Remembering Ron Scheer… on a Friday

Ron Scheer died this past weekend. He was my teacher. We never met.

A son of Nebraska, for more than four years Ron served as a patient guide through the frontier literature of a century past. His blog, Buddies in the Saddle, opened the eyes of this cynical easterner so that I might recognize that these weren't simple novels of cowboys and Indians, but of commerce, railroads, mining, farming, timber, politics, suffrage, temperance, religion and racism.

Early last year Ron was diagnosed with brain cancer. Buddlies in the Saddle took a turn toward the personal. Ron's posts on books were now punctuated by musing on life, health, beauty, family. Family was the subject of his final post.

Ron posted his last book review seven weeks ago. His subject was Blue Pete: "Half-Breed", a popular 1921 novel by Ontarian Luke Allan (né William Lacey Amy).  The Canadian Encyclopedia has no entry on Allan, nor does The Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature, nor does W.H. New's Encyclopedia of Literature in Canada; everything I know about the writer and his work comes from Ron.

In the four years and nine months of Buddies in the Saddle, Ron tagged thirty book reviews with the word "Canada". Most were written by Canadians, while others had a Canadian setting. Some covered contemporary writing, but most came from the days of great and great-great-grandparents:

The Outlander – Gil Adamson
Blue Pete: "Half-Breed" – Luke Allan
The Blue Wolf – William Lacey Amy
Alton of Somasco – Harold Bindloss
The Boss of Wind River – A.M. Chisolm
Desert Conquest – A.M. Chisolm
The Doctor – Ralph Connor
The Story of the Foss River Ranch – Ridgwell Cullum
Woodsmen of the West – Martin Allerdale Grainger

A Man of Two Countries – Alice Harriman
The Promise – James B. Hendryx
Out of Drowning Valley – Susan Carleton Jones
The Stone Angel – Margaret Laurence
A Daughter of the Snows – Jack London
Scarlett of the Mounted – Marguerite Merington

The Lost Cabin Mine – Frederick Niven
Northern Lights – Gilbert Parker
The Backwoodsmen – Charles G.D. Roberts
Breaking Smith's Quarter Horse – Paul St. Pierre
Smith and Other Events – Paul St. Pierre
The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses – Robert W. Service
The Trail of '98 – Robert W. Service
Raw Gold – Bertrand W. Sinclair
Big Timber – Bertrand W. Sinclair
Wild West – Bertrand W. Sinclair
The Prairie Wife – Arthur Stringer
The Last Crossing - Guy Vanderhaeghe
A Good Man – Guy Vanderhaeghe
Frontier Stories – Cy Warman
The Settler – Herman Whitaker

So many neglected titles. Small wonder that Ron was a regular at Friday's Forgotten Books, that weekly round-up hosted by mystery writer Patti Abbott. His was a unique voice. Friday's Forgotten Books will not be the same without him.

"I read old books so you don’t have to," Ron wrote more than once. The thing was that he made you want to read them. His enthusiasm was infectious. He was a dogged researcher; I suspect he often had a hard time moving on. Ron's thoughts on Raw Gold by British Columbian Bertrand W. Sinclair spanned two posts. His longest review, it begins:

I have this funny habit when I hold an old library book. I wonder how long it’s been sitting on the shelf in the stacks untouched, then of the different hands that have turned its pages over the years.

I share the very same habit. Now, picking up Ralph Connor's The Doctor, I can't help but think of Ron.

Ron read this novel. 

RIP

Here's to Patti Abbott and Friday's Forgotten Books

It's been well over six years since Patti Abbott launched Friday's Forgotten Books, a weekly round-up of blog posts dealing with buried, obliterated and blown over titles from years past. A latecomer, I first contributed back in December 2011 with Touchable, a novel co-authored by the man who created Bizarro World.

Anyone interested in the obscure will find Friday's Forgotten Books a weekly treat. Last Friday's gathering included neglected gems like Dolores Hitchins' Sleep with Slander and The Deadly Climate by Ursula Curtiss.

Most of Patti's contributors are Americans, and much of the focus is on the American and British, but that doesn't mean there's nothing for the lover of Canadian literature.

