Monday, December 5th, 2011
“Style, I’ll define here, for my selfish purposes, as the verbal/lexical confirmation that I’m in the right relation to my impulses, my so-called material. “The right words in the right order”: style is the outer face of the inner impulse, its realization. It is not a frippery, an adornment, an excess. Style is the how of the what.”
Wednesday, October 19th, 2011
Today I’m the guest blogger at Canadian Bookshelf, the “the one-of-a-kind resource for discovering, discussing, and indulging in Canadian books.”
An excerpt:
Pity the essay—so undervalued that nobody recognizes it. We pass it by without a nod, or imagine we see it in a dozen other faces. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you! We must catch up,” we say, pumping a hand or slapping a rounded shoulder, all the while checking our watch in anticipation of our next appointment. Nobody wants to read the essay. Nobody wants to buy it. It’s so unpopular that in the 2012 Canada Reads—the first nonfiction edition ever—books of essays are explicitly ruled out.
Friday, October 14th, 2011
What an honour to find Pathologies on Charlotte Gill’s recommended reading list at Canadian Bookshelf. She calls it a “literary antidote” to the lately much-abused memoir. Can’t help but like that!
Charlotte’s most recent book is Eating Dirt: Deep Forests, Big Timber, and Life with the Tree-Planting Tribe, which was recently shortlisted for the Hilary Weston Writers’ Trust Prize.
Friday, September 23rd, 2011
A few months ago I quoted a short excerpt from Carl H. Klaus’s The Made-Up Self: Impersonation in the Personal Essay. Anyone interested in the essay’s history and vitality should pick up a copy of this thoughtful book. Read my review at the L.A. Review of Books, in the last of their Summer Shorts.
Friday, September 23rd, 2011
What a magical night, and what an honour for Kingston. At our International Marquee, J.M. Coetzee and Paul Auster read from their correspondence, sharing their reflections on friendship and writing. It was a rich and fascinating discussion, but what made it feel so intimate and at the same time dramatic, was the epistolary form. It made me think again how close the essay is to the letter; how the best essays often feel like letters from a thoughtful friend. Both men are, of course, accomplished essayists and translators themselves, which probably helps—but there was something very moving in the leisurely pace of these letters. These were not quick notes or business memos (or, for that matter, blog posts). These were real letters; the kind that cast new light on the subject, on the author, and on the recipient all at once. What a pleasure.
