Blatch vs. Gopnik: Why The Walrus owes Christie Blatchford an apology

I keep trying to get beyond my feminist programming. It makes me touchy and it surely is a hindrance to my getting ahead in the world. I do know all this but, try as I may, on paging through the front sections of the morning papers--old school print: The Globe & Mail, The Montreal Gazette, and La Presse--I can't help but notice how few of the articles feature women. And by 'feature,' I mean women as newsmakers, the central subject of the article.

As opposed to the usual silicone & stiletto eye candy.

Some days, particularly in The Globe, NONE of the A section articles feature women...my heart collapses just a little more each time.

But recently, it was The Walrus that got me.

Their crime was in their treatment of Christie Blatchford in the November 2011 back page, "Chalk It Up," in which they tore a (comic) strip off her for having criticized the late Jack Layton when his body was barely cold. Blatch's "Layton’s death turns into a thoroughly public spectacle," a National Post Full Comment article, was published on the day Layton died.

The NERVE of Blatchford to criticize Saint Jack! She took on the CBC for overplaying the story: "...even serious journalists like Evan Solomon of the CBC repeatedly spoke of the difficulty 'as we all try to cope' with the news of Mr. Layton’s death.

"By mid-day, after Prime Minister Stephen Harper had offered a few warm words about Mr. Layton’s death...Mr. Solomon even expressed sniping surprise that 'Jack Layton wasn’t the sole focus' of the Prime Minister’s remarks."

The NERVE of Blatch to take a swipe at the emperor's nakedness, as reflected in Jack's final communiqué:

"And what to make of that astonishing letter, widely hailed as Mr. Layton’s magnificent from-the-grave cri de coeur?

"It was extraordinary, though it is not Mr. Solomon’s repeated use of that word that makes it so.

"Rather, it’s remarkable because it shows what a canny, relentless, thoroughly ambitious fellow Mr. Layton was. Even on Saturday, two days before he died, he managed to keep a gimlet eye on all the campaigns to come."

For these crimes, Blatch was portrayed by Jason Sherman and David Parkins as a cross between a bat, a gargoyle, and Cruella Deville. And, for good measure, a "c-word," and an "ugly glasses-wearing soldier lover," in the eyes of Jack's NDP faithful.

Blatch goes on: "Who thinks to leave a 1,000-word missive meant for public consumption and released by his family and the party mid-day, happily just as Mr. Solomon and his fellows were in danger of running out of pap? Who seriously writes of himself, 'All my life I have worked to make things better'?

"The letter was first presented as Mr. Layton’s last message to Canadians, as something written by him on his deathbed; only later was it more fully described as having been 'crafted' with party president Brian Topp, Mr. Layton’s chief of staff Anne McGrath and his wife and fellow NDP MP Olivia Chow."

Frankly, I don't think Blatchford went far enough. I think Layton should have resigned when he first became ill. He didn't, maybe not so much because of his ego as because he knew what happens to a cult of personality when the personality in question exits stage left.

I also have a problem with his having died of a 'new' cancer that's remained nameless to avoid depressing cancer sufferers more (as if!).

But maybe that's just me...and I digress.

Contrast the treatment of Blatchford with the treatment of Adam Gopnik in the following month's issue, the positively fawning article by Daniel Baird "The Observer, Observed."

Okay, Adam's a big success, writes for The New Yorker, and just released a treatise on winter:

"At fifty-five, Gopnik stands at the peak of his career. He has written six books to date (two of them for children), including the acclaimed Paris to the Moon and Angels and Ages: A Short Book about Darwin, Lincoln, and Modern Life, as well as countless articles of varying length for The New Yorker. This fall, he is publishing two new books, The Table Comes First: Family, France, and the Meaning of Food and Winter, which he is delivering across Canada this fall as the 2011 CBC Massey Lectures."

Listen, I'm as admiring of Gopnik as the next person, but he moved away from Canada 30 years ago for NYC. And Paris.

And he's prancing across Canada lecturing CANADIANS about...WINTER??!

SERIOUSLY?

And that photograph of Gopnik by Jody Rogac--what were they thinking? He looks like Snoopy impersonating a vulture.

Baird's final paragraph is, albeit possibly unintentionally, hilarious:

"...[Gopnik's] son Luke appeared, a lithe and handsome seventeen-year-old with thick brown hair. He went to the kitchen and came back with a dog treat, as Butterscotch [the little dog that now obsesses Gopnik after a lifetime of refusing to have dogs] practically spun in circles on her hind legs. Then he began slowly waving the treat over the stack of unsold copies of Through the Children’s Gate, and soon Butterscotch followed, leaping with her stubby legs fully extended, with surprising grace, over the wall of books, back and forth, back and forth. Gopnik looked on, rapt, amazed, and absolutely beaming."