It was through Friday's Forgotten Books that I first read Ron Scheer, whose Buddies in the Saddle has served as my introduction to Canada's early frontier fiction. What follows is just a sampling of the Canadian books he has covered through the years:

The Blue Wolf – William Lacey Amy
The Boss of Wind River – A.M. Chisolm
Desert Conquest – A.M. Chisolm
The Doctor – Ralph Connor
Woodsman of the West – M. A. Grainger

Out of Drowning Valley – Susan C. Jones
The Lost Cabin Mine – Frederick Niven
Northern Lights – Glbert Parker
The Backwoodsmen – Charles G.D. Roberts
Smith and Other Events – Paul St Pierre
Raw Gold –Bertrand W. Sinclair
Big Timber – Bertrand W. Sinclair
Wild West– Bertrand W. Sinclair
The Prairie Wife  – Arthur Stringer
The Settler – Herman Whitaker

Patti herself is a great champion of Margaret Millar, as am I, as is John Norris of Pretty Sinister Books. Though we've never met in person, I think John might agree with me that Martin Brett's Hot Freeze is the great Canadian noir novel. At the very least, he shares my opinion regarding Frank L. Packard's influence in crime fiction. I would be doing something of a disservice in not sharing this image from John's post on Canadian Fandom #17. It may well be the ugliest thing published in 1951, and here I'm including Taylor Caldwell's The Balance Wheel.

Returning to Patti, this week saw the announcement of her debut novel, Concrete Angel. Publisher Polis Books describes it as an "unflinching novel about love, lust and greed". Who can resist? Not me. I'll be picking up a copy.

The Year L.M. Montgomery Became Lucy Maud

The Canadian Bookman, January 1909

I have Erica Brown of the wonderful Reading 1900-1950 to blame for time wasted this past weekend. It was she who demonstrated just how much fun can be had with the Google Ngram Viewer, a tool used in charting words, names and phrases found in the 5.2-million books that the corporation has digitized.

Prof Brown, whose work focusses on the history of popular fiction, used the GNV to trace the rise of the term "middlebrow". I began with "Ontario Gothic" (as with all, click the graph to enlarge):

An interesting result, though one that should be viewed with a cautious eye. As Prof Brown points out, "5.2 million books digitized sounds great – and it is – but it isn’t everything, and it is skewed towards US publications." I'll add that the tool doesn't capture anything published after 2008, and that any ngram that occurs in fewer than 40 books will deliver a rather deceptive 0% flatline. Still, while not entirely accurate, I think it goes far in reflecting trends.

Here, for example, is a search that charts the shift away from "L.M. Montgomery" to "Lucy Maud Montgomery". Interesting to note that the two lines converge in the mid-nineties, when most of her work entered the public domain.

The real fun comes in drawing comparisons between writers. Here, for example, are Canada's Booker Prize winners:

How about this graph featuring mentor Irving Layton and pupil Leonard Cohen:

Better yet, Irving Layton versus Louis Dudek:

Here we see the careers of rivals Ernest Thompson Seton and Charles G.D. Roberts:

The declining interest in Seton and Sir Charles made me curious about Sir Gilbert Parker, our biggest fin de siecle author.

Sobering. Wonder how I'm doing. 

Oh.

An Atlantic Canada Steampunk Fantasy

The Chignecto Ship Railway
H.G.C. Ketchum
Boston: Damrell & Upham, [1893]

The current Canadian edition of Reader's Digest features a piece I wrote about some of this country's great unrealized projects. Toronto's Vimy Circle, the Chateau Prince Rupert and Jean Drapeau's 325-metre-tall concrete celery stalk figure, as do Thomas Mawson's plans to recast cow town Calgary in the City Beautiful style, but the Chignecto Ship Railway ranks as my favourite.

The dream of New Brunswick engineer H.G.C. Ketchum, the whole venture seems like the work of a madman today, yet it received government backing, millions of dollars in investment from British businessmen and was once held up as a model that would be emulated the world over.

In Ketchum's dream, ocean-going ships would be raised from the Bay of Fundy, transported along a 27-kilometre double-tracked railway, then gently lowered into the Northumberland Strait.

And vice versa.

