On choosing works for an anthology

I've helped put together, or myself put together, a number of anthologies of prose and poetry from the Caribbean. None of these books was anywhere near seven hundred pages long, but size isn't really so much to the point, since one of the things one often has to do when one doesn't have lots and lots of pages is prune one's choices, and that is never an easy task. Like Jane Urquhart, I've found the task of compiling collections pleasurable because one inevitably reads wonderful work. My qualifications to select poetry and prose from the Caribbean are that I write both, I've read this body of work all my life long, and I've done some research and written critically on it as well. In addition, in three of the four anthologies I've described, I have worked as a co-compiler. This is a wonderful safeguard. As we say in Jamaica, "Two head better than one, even if one is a goat head!" It was necessary, in the case of most of these collections, to read a sizable body of work before making the final selections. In every case, there was an introduction that described the compiling task and explained why one had chosen what one had chosen. Sometimes the choice of works is limited by a parameter of time, say, for instance, poems written by Jamaican women born in the first half of the twentieth century, or poems written by Jamaicans since the country gained independence. Sometimes one chooses to present fewer writers so that one is able to showcase more of the individual writers' works. One explains that as well, and the basis according to which one selected the writers who were chosen. Sometimes one attempts to cover a specific geographic area, or the contributions of people of a particular ethnicity or religious or political persuasion. It's only polite to explain oneself, so that the reader faced with a choice of anthologies can know what she's yours contains. Certainly it wouldn't occur to me to compile the short stories of Sri Lankan writers or the poetry of Nigerians. I simply don't know enough about ieither body of work. Were I to become very, very famous, I might accept a commission to choose a body of Canadian short stories simply on the simple basis that I like them. And that would probably be fine – and I would know that I have to settle down and read for about five years before I could even begin to choose!

The Penguin Book of Canadian Short Stories: some comments

I bought a while back a copy of The Penguin Book of Canadian Short Stories. It is compiled by Jane Urquhart who confesses, early in her introduction (lines 5-6) to an uncertainty that began at the time of her agreeing to select the stories for the anthology – a project that seems to have taken some two years. (The book was published in 2007.) The uncertainty arose from a nagging suspicion that she wasn't the person best suited for the task, since, "both as a writer and a reader, I – along with many others – had paid more attention in recent years to...the novel". She goes on to say that she'd read stories by Alice Munro, Mavis Gallant and Alistair MacLeod, but that "when it came to younger and newer writers in Canada, it was most often their novels I had turned to..." and then she comments, "Perhaps the greatest gift given to me in my role as anthologist was my discovery of these voices." (Intro, p ix) It seems close to reckless for someone who is, by her own admission, neither an avid reader nor frequent writer of short stories, to take on so formidable a task, if only because she should have been aware that many persons would ask, "But what on earth are her qualifications?" and would have wondered why, having been bothered by the question, she had not felt the need to arrive at a satisfactory answer. Coming into the project with that sensibility, I’d not have undertaken it. Had I decided to continue, I’d certainly not have made that confession! For Jane Urquhart to equip critics with the ammunition they need to make the case against her, and in her first paragraph, seems either insouciant, or more than a trifle arrogant. Only someone with a cultivated palate would make bold to select a portfolio of fine wines, and it wouldn't occur to a connoisseur of rum or of whisky to set about making judgments on wine, on the basis that they knew about liquor. The situations seem not unlike. Nor would anyone think that it might be possible to make oneself expert in rums or wines in so short a time! Why so disdainful of the short story? (I come originally from the Caribbean: rum and short stories are among our finest exports, and neither are taken lightly.) And if one's publishers aren't vigilant enough to send around the final list of choices and canvass two or three expert opinions, one is bound to trip up! (This lack of vigilance on the part of publishers happens, these days, a great deal more often than one would think. See my posts on "Beating books" and "More beating books".) I am a relatively recent convert (just over a decade) to Canadian Literature, but a quick scan of the TOC leads one to spot some glaring omissions and odd inclusions: no stories by Olive Senior or Diane Schoemperlen, for example, and a selection by Adrienne Clarkson, who, mystifyingly, appears in the TOC and on the back cover as "Adrienne Poy", in the acknowledgments as "Adrienne Clarkson", and in the author bios as "Adrienne Poy (Clarkson)". Also why represent some authors (e.g., Wayson Choy, Michael Ondaatje, L. M. Montgomery) with excerpts from a longer work? It certainly would be preferable to have all the contributors represented by bona fide short stories if one is about assembling the "definitive anthology of this famous Canadian genre", a description I take from Russell Smith's column punnily entitled, "Short? Yes. Sweet? Not even sort of" in today's Globe and Mail Review Section. At any rate, some folks are so unhappy about this selection – I shall not call it canon – of works that they take it on in recent issues of two well-known Canadian magazines, The New Quarterly and Canadian Notes and Queries. Mr Smith refers the reader to them if she wishes to "dig in to a feast of elegant nastiness". That’s to take it rather too frivolously, though such treatments of the matter will no doubt sell the collection as well as the two journals, which is all to the good. I think, if nothing else, the compiler's defensiveness about being a reader of novels, to the neglect of the short story ("I – along with many others – had paid more attention in recent years to...the novel") should have warned her off the project. I will take up in another post whether she should be allowed to get away with not offering her readers well-argued criteria for why she has chosen what she has chosen, especially if the anthology is to take its place with other collections published by this imprint (Paula Burnett’s Penguin Book of Caribbean Verse in English, for example), which, by rigorous selection of a representative range of literary works, have stood the test of time. That’s certainly something an anthology with this much money (notice, I do not say time) invested in it is expected to do. And I will, perhaps, if Massa God spare life and gi mi courage, tackle some other issues that arise from this one. For an old teacher who feels, as I've said many times, that, having buried God, our last salvation is in song and story, it is a matter of crucial concern.

