Most Recent Posts recent posts.en-usRemembering Derek Walcott, by Ingrid Bejerman<p> I couldn&rsquo;t imagine a more special invitation. From the moment they founded the Julio Cort&aacute;zar Chair of Latin American Affairs at the University of Guadalajara, Mexico, in December 1993, Gabriel Garc&iacute;a M&aacute;rquez and Carlos Fuentes had carefully prepared a list of the most brilliant minds on the planet &mdash; novelists, heads of state, musicians, scholars, poets &mdash; to teach a brief course and deliver a magisterial lecture. For each potential chairholder, Fuentes and Gabo drew up a very special, very personal letter, which they signed together.&nbsp; And it was my job, as the director of that Chair, to make sure it reached the mind in question.</p> <p> Derek Walcott topped the list of guests for the year 2000. In mid-August of 1999, I dialled the top-secret number of his home in Greenwich Village to send him his letter, by fax. His wife, Sigrid Nama, a beautiful German goddess whose initial charm is her warm and witty voice, answered the phone instead. I told her this was an invitation to stay at the Casa Cort&aacute;zar in Mexico for a week, surrounded by wonderful people and the best food in the world. And that of course, although this was very important and highly intellectual, I was also looking forward to taking her shopping: jewelry, handicrafts.&nbsp; Sigrid accepted immediately, and we scheduled their trip to Guadalajara right then and there: March 7, 2000. It was all quite convenient, as they&rsquo;d be coming from the University of Texas in Houston, where Walcott was a visiting professor that term.</p> <p> Then Sigrid passed the phone to her husband. He answered, giggling, &quot;what kind of trouble are you getting me into?&rdquo; I told him that Sigrid and I had already arranged everything, and that all he had to do was give me the topic of his lecture, which had to be unique and prepared in the spirit of Cort&aacute;zar:&nbsp; &ldquo;He liberated us as he liberated himself,&rdquo; I read the description by Fuentes, in my improvised English version, &ldquo;with a new language, airy, capable of all adventures: Hopscotch is one of the great manifestos of Latin American modernity. In it we see all our greatness and all our miseries, our deficiencies and our opportunities, through a free, unfinished verbal construction which never ceases to call on its readers in order to stay alive and endless.&rdquo;</p> <p> I heard a sigh at the other end of the line. &ldquo;Very simple,&rdquo; Walcott told me. &ldquo;I will talk about the Hispanic presence in contemporary English poetry.&rdquo;</p> <p> During the months between that conversation and their trip to Mexico, we spoke often. Neither Derek nor Sigrid had email, and at that time there was no Skype or WhatsApp.&nbsp; Long-distance calls between Guadalajara and Castries, the capital of Saint Lucia, where Walcott was born and where they spent most of their time, were prohibitively expensive. But we gave ourselves the luxury of talking for a little bit, between consultations about his lecture, the scheduling of interviews with the press, putting together their social calendar.</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Walcott%202.jpg" style="width: 250px; height: 166px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:10px;">Derek Walcott in Guadalajara, with Ingrid Bejerman (left)</span></p> <p> I had also lived in the Caribbean &mdash; in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia &mdash; and I was in love with the narrative of that region, the idiosyncrasies, novel to me, but also strangely familiar.&nbsp; I told Derek that for Gabo, the Caribbean was both a real and an imagined region, which &ldquo;began&rdquo; in Salvador da Bahia in my country, Brazil, and &ldquo;ended&rdquo; in New Orleans, Louisiana. He loved that idea, which inspired the first paragraph of the lecture that he would deliver in Guadalajara:</p> <p> &quot;I have no Spanish, which is unremarkable anywhere else, but which, in a Caribbean context, as an islander, is unforgivable, first because of the proximity of so many large Spanish-speaking countries in the arc of the Caribbean ocean, too big to be called a sea, and because of the three-act history of the New World, the drama of exploration, conquest and independence that all our nations, some, like mine, the size of rocks, have shared.&nbsp; What I have, residually, about the Spanish language is that instinct of parody, of melodrama, exaggeration and flourish which my own language instilled in me, or rather, tried to, even if it was against the temperament of my island, Saint Lucia. The generic parody of the Englishman is of a cold-blooded passionless person, monadic in expression, of a gentleman who doesn&rsquo;t wave his arms around to make a point.