The pitch for what was to have been the world's first ship railway is all here in this booklet Ketchum wrote for the 1893 World's Columbian Water Commerce Congress. A desperate document, it was produced at a time when the project was in great jeopardy. You see, the most incredible aspect of this impossible dream is that the money ran out within weeks of completion.

It wouldn't be right to retell the whole sad, tragic story here – buy the magazine – but I spoil nothing in saying that the effort failed. The Chignecto Ship Railway died – and with it the whole idea of ship railways. Ketchum knew one could not live without the other, writing:

The safe transit of a ship in cargo across the Isthmus of Chignecto will be the signal for many other ship railway schemes to begin construction. The Tehuantepec, the Panama, the Cape Cod, the Ontario and Michigan isthmuses will be vanquished by this means; and various obstructions can be overcome and short cuts made in different parts of the world.

That passage is one of the most interesting in The Chignecto Ship Railway. The booklet is the work of an engineer doing his darndest to attract investors: bland prose is peppered with facts, figures and dollar signs. Visual aids would've helped.

Ketchum might have done well in turning to fellow New Brunswicker Charles G.D. Roberts. who had written about the project with great enthusiasm in the August 1890 edition of Cosmopolitan. The next year, Roberts painted a lovely scene in his Canadian Guide-Book:

When it is completed a line of steamers will run between St John and Charlottetown and the traveler will have the novel experience of watching from his vessel's decks a lovely landscape of meadows and orchards unroll below him as he moves slowly across the isthmus. The sensation will be unique, as this is the world's only ship railway.

I'd have paid good money to take that cruise.

Object and Access: A nondescript booklet, The Chignecto Ship Railway should not be confused with Ketchum's The Chignecto Ship Railway: Will It Pay? (1887), The Chignecto Ship Railway: The Substitute for the Baie Verte Canal (1892), Ship Transportation and the Chignecto Ship Railway (1892) and a handful of other similarly titled publications issued in support of the project. The others have been picked over by print on demand vultures, but only our old friends at Bibliolife have spotted this one. "We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide", they tell us. Bibliolife will happily sell you a copy of this 12-page public domain booklet for $15.50 (postage & handling not included).

Or you could just read it gratis here.

Bonus:

A scale model of Jean Drapeau's 325-metre concrete celery stalk
(otherwise known as the Monument Paris-Montréal).

Portrait of a Former Mistress

Barbara Ladd

Charles G.D. Roberts

Boston: Page, 1902

Had he not died in 1943, or any year thereafter, Sir Charles G. D. Roberts would today be celebrating his 150th birthday. Still, he did make it more than half-way, which is more than can be said for most of his contemporaries. Right to the end, Roberts demonstrated such a great deal of energy and stamina, marrying his second wife – thirty years his junior – the month before his death.

This latter Mrs Roberts – Lady Roberts, if you prefer – most certainly had an easier time of it than her predecessor. The author cheated on his first wife constantly. For two years he carried on with Jean Carré, a Guernsey-born visual artist who came to him by way of Nova Scotia. To Roberts, sweet Jean was "she whose name is writ in music"... at least that's how he referred to her in letters written to cousin Bliss Carman.

There are lessons to be learned from this correspondence, not the least of which is to pick up the phone when dealing with matters of the heart. Roberts comes off by turns as a love-struck adolescent and an excitable fop. In the closing days of 1891, he writes his cousin, "I fear that she whose name is writ in music shall henceforth have it writ in mud!" Four months later, Roberts claims he's planning to run off with her. Of course, he did nothing of the kind, rather he replaced "she whose name is writ in music" with "the Queen of Bohemia", a tall and slim woman by the name of Maude Clarke, who also served as governess to the Roberts children.

I mention all this because Jean Carré not only designed the cover of Barbara Ladd, but served as model for the title character. Roberts did nothing to hide this connection; indeed, he was quite open about it, inscribing one copy: "The cover of this novel was designed by the lady from whom I drew the heroine of the story."

So, how does Sir Charles depict this character based on his ex-lover?

We first encounter Barbara as a nymph-like, sylph-like orphan, newly arrived in pre-Revolutionary Connecticut from Maryland. Carefree and careless, self-absorbed and intolerant, Barbara is "one of those who colour the moods of others by their own, and are therefore apt to be at fault in their interpretation of another's motives."

