Sunday, September 28, 2008
Ms. Manitoba is greatly saddened by the news that Paul Newman has passed. He was one of the greats.
If you haven't seen Empire Falls yet, please do see it. It's one of his last roles and he was wonderful in it.
The NYTimes has a very good obit for him. Go here.
Our condolences to all of his loved ones.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
From a wonderful book I'm now reading (Garbo Laughs by Canadian author, Elizabeth Hay):
Yes, everyone is writing a book. Leah too. But at the same time I've spent years watching people who want to write avoid writing: Leah too. She's stuck, and now she's come to me. We spring away from the page as if it's a trampoline. Fear, self-pity, laziness -- that's the trampoline we bounce upon, while down below, fading from view in a sickening fashion, is the grassy, private paradise of writing.
[climbing on soapbox for a moment]
When was the last time you read a book by a Canadian author?
Friday, September 5, 2008
From the Writer's Almanac ... I want to post this today because there are so few French Canadians (or are they just invisible to us?) in U.S. literature ...
It was on this day in 1957 that Jack Kerouac's book On the Road was published (books by this author). His inspiration for the book came ten years earlier. He was living in New York City with his mother, trying to write his first novel, when he met a drifter named Neal Cassady, an ex-convict from Denver who had actually been born in a car, and who became a car thief when he was fourteen years old. By the time Kerouac met him, Cassady had stolen more than five hundred cars and had been arrested ten times. Kerouac later wrote, "All my other current friends were intellectuals ... [but Cassady] was a wild yea-saying overburst of American Joy."
Kerouac and Cassady became close friends, but Cassady eventually had to move back to Denver. Kerouac wanted to follow him. He started reading histories of the great American migrations out west. He studied maps of the new highways that ran all the way from the East Cost to California. He was particularly attracted to Route 6, drawn in a red line on his map, which led from Cape Cod to Los Angeles. He made up his mind to follow it all the way to Denver, where he could meet up with Neal Cassady. He scraped up enough money for the journey and set out in July of 1947.
Kerouac's journey did not start out well. He rode a trolley to the edge of Yonkers and then hoped to hitchhike the rest of the way across the country. But when he reached Route 6, at the border of Connecticut, he got caught in a rain storm and there were no cars to pick him up. He finally gave up, made his way back to New York, and used almost all his money to buy a bus ticket to Chicago.
He had better luck hitchhiking once he got outside of Chicago. When he crossed the Mississippi River, he began to feel that he was really part of the American West. In Omaha, he was amazed to see his first real cowboy, a man in boots and a ten-gallon hat. He rode all the way from Nebraska to Wyoming on the back of a flatbed truck with a group of hobos. He saw the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains for the first time.
When he finally made it to Denver, he met up with Cassady and his old friend Allen Ginsberg, and the three of them partied for weeks. Kerouac eventually moved on to San Francisco, where he worked odd jobs for a while. He finally took a bus back to New York City in October, and he was so broke that he had to panhandle for bus fare to get to his mom's house in Ozone Park.
Kerouac knew he wanted to use the experience for a novel, but he struggled with various fictional plotlines: a man in search of his father, a convict in search of his runaway daughter, a young man in search of his lost love, and so forth. He finally figured out how to write the book after receiving a series rambling letters from Cassady, one of which was 40,000 words long. He realized the novel had to be written about Cassady and in Cassady's own voice, which Kerouac described as "all first person, fast, mad, confessional ... with spew and rush, without halt, all unified and molten flow; no boring moments, everything significant and interesting, sometimes breathtaking in speed and brilliance."
So, in April of 1951, Kerouac sat down at his kitchen table, wound a continuous roll of paper into a typewriter, turned on an all-night Harlem jazz radio station, and in twenty days wrote the first draft of his new novel. The text was single-spaced, with no commas or paragraph breaks. Kerouac showed it to various publishers but they all turned him down.
He spent the next several years working on other novels, but finally in 1957, he decided to revise his novel to make it more acceptable, with paragraph breaks and normal punctuation. He went through many different titles, including "Souls on the Road," "American Road Night," "Home and the Road," "Love on the Road," and "Along the Wild Road," until he finally chose the simplest title: On the Road.
On the Road came out on this day in 1957, and a great review appeared in The New York Times. It became a best-seller at the time, and it still sells about 100,000 copies a year.
Notice how there's no mention of Kerouac's being French Canadian?
More from Wikipedia ...
Family and childhood
Jack Kerouac was born Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac, in Lowell, Massachusetts to French-Canadian parents, Léo-Alcide Kerouac and Gabrielle-Ange Lévesque, natives of the province of Québec, Canada. Like many other Quebecers of their generation, the Lévesques and Kerouacs were part of the Quebec emigration to New England to find employment. His father was related to Brother Marie-Victorin (né Conrad Kirouac), one of Canada's most prominent botanists and his mother was second cousin to future Quebec premier René Lévesque.
Kerouac often gave conflicting stories about his family history and the origins of his surname. Though his father was born to a family of potato farmers in the village of St-Hubert, he often claimed aristocratic descent, sometimes from a Breton noble granted land after the Battle of Quebec, whose sons all married Native Americans. However, research has shown him to be the descendant of a middle-class merchant settler, whose sons married French Canadians. He was part Native American through his mother's largely Norman-side of the family. He also had various stories on the etymology of his surname, usually tracing it back to Irish, Breton, or other Celtic roots. In one interview he claimed it was the name of a dead Celtic language and in another said it was from the Irish for "language of the water" and related to "Kerwick". The name, though Breton, seems to derive from the name of one of several hamlets in Brittany near Rosporden.
Kerouac did not start to learn English until the age of six, and at home, he and his family spoke joual, a Quebec French dialect. When he was four he was profoundly affected by the death of his nine-year-old brother, Gérard, from rheumatic fever, an event later described in his novel Visions of Gerard. Some of Kerouac's poetry was written in French, and in letters written to friend Allen Ginsberg towards the end of his life he expressed his desire to speak his parents' native tongue again. Recently, it was discovered that Kerouac first started writing On the Road in French, a language in which he also wrote two unpublished novels. The writings are in dialectal Quebec French, and predate the first plays of Michel Tremblay by a decade.
Kirouac was the original spelling ... like so many immigrants, the immigration official at the door to the U.S. of A misspelled the name -- according to family members still living.
Like many other people, French Canadians in the U.S. are a kind of invisible ethnicity. Most people don't know much about us or our history. Like in the Writer's Almanac, we aren't even identified as French Canadians.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Here's an excerpt from a recent Jon Carroll column from the San Francisco Chronicle:
In 2003, Scott Simon had Dame Edna Everage in the studio, and wonderful, adorable chaos ensued. Dame Edna (who is, for the few who do not know, a character created by Australian comedian Barry Humphries) took over the show immediately and totally. At one point she complimented Simon (whom she invariably called "little Scott Simon") on his skill as an interviewer, in that he knew enough not to ask any questions.
Quite the best way to handle Dame Edna. I once did an onstage interview with Molly Ivins, and I adopted the same tactic. I asked a question, took a sip of water and listened for 20 minutes. Many people told me in all seriousness how sensitive my handling of her had been.
With Dame Edna, it's impossible to know what was material from one of her shows and what was created on the spot. I think there was an element of improvisation in a rather complicated riff about Julio Iglesias' father, who was, she said, her gynecologist. "He's very old now, and his hands shake. Of course, that's not necessarily a drawback."
At that point you can hear little Scott Simon pounding the desk and gasping. Thank God he was not required to ask questions, because at that moment he could not.