&nbsp; This judgment may be as true of the Spanish, i.e. Latin poetry and prose as it is in its caricature of politics, its clich&eacute;s of blood-letting, of duende, of revolution and gesture.&rdquo;</p> <p> I sent that passage to Gabo.&nbsp; Gabo told me that they thought the same &mdash; but that Walcott had said it much better.</p> <p> Not long afterward, I received the full lecture &mdash; half typed on a typewriter, half written by hand &mdash; and my staff and I were filled with excitement and joy, with the date of his arrival fast approaching.&nbsp; But on Tuesday, March 6, Sigrid called me at the office.</p> <p> &ldquo;Roderick, Derek&rsquo;s twin brother, has just died,&quot; she told me.</p> <p> I found myself speechless, but I managed to speak through the lump in my throat.&nbsp; &ldquo;We will do whatever you want,&rdquo; I told her.&nbsp; I do not remember how the conversation went on, but in the end they did decide to come to Guadalajara after all, that it would be better for them, good for all of us.</p> <p> Seven unforgettable days followed.&nbsp; Derek, like Gabo, loved being surrounded by youth.&nbsp; Derek also spoke of Fuentes, and told me a very funny story.&nbsp; Once when they met in the lobby of a Miami hotel where they were both attending a literary event, Walcott bowed down to Fuentes as a joke.&nbsp; And Fuentes, in reverence for the Nobel Prize recipient for Literature, threw himself to the ground.&nbsp; There was the Cort&aacute;zarian spirit, the &ldquo;dialogue of humours&rdquo; which Fuentes spoke of: laughing, the Caribbean poet referred to his Mexican host as a great writer with a great sense of humour.</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Walcott%203.jpg" style="width: 317px; height: 224px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:10px;">Ingrid Bejerman and Derek Walcott, Guadalajara</span></p> <p> We stayed in touch.&nbsp; Years later, in 2006, Sigrid and Derek came to Blue Metropolis, the international literary festival here in Montreal, where I work in programming. It was as if not a day had passed. Derek kept asking me about Canada, about Quebec: what was special, unique. I tried to tell him, but to each example I offered, Derek said no, that everything I mentioned was not really from here. It all came from somewhere else.</p> <p> But wasn&rsquo;t that also the case with Spanish?</p> <p> &ldquo;Vowels and mustaches are the clich&eacute; of the Spanish personality, those, and subliminally, an audible guitar in the metre of Spanish poetry, whether it is elegiac or furious, elegiac in the reflections of Machado and Vallejo, and both in the temperamental black yet sunlit gypsy rhythm of Lorca.&rdquo;</p> <p> It was his, too, that sunlit gypsy rhythm.&nbsp; While he may have insisted that he had no Spanish, I believe that the whole Hispanic universe was contained within him.</p> <div> <span style="font-size:14px;">Copyright &copy; 2017, Ingrid Bejerman</span></div> <div> &nbsp;</div> <div> <span style="font-size:14px;"><img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Bejerman-Ingrid-XY1A4560-m.jpg" style="width: 150px; height: 225px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:10px;">Photo: Daniel Mordzinski</span></span></div> <div> &nbsp;</div> <div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <tbody> <tr> <td> <p> Ingrid Bejerman is Programming Associate for Spanish and Portuguese at Blue Metropolis, the Montreal International Literary Festival. She teaches courses in journalism theory at Concordia University, and coordinates the Canada in the Americas initiative at the McGill Institute for the Study of Canada.</p> </td> </tr> </tbody> </table> </div> <div> &nbsp;</div> <div> &nbsp;</div> Sun, 09 Apr 2017 12:38:50 -0400Mavis Gallant's What Is To Be Done? by Linda Leith<p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Gallant2.jpg" style="width: 250px; height: 375px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:12px;">The cover of the new edition of <em>What Is To Be Done?&nbsp;</em></span></p> <p> Set in wartime and written in the late 1970s, Mavis Gallant&rsquo;s play&nbsp;<em>What Is To Be Done?&nbsp;</em>premiered at Toronto&rsquo;s Tarragon Theatre on Remembrance Day, 1982, and was published by Quadrant Editions the following year.&nbsp;It was in print only for a couple of years, however, before Quadrant closed its doors, and it has seldom been read or even mentioned in the intervening years. Re-reading it today, is a reminder not only of its liveliness and wit, but also of two lively young women, Jenny Thurstone and Molly McCormack, who may be the most engaging characters Gallant ever created.