Like that other orphan Anne Shirley, whose story would appear in bookstores six years after Barbara Ladd, she's an unusual, unconventional girl. How unusual? How unconventional? Sir Charles treats the reader to a description of her sexually charged "mad negro" dance:

She danced with arms and hands and head and feet, and every slender curve of her young body. She moved like flames. Her eyes and lips and teeth were a radiance through the live, streaming darkness of her hair. Light, swift, unerring, ecstatic, it was like the most impassioned of bird-songs translated into terms of pure motion.

The novel has few characters. There's Barbara's Aunt Mehitable, who as a stern, joyless figure won over by her lively charge, bares a resemblance to Marilla Cuthbert. Young, talkative Richard Gault provides interaction with someone Barbara's own age. Finally, there are the doctors Jim and John, two bachelor brothers who together serve as the moral compass of the community. The two siblings spend much of the novel vying for the love of Mehitable; as in this exchange, which begins with Doctor John getting down on one knee before her "black-satin-shod small feet":

"Nothing more utilitarian than silk stockings, most dear and unexpected frivolous lady," he vowed, "shall be my tributes of devotion to you henceforth!"

"And mine shall be garters, fickle Mehitable!" cried Doctor Jim, dropping on his knee beside Doctor John, and swearing with like solemnity. "Silk garters, – and such buckles for silk garters!"

"And little silk shoes, and such big buckles for little silk shoes!" said Doctor John.

"And silk petticoats!" went on Doctor Jim, antiphonally. "Brocaded silk, flowered silk, watered silk, painted silk, corded silk, tabby silk, paduasoy silk, alamode silk, taffety silk, charrydarry –" till Mistress Mehitable put her hand over his mouth and stopped the stream of eruditions.

"And silk – and silk –" broke in Doctor John, once more, but stammeringly, because his knowledge of the feminine wardrobe was failing him.

Yes, Doctor John, best stick with shoes – buckled shoes – your brother is the petticoat expert.

Fun and fetishes are, sadly, set aside with the advent of the American Revolution. As the mood shifts, Richard declares his love for Barbara, but is rejected because he is not a Patriot. When he leaves to fight on the side of the Loyalists, she writes him off... but Roberts never writes him out. We know that it is only a matter of time before headstrong Barbara will accept Richard's love. Will it be when he's injured fighting a duel in defence of her honour? No, the moment comes only when he's lying near death in her arms... and even then, Richard feels obliged to give up his fight for George III.

For some, loyalty will always take second place to the love of a beautiful woman... no matter how headstrong she might be.

Trivia: Roberts' working title, the oddly appropriate Mistress Barbara, was changed after the 1901 publication of a Halliwell Sutcliffe novel by the same title.

Object: Voyeurs will be disappointed to learn that Carré designed the cover, but not the interior. The colour illustrations above, by Frank VerBeck, come from two of the four plates found in the first edition.

Access: For a novel that sold over 80,000 copies in the United States alone, Barbara Ladd isn't nearly as common as one might expect. A decent copy of the first edition will likely set you back C$50. As usual, library users will find universities to be the best bet. Here's to the public libraries of Toronto and Vancouver for keeping it on their shelves.

Old Folks

Jean-Louis Lessard has just completed a very fine series on early Canadian writer Philippe-Joseph Aubert de Gaspé, the seigneur best-known for Les Anciens Canadiens (1863). I first encountered this historical romance as part of a CEGEP course on the literature of Quebec (if memory serves, Hubert Aquin's Prochain épisode and David Fennario's Without a Parachute were also on the reading list), but the words I read belonged to translator Sir Charles G.D. Roberts.

I've always viewed Roberts and his translation, The Canadians of Old, with a dab of derision, an irrational discourtesy that originates with the cover of the New Canadian Library edition used in the course. Those familiar with the NCL's second series design will be grateful that the only image I could find is so small. It was such an ugly book, made all the worse by the inexplicable presence of Roberts' name in place of the author's. Even the title is wrong: Canadians of Old, when it should be The Canadians of Old. Of course, none of this had anything to do with Roberts, who was three decades dead when this particular edition appeared. Like I say: irrational.