Happy Birthday DJM & "Dream" in the Park

Last night we went to see ahrdi zina mandiela's production of CanStage's "Dream in High Park". It’s been playing in the coliseum-type open theatre there, a comeback from last year, mandiela's rootsy, modern interpretation of the play having been immensely popular last summer when it was mounted in tribute to the 25th anniversary of CanStage's "Dream". We had a picnic first to celebrate our youngest child's birthday and then seven of us went on to see the play, duly equipped with blankets for sitting on and throws for wrapping up against the slowly creeping autumn cold. mandiela’s interpretation infused the Bard’s script with multi-layered mirthfulness (yep, I mean the mouthful) and the cast gave a fine account of themselves, with Helena and Puck turning in splendid performances. All in all, it was more than worth the suggested donation of $20.00: The cast includes Xuan Fraser as Oberon/Theseus and Jajube Mandiela as Fairy. Both Xuan and Jajube read parts in the most recent workshop of "El Numero Uno" at the Lorraine Kimsa Young People's Theatre (LKYPT). LKYPT commissioned me to write the play a few years ago, and in the past several months it has benefited from a number of workshops, with dramaturgy by LKYPT's gifted Steven Colella. I find the workshop experience very rewarding. ahdri has recently come on board to direct, and the two aforementioned as well as some other great actors have been taking part in the readings. Director, actors, dramaturg and LKTYP's Artistic Director Allen MacInnes are such a pleasure to work with that even if it never makes it to the boards, I will have thoroughly enjoyed the process of making the play. BTW, If you’re in Toronto, do go and see “Dream.” It closes on the 31st.

Meeting yourself...

I asked a friend who had been in the convent but left – one of many women who had done that at roughly the same time – why she had come out. She explained that she couldn't speak for anyone else, but what had turned her off was that the novices had been constantly encouraged to be introspective, to look at what was wrong with them in order to correct it, to see their weaknesses and faults, so much so that everywhere she turned she felt she was "meeting herself". It wasn't an experience that she liked, so she left. Not long after she got married and started a family, and could then lose herself in concern for her husband and children. That, she preferred. It reminded me of a joke that I suspect was told to me by my counselor, a wonderful old priest, now translated. A man went to a psychiatrist and poured out his problems. The shrink listened and said to him at the end of the session: "I want you to go home, lock yourself in a room, sit quietly without interruption, and stay there for a whole morning. At the next session, we'll talk about the experience." The man went off and returned for his next session a week later. "How did it go?" the shrink asked him. "Oh very well!" the man replied. I read this terrific book, and the time flew by." "That's not what I said you should do," the doctor replied. "Now I want you to go home, and do as I said. Lock yourself in a room, sit quietly without interruption, and stay there for a whole morning." So off the man went. ""How did it go?" the shrink asked him when he came the next week. "Oh very well!" the man replied. I listened to a new recording of Beethoven's fifth. It was wonderful. The time zipped by." "Those weren't my instructions," the doctor countered. "I asked you to go home, lock yourself in a room, sit quietly without interruption, doing nothing at all, and stay there for a whole morning." The man became extremely agitated. "You can't possibly mean that," he replied. "You want me to keep my own company for an entire morning? That would drive me nuts!" I empathize with my friend who left the convent. Nobody wants to have their nose rubbed in their faults. But it's how she put it that made me think: "I was meeting myself at every turn." Is that something that we ought to be able to do? How important is it that we be able to keep our own company for long periods of time? Know ourselves, faults and failings really well? Because if it is important that may well explain why we need to be on Facebook and Myspace: we can't bear to encounter ourselves.

A protest

Having celebrated, it's time to protest. A recent article on the BBC Sports website ("Jamaicans hail sprint king Bolt" by Claire Stocks, 17 August 2008) quoted Mike Fennell, head of Jamaica's National Olympic committee as follows: "Our athletes have been tested constantly. When Bolt broke the world record at the National Championships and at all the championships in which he has participated in between, he and the other Jamaican sprinters (have been tested). They have been tested more times than any other athletes around - what more can you ask?" I suppose there is no point complaining, though I would think being singled out for repeated testing, more so than other athletes, constitutes unwarranted harassment, especially when the tests keep turning up negative. If the testing is in response to the burlap covered package addressed to the Jamaican Team and sent to Beijing, someone needs to have their head examined. Who in their right mind would package and label a parcel with contents of that kind, meant to reach its destination, in that way? Someone plainly wanted to embarrass the team and the country, and so wanted the parcel intercepted and the find publicized. At any rate, having swallowed their spit and endured the multiple tests, the sprinters have the last laugh. They've worked not just hard, but harder; trained not just long, but longer; aspired not just high, but higher. And they've performed not just well, but superbly. What go round, come round. Selah.

