“Books say: she did this because. Life says: she did this.”
- Julian Barnes
Friend S gave me a rush of delight when she announced to me her New Year’s resolution. She plans to read only Canadian fiction, at least for a time. I’ve offeredS unlimited access to my Canadian fiction bookcase (and S feels the same way as I about the sacredness of borrowed books, so I feel safe in doing so).
“There are just so many great Canadian writers,” S declared, and I couldn’t agree more. Two of them made their way under the tree this year; both Alice Munro and Michael Crummey managed to squeeze themselves in among the parcels. Well, their books did, anyway: Munro’s Too Much Happiness and Crummey’s Galore. While I’m devouring them, Friend S will have to read something else from the Canadian bookcase, perhaps Helen Humphreys’ Coventry or The Lost Garden. Or something of MG Vassanji’s, or Sue Goyette, or Lisa Moore. There’s loads to choose from.
Meanwhile, I reflect on a most exhilirating year of reading and writing, having myfirst book published, and returning to the work I so enjoy; and I look forward to more of the same* in the coming year. It’s the possibilities that lie within reading, writing, and performing music that keep the creative flame burning. At times I might substitute “doubt” for “possibilities”, but for now I’m feeling all cup-half-full, so I’ll go with that.
I leave Dear Reader with this article, which makes a case for the novella. Having written a novella myself, I found it quite interesting.
Happy New Year.
(*At least writing, if not publishing, another book…)