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.

The Final Indignity

Further to yesterday's post:

Monarch was captured and brought to San Francisco in 1889 as part of a publicity stunt for William Randolph Hearst's Examiner, the "Monarch of the Dailies". His first four years in the city were spent in a cramped cage at an amusement park; it wasn't until 1894 that he was lowered into that concrete pit at Golden Gate Park. The bear lived over 22 years in captivity. After he died, Monarch was stuffed and mounted, and became part of a diorama replicating California's flag.

Today, the Bear Flag Republic has no bears, but you can still see Monarch – or what's left of him – at the California Academy of Sciences. Take the kids!

I wonder whether Delaware has a similar display for their flag.

Related posts:
Six More Cinders in the Eye
Magic Mushrooms and Bad, Bad Boys

Six More Cinders in the Eye

It wasn't until reading up on Bannertail that I learned of Japan's attraction to things Seton. This pales beside the idolization of our beloved Anne Shirley, of course, but it is out there... and has been for some time. Manga adaptations go back to the years preceding the Second World War; there's even a biography of the man, illustrated by the very talented Jiro Taniguchi. Anyone looking for further evidence that the Seton name holds weight in Japan need only consider the title of that horrendous cartoon featured in the previous post: Seton Animal Chronicles: Banner the Squirrel. It was just one of three Japanese animated series based on Seton's work.

The first, Seton Animal Chronicles: Jacky the Bearcub, was inspired by Monarch, the Big Bear of Tallac, a novella published by Charles Scribner's Sons in 1904. It's about a... Oh, why not let Seton's images carry the story.

Jacky, a bear cub, is orphaned after a hunter shoots his mother in the brain.

He's adopted by the hunter, who takes delight in his antics.

Jacky's sold to a crazy rancher who keeps him in chains.

He grows into adulthood, escapes, and feasts on lamb.

Shepherds fear Jacky, who they refer to as Monarch.

The hunter who adopted Jacky/Monarch all those years ago fails to capture him.

A second attempt is successful. The bear ends his days in captivity at Golden Gate Park, "seeking forever Freedom's Blue, seeking and raging – raging and seeking – back and forth, forever – in vain."

Monarch – or Jacky, if you prefer – did exist; that's him above. Though Seton took some liberties with the story of his early life, the bear lived his final years in a concrete pit, just as the author describes.

Everything is happier in Seton Animal Chronicles: Jacky the Bearcub because the bear never grows up. His fun filled days are spent with sister Jill, a Native American boy named Lan, and Lan's Grandpa Rocky (best not to dwell upon the incident in which Rocky killed Jacky and Jill's mother).

That third animated Seton series? Well, it appears to have been a grab bag of Seton stories, including a retelling of Monarch, the Big Bear of Tallac. The animation, a touch more sophisticated, depicts the author communing with his cartoon pals.

An aside: Remember that Miami bookseller who was selling all those print on demand copies of Bannertail? Well, he's listed a POD copy of Monarch, the Big Bear of Tallac at US$145.95. "Perfect Condition", he claims. I recommend the 106-year-old first edition, which is readily available for less than US$20.

Related posts:

Magic Mushrooms and Bad, Bad Boys

The Final Indignity

Magic Mushrooms and Bad, Bad Boys

Bannertail: The Story of a Graysquirrel

Ernest Thompson Seton

London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1922

230 pages

This review now appears, revised and rewritten, in my new book:

The Dusty Bookcase:

A Journey Through Canada's

Forgotten, Neglected, and Suppressed Writing

Available at the very best bookstores and through

Biblioasis, Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, and McNally-Robinson.

Related post:

Six More Cinders in 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: