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All the Augusts
Aug. 27th, 2017 04:25 pmAttending the SCFWA has become a family tradition, accruing people and equipment over the 13 years since my mother first attended (12 for my dad (?); 11 for me (here is my first attendance), 8ish (?) for others. Well, and exactly twice for my newer nephew, since he's only been alive that long).
My first year, 2007, I saw Wayson Choy and Richard Van Camp (with whom I ended up reading, once, years later). I also discovered Michael Crummey -- and a chunk of the history of Newfoundland -- that year. The truism since has been that the best readings are the ones you knew nothing about going in.1
This year, the revelations were definitely Robert Moor, delivering an erudite, circuitous lecture about his book On Trails, and David A. Robertson.
Robertson's book When We Were Alone is the first picture book about Canadian residential schools written for young children. There's nothing in it to terrify or traumatize a young child; it just very simply lays out the deprivations of the schools -- suppression of language, of cultural practices, of personal pride, of family bonds, of individuality -- and then answers each one with the children's acts of resistance, creativity, and love. It is beautiful. He read the whole book to us, projecting the images. I will never forget it.
Other years also coalesce around one or two figures, though if I poke at the memory it unfans its tail a little. In 2008, Chantal Hébert gave a barn-burner of a talk. Its brilliance was only slightly dimmed for me when none of her predictions came true. I saw Michael Ondaatje, reading from Divisadero. Later he nodded to me in passing. I was so chuffed. I think this is also the year I discovered spoken-word artist Shane Koyczan.
Wayson Choy is a favorite of the festival, and I got to see him again in 2009, along with Shane Koyczan and Richard Wagamese. 2010 included Brian Brett, Lawrence Hill, Shani Mootoo, Denise Chong, Gregory Scofield, and Jack Whyte. Ivan Coyote performed at 2011, whomto I tried and signally failed to say hello.
Some year in there my tastes began to specify and my joints to age; I started skipping out on the famous mystery and suspense writers (though the rest of the family loves them, and they're often terrific speakers) and going for walks on the beach instead. All that language, all those ideas -- I needed to digest it as well as take it in.
I also started to augment the experience of watching the speakers with attempts to draw their portraits. Since we always sit in the uppermost row, the images are usually somewhat simplified, and since the postures and positions of most speakers are similar for the duration of the talk, I have now a large collection of sketches of heads, hands, and podiums.
( For example (cut for images) )
{rf}
1. Recent brain research seems to at least partially confirm that surprise events are more emotionally intense -- positive or negative -- than expected counterparts.
My first year, 2007, I saw Wayson Choy and Richard Van Camp (with whom I ended up reading, once, years later). I also discovered Michael Crummey -- and a chunk of the history of Newfoundland -- that year. The truism since has been that the best readings are the ones you knew nothing about going in.1
This year, the revelations were definitely Robert Moor, delivering an erudite, circuitous lecture about his book On Trails, and David A. Robertson.
Robertson's book When We Were Alone is the first picture book about Canadian residential schools written for young children. There's nothing in it to terrify or traumatize a young child; it just very simply lays out the deprivations of the schools -- suppression of language, of cultural practices, of personal pride, of family bonds, of individuality -- and then answers each one with the children's acts of resistance, creativity, and love. It is beautiful. He read the whole book to us, projecting the images. I will never forget it.
Other years also coalesce around one or two figures, though if I poke at the memory it unfans its tail a little. In 2008, Chantal Hébert gave a barn-burner of a talk. Its brilliance was only slightly dimmed for me when none of her predictions came true. I saw Michael Ondaatje, reading from Divisadero. Later he nodded to me in passing. I was so chuffed. I think this is also the year I discovered spoken-word artist Shane Koyczan.
Wayson Choy is a favorite of the festival, and I got to see him again in 2009, along with Shane Koyczan and Richard Wagamese. 2010 included Brian Brett, Lawrence Hill, Shani Mootoo, Denise Chong, Gregory Scofield, and Jack Whyte. Ivan Coyote performed at 2011, whomto I tried and signally failed to say hello.
Some year in there my tastes began to specify and my joints to age; I started skipping out on the famous mystery and suspense writers (though the rest of the family loves them, and they're often terrific speakers) and going for walks on the beach instead. All that language, all those ideas -- I needed to digest it as well as take it in.
I also started to augment the experience of watching the speakers with attempts to draw their portraits. Since we always sit in the uppermost row, the images are usually somewhat simplified, and since the postures and positions of most speakers are similar for the duration of the talk, I have now a large collection of sketches of heads, hands, and podiums.
( For example (cut for images) )
{rf}
1. Recent brain research seems to at least partially confirm that surprise events are more emotionally intense -- positive or negative -- than expected counterparts.
