Senator Frum's Cold War Campuses

Another year, another prorogation. Bracing for this season's round of senate appointments, thoughts reach back all of four months to the last batch: Conservative Party election strategist Doug Finley, Harper advisor Carolyn Stewart-Olson and Judith Seidman, who proved instrumental in Harper's victory at the 2004 leadership convention. There were many others, of course, including Linda Frum, who is now enjoying the first of her 28 years in our upper house. The daughter of Barbara, the sister of David, she hasn't exactly been a Chatty Cathy; it was not until last month that, during the debate on the Economic Action Plan, Frum rose to deliver her maiden speech. She spoke at length about her family history, her husband, her volunteer work, her views on the military, her misgivings about diplomacy and the pride she takes in having her name "associated with the Harper government". "The moral courage shown by our Prime Minister is a model to leaders around the world," she said of the man who had bravely appointed her.

Senator Frum never did get around to talking about the Action Plan – just a fleeting observation that reports are good things – but she did devote a couple of paragraphs to the decades old Linda Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities, which holds the grand distinction of having been the subject of my very first book review. And so, I present this forgotten piece, published in the 13 November 1987 edition of the Montreal Mirror. Though I had come of age, please think of it as juvenilia.

No cover image, I'm afraid. I had to throw the book away after my dear cat Morley peed on the thing. It was his only "accident".

Morley

(1985-1999)

RIP

Linda Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities

Linda Frum

Toronto: Key Porter, 1987

"University gave me lifelong respect for those who labour to produce a book."

– Barbara Frum, quoted in Linda Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities

Linda Frum is her mother's daughter – and it is presumably for this reason that her name and photograph dominate the cover of this, her first book. Consider this a form of introduction.

Former McGill students might remember Frum as the editor of the short-lived McGill University Magazine, a flimsy paper with the stated goal of recapturing the traditions of Old McGill, but apparently more interested in criticizing the left and extolling its own perceived virtues of the United States.

Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities contains a few brief examples of her political thinking, including a nonsensical argument against the public funding of universities, a reference to the Contras as anti-Soviet guerillas, and this example of Reagan Era paranoia: "At every urban university there is a tiny, highly visible clique that cares passionately, but fleetingly, about El Salvador, Nicaragua, East Timor, South Africa, or whatever issue the Soviet Union is pushing at the moment."

However, for the most part, the political side of the 42 universities covered in this book is ignored – as are academic qualities. "It's not that I don't care about that stuff," Frum writes in the introduction, "but let's leave that stuff to your parents and guidance counsellor. These pages are dedicated to the subjects your family and guidance counsellor are too embarrassed or respectable to talk about."

What follows is a light-weight guide that dwells upon – among other things – the excellent parking facilities at McMaster, the beauty and wealth of the students at Western, the filthy toilets at the University of Toronto and the ease with which one can get laid at Laurentian. Also included are statistics concerning the male/female ratio on each campus, along with a handy section on which universities to attend if the student's goal is to be married by commencement.

If there is any one major flaw in all of this, it's that the author's sweeping generalizations confuse and mislead. Students at the University of Guelph are either leftists or centrists, depending upon which page one is reading. When Frum describes the typical McGill student as dressing in "outfits of all black, including dyed hair, eyebrows, lips", we Montrealers know she's exaggerating (and is really just writing about the ladies).

McGill, it is noted, is located in our fair city, and much of its attractiveness is attributed to this fact: "The best moments at McGill are spent munching on croissants and sipping cafés au lait, touring Montreal's beaux-arts palaces, getting drunk in the bistros of St-Denis, shopping for fresh groceries on St-Laurent, skiing on Mount Royal and going to hockey games at the Forum."

In Linda Frum's world, Concordia is located in a much less idyllic city – one barely worth mentioning. It is a rough place, attracting "off-the-map left", ""off-beat, unconventional characters", most of whom are ethnics who live with their parents.

Inexplicably, the Université de Montréal, the Université de Québec à Montréal and the country's other French language universities are not even mentioned. What can we read from this? That anglophones never attend francophone universities? That Frum knows no French? Is the exclusion in itself a political statement?