</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/WITBD%20cover%20copy.jpeg" style="width: 250px; height: 333px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:12px;">The cover of the first edition of <em>What Is To Be Done? &nbsp;</em></span></p> <p> The play opens in August 1942 and closes on VE Day, May 8<sup>th</sup>, 1945. Its subject, like that the revolutionary pamphlet by Vladimir Ilyich Lenin from which it takes its title,&nbsp;is the dream of a better world. Jenny, aged 18 at the beginning of the play, and Molly, 20, are Communist activists receiving instruction from an older woman, Mrs. Bailey, and from a young man from Glasgow named Willie Howe. Lenin&rsquo;s dream was of Communist revolution; the young women&rsquo;s dream is of the new world that will emerge when the war ends. As Jenny tells Molly, it will be &ldquo;a clean new world, with a clean swept sky.&rdquo;</p> <p> Mavis Gallant (1922-2014) published well over a hundred short stories published in the pages of <em>The New Yorker </em>as well as two novels and numerous essays<em>.&nbsp;</em>Though she was not a playwright, she came up with the idea of <em>What Is To Be Done?</em> when she was approached by the British director Clifford Williams, and she then sent the play to the Canadian director John Hirsh, who had been asking her for a play since 1968, when he was at the Stratford Festival. He passed it on to the Tarragon Theatre in Toronto,<a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">[1]</a> and when Urjo Kareda was hired as artistic director in 1982, he wrote to Gallant, saying, &ldquo;I love <em>What Is To Be Done? </em>and would like to present it as part of my first season as artistic director of the Tarragon. I was immensely drawn to its vitality and its humour, to its fascinating mixture of irony and compassion; and I am mad about those two women.&rdquo;<a href="#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">[2]</a></p> <p> Gallant was in Toronto for rehearsals and for the premiere at the Tarragon Theatre. Reviewers were struck by the play&rsquo;s focus on the two young women, with Gina Mallet in <em>The Globe and Mail</em> calling the play &ldquo;a treat&rdquo; and describing the actors Margot Dionne (Molly) and Donna Goodhand (Jenny) as &ldquo;enchanting.&rdquo;<a href="#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">[3]</a>&nbsp;A second <em>Globe </em>piece that same day, by Carole Corbeil, argues that Gallant takes &ldquo;a very female approach,&rdquo; appropriate for the play&rsquo;s subject. Corbeil sees the play as &ldquo;a mix of the absurdity of 40&rsquo;s French comedies, evocative naturalism, and off-the-wall surrealism.&rdquo; Like Mallet, she, too, loves the two women, saying that &ldquo;Miss Goodhand and Miss Dionne give gorgeous performances as two women friends united by conspiracy; this is a rare enough sight in the theatre.&rdquo;<a href="#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">[4]</a>&nbsp;<em>Maclean&rsquo;s</em> described the play &ndash; &ldquo;an accomplished theatre debut&rdquo; &ndash; as &ldquo;ambitious, invigorating and blessed with a quirky rhythm which continually employs indirection to find direction out.&rdquo;<a href="#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">[5]</a></p> <p> A later review of the published play praises the play&rsquo;s &ldquo;perfect writing,&rdquo; Gallant&rsquo;s &ldquo;fine ear for Canadian dialogue, her observations on Canadian society and her attunement to the Canadian sense of humour&rdquo; which &ldquo;which Gallant firmly among the finest English-Canadian writers. <em>What Is To Be Done? </em>is a continual delight to its reader.&rdquo;<a href="#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">[6]</a> Such criticism as there was of the play focuses on time spent on scene changes and on the fact that much of the conflict is off-stage. Tickets sold briskly throughout the six-week run. In the <em>Toronto Star</em>, Sid Adelman wrote that it &ldquo;sold out the first two weeks, tickets are going fast for this week, its third, and the rest of the run. Extra matinees are scheduled for Dec. 1 and 15&rdquo; before complaining that this &ldquo;hot ticket&rdquo; must be taken off Dec. 19 after six weeks.<a href="#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">[7]</a></p> <p> When Gallant returned to Paris, Kareda wrote, &ldquo;How we all miss you! It was so exciting to have you with us. Excitement, however, has not ceased. <em>What Is To Be Done?</em> is what must be called a runaway success&rdquo; (November 19, 1982). She wrote in her journal, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m pleased for them.&rdquo;</p> <p style="margin-left: 80px;"> As for me, I had a hard core of confidence under the anxiousness. The whole enterprise seemed charmed from the moment I saw a rehearsal. What I can&rsquo;t bear is that in four weeks it will cease to exist. (Mavis Gallant journal entry dated November 24, 1982)</p> <p> Kareda wrote again on December 28, 1982, after the final performance: a long, single-spaced letter about the &ldquo;feelings that passed through me, through so many of us, at the final performance of <em>What Is To Be Done?