So it's been a busy week, over here at Waiting For An Echo. I went up north for a few glorious days.. I've been writing (though not enough). I've been reading (also not enough). Working. Going to Toronto for exciting Bare It For Books meetings. Packing for my trip to NYC (two days and counting! Woot!). And, naturally, feeling guilty that I haven't really managed to be all that productive in the midst of the above.
But whatever. Life goes on, right? You put your head down and eventually the work gets done somehow. I'm excited about the fact that NaNoWriMo is just around the corner, because I'd like to see if I can get a workable draft of this new novel done by the end of the year, and dear old NaNo is always a good way of lighting that fire. But WE SHALL SEE.
Anyway. Today, kids, I'd like to throw you a little thought about this thing we call Literature. At our BIFB meeting today we eventually got on the topic of the fall literary season, and all of us at the table more or less agreed that those of us who live in the literary world -- whether as writers or readers or publishers or whatever -- do, from time to time, end up existing in the strangest little bubble. The literary establishment -- particularly in Canada, particularly in Toronto -- can be terribly myopic at times, and sometimes I think it does us well to remember that.
So here's my Thought of The Day for you, lovelies: what we do in the literary world -- what we think and worry about and get excited over -- really does not matter.
Cue raised hackles! I can see all of my lovely bookish friends sitting up straight now, and frowning at their respective computer screens. Hey! you're all thinking. It does too matter! Words and books and literature change lives! Every day! They do!
Fear not, my bookish champions, because of course you're right. Books do change lives. The telling of stories changes lives. The telling of stories is what makes up a life on so many levels. Even those of us who don't write or read encounter stories on a daily basis, and make our own forays into the telling. Absolutely. It happens all of the time.
However--it is a strange little bubble, guys. I mean, can we at least admit that much? Sometimes, in this big beautiful world of ours, it feels odd to be worrying over who won what literary prize, or who may or may not be getting enough coverage in the media, or whether or not a new short story from Writer X really is enough to get people riled up and participating in the Great Canadian Culture Machine. Do things like this matter on the day-to-day heart beating registrar of life? Sometimes I'm not sure. And I'm saying this, believe me, as a through-and-through book champion. I will proclaim the importance of books until death, and that's a promise.
But part of what makes literature so great is its ability to take us outside of ourselves, to consider the world at large and find connections with others that we might not otherwise have encountered. That's what's important about it. The political stuff that happens as a result of books coming out into the world -- that's what doesn't matter. In some ways, I think you can argue that the out-of-ourselves nature of reading stands in direct opposition to the teeny tiny (political) world of Canadian Books. And sometimes I worry that it's too easy for us to conflate the two.
I work in a hospital in my day job. I rarely, if ever, talk books with anyone at work. A few weeks ago I mentioned Canada Reads to a nurse that I work with, and--never mind Canada Reads--all she did was frown. "The CBC?" she said. "What's that?" So, you know, there's that side of it too.
Obviously this is an extreme example. And obviously I don't in any way mean to insinuate that people who work in the healthcare system don't read books, or aren't interested in the CBC! But the fact remains that plenty of things turn and grow and happen completely independently of the book world. There are millions of people around the world who (gasp) do not read books. We The Canadian Bookish are all a-flutter now because it's fall, and the big new titles are out, and all things considered it's been an exciting and unpredictable season. There is a great deal to talk about. And when we let the literature transport us, when we let it pry open things about society, when we let it move us and urge us on to ever greater levels of compassion, our literature has the power to do a great many things. It does matter.
At the close of our BIFB meeting today, a good friend told me about how she's looking forward to certain reading at IFOA because the author in question had written a novel that her friend, recently deceased, had been reading just before he died. This friend of mine is now going to go to the author's reading with her friend's newly widowed wife. "It was so strangely powerful," she said to me, "to open the book to where he'd left off--his bookmark was still in there--and think about him reading and being affected by these words so shortly before his death."
She and his wife will be sharing something as a result of that book now. This is what matters. The prizes, the spats, the politics -- this does not matter. There's a whole world out there that cares not one whit about the Giller or the GG or the Writers' Trust. There's a whole world out there that cares not one whit for Canadian literature, period. This is changing, obviously, year by year -- hurray for those books that move beyond our shores! -- but at the core of it I think we all need to remember that our little bubble is really quite small when compared to the rest of the world..
What matters in the end are the connections that we make as a result of the books that we read. That's all. What matters is that we continue to foster a culture where books aren't thrown about as achievements and marks of competition so much as they are offered as ways for us to commiserate with one another, and to learn. I have met so many very wonderful people since coming back to Canada two years ago. So much of this has come about as a result of a love for books. This is what I'm grateful for, and this is what I cling to (along with lovely posts like these) when I remember how small and strange our literary bubble can be.