Linda Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities can only disappoint. While friends and foes of the McGill University Magazine will lament the near-absence of Frum's entertaining political views, serious students will invariably discover that his or her chosen university bears little resemblance to the one described in his book. Those who have chosen Laurentian will be the most disappointed.

-30-

Redux:

Twenty-three years later, Senator Linda Frum discusses Linda Frum's Guide to Canadian Universities. with Cathrin Bradbury of Maclean's (19 November 2010):

Q: You called York University “ugly, impersonal, bleak, isolated and depressing.”
A: I was there recently, and they have tried very hard to change that. Actually, they’ve put up some quite wonderful buildings.

And now this, from the 15 November 2003 Globe and Mail profile of Howard Sokolowski, Linda Frum's husband:

Mr. Sokolowski, 51, builds homes by the thousands, mainly in the 905 belt, through his company, Tribute Communities. He is the guy who "doesn't put the garage door in the front of the house," he says; his latest venture is what he calls an "integrated" community of 500 homes near York University.

Again, Linda Frum is a Stephen Harper appointee.

Related posts:

Some Senators Write (or Say They Do)
Back to School with Senator Linda Frum
Senator Linda Frum's McGill University Magazine

A Record of Engagements

The Canadian Women Writers Engagement Calendar 1985

Adele Wiseman, editor

Toronto: Yewdewit, 1984

A piece of flotsam from the ninth decade of the last century, this strange calendar represents something of a personal triumph; proof that I'm capable of recording my comings and goings over the course of an entire year. I made it all the way to 31 December 1985, only to give it all up the next day. I blame this on the publisher, which never issued its promised 1986 calendar.

Q: What was I doing 25 years ago today?

A: "Had to handle work [salesperson at Sam the Record Man] on only a few hours sleep and, as a result, the day went by at a crawl. Little else to report."

That I gave up journal writing is most certainly a loss to future generations.

Old Christmas Gift Finally Read

Dazzled

John Gray

Toronto: Irwin, 1984

Very much a fan of John Gray's Billy Bishop Goes to War and 18 Wheels, I was pleased as punch when, as an excitable young pup, I received a signed copy of Dazzled as a Christmas gift in 1985. Sure, the dust jacket offended, but it could be easily slipped off. The interior, however, proved a greater challenge to these blue eyes.

What is that? Helvetica? Fine when used in directions to the nearest washroom, but hard to take over 245 pages. And why is the type so grey? Some silly allusion to the author's surname? A comment on Irwin's anemic publishing program?

I've held onto this garish book for 24 years, determined that one day I would tackle all those faded, Swiss-designed letters. Today was that day.

It's a bit of a shame that I didn't make the effort earlier; I would've enjoyed its criticism of 'sixties culture. In 1985, that decade of peace, love and idleness was pervasive, and I responded with a youthful Sid Vicious-inspired sneer. Though I lowered my upper lip long ago, at about the same time I started shaving, I still enjoyed the novel's ranting:

The edge of the wedge was the Vietnam War, and the schism widened with subsequent revelations, theories and lies about the CIA, pollution, overpopulation, the miltary-industrial complex and the Establishment. The only moral thing for American youth to do was to Drop Out. Oh, some frothing fanatics formed radical groups like the Weathermen and blew up their university library, perhaps killing the Establishment librarian. Most America youth, however, struck a blow for peace, justice and ecological sanity by refusing to participate in the materialism and imperialism so central to modern life.

With typical Yankee ingenuity, American youth found what the youth of the world had always sought: a morally superior non-activity that required no knowledge, effort or skill. In short, they did nothing.

These are the thoughts of the protagonist, Willard, a parasitic, perpetual student whose lazy, hippy dreams are all but destroyed by a disintegrating marriage. He lives a dark comedy, told in a confessional tone that at times reminded me of Jonathan Ames. That said, I think it improbable that the American author has read Dazzled; the novel was never published in the States. In Canada Dazzled received one lone printing. "You'll never find this one," Gray writes on his website, "it went out of print almost the moment it was released."

There was no paperback edition.

Sixteen years passed before the next John Gray novel appeared. In the meantime, the need to shave increased in frequency, and the Martian John Gray invaded our bookstores (and, I'm betting, more than a few Venusian hearts), forcing our John Gray to write as John MacLaughlan Gray.

May we all devote ourselves this New Year to working towards a more just, more beautiful world.

