Mystery at Beechwood Cemetery

Back in March, Jim Prentice introduced legislation recognizing Ottawa's Beechwood Cemetery as the national cemetery of Canada. Amongst other things, the preamble tells us that "Parliament considers a national cemetery to be a worthy final resting place for Governors General, Prime Ministers and recipients of the Canadian Victoria Cross." The bill passed easily, with little enthusiasm and no debate. It seems no one questioned how we'd managed for so long without a national cemetery, or why one was needed at all... and the matter of Canadian unity, given as a raison d'être for the legislation, was never raised.

I don't think I'm alone in thinking the concept a touch foreign (read: American). That Beechwood is a "worthy final resting place" cannot be disputed, but then the same can be said for a great many cemeteries in this country. I'll add that, given its location, it is a bit odd that 142 years after Confederation just one Prime Minister (Robert Borden) and one Governor General (Ray Hnatyshan) have been buried at Beechwood. Of our 94 Victoria Cross recipients, not one chose the cemetery as their final resting place. What effect the nudging of the 40th Parliament will have going forth remains to be seen.

Even in a country that tends to ignore its literature, I think more associate the cemetery with Archibald Lampman than Messrs Borden and Hnatyshan. Lines from the poet's "In Beechwood Cemetery" grace the entrance, and he is buried on its grounds.

In fact, with Wilfred Campbell and D.C. Scott, Lampman is one of three prominent poets at rest in Beechwood (their number greater than the PMs, GGs and VC recipients combined). I've never visited Scott's grave, but I have the other two. Both have distinctive memorials. Lampman's, a rock with his name cut in the side, is otherwise natural, while Campbell's is in the form of a bench. I've never sat on this memorial, for much the same reason I try my best to avoid walking on graves; I don't like the thought of my feet resting above someone's head. That said, I find it admirable... and wonder that it has fallen into such disrepair. Various lead letters have disappeared, likely due to weather, but the great shame is that its focal point, a medallion, is also missing. This is no recent disappearance. A friend, tells me that the piece was absent when he first visited the cemetery some five decades ago.

And so, a new project: to determine the design of the missing medallion and, with permission, have a replacement cast.

Any inkling appreciated... all tips pursued.

Related post:

Mistake at Beechwood Cemetery?

Hard Lessons in Publishing

Why keep flogging? Well, for one thing, I'm not so sure this horse is dead; the scandal surrounding Harlequin's Vintage Collection continues to spread. Scandal... not too strong a word, is it? After all, here we have a publisher that took six novels, tinkered with grammar and spelling, substituted phrases, removed any and all scenes it thought offensive, and then sold the results as being identical to the originals.

So, yes... scandal. And like any scandal, information trickles forth like the drool collected by Miles Copperthwaite. Today, an interview with associate editor Adrienne Macintosh: "The Inside Scoop on the Harlequin Vintage Collection".

There are no tricky questions here – the interviewer is a fellow employee – but taken with executive editor Marsha Zinberg's Harlequin blog post, it does provide a revealing glimpse into Harlequin's culture. We learn, for example, that only eight books were considered for the series, each chosen on the basis of cover alone. Something called Nine to Five by some guy named Harvey Smith was dropped because it was too long and boring, while Anneke de Lange's Anna... I'll let Ms Macintosh explain:

From the cover you might think the story was about... er, well, rolling in the hay. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Let's just say that the plot involves jealousy, hatred, physical abuse, rape, suicide, murder, racism, adultery, a couple of unwanted pregnancies and a mother so unlikeable that you are actually glad when she’s stabbed by her son. In any case, that one was nixed.

Ms Macintosh and Ms Zinberg each express ignorance of their company's origins, surprise at the grittiness of pulp fiction, make a big deal over having had texts retyped, and see considerable changes in our language:

Ms Zinberg: "Also, grammar and spelling standards have changed quite a bit in sixty years."

Ms Macintosh: "Grammar and spelling has [sic] also changed quite a bit in the past sixty years..."

We're informed, for example, that "loogan" is no longer in use.

Loogan?