</em>&rdquo;</p> <p style="margin-left: 80px;"> The production was like some gorgeous soaring balloon, which spun around in the air-currents and kept reaching higher and higher. The actors were so confident and polished and joyous in their work: what they achieved did seem superhuman. The two girls glowed with such grace and radiance and life that you wanted to hug them every moment&hellip; Thank you so much for giving us these women and their world and their hopes.&quot;</p> <p style="margin-left:36.0pt;"> His letter arrived after the holidays, and Gallant found it &ldquo;so extraordinary and heart-lifting that I went straight out to the Vaugirard&nbsp; and had it copied? Why? What do I think I am going to do with the copies&nbsp; &hellip; ?&nbsp; I think it was just something that made me happy and wanted the happiness multiplied. He says that it is not &lsquo;just another play&rdquo; but that in some way it changed all their lives&rdquo; (Mavis Gallant journal entry dated January 6, 1983).</p> <p style="margin-left:36.0pt;"> &nbsp;</p> <div> <p> &copy; 2017, Linda Leith</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Linda%20Leith%20colour-1007184.jpg" style="width: 200px; height: 222px;" /><br /> Photo: Judith Lermer Crawley</p> <p> Linda Leith is a Montreal writer and publisher. LLP will be publishing a new edition of What Is To Be Done? in September 2017.</p> <hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /> <div id="ftn1"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title="">[1]</a> Martin Knelman, &ldquo;Coming Home,&rdquo; <em>Saturday Night</em>, December 1982. 69-70.&nbsp;</p> </div> <div id="ftn2"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title="">[2]</a> Letter dated March 15, 1982. Excerpts from letters and unpublished journals are quoted with the permission of Gallant&rsquo;s estate.</p> </div> <div id="ftn3"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" title="">[3]</a> Gina Mallet, &ldquo;What Is To Be Done? a treat at Tarragon,&rdquo; <em>The Globe and Mail</em>, November 12, 1982.</p> </div> <div id="ftn4"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" title="">[4]</a> Carole Corbeil, &ldquo;Gorgeous performances in a wry play,&rdquo; <em>The Globe and Mail</em>, November 12, 1982</p> </div> <div id="ftn5"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" title="">[5]</a> Mark Czarnecki, &ldquo;Daughters of revolution,&rdquo; <em>Maclean&rsquo;s</em>, November 22, 1982.</p> </div> <div id="ftn6"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" title="">[6]</a> Patrick O&rsquo;Neill, review of the published book in <em>Atlantis, </em>vol 10, No. 2, 1985. 204.</p> </div> <div id="ftn7"> <p> <a href="#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" title="">[7]</a>Sid Adelman, &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done about Gallant&rsquo;s hit?&rdquo; <em>The Star</em>, November 29, 1982.</p> </div> </div> <p> &nbsp;</p> Tue, 28 Mar 2017 13:30:54 -0400Bharati Mukherjee, writer, by Linda Leith<p> <br /> In a series of acclaimed novels and short stories published over more than 40 years, Bharati Mukherjee, who died in Manhattan on Jan. 28, wrote about the radical changes experienced by immigrants from India.</p> <p> Her long-time friend Margaret Atwood called Ms. Mukherjee a pioneer in North America in her exploration of this kind of culture shock.</p> <p> Ms. Mukherjee was 22 when she enrolled at the Iowa Writers&rsquo; Workshop in 1962. She already had a BA from the University of Calcutta and an MA from the University of Baroda, in Gujarat, India. She was beautiful, elegant and accomplished. The other students thought she was the daughter of a maharajah who had an army ready to attack any man who so much as looked at her.</p> <p> &ldquo;A maharajah&rsquo;s daughter!&rdquo; she laughed, when a fellow student, the Canadian-American writer Clark Blaise, told her this later on. &ldquo;But that would be a lower caste!&rdquo; She was a Brahmin from a traditional family. &ldquo;Great privilege had been conferred upon me,&rdquo; she wrote in 1981. &ldquo;My struggle was to work hard enough to deserve it. And I did.&rdquo;</p> <p> Her father, Sudhir Lal Mukherjee, was the wealthy owner of a pharmaceutical company who took the family abroad when she was eight. Her mother, Bina (n&eacute;e Banerjee) was a homemaker. Bharati attended private schools in London and Basel, Switzerland, and then the elite Loreto House on the family&rsquo;s return to Calcutta, which she described as &ldquo;that most Victorian and British of post-independence Indian cities.&rdquo; She was driven to school by a chauffeur and accompanied by a bodyguard &ndash; the city being &ldquo;blistered with revolutionary fervour&rdquo; &ndash; and she had never been to a party with boys before she arrived in Iowa.