Hanna-Barbera's Canadian Classic

This afternoon children across this country celebrate that moment of sweet liberation that is the beginning of Christmas Break. What better time to introduce them to the riches of our country's literature... and who better to do it than the minds behind The Jetsons, The Flintstones and, of course, The Herculoids.

The Last of the Curlews, adapted from Fred Bodsworth's 1955 novel, aired in October 1972 as the very first ABC After School Special. Beta, VHS and Laserdisc have all come and gone, and still we're waiting for the Hanna-Barbera folks to recognize and release this little gem. Thankfully, the whole thing has been uploaded to YouTube by someone who has confused Fred Bodsworth with John Dodsworth (Baron de la Ma de la Toulon in Singin' in the Rain).

Never mind. Just sit back, enjoy... and préparez vos mouchoirs.

Selling The Strange One

The Strange One

Fred Bodsworth

London: Sphere, 1979

Stumbled upon a couple of days ago, this very misleading UK cover treatment for Fred Bodsworth's second novel. There's very little passion in this book, and most certainly no "wild love", but what is more curious is the absence of the protagonist. You see, the "Strange One" isn't Kanina Beaverskin, the regrettably named young lady depicted, rather it's a Barnacle Goose. Readers of Bodsworth's 1955 debut, The Last of the Curlews, will not be surprised.

Much more honest is the dust jacket to the first UK edition, published in 1962 by Longmans Green. Here we see our hero in full flight. Kanina's small stature reflects her rather negligible presence in the novel.

An admission: Bodsworth's title always brings lesbians to mind. Those familiar with vintage paperbacks will understand.

Related post: Selling The Nymph and the Lamp

John Glassco: 100 Years

"I believe, actually, that birthdays should be dated from the moment of conception or fertilization, because that was undoubtedly a pleasanter occasion for everyone concerned."

John Glassco, letter to A.J.M. Smith, 27 Oct 1964

John Glassco was born at his parents' Montreal home one hundred years ago today. There are toasts to be made, of course, but I'm reminded that this was rarely a happy time of year for the poet. The birthday, followed so closely by Christmas, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day only served to remind him of the dreaded passage of time. In Glassco's final years, his wife, Marion McCormick, moved the day of celebration to 15 June.

Twenty-eight years after the man's death, reference works have come to record 19 December as Glassco's date of birth – an error that can be traced back to his entry in The Canadian Encyclopedia. I expect Glassco, that great practitioner of deceit, would have enjoyed the confusion.