What a flash!

Well, the Bolt struck again this morning, and what a dazzling flash! It's such a pleasure to watch him run. He's graceful, like a gazelle – natural, as if it's what he was born to do! Donovan Bailey had just finished saying that he didn't think Usain would try to break the world record when, lo and behold, Usain Bolt gave himself a wonderful birthday present with a 19.30 run that broke Michael Johnson's twelve year old record of 19.32. And what a tremendous thing for him to have the whole olympic stadium, on its feet, singing "Happy Birthday!" None of the commentators' that we heard mentioned this as it was happening, but it seemed to me to the same kind of hopeful moment for the world as when Barack Obama addressed the record crowd in Berlin. People of every nationality stood to honour a young black man from a little island who had just pushed himself to do a truly remarkable thing. Then Melaine Walker following close on Usain's heels, leapt to victory in the 400 metre women's hurdles and, having finished the race, knelt on the ground – I'm guessing to give thanks. She was delighted with her victory, and unassuming as she celebrated it. I wish for these Jamaican Olympians every possible good thing in their future careers. God bless them! They are fine examples to young people everywhere, truly rejoiced by their accomplishments, wearing their glory with grace and ease. Usain is a man with a sense of humour, a great kidder who doesn't seem to take himself too seriously, an attitude some appear to regard as irreverent. But we are different people, all of us; our temperaments differ and we have our various ways of coping. I think it's Donovan Bailey who once said that, in the last analysis, the race is in your head – an observation with which Asafa Powell would probably agree. Usain's clowning is no doubt part of his strategy for keeping himself grounded, and I can't think why anyone should find this the least bit offensive. Is it perhaps that they think he should be in awe, because he is a young black man from tiny country, of being on the world stage? Because what is awesome is his prodigious talent. And what is endearing and gracious about him is that he wears his greatness so lightly.

Why blog?

No comments on other blogs just yet. Inspired in part by a blog I was reading last night that was counseling bloggers about what they do when they run out of ideas, I'm ruminating about why I'm in the business. I may say what I've said before in so doing, but indulge me, please. I guess blogs can be all things to all persons (within the law, of course) since one can pretty well do as one wishes with a blog. For some people they are strictly commercial endeavours, and there's nothing wrong with that. Earning a few dollars from ads compatible with the concerns and interests of this blog is fine by me, but that's not why I'm up here. For others, blogs are like diaries, and though in time I might add diary elements to this one, that's not my focus. It isn't a hobby blog either, or an academic one, or one with a focus like politics or sports, philately, fine art or photography. I felt called to begin it primarily because of end-of-the-world concerns, which I still have, and will continue to have for as long as we play fast and loose with the planet, and with each other and one another. Re ecological matters, I admit to having weird ideas, like the notion that earthquakes are increasingly violent because we've pumped so much oil out of the earth's crust. Those viscous masses must have been meant to do something down there, like be a buffer against the grating movements of tectonic plates. I'm no geologist, nor any other -ist, but I figure, there has to be a consequence to pumping all that stuff out. Earth, like the rest of the universe, is put together in a certain way, and we should really have tried to figure that out a bit more before we messed with it. I'm very sure that the use of atomic power, whether to make bombs or to provide energy, is a very bad idea, for the same reason. Another odd notion of mine is the fact that prayer (described as supplication to God/Allah/Jah/Supreme Spirit, or in simple terms of good will) can powerfully influence individual health, the wind and waves, the spread of disease, the height the corn grows, the way we behave individually and communally, etc., etc. I believe, as I've been saying to fsjl in comments on a recent post, that Wisdom is gracious, and reveals herself to those who seek her, humbly – and even not so humbly. So, in sum, I'm concerned in this blog with how we treat one another; how we treat the planet; how we answer our responsibility to eat bread by the sweat of our brows; how we respond to the need to share that bread; and how ready we are to deal with ordinary circumstances, as well as extraordinary ones, as they arise. I don't say "when they arise" for they've already arisen – they're all around us. After all, for the victims of the recent violent earthquakes, monsoons and tsunamis, the people who live in HIV/AIDS ravaged countries, communities torn apart by war, places where people are fighting for food, the end of the world has already come. (BTW, The 'long count' calendars of the Mayas and Aztecs end somewhere around 2012, I think. correct me, someone, if I'm wrong,) It can't hurt if we work as hard and carefully as we can, behave as well as we can, and pray the way we know how, and as earnestly as we know how. I hope the interests of this blog, as listed on the banner, reflect these matters. Aha! What about literature, Caribbean writing? Where is its place? As I've said elsewhere, literature is the first of the disciplines. After Sacred Lore came song and story. Indeed, many Sacred Books are song and story. I have always thought of the best Caribbean Song and Story as singularly inspired, and so a perfect fit for comforting us to the end of the world. Selah.