</p> <p> Mr. Blaise was what Ms. Atwood described as &ldquo;a down home boy.&rdquo; Born in North Dakota of Canadian parents, he had led a peripatetic life, mostly in Georgia and Florida.</p> <p> As a Brahmin, Ms. Mukherjee was meant to marry within that caste, but a year after their first meeting, she and Mr. Blaise had a whirlwind two-week romance. &ldquo;By the time you read this,&rdquo; she cabled her father, &ldquo;I will be Mrs. Clark Blaise.&rdquo; They were married in September, 1963, in a five-minute ceremony in an office upstairs from the coffee shop where he worked as a busboy.</p> <p> Ms. Mukherjee was born in Calcutta on July 27, 1940, and spoke only Bengali until she was three years old. She lived with her extended family, so there were 40 to 50 people living in the house at any one time.</p> <p> &ldquo;Every room felt crowded,&rdquo; she told an interviewer for the Commonwealth studies journal Span. &ldquo;In order to make privacy for myself, make a little emotional, physical space for myself, I had to read. I had to drop inside books as a way of escaping crowds. As a result, I became a very bookish child, I read and read and read all day.</p> <p> &ldquo;I used to read European novels, these massive books by Russian authors like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, in Bengali translation as a very small child &ndash; under a bed, behind chairs, and so on, find a little dark corner for myself where I could read. The country being described in the books, the people being described in the books, sometimes seemed more real to me than the real people around me.&rdquo;</p> <p> She wanted to become a writer, and there was no family opposition to her studying toward her MFA, which she got in 1963; her father considered what he called &ldquo;scribbling&rdquo; an acceptable accomplishment, &ldquo;like origami,&rdquo; as she put it. She then stayed on at the University of Iowa for a PhD in English literature. &ldquo;An MA in English is considered refined,&rdquo; she wrote with characteristic irony, &ldquo;but a doctorate is far too serious a business, indicative more of brains than of beauty, and likely to lead to a quarrelsome nature.&rdquo;</p> <p> By the time she and her husband moved to Montreal in 1966, their first son had been born. Ms. Atwood recalls babysitting him and his brother when she was Mr. Blaise&rsquo;s colleague in the creative-writing program at Sir George Williams, now Concordia University. Ms. Mukherjee had been hired by McGill as a lecturer and became a full professor and director of the graduate program in English. The writer Michael Ondaatje, an old friend, described them as &ldquo;this remarkable pair of writers &ndash; full of talent, full of verve, fully aware of the great world around us. Even now, it is very difficult to speak of them separately.&rdquo;</p> <p> Ms. Mukherjee&rsquo;s first novel, <em>The Tiger&rsquo;s Daughter,</em> was published in 1971, and her second, <em>Wife</em>, in 1975. &ldquo;My many years in Montreal,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;had a profound, joyous, permanent effect on me.&rdquo; In 1977, however, they left Montreal for Toronto, where she was insulted as a &ldquo;Paki,&rdquo; taken for a shoplifter and harassed by house detectives in a hotel &ldquo;in front of an elevator-load of leering, elbow-nudging women.&rdquo; She was shocked, outraged and &ldquo;shaken to the core&rdquo; when three high-school boys on a subway station platform asked her, &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you go back to Africa?&rdquo;</p> <p> By the end of the decade, Mr. Blaise wanted to stay in Canada; Ms. Mukherjee did not. &ldquo;The move from Toronto was the only test of our marriage,&rdquo; he said. Ms. Atwood&rsquo;s view was that &ldquo;they should have stayed in Montreal.&rdquo;</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Saturday%20Night%20Article%20-%20March%201981.png" style="width: 300px; height: 388px;" /></p> <p> They moved back to the United States in 1980, when Skidmore College, in upstate New York, offered Mr. Blaise a one-year contract. Ms. Mukherjee was unemployed for the first time in her adult life &ndash; &ldquo;the price I was obliged to pay for immigration to the United States,&rdquo; she wrote in an explosive <em>Saturday Night </em>magazine article, which bore the headline &ldquo;An Invisible Woman.&rdquo; The family&rsquo;s total income was less than one-third what it had been. &ldquo;Dark times are coming,&rdquo; she predicted. &ldquo;Next year, I can take the job Clark is filling now. Will Clark then stay here or return? He doesn&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;</p> <p> &ldquo;I remain a Canadian citizen,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;This is the testament of a woman who came, like most immigrants, confident of her ability to do good work, in answer to a stated need.