Here's Philip Marlowe with a definition:

"What's a loogan?"

"A guy with a gun."

"Are you a loogan?"

"Sure," I laughed. "But strictly speaking a loogan is a guy on the wrong side of the fence."

These words come from The Big Sleep. I found them in Stories and Early Novels, the first in the Library of America's two-volume Raymond Chandler collection. Now, as a nonprofit publisher "dedicated to preserving the works of America's greatest writers in handsome, enduring volumes, featuring authoritative editions", Library of America is pretty well everything Harlequin is not. Recognition of this fact raises the question: Are we being too hard on this multi-national?

I don't think so. After all, each title in the Harlequin collection bears a message from its president and CEO stating: "it is such fun to be able to present these works with their original text and cover art".

It appears the Vintage Collection, which both editors thought would be such a simple project, became a burden because they encountered challenges only too familiar to those who work at other houses; little things like trying to track down copyright (at which they failed). In short, these editors were out of their depths; and still know not of what they speak. How else to explain Ms Macintosh's absurd assumption: "These are fifty-, sixty-year-old books. The authors have passed away".

RIP Mavis Gallant. RIP Farley Mowat.

Related posts:

Harlequin's Change of Heart

Covering Up the Past

Gratien Gélinas: 100 ans

Actor and playwright Gratien Gélinas was born 100 years ago today in the small town of St-Tite-de-Champlain, some fifty kilometres north of Trois-Rivières. I suppose to Canadians of a certain generation – by which I mean mine – he's remembered mainly as Mitsou's grandfather. Seems so unfair considering his numerous roles at Stratford, dedicated work as chairman of the Canadian Film Development Corporation, and the popularity, both inside and outside Quebec, of plays like Tit-Coq, Bousille et les justes and La Passion de Narcisse Mondoux. But then, Gélinas was first and foremost a man of the theatre, meaning, of course, that ten years after his death there's now a significant percent of the population that never had the opportunity to see him on stage.

It's interesting to note that in a career lasting well over half a century, he acted in only six films, including the screen adaptation of Tit-Coq, which he also produced and directed. At the 1953 Canadian Film Awards, it was recognized as Film of the Year... but, this being Canada, it has pretty much disappeared. Of his film roles, only that of Father Martineau in Norman Jewison's Agnes of God is in any way accessible. And I do mean accessible – someone's posted the entire film on YouTube, beginning right here. Longer than a Mitsou video... more rewarding, too.

And I do like Mitsou.

Books are Best

The Globe, 18 December 1909

William Briggs may be gone, but the publisher's words are as true today as they were a century ago. Books are best... and not only for Christmas. So, with the holiday season approaching, I point out the three books covered here this past year that are actually in print.

Montreal Confidential

Al Palmer

Montreal: Véhicule, 2009

$12.00

A most welcome surprise. After nearly six decades, Al Palmer's Montreal Confidential returned to print last month. Where the original seemed fairly designed to fall apart, this new edition benefits from proper printing, 22 photographs and illustrations and, most of all, a four-page "Appreciation" by William Weintraub.

The English Governess

John Glassco

Ottawa: Golden Dog, 2001

$19.99

The English Governess is currently available from a number of publishers, but Golden Dog's is by far the superior, owing to a 10-page Introduction by Michael Gnarowski. A friend of the author, he provides a fascinating account of the curious history of our best-known work of erotica.

Les Demi-civilisés

Jean-Charles Harvey

Montreal: Éditions Typo, 2005

$12.95

Perhaps in deference to Cardinal Villeneuve, Amazon and Chapters/Indigo don't bother offering this book. Interested parties are directed to the the publisher's website or their local independent. Incredibly, the first printing of Fear's Folly (1982), John Glassco's important translation, is still available. The most modest of paperbacks, at $27.95 it seems a touch pricey, but just think of the storage costs that have run up these past 27 years.

A trio of others, The Whip Angels, Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk and Glassco's completion of Aubrey Beardsley's Under the Hill, are all being exploited available through various POD publishers. But, honestly, no one wants to find something that looks like this under their tree.

Covering Up the Past

Harlequin? Really? Again?