All I can say is, where is Mordecai Richler when you need him?

This is most of what Baird has to say about Winter: "..a diffuse and eclectic book, straining at times to sustain its theme with no chance to fall back on the quirky, heartwarming personal narratives that propel Paris to the Moon and Through the Children’s Gate. But in the end, Winter is also deeply personal: it is about finding a sense of home and rootedness and meaning in a fragmented postmodern world; it begins with and ultimately returns to the city of his formative teen years and early adulthood, Montreal. 'Practically everything important that has happened to me happened in Montreal,' he said: 'The first time I fell in love, the first time I fell out of love, the first time I made love.'"

Frankly, The Walrus owes Blatchford an apology. I think Blatchford is amazing, not least because she actually stayed in Canada, not to mention travelling halfway round the world, to bring us Canadian stories. And, for the record, as a kneejerk leftie, there are many of her positions I disagree with.

I know, I know: "Chalk It Up" is supposed to be satire. Still, Blatch is a writer of stature in this country, a writer of gender, a feminist writer. She deserved better than to have her appearance slagged and to be called a 'c-word' in what passes in Canada for The New Yorker.

Maybe Gopnik's next book will be a series of lectures about the essential Montreal.

As a Montrealer, let me tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.

Full Circle: my Quebec Writers Federation Success Story

Recently, everyone who had taken a workshop or mentorship through the good offices of the Quebec Writers Federation (QWF) was invited to write them of our recent successes. These sorts of missives help to demonstrate to our generous funding agencies--such as the Canada Council for the Arts and the Conseil des arts et des lettres du Québec--the value of the programs supported.

This blog post is based on the letter I was delighted to provide to the QWF:

Below is my history of literary training with the Quebec Writers Federation (QWF):

Year	Workshop Subject	Program Duration	Instructors
2005	Investigative journalism	1 day	Guy Lawson
2005	Short fiction	8 wks (+16 wks outside QWF)	Neale McDevitt
2006	Science journalism	1 day	Robin Marantz Henig
2006	Short fiction master class (competitive admission)	8 wks	Tess Fragoulis
2006	Humour writing	8 wks	David McGimpsey
2008	Short fiction	8 wks	Mikhail Iossel
2008	Writing the first chapter	8 wks	Joel Yanofsky
2008	Young adult fiction (novel)	8 wks	Lori Weber & Monique Polak
2009	Fiction Mentorship	4 months	Robyn Sarah
2009-2010	Playwriting	2 x 8 wk	Colleen Curran

It is no exaggeration to say that through the QWF, I have availed myself top caliber teaching, on a par with a university program in creative writing. In fact, most of the QWF instructors I have had teach similar courses at Concordia University.

I’d also like to salute them for their compassion, humanity, and companionship on this shared journey of literary discovery.

This year has seen the launch of my first book, the David Adams Richards Prize winning fiction collection, The Meaning Of Children. Most of the stories therein benefitted from valuable feedback generated at QWF workshops. Reviewer response to my book has been, gratifyingly, good to excellent. Selected comments:

Loved your book--read it in one sitting.

~Mutsumi Takahashi, Anchor, CTV News

Your book The Meaning of Children is great and so are you!

~Anne Lagacé Dowson, CJAD Radio journalist, on Twitter

A keen, incisive vision into the hidden world of children as well as intimate knowledge of the secret spaces that exist between the everyday events of life. A work with a brilliant sense of story…Magical, and so refreshing for me to read. I absolutely loved it and I hope it goes on to do marvellous things. Yours is a luminous talent.

~JoAnne Soper-Cook, author and 2010 David Adams Richards Prize judge

This isn’t the invented childhood of imagination and wonderment…[here] children both corrupt and redeem: each other, family relationships and the female body.

~Katie Hewitt, The Globe & Mail

Akerman holds up our greatest fears, not to dwell on them, but to marvel at our commitment to life, especially to passing it on to others.

~Anne Chudobiak, The Montreal Gazette

Akerman engages with dichotomies. Childhood is that safe, magical, carefree time and place — but it’s also risky, threatening, ominous and dangerous — full of impenetrable mystery around things seen and experienced, but beyond understanding. And if it’s not too much of a simplification or stating the obvious, life and the world are not gentle on children simply for being children…If, as Dostoevsky once remarked, and as is quoted on the collection’s frontispiece, “The soul is healed by being with children,” it is the tragedy of adulthood that we become so isolated from childhood — and what children offer us. Artfully, evocatively, Beverly Akerman’s The Meaning of Children reminds us of that.