And if I contradict any of this next year, folks, when my own teeny tiny book makes its debut, feel free to wag a finger or three in my direction. I'll welcome the connection, I promise. :)
But whatever. Life goes on, right? You put your head down and eventually the work gets done somehow. I'm excited about the fact that NaNoWriMo is just around the corner, because I'd like to see if I can get a workable draft of this new novel done by the end of the year, and dear old NaNo is always a good way of lighting that fire. But WE SHALL SEE.
Anyway. Today, kids, I'd like to throw you a little thought about this thing we call Literature. At our BIFB meeting today we eventually got on the topic of the fall literary season, and all of us at the table more or less agreed that those of us who live in the literary world -- whether as writers or readers or publishers or whatever -- do, from time to time, end up existing in the strangest little bubble. The literary establishment -- particularly in Canada, particularly in Toronto -- can be terribly myopic at times, and sometimes I think it does us well to remember that.
So here's my Thought of The Day for you, lovelies: what we do in the literary world -- what we think and worry about and get excited over -- really does not matter.
Cue raised hackles! I can see all of my lovely bookish friends sitting up straight now, and frowning at their respective computer screens. Hey! you're all thinking. It does too matter! Words and books and literature change lives! Every day! They do!
Fear not, my bookish champions, because of course you're right. Books do change lives. The telling of stories changes lives. The telling of stories is what makes up a life on so many levels. Even those of us who don't write or read encounter stories on a daily basis, and make our own forays into the telling. Absolutely. It happens all of the time.
However--it is a strange little bubble, guys. I mean, can we at least admit that much? Sometimes, in this big beautiful world of ours, it feels odd to be worrying over who won what literary prize, or who may or may not be getting enough coverage in the media, or whether or not a new short story from Writer X really is enough to get people riled up and participating in the Great Canadian Culture Machine. Do things like this matter on the day-to-day heart beating registrar of life? Sometimes I'm not sure. And I'm saying this, believe me, as a through-and-through book champion. I will proclaim the importance of books until death, and that's a promise.
But part of what makes literature so great is its ability to take us outside of ourselves, to consider the world at large and find connections with others that we might not otherwise have encountered. That's what's important about it. The political stuff that happens as a result of books coming out into the world -- that's what doesn't matter. In some ways, I think you can argue that the out-of-ourselves nature of reading stands in direct opposition to the teeny tiny (political) world of Canadian Books. And sometimes I worry that it's too easy for us to conflate the two.
I work in a hospital in my day job. I rarely, if ever, talk books with anyone at work. A few weeks ago I mentioned Canada Reads to a nurse that I work with, and--never mind Canada Reads--all she did was frown. "The CBC?" she said. "What's that?" So, you know, there's that side of it too.
Obviously this is an extreme example. And obviously I don't in any way mean to insinuate that people who work in the healthcare system don't read books, or aren't interested in the CBC! But the fact remains that plenty of things turn and grow and happen completely independently of the book world. There are millions of people around the world who (gasp) do not read books. We The Canadian Bookish are all a-flutter now because it's fall, and the big new titles are out, and all things considered it's been an exciting and unpredictable season. There is a great deal to talk about. And when we let the literature transport us, when we let it pry open things about society, when we let it move us and urge us on to ever greater levels of compassion, our literature has the power to do a great many things. It does matter.
At the close of our BIFB meeting today, a good friend told me about how she's looking forward to certain reading at IFOA because the author in question had written a novel that her friend, recently deceased, had been reading just before he died. This friend of mine is now going to go to the author's reading with her friend's newly widowed wife. "It was so strangely powerful," she said to me, "to open the book to where he'd left off--his bookmark was still in there--and think about him reading and being affected by these words so shortly before his death."
She and his wife will be sharing something as a result of that book now. This is what matters. The prizes, the spats, the politics -- this does not matter. There's a whole world out there that cares not one whit about the Giller or the GG or the Writers' Trust. There's a whole world out there that cares not one whit for Canadian literature, period. This is changing, obviously, year by year -- hurray for those books that move beyond our shores! -- but at the core of it I think we all need to remember that our little bubble is really quite small when compared to the rest of the world..
What matters in the end are the connections that we make as a result of the books that we read. That's all. What matters is that we continue to foster a culture where books aren't thrown about as achievements and marks of competition so much as they are offered as ways for us to commiserate with one another, and to learn. I have met so many very wonderful people since coming back to Canada two years ago. So much of this has come about as a result of a love for books. This is what I'm grateful for, and this is what I cling to (along with lovely posts like these) when I remember how small and strange our literary bubble can be.
And if I contradict any of this next year, folks, when my own teeny tiny book makes its debut, feel free to wag a finger or three in my direction. I'll welcome the connection, I promise. :)
I can't believe your co-worker doesn't know what the CBC is. Shocking. She better have a damn good reason.
ReplyDeleteI bet you could talk books with the patients, no problem.