&rdquo;</p> <p> Exploring some of the themes also present in her fiction, she had interviewed dozens of Canadians, mostly of Indian or Pakistani origin, all part of what she called &ldquo;the Canadian and Toronto underbelly.&rdquo; Opening up &ldquo;the sewers of resentment&rdquo; that &ldquo;polite, British-style forbearance had kept a lid on,&rdquo; her article was uncompromising in its account of the &ldquo;new up-front violence&rdquo; against South Asian immigrants, &ldquo;the physical assaults, the spitting, the name-calling, the bricks through the windows, the pushing and shoving on subways &ndash; it would be, by this time, a very isolated Indian who has not experienced one or more of those reactions.&rdquo;</p> <p> She described a 1975 Green Paper as a government move &ldquo;to throw some bones (meaning immigrants) to the howling wolves.&rdquo;&nbsp;</p> <p> &ldquo;I cannot describe the agony and the betrayal one feels, hearing oneself spoken of by one&rsquo;s own country as being somehow exotic to its nature &ndash; a burden, a cause for serious concern.&rdquo; Most Indians would date the violence of the late 1970s &ldquo;from the implied consent given to racism by the Green Paper.&rdquo; Academic as it was in tone, she wrote, &ldquo;in feeling it was Nuremberg, and it unleashed its own mild but continuing Kristallnacht.&rdquo;</p> <p> Her article provoked &ldquo;indignation,&rdquo; Mr. Blaise said. &ldquo;Canada did not see itself as racist. There was absolutely no understanding that Canada had a racial problem. That was seen as an American problem.&rdquo;</p> <p> Writer and journalist Robert Fulford, then editor of <em>Saturday Night</em>, is proud of having commissioned and published the article: &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a fiercely outspoken attack on the smug and narrow-minded side of Canadian attitudes, written out of wounded pride and naked anger. And it reads well after several decades.&rdquo;</p> <p> A series of short-term academic positions followed, with Ms. Mukherjee and Mr. Blaise often living apart. Their marriage, which a Montreal friend, writer Ann Charney, considered &ldquo;a great literary partnership,&rdquo; survived. They co-wrote two works of literary non-fiction: <em>Days and Nights in Calcutta</em>, a memoir, and <em>The Sorror and the Terror: The Haunting Legacy of the Air India Tragedy</em>, about the 1985 bombing of Air India Flight 182, which killed 329 people.</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/File0004.jpg" style="width: 298px; height: 400px;" /></p> <p> It was with her fiction, though, that Ms. Mukherjee made her name in the United States. Her 1988 collection, <em>The Middleman and Other Stories</em>, won the National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction &ndash; the first time the coveted prize had ever gone to a naturalized American.</p> <p> Her next novel, <em>Jasmine </em>(1989) features an illegal immigrant from the Punjab who marries an American. The year it was published, Ms. Mukherjee was hired at the University of California, Berkeley, where she taught until her retirement in 2013.</p> <p> Her protagonist, Jasmine, was close to Ms. Mukherjee herself, as was Tara Latta in <em>The Tree Bride</em> (2004), another character &ldquo;who had confronted the kind of racism Bharati encountered,&rdquo; Mr. Blaise said. &ldquo;She was steadfast in not accommodating any authority figure, not even her father.&rdquo;</p> <p> Her last novel was <em>Miss New India</em> (2011), in which Anjali leaves her traditional family in Bihar and moves to Bangalore. &ldquo;A woman determinedly pursuing personal happiness,&rdquo; Ms. Mukherjee told this writer in 2011, &ldquo;is a revolutionary &ndash; and threatening &ndash; concept for her traditional parents.&rdquo;</p> <p> Ms. Mukherjee died of complications of rheumatoid arthritis and takotsubo cardiomyopathy. She was 76. She leaves Mr. Blaise and their son Bernard and two granddaughters; she was predeceased by another son, Bart, in 2015.</p> <p> &copy; Linda Leith, 2017.</p> <p> <br /> And one Comment, published online in <em>The Globe and Mail</em> on Feb 11, 2017:</p> <p> I met Bharati Mukherjee when she was the Director of the Shastri Institute in New Delhi, and I was a graduate student from UBC, and then U of T, in the mid-70s. I&#39;m not of South Asian descent, but can attest to the violent racism of Toronto in the late 1970s and early 1980s, as it shocked me to see South Asian academics shouted abuse in the streets, especially after spending a year and a half studying in India. The next generation of South Asian and Caribbean women writers, notably. Himani Bannerji and Dionne Brand fought back strongly, and Toronto gave a little at least. So sad to hear about their job paths in the US; Bharati Mukherjee was a lovely and very talented women who touched most people she met. -- <em>globalcanuck</em></p> Wed, 15 Feb 2017 14:43:16 -0500Glory to the Filmmaker Amir Naderi, by Abou Farman<p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/VEGAS_KeyImage.jpg" style="width: 300px; height: 377px;" /></p> <p> I am proud to announce that my friend and long-time collaborator Amir Naderi received the prestigious Jaeger-LeCoultre Glory to the Filmmaker award this week at the Venice Film Festival.