Object: Barring the self-published, Dazzled is undoubtedly one of the ugliest looking novels ever produced in this country. I admit here that this harsh opinion may be influenced by the roller skating disco diva superheroine Dazzler, who was then being pushed by Marvel Comics.

I digress.

The Dazzled dust jacket is particularly susceptible to light; more often than not, spines have faded to a somewhat more palatable shade of pink.

About the author: Having twice seen Gray in person, I can attest that the blue tinted dust jacket photo does him a disservice.

Access: I'm pleased to report that there are plenty listed online. More good news: Near Fine copies can be had for US$5. Public library users outside Vancouver will feel let down; not even the usually reliable Toronto Public Library has a copy.

Correction: A reader kindly points out that the Toronto Public Library does have the book in its collection – three copies, in fact! My apologies for the error. I'll take this opportunity to sing a line in praise of the TPL: In my experience, it's the finest public library in the country.

On the Year's Last Eve

From The Poems of Archibald Lampman, published by Musson in 1900, the year after the poet's death.

The Girls Who Got Away

"LISA WENT TO MONTREAL FOR ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE... SHE NEVER DREAMED SHE WOULD FALL IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN!"

Published in 1969 by California's Brandon House, easily the finest American publisher of erotica, for some time I've had an eye out for this title. Last month a Toronto bookseller teased, then disappointed. Here's hoping for success in 2010.

I'm too young to remember the American pavilion, depicted on the cover. That said, I see no evidence that any of its displays featured a bed... or lesbian sex, for that matter.

 

Fact-Checking Gordon Sinclair

Bright Path [sic] to Adventure

Gordon Sinclair

Toronto: Harlequin, 1954

Was Gordon Sinclair ever so dashing a figure? I remember him from Front Page Challenge. Not nearly as sharp as Pierre Berton, lacking Betty Kennedy's class and poise, to my young eyes he was just a boorish little man in a loud sports jacket.

What I didn't know, sitting there on the floor in front of my family's Viking colour television, was that Sinclair had written a number of commercially successful books. Royalties from the first, Foot-loose in India (1932), paid for his faux-Georgian manor in Islington. Bright Path to Adventure was, perhaps, less successful. Still, in 1945 the Globe and Mail reported that it had sold 10,000 copies in just two months.

The Globe and Mail, 1 December 1945

At this distance, it's difficult to explain the popularity. Bright Path to Adventure is such a slapdash effort; a book that seems to rely on the author's memory alone. Sinclair offers up a collection of tales, which like the cover, are worthy of Men's Adventure, Man's Action and other muscle-flexing magazines of the post-war era. What jars is that such a prominent, respected journalist cares so little for truth or accuracy. Reading Sinclair's words is much like to listening to a half-drunken stranger at a dinner party going on about some article he once read in school. Everything is sketchy. Sinclair devotes several pages to the case against Jack Fiddler without once mentioning his name... or the name of his co-accused... or the name of his supposed victim; nor does he report the year or location of the alleged crime. He describes all, laughably, as a case of "cannibalism and voodoo".

We move from dinner party to campfire with a ghost story. It seems that one dark September night a car containing two unidentified female teachers from an unnamed girls' college broke down, unaccountably, on an unspecified Kansas highway. The journalist tells us that the pair took shelter in an abandoned farmhouse (location undisclosed) where they encountered the ghost of a fisherman. Then they learned from an innominate local that the farm had once belonged to a nameless man whose heart had been broken by a son who had gone off to sea. Sinclair writes that the apparition left behind some mysterious vegetation, "a type of seaweed only found on dead bodies." This, according to an anonymous professor of botany, who was "frankly dubious but curious. He showed the foliage to others who agreed that this type of seaweed could never have been found anywhere near the Kansas prairie."

Never.

Reportage from "Canada's most widely travelled journalist".

Object: Though it drops the Stanley Turner illustrations found in the McClelland and Stewart first edition, Bright Path to Adventure is fairly thick for a Harlequin. Curiously, this edition also drops the letter S from the title; Sinclair's bright paths becoming a single trail. Full page adverts for Raymond Marshall's Lady... Here's Your Wreath and Come Blonde, Came Murder by Peter George only contribute to buyer's remorse.