Look, I'm more surprised than anyone at the number of times the publisher has appeared in this blog. Sure, it spews forth more books per annum than any other, but nothing in the last four decades has been even remotely interesting. And yet, Harlequin features in so many posts: those dealing with Brian Moore, Arthur Stringer, Gay Canadian Rogues, drug paperbacks, News Stand Library and, of course, its own 60th anniversary celebrations. I've had few kind words – and was, perhaps, a touch harsh about their SoHo gallery show – so, I felt pretty good about drawing attention to their series of vintage reissues a couple of months ago. "Whoever is overseeing this thing has done a very nice job", I wrote at the time.

Well, that person turns out to be Executive Editor Marsha Zinberg, who a few weeks later wrote about the collection on Harlequin's blog. Interesting stuff, it goes some way to explaining their strange choice of titles. "We wanted books whose cover art appealed to us," writes the editor, "and we had to be in physical possession of the book, but in some cases, once we started reading the text, we simply couldn’t see publishing the story, for a host of reasons….content, language, political correctness, etc. Several were eliminated, no matter how striking the cover!"

Then, Ms Zinberg casually drops a bomb:

Remember, our intention was to publish the stories in their original form. But once we immersed ourselves in the text, our eyes grew wide. Our jaws dropped. Social behavior — such as hitting a woman — that would be considered totally unacceptable now was quite common sixty years ago. Scenes of near rape would not sit well with a contemporary audience, we were quite convinced. We therefore decided to make small adjustments to the text, only in cases where we felt scenes or phrases would be offensive to a 2009 readership. Also, grammar and spelling standards have changed quite a bit in sixty years.

So, there you have it: not reissues, but bowdlerized editions designed for we sensitive, semi-literate souls of the 21st century. How strange, then, that Ms Zinberg should end her post:

Everyone in house has taken such interest and pride in this project, and we're delighted that the collection is now out in the marketplace. We hope they will also accomplish what the cover art exhibition attempted to do: "offer a unique insight into the profound changes that have occurred in women’s lives over the past six decades — from shifts in private desires to shifts in the politics of gender"!

Yes, profound changes that appear much less so thanks to the censor's blood red pen.

The comments section of Ms Zinberg's post indicates that initial reaction was quite positive. "Marsha, what a great story!" writes Harlequin author Jean Brashear. "What a fascinating journey!" chimes in unbiased stablemate Jeannie Watt. With one exception, all were quite friendly and congratulatory until late last week when it seems the post was discovered by pulp collectors. I can add nothing to their comments.

The truth out, I take back my complimentary words about the series and its editor. The kindest observation I'm able to offer at this point is that Harlequin has not seen fit to remove the post or comments from its blog.

Not yet, away.

Related posts:

Harlequin's Change of Heart

Hard Lessons in Publishing

The Final Sigh

"The Heavenly Boy", read by Donald Winkler at the installation of the memorial plaque to John Glassco. The poet's last published verse, it appeared in the December 1980 issue of Saturday Night. Glassco died the following month.

John Glassco Memorial Plaque

The plaque is cast.

Alloy Foundry, Merrickville, Ontario

20 November 2009

I do complain. Back in April I was going on and on about the dearth of historical plaques in this country, pointing – predictably – to a pub that now occupies what had once been John Glassco's pied-à-terre. Seven months later, with the Glassco centenary just weeks away, I'm pleased to report that a memorial plaque to the author will be installed at the city's St James the Apostle Anglican Church.

It's the most appropriate of locations, I think. St James the Apostle was the Glassco family church. On 19 September 1905, his parents were married there in an elaborate ceremony that was covered in the Montreal Daily Star. Glassco married both his wives, Elma Koolmer (1917-1971) and Marion McCormick (1924-2004), at St James, and it was at the church, on 2 February 1981, that his funeral was held.

The installation, which is open to all, will take place at 4:00 pm, Thursday, 26 November 2009.

St James the Apostle Anglican Church

1439 St Catherine Street West

Montreal, Quebec

Love and Unhappiness

The Master Motive [À l’œuvre et à l’épreuve]

Laure Conan

[pseud. Marie-Louise-Félicité Angers;

Theresa A. Gethin, trans.]