To be fair to Sir Charles, his name doesn't even appear on the cover of the handsome 1890 first edition, despite the fact that he was at the time a poet of some acclaim. I don't believe Roberts ever really considered himself a translator. The idea for the book came from New York publisher Appleton, and was accepted at a time when he was in dire need of cash. That said, it wasn't a bad match. Roberts may not have shared Aubert de Gaspé's interest in Boileau and Racine, but both he and the seigneur were readers of Sir Walter Scott. The name of the novel's protagonist, Archibald Cameron of Locheill, provides a good indication of the depth of the baronet's influence. This was raised to the surface in 1905, when publisher L.C. Page reissued the book as Cameron of Lochiel - dropping the double 'l', thus bringing the character's name into line with Cameron of Locheil in Waverley, Scott's hugely successful first novel.

This second title has received a good amount of criticism these past ten decades, but let's again be fair; though adopted in Canada by Copp Clark, it was first imposed on the book by a Boston publisher with an eye on the American market. I'll add that the 1865 theatrical adaptation was titled Archibald Cameron of Locheill ou un épisode de la guerre de Sept Ans au Canada, and that the plot has more to do with Archie than pal and fellow protagonist Jules d'Haberville.

Les Anciens Canadiens holds a unique position in this country as a novel translated by four different hands. The first, by Georgina M. Pennée (The Canadians of Old, 1864), was later revised by Thomas Guthrie Marquis and published in 1929 as Seigneur d'Haberville: A Romance of the Fall of New France. I imagine that Roberts' translation is the most read (the NCL edition sold nearly 1800 copies in the first six months alone); a great shame since it has been surpassed by Jane Brierley's 1996 translation. The only one currently in print, it is highly recommended, as are her translations of Aubert de Gaspé's Mémoires (A Man of Sentiment, 1988) and his posthumous Divers (Yellow-Wolf and Other Tales of the Saint Lawrence, 1990), which received a Governor General's Award.

Oh, and Prochain épisode and Without a Parachute? Also recommended.

Charles G.D. Roberts' Dominion Day Collect

Admirable sentiments from Confederation Poet Charles G.D. Roberts. Written in the early months of 1885, it was first published in the July 1886 issue of New York's The Century magazine. The above was drawn from Roberts' collection In Divers Tones (Boston: Lothrop, 1886).

Related post:

Two Hurrahs for the New Dominion

Bizarre Love Triangle

The Story of Louis Riel, the Rebel Chief

[J. E. Collins]

Toronto: Rose, 1885

Instant books, those slapdash things designed to capitalize on death and doom, nearly always raise a sneer. Still, I can't help but admire the industry involved. To go from standing start to published volume in nineteen days, as did the team behind 9/11 8:48 AM: Documenting America's Greatest Tragedy, demonstrates such energy and determination. Of course, the 9/11 8:48 AM folks, whose book was spewed forth by POD publisher BookSurge, had the advantage of 21st-century technology. Not so this relic from the days of stereotypes, electrotypes and composing rooms.

Transplanted Newfoundlander J. E. Collins wrote The Story of Louis Riel, the Rebel Chief in the spring of 1885, while the North-West Rebellion was being fought. In fact, he laid down his pen sometime in those few days between the Battle of Batoche and Riel's surrender on 15 May. The finished product, 176 pages in total, was available for purchase well before the start of the Métis leader's trial in late July.

How did they do it?

Collins does his part through overwrought prose, evident the the first sentence: 'Along the banks of the Red River, over those fruitful plains brightened with wild flowers in summer, and swept with fierce storms in winter-time, is written the life story of Louis Riel.'

Yes, look to the banks of the Red River because you'll find little of the Métis leader's life in this book. Collins fabricates events, characters and dialogue, creating a world that will seem to students of Canadian history like something from an alternate universe. Key is the relationship between Riel and Thomas Scott, the Orangeman executed during the Red River Rebellion. Collins portrays this unstable, violent eristic as a likable fellow, a whistler, with 'a very merry twinkle in his eye'. In this account, the true nature of the conflict between the two men has less to do with the future Red River Colony than it does with a beautiful Métis maiden named Marie. Her preference for the goodnatured adventurer over the uncouth Riel seals Scott's fate.