&nbsp;<br /> <br /> On this occasion, we are happy to present his film&nbsp;<strong>Vegas: Based on a True Story</strong>&nbsp;as a digital rental on&nbsp;<a href=";qid=1473281491&amp;sr=8-1&amp;keywords=vegas+based+on+a+true+story">Amazon</a>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<a href="">Vimeo</a>. This is a rare opportunity. Amir&#39;s films are much sought after but mostly not available. This will begin to change and&nbsp;<strong>Vegas&nbsp;</strong>is the first effort in that direction.</p> <p> Vegas was the first film I produced, alongside the indomitable Ram Devineni, and it went straight to Venice in competition in 2008 - where it won a SIGNIS award -&nbsp;and was also nominated for competition at Tribeca in 2009.<br /> <br /> For those who&#39;ve been following, Amir was also an invaluable contributor to <a href="">Icaros: A Vision</a>.</p> <p> <strong><em>Vegas: Based on a True Story</em></strong> is a remarkable film with some crazy backstories - but all that for later. Most importantly, it was a prescient parable, predicting the psychosis underlying the real estate crash that hit the US that year. Plus, it&#39;s great film-making, classic Amir. I really encourage you to watch it. No, I beg you to watch it. It is important that such films get clicks on line, otherwise we&#39;ll keep getting inundated with those other ones that have already drowned us.</p> <p> Watch <strong><em>Vegas: Based on a True Story</em></strong>&nbsp;now:&nbsp;<a href=";qid=1473281491&amp;sr=8-1&amp;keywords=vegas+based+on+a+true+story">Amazon</a>&nbsp;and&nbsp;<a href="">Vimeo</a>.</p> <p> &copy; 2016, Abou Farman</p> <div style="clear:both;"> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/Abou%20Farman%20photo%20Connie%20Contreras%281%29.jpg" style="width: 220px; height: 197px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:10px;">[Photo: Connie Contreras]</span></div> <div style="clear:both;"> &nbsp;</div> <div style="clear:both;"> <p> Abou Farman&nbsp;is a Canadian artist and anthropologist teaching at the New School for Social Research in NY.&nbsp;He has published widely in the academic sphere as well as the popular press, with essays nominated for a National Magazine Award in Canada, selected for the Best Canadian Essays and twice awarded the Arc Critics Desk Award. His first book,&nbsp;<a href=""><strong><em>Clerks of the Passage</em></strong></a>, was published by Linda Leith Publishing in 2012; a French translation by Marianne Champagne entitled&nbsp;<a href=""><strong><em>Les lieux de passage</em></strong></a>&nbsp;will be published Linda Leith &Eacute;ditions in October 2016.</p> <p> As part of the artist duo caraballo-farman,&nbsp;formed with his late partner Leonor Caraballo,&nbsp;Abou has exhibited work internationally in galleries, museums and other venues, including at the Tate Modern, UK; PS1/MOMA, NY, and the Havana Biennial.&nbsp;He is the recipient of numerous grants and awards, including a Canada Council for the Arts Grant, a New York Foundation for the Arts fellowship, a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship.&nbsp;Amongst other film work and credits, he was producer on Iranian filmmaker Amir Naderi&rsquo;s&nbsp;<strong><em>Vegas: Based on a True Story</em></strong>, which was in competition at the Venice and Tribeca Film Festivals in 2008, and is producer and co-writer of a 2016 narrative feature film, <strong><em>Icaros: A Vision</em></strong>, co-directed by Leonor Caraballo and Matteo Norzi.&nbsp;</p> </div> <p> &nbsp;</p> Fri, 09 Sep 2016 12:12:06 -0400Steeped in Translation<p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/9781988130033_FC(1).jpg" style="width: 200px; height: 319px;" /></p> <p> Steven W. Beattie links LLP&#39;s interest in literature in translation with my own history at Montreal&#39;s Blue Metropolis Montreal International Literary Festival. In his &quot;Editor&#39;s Choice&quot; column in the September <em>Q&amp;Q</em>, Beattie reviews Xue Yiwei&#39;s short story collection,&nbsp;<a href="">Shenzheners</a>, which is Xue&#39;s first book in English.