St Louis: B. Herder, 1909

254 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.

A Tory Bodice-ripper?

Strange days, indeed. This past Wednesday, Remembrance Day, Linden MacIntyre received a well-deserved Giller Prize for The Bishop's Man. A day later, the novel's position as the country's most discussed book was lost to a 62-page government publication intended for prospective immigrants. The reviews of Discover Canada have been glowing:

"... a reasonable, balanced assessment of the national past."

– Adam Chapnick, The Ottawa Citizen

"...a solid step toward a healthy, self-respecting Canadian nationalism we can all share."

– The Gazette

"...a comparative bodice-ripper when stacked against its bland predecessor..."

– John Ivison, The National Post

I don't think Ivison really means Discover Canada is cheap or disposable or sexually-charged – and read nothing into his use of "stacked" with "bodice-ripper" – but he is very, very excited.

A newly minted Canadian himself, the National Post columnist cheers on Discover Canada as "yet another incremental step in the re-branding of Canada into a conservative country, full of people more inclined to vote Conservative." So, pay no attention to the participation of non-partisan bodies, ignore advisors like Andrew Cohen and John Ralston Saul, Discover Canada is the "Tory guide to a blue Canada". Why? Because it promotes "patriotism, pride in the armed forces and support for the rule of law" (in much the same way Ivison promotes American punctuation). These aren't Canadian values, the columnist tells us, they're Conservative values. Oh, and that maple leaf on the cover? That's not a Canadian symbol, but one that became Tory after a successful "hijacking".

And then, predictably, Ivison's off on another rant about the gun registry.

I can understand why the columnist so wants to claim Discover Canada for his team; it may not be a bodice-ripper, but it's most certainly an improvement. Yes, Bloc MPs hate the thing, but that's just a job requirement; all the other parties are pretty well on board. The greatest criticism thus far comes from New Democrat Olivia Chow, who laments that the new guide doesn't recognize our UNESCO World Heritage sites.

This is not to say that there aren't greater flaws. Christopher Moore notes that there's no mention of First Nations rights and treaties, while Daniel Francis rightly claims that BC receives short shrift (and points out that not one of the 26 advisors comes from the province).

Much more modest, my own complaint deals with the "Arts and Culture in Canada" section. It consumes little more than a page and, curiously, is dominated by sports, science and technology. Oh, there's paragraph on the visual arts, which mentions the Group of Seven, Emily Carr, les Automatistes, Jean-Paul Riopelle and Kenojuak Ashevak. Another paragraph on film and television boils everything down to Denys Arcand, Norman Jewison and Atom Egoyan. But what does Discover Canada have to tell prospective immigrants about our literary heritage?

The answer, in its entirety:

So there you have it: Canadian literature in fifteen or so words. I could make more of this, I suppose, but these guys and their fellow singers and songwriters didn't even get a sentence to call their own.

RIP Joshua Slocum

Recognition this morning of Nova Scotia's Joshua Slocum, the first man to sail alone around the world. The mariner wrote about his adventure in the aptly titled Sailing Alone Around the World (1899), a travel classic still published around that same world, but not in his own country.

Slocum loved a good book and was a fervent reader, sometimes at his own peril. Here he is after departing the Cape of Good Hope on his good sloop the Spray:

The wind was from the southeast; this suited the Spray well, and she ran along steadily at her best speed, while I dipped into the new books given me at the cape, reading day and night. March 30 was for me a fast-day in honor of them. I read on, oblivious of hunger or wind or sea, thinking that all was going well, when suddenly a comber rolled over the stern and slopped saucily into the cabin, wetting the very book I was reading. Evidently it was time to put in a reef, that she might not wallow on her course.

It was one hundred years ago today that Slocum and the Spray set sail for the West Indies... and disappeared. Though an optimist, I don't expect we'll ever hear more from him. Slocum's end was probably pretty horrible – he never could be bothered to learn how to swim. No, much more pleasant to think that he simply drifted off while reading in bed.