Regardless, I have a responsibility. But first, I must tell you a story. About a year ago I posed a question on Facebook as to what classes I should take in the upcoming Spring semester. I'm not going to write out the whole drama because I'm pretty sure that almost everyone who reads this blog was either present in it or a silent observer (yes, I'm looking at you). Anyway, you can read it all here or enjoy this tasteful synopsis:
Me: What classes should I take? I am indecisive and need impartial people to justify my actions.
BW: Canadian literature is evil.
MW: For shizzle, home slice.
KP: No it most certainly is not.
MW: Ya-huh!
KP: Nu-uh! Here’s a rational explanation as to why it’s not.
MW: *in head* Careful Michael, we’ve seen this before. Here’s a diplomatic response that will lighten the mood, though, I must confess, I am still not a fan of Canadian literature.
KP:
After the dust had settled, the question of quality Canadian literature still hung in the balance. (All right, that’s not entirely how it went down, but if you really cared you would have checked out the longer link already).
To clarify things, I am not saying that there is no such thing as good Canadian literature. I know well enough that an invisible borderline between the US and Canada is not enough to distinguish between good and bad literature. Nor am I not a proud Canadian. Cause I am. Honest. I even go so far as to spell “favorite” “favourite” and “color” “colour”, that’s how legit I am.
But twelve years of having Canadian history repeatedly thrown at you in Social class does become a bit tedious. In my first year of university I took a Survey of Canadian Literature class in order to break my jaded high school preconceptions and stereotypes of Canadian literature. Sadly, not only were they not broken, they were reinforced with a 5-inch thick, steel, bulletproof wall (hyperbole, ten points). Despite my desire to love Canadian literature, I still found myself hating anybody whoever called themselves a pioneer as I wrote a ten-page essay on the symbolism of barns and canoes in Confederation poetry. No joke, here is an excerpt from my essay:
“The title of the Italian sonnet, In an Old Barn, implies that the narrator has a deep appreciation for the romantic antiquity of a cattle shelter.”
It goes on like that for 1,500 more words. (Ok, I’ll be honest, my own prose isn’t exactly outstanding). Despite a semester of a studying, the best Canadian image I could conjure up was of a lumberjack man and his Little-House-on-the-Prairie wife standing by their log cabins and homemade canoes, enduring the brutal winters and taking advantage of Native Americans. Also, there are geese flying overhead.
The final conclusion we came to at the end of my Canadian literature class was that there really is no such thing as the “Canadian identity” as it is the amalgamation of cultures and concepts which defines it. I came to peace with this definition as our mosaic society is one of the things that makes me proud to be Canadian. Canada isn’t really definable (terrible stereotypes aside) and I like that.
Yet, here we are. Personally, I don’t know any Canadian authors that I would proudly boast about to my non-Canadian friends. To be honest, I barely know any Canadian authors at all, let alone ones that are worth bragging about. I get that Canada isn’t all about geese and rivers and rocks and trees, though I really don’t have any concrete proof to dispute this claim. Sad. So, enter CBMM. I'm looking forward to this challenge because I honestly do want to think of nothing but the highest of my dear home and native land.
So now, skip back to real time. I have since received six of the twelve CBMM’s from Kerry but unfortunately have only had the time to read the first one. And my first official thoughts are: I really liked it!
The first book Kerry sent was "The Flying Troutmans" by Miriam Toews. Prior to reading it, my expectations weren’t too high. I honestly thought that it was going to be a nice story about happy Christians doing happy things. Turns out it was nothing like that. Miriam Toews is really famous for her Mennonite book “A Complicated Kindness” which I’ve since heard a lot about and look forward to reading. So I guess I shouldn’t really have expected a nice Christian book about nice things, but this is all about breaking my ignorance anyway, so this is good.Once in, it took me a while to get used to the modern hipster names. The story is about Hattie, her depressed sister Min, her neice and nephew Thebes and Logan, and their dad Cherkis. Not a single Tom or Frank Penner to be found. The reason I did end up enjoying this book was because it was very quick; it’s kind of like reading an episode of the Gilmore Girls. The dialogue is fast, the message is deep but not deep enough to get lost in, and the characters are quirky but loveable.
That being said, I did have one major complaint: it has NOTHING to do with Canada. The unconventional family begins their roadtrip in the good ol’ Frozen North, but the vast majority of the book is spent driving through the States. It is ironic that a book that is supposed to prove the value of Canadian literature turns its back on Canada within the first couple of chapters.
So, I will end with this. It was definitely an enjoyable book (enough so that I bought "A Complicated Kindness" at Value Village yesterday). Yes, Miriam Toews is a good, Canadian author (and a Mennonite to boot), but "Flying Troutmans" is not really a Canadian book.
Here's a totally unrelated song for those of you who weren't particularly interested in any of this:
PS: If you're a keener and reading this right away I sincerely apologize for the wonky fonts; I'll fix it in the morning.