Access: The Toronto Public Library has a copy, as do a bunch of Canadian universities. A quarter century after Sinclair's death, signed copies of the Harlequin edition can be bought for as little as US$5. Good signed copies of the McClelland and Stewart edition can be had for under US$20. Unsigned copies are cheaper still.

A Merry Christmas to All

Bought for Its Beauty

The March of the White Guard

Gilbert Parker

New York: Ferro, 1902

Does it not seem appropriate that Gilbert Parker's true first name was Horatio? His was, after all, an Algeresque life. Here we have a man, the son of rural Ontario storekeeper, who rose to become one of England's most powerful MPs. Parker was knighted by Edward VII, received a baronetcy from George V and became a member of the Privy Council; all while penning novels and short stories that made him one of the popular writers of his day.

I don't know that I've ever met anyone who has read anything by Sir Gilbert. Perhaps my great-grandparents did... who knows where their libraries ended up. This copy of The March of the White Guard was purchased seven years ago in a Vancouver bookstore. The price – one dollar – tempted, but what sealed the deal were W.E.B. Starkweather's illustrations. Artwork extends beyond endpapers and plates to elements that decorate each page, making an otherwise bland read an enjoyable experience.

What an anonymous 1902 New York Times review describes as "a stirring tale of life and adventure in the Hudson Bay district" begins hundreds of miles to the west with the receipt of a letter addressed to the Chief Factor of Fort Providence. Rose Lepage writes in desperation that her husband, Varre, has gone missing while exploring the Barren Grounds. Enter contemplative sub-factor Jaspar Hume, who shows considerable character and bravery in agreeing to lead what seems a futile rescue party. The reader's estimation of Hume grows considerably after a lengthy monologue (below), which Hume addresses – uncharacteristically, we're told – to his faithful dog, Jacques.

The next morning Hume sets off with a crew of four misfits: slow Scotsman "Late" Carscallen, Métis Gaspé Toujours, the perpetually grunting Cloud-in-the-Sky and Jeff Hyde, the bully of Fort Providence. Together they are the White Guard; so named for their decision to dress in "white blanket costumes from head to foot".

The modern reader will wonder that this was ever considered appropriate attire for a northern rescue party. Sure enough, the panorama of snow, ice, sun and white blanket costumes overwhelms, bringing on snowblindness, and very nearly felling Hume.

Most of The March of the White Guard takes place north of the 61st parallel during deepest winter, a landscape and time rendered with considerable skill by the appropriately named Mr Starkweather. Strange then, that the cover features five dandelions. Are these in some way meant to represent the five members of the White Guard? Dying weeds shedding seeds? I just don't get it.

Access: Common and cheap, Very Good copies of the 1901 first edition – as above, but with tawny boards – can be had for under US$10.

It's been some time since I criticized the less than reputable online booksellers, and even longer since my last real swipe at print on demand folk. Against the spirit of the season, I offer the following observations.

The cover of the Dodo Press edition features a summertime scene in which two buckskin-wearing men stand in a deciduous forest, while that of Read How You Want reproduces a painting of an unidentified cardinal. Both are just as mysterious as Starkweather's (though I will acknowledge that Parker twice refers to Gaspé Toujours as a "Papist").

Sadly – and inexplicably – the always interesting firm of Tutis Digital Publishing does not include The March of the White Guard amongst its sixteen Parker titles. That said, their cover treatments of Sir Gilbert's other works do not fail to entertain. My favourite is Tutis Classics' Michel and Angele, a historical romance of two Huguenot lovers during the reign of Elizabeth I. (Over at Caustic Cover Critic, JRSM points to the company's use of the same image on a couple of Jack London books.)

Kessinger Publishing always plays it safe by slapping on covers reminiscent of a no name corn flakes box. The company couples The March of the White Guard with The Trespasser, presenting what is, in effect, the eighth volume of the 23-volume Works of Gilbert Parker. For US$65.17, an American bookseller will happily sell you a "Brand New", "Never Used" copy identical to that which Amazon lists for US$21.24.

Merry Christmas, ExtremelyReliable of Richmond, Texas.

Update: Martin W kindly points out that the "unidentified cardinal" on the cover of the Read How You Want edition is actually Pope Innocent X, as painted by Diego Velázquez.