~Darrell Squires, The Western Star, Corner Brook NL

Beverly’s background as a scientist, MSc and twenty years as a molecular researcher, inevitably spills into the stories…characters, the settings and her style. Intelligent, objective, open-minded but not clinical, her prose is refreshing and unprejudiced. Her characters are frank and genuine...With The Meaning of Children, we get a beautifully written exposé on the meaning of life.

~Francine Diot-Layton, The Rover

Your book is filled with insight and wisdom and gorgeous moving stories...You are dazzling. (I had read “Pie” long ago. It is just as moving the second time).

~Hal Ackerman (no relation), UCLA Screenwriting Area Co-Chair and Author of Stein Stoned and Stein Stung

A life-altering read is so rare for me, and I imagine for many writers, with a critical eye often hard to keep closed while hoping to get caught up and swept away while reading fiction for pleasure...Her stories are as diverse as her changing career path and yet string together a theme as connected as a genetic chain…Children weave their way through every tale…always sparking the reader to question where in all these stories sits their own story.

~Michelle Greysen, Writer, Editor, and Blogger

Just finished “Like Jeremy Irons.” That was a tough one. Saying I loved it feels contrary to the agony I'm feeling right now. (Perhaps I shouldn't have settled into it with a glass of wine?) Awesome writing - even if my uterus is cramping!

~Lisa Dalrymple, Winner, The Writers Union of Canada’s 2011 Writing for Children Competition

In Fall 2010, I had the pleasure of seeing my first theatrical piece, the monologue “Chelle,” professionally performed by Nan Fewchuk at Sarasvati Productions’ FemFest 2010, in Winnipeg, MB. I am very grateful to have been awarded funds from the Canada Council and the Playwrights Guild of Canada to attend the festival, where I was also a featured reader during the national Culture Days program.

Another highlight of the past year was being invited to teach my first QWF workshop, on short fiction, bringing me full circle. One of my workshop participants asked me to write a reference letter in support of his application for graduate studies in creative writing at UBC—I’m thrilled to say he was accepted.

As I write my latest appeal to the Canada Council for my next writing project, and embark on yet another ego battering roller coaster of submissions, and long and short lists, I can’t help but be moved and grateful for the guidance and support that the QWF has made available to me, and to all the other aspiring writers of Quebec.

Bravo, QWF, for doing what you do, and for doing it so well!

Thanks so much for being there for me when I needed you. Not that I don’t need you still…

(And special appreciation to Executive Director Lori Schubert and her right hand woman, Julia Kater!)

The Meaning Of Children is available in fine bookstores across Canada and online at Amazon.ca, Chapters, and through Exile Editions.

On being edited...

An emerging writer lives on a high wire, where self-confidence—the bulwark against frequent rejection--counterbalances humility, because who doesn't have a lot to be humble about? The struggle to maintain equanimity was never more obvious than the first time my work was edited seriously.

I'd had over 20 stories published, most without even a comma displaced, so I was shocked when a publisher returned my fiction collection covered in chicken scratchings. The putative editor, a prizewinning author in her own right, was much younger than me, and had a Google-invisible editing history.

After a week or so, I finally forced myself to flip through the thing. And it was worse than I'd feared! For instance, “Montreal” and “Quebec” had morphed to “Montréal” and “Québec.” My first story, a prizewinner itself, took place in the late '60s in anglo Jewish Montreal, where Jeanne Mance’s given name was pronounced like a synonym for dungarees...and this Torontonian had shtupped in all those aigus? Were all her other corrections equally ill-informed?

When in doubt, do nothing, I decided. Besides, the publisher had offered me bupkis, contract wise.

A few more rejections passed. I finally calmed down, read the edited manuscript, and contacted the publisher: they were only suggestions, he said. Use those that seem useful and forget about the rest. Ultimately, I realized most of her changes were printer’s instructions, and several of her propositions were sound. So, I followed them and found the result an improvement. Perhaps I’d been skimping on the humility side of my balancing equation.

Editors can't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse; but hand them raw silk and you may get a better story altogether.

###

Canadian Beverly Akerman started writing fiction in 2005. Her first book, The Meaning of Children (Exile Editions), was just released to critical acclaim: “Each story [is] a reminder of what an optimistic endeavour it is to parent…Akerman holds up our greatest fears, not to dwell on them, but to marvel at our commitment to life, especially to passing it on to others.” Anne Chudobiak, The Montreal Gazette.

(Originally published in QWrite, a publication of the Quebec Writers' Federation.)