“Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must create the taste by which he is relished.”
- William Wordsworth
The Non-Resident-Non-Teenager (NRNT) recently bestowed on her mother (me) a lovely book, Stuart McLean’s When We Were Young, an Anthology of Canadian Stories.
Well. Treasures within.
McLean has selected his favourite stories of childhood, many of which are old friends and some of which are new to me. Included in the roster of authors are Margaret Atwood, Roch Carrier, Alistair MacLeod, Wayson Choy, Diane Schoemperlen, Hugh Hood, Margaret Laurence, Timothy Findley… One could go on. And Dear Reader knows I well might, considering my feelings about Canadian literature.
One author whose work I hadn’t read was Nino Ricci.
Can someone please tell me why I haven’t read Nino Ricci before now???
Within the pages of this gorgeous anthology is an excerpt from Ricci’s novel, In a Glass House. I tried to keep from devouring his prose, really I did. So taken was I by his writing, I reached for a pencil and underlined particularly lovely passages.
Next day I hied myself to the library and grabbed his first novel, Lives of the Saints. The opening line pulled me into his world, and has kept me there as I devour make my way through it in a ladylike fashion. I’m looking forward to reading the next in Ricci’s trilogy, In a Glass House, followed by Where She Has Gone.
I’ve done well by the NRNT, who knows her mother’s taste in literature.