</p> <p> The opening story of the collection, &quot;The Country Girl,&quot; is set on a train between Toronto and Montreal, where a Chinese passenger meets a woman who makes her living as a translator. She is a great admirer of Paul Auster&#39;s fiction and is reading his <em>New York Trilogy</em>, so she is astonished to discover that her fellow passenger is reading the very same book in a Chinese translation. Can it really be the same book, she marvels, looking at the indecipherable Chinese text? &quot;The subject of translation,&quot; Beattie writes,&quot; is introduced in the opening story -- the only one not set in China -- and will persist, either literally or metaphorically, across the eight pieces that follow&quot; (p. 30).</p> <p> <a href="">Shenzheners</a>&nbsp;is not only a book steeped in translation, but is itself a work of literary translation. It originated&nbsp;as a collection of stories entitled <em>Taxi Driver</em> that was published in China, in Chinese, and this September it will be published in English in Montreal in a translation by the talented Canadian literary translator Darryl Sterk.</p> <p> Darryl teaches translation in the Graduate Program of Translation and Interpretation at National Taiwan University, and his specialty is the translation of Chinese fiction into English. His published work includes Wu Ming-Yi&rsquo;s&nbsp;<em>The Man With the Compound Eyes</em>&nbsp;(Harvill Secker; Vintage Pantheon)&nbsp;and Horace Ho&rsquo;s&nbsp;<em>The Tree Fort Over Carnation Lane</em>&nbsp;(Balestier) -- and now&nbsp;<a href="" style="text-decoration: none;">Shenzheners</a>. He&nbsp;lives in Taipei with his wife and daughter.</p> <p> I was introduced to Darryl during a recent Blue Metropolis festival by another literary translator, Montreal broadcaster Yan Liang, who has herself published translations of Esi Edugyan&#39;s <em>Half-Blood Blues </em>and Kim Thuy&#39;s <em>Ru</em> in Chinese. Whether in Taipei or in Montreal, the world we live in -- Darryl and Yan and I -- like that of&nbsp;<a href="">Shenzheners</a>, is steeped in translation.&nbsp;</p> <p> &quot;These stories,&quot; Beattie writes, &quot;which take up subjects of love and loss and belonging, are steeped in an eastern sensibility and peppered with western cultural references -- beside Beckett and Auster, Xue references Shakespeare, Bach, Proust, and Kundera.&quot;</p> <p> Beattie sees more of Beckett than of Joyce in the collection, but Joyce is there, too. Xue dedicates&nbsp;<a href="">Shenzheners</a>&nbsp;&quot;To the Irishman who inspires me,&quot; and Xue is the one who makes the comparison to <em>Dubliners </em>that prompted me to look to old covers of the collection set in the Irish capital to inspire the design of this one set in the youngest city in China.</p> <p> <a href="">Shenzheners</a>&nbsp;is not only steeped in an eastern sensibility but is also very much a Chinese collection. His stories about the people of Shenzhen are what have made Xue Yiwei&#39;s name in China, to such an extent that the Chinese print and electronic media have been devoting remarkable attention to the appearance of these stories in English. And it&#39;s because they&#39;re Chinese, after all, that they require translation.</p> <p> The great emigr&eacute; Chinese writer Ha Jin has this to say about Xue Yiwei: &quot;Xue Yiwei is a maverick in contemporary Chinese literature.&nbsp;He stays alone and aloof, far away from restive crowds back in his homeland.&nbsp;For him, to write is to make a pilgrimage to his masters: Joyce, Borges, Calvino, Proust.&nbsp;He writes with deep devotion and intense concentration. His fiction often meditates on life, history, violence, exile.&nbsp;This selection of stories can open a window into the fiction world he has constructed.&nbsp;As an admirer of his, I salute his courage, his stamina, and his love of solitude.&quot; &nbsp;</p> <p> Yan Liang -- a great introducer and a great friend -- is the person who introduced me to Xue Yiwei here in Montreal and who also, years earlier, introduced me to the work of Ha Jin.</p> <p> He came to Montreal at my invitation the same year that three Chinese women from Shanghai were participating in a number of Blue Metropolis festival events, but Ha Jin is politically suspect in China, and these three women chose -- or were advised -- to keep their distance from him, to such an extent that one of them declined to appear onstage with him for a scheduled event. Sometimes translators are most needed when they&#39;re not needed at all.</p> <p> &copy; 2016, Linda Leith</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/app/webroot/uploads/images/LindaLeithcolour-1007184.jpg" style="width: 180px; height: 200px;" /><br /> <span style="font-size:10px;">[Photo: Judith Lermer Crawley]</span></p> <p> Montreal writer and literary translator Linda Leith created LLP in June 2011, six months after stepping down as President and Artistic Director of Blue Metropolis Montreal International Literary Festival.</p> <p> &nbsp;</p> <p> &nbsp;</p> Fri, 19 Aug 2016 14:23:50 -0400