While historians refer to The Story of Louis Riel, the Rebel Chief as fiction, it wasn't always accepted as such. Blame falls squarely on the author, who pads the book with footnotes, including Riel's 'Proclamation to the People of the North-West' and Bill of Rights, lengthy excerpts from Alexander Begg's The Creation of Manitoba (identified incorrectly as 'History of the North-West Rebellion') and a comprehensive list of the non-Métis who had lost their lives or had been wounded in the conflict.

The Rose Publishing Company provided further padding with a dozen or so etchings. Only a handful have any relevance to the text – in fact, Riel appears in only one. Though captioned 'REBELS [sic] ATTACKING MAJOR BOULTON'S SCOUTS', a reference to the shared fate of men under the command of Charles A. Boulton, the final image has nothing at all to do with the Rebellion and everything to do with trouble in the republic to the south.

Collins later wrote that The Story of Louis Riel, the Rebel Chief held 'no historic truth', and that he chose to leave his name off the book because he was 'unwilling to take responsibility for the literary slovenliness.' Yet, the author demonstrated no hesitation in appending his monicker to his next book, Annette, the Metis Spy: A Heroine of the N. W. Rebellion (1886) Here Collins not only repeats the plot device that has Riel and Scott as romantic rivals, but lifts whole sections from his previous work. Of this second kick at the can, Collins writes, 'I present some fiction in my story, and a large array of fact. I do not feel bound, however, to state which is the fact, and which is the fiction.'

Trivia: It is said that after Collins' death from drink at age 36, he maintained contact with his mentor Sir Charles G. D. Roberts through the aid of mediums.

Object (and a curious link): Issued in dark green cloth, sans dustjacket, the first edition was published by the Rose Publishing Company, a wing of Toronto printers and bookbinders Hunter-Rose and Company. After Riel's 16 November execution, Collins' work was reissued to include 'The Trial and Execution of Louis Riel', a 16-page Appendix. Though this second edition was also printed by Hunter-Rose, the book bears the imprint of J. S. Robertson. The new publisher not only knew Riel, but as a journalist had been imprisoned by the Métis leader during the Red River Rebellion. Labeled a 'dangerous character', Robertson was later forced to leave the settlement; not that this prevented him from reporting on the rebellion for Toronto's Daily Telegraph.

Access: Our larger public libraries have copies of one edition or another, invariably housed in their history sections. The Rose first is scarce; even Fair copies sell for over C$300. The Robertson edition, with Appendix, can often be found for much less than half the price. In 1970, it was reproduced – in cloth and paper – as part of the Coles Canadiana Collection. Both can be had for under C$30. Coles reissued the work again in 1979 – this time in paper only – with a historically inaccurate cover that offends the eye.

Queen Remembers Forgotten Book

Much ado this morning over Suzanna, a yellow Labrador retriever the Queen has given the RCMP. According to the Globe and Mail, Elizabeth II was inspired to name the dog after Muriel Denison's children's book Susannah of the Mounties. No explanation for the spelling discrepancy. I'm willing to wager a small sum that no one at Buckingham Palace thought to check.

That our monarch was familiar with the novel is not surprising, Muriel Denison (1885-1954) was hugely popular in her youth. Susannah of the Mounties – first published in 1936, the year of Elizabeth's tenth birthday – went through numerous editions, and was translated into French, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, Norwegian and Swedish. In 1939, Shirley Temple and Randolph Scott starred in a screen adaptation. As might be expected, the book spawned several sequels: Susannah of the Yukon (1937), Susannah at Boarding School (1938) and Susannah Rides Again (1940). Not one is currently in print. The most recent edition of any Denison title – predictably, Susannah of the Mounties – was published in 1976 by Collins.

The Queen is not alone in remembering Denison's writing fondly. Timothy Findley wrote that as a boy he 'feasted' on Denison, Ernest Thompson Seton and Charles G.D. Roberts. Can't say I shared the same taste, though I do recall watching Susannah of the Mounties on television one snowy Saturday afternoon. I leave you with this small appetizer: