Friday, June 24, 2016

new book out in the world!

My publication date was pushed up and my new novel, Five Roses, is available! I didn't know but my lovely publicist at Dundurn, Michelle Melski, sent me a picture of my book on a table at Indigo in the Eaton Centre in Toronto! That news made me feel like a fairy tale crown had just been set on my head.

Then I got a message that my book is already on sale--also on a table--at the Paragraphe Bookstore in Montreal! So now I'm wearing glass slippers too.

This will be a Happy St-Jean* I will not forget!

*la Fête Nationale du Québec, celebrated June 24th. Fireworks tonight!

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

la gaspésie, June 2016

Here's me having my morning tea by a small fire. It's not cold enough to warrant having a fire, but when I'm in Montreal, I so often think of sitting by the fire with the sea out the windows. 

And here's R who is never modest about having a huge bowl of porridge when he's by the sea. Note that it's not really warm enough to be wearing shorts, but he wears shorts on principle because he's on vacation and we're by the sea.

We escaped Montreal for a few days. Followed the #20 past Quebec City until we picked up the #132 that follows the shoreline of the St. Lawrence River. First there are mudflats, then rockier flats, and the river keeps getting wider till we don't see the other side.

We keep driving into the Maritime mist and the land bulks up as the shoreline grows rockier.

To get a true sense of the scale of landscape to human, here's R walking down on the beach. That's the same #132 that curves around the base of the mountain.

My Alpie forebears would object to calling this small hill a mountain, but I think one should respect that what's no more than a small rounded hill in 2016 used to be a bona fide mountain. This range belongs to the Appalachians that cross the US border into Canada at Maine. Up on that slope you can hike along the International Appalachian Trail.

We had a few good walks and explorations.

Did you say crab pots?

Spring run-off was still heavy and some of the paths we usually take were blocked by streams. Here in the woods, the path had turned into a stream. As I picked my way along on the wet-spongy middle, I saw a moose had done the same--like me, only five times bigger and heavier, mincing along.

Fields of dandelions and forget-me-nots.

Dramatic skies.

Back at the house, work progresses slowly. The upstairs is still a work zone. We've got a clean corner where we sleep.

Two years ago it looked like this.

Before that, like this.

I never mind coming home to Montreal, because I love it here too. But I always look forward to when we can go again.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Sunday, June 5, 2016

arugula pizza / Pointe St-Charles

Before the rain started today, I hustled over to the garden to get arugula to make pizza for supper.

On the way I saw a U-Haul backing up to an apartment building. Cheap construction, poorly maintained. When I used to work evenings and walked home from the subway at night, I took a longer route to avoid walking past that building. I'd seen baggies and money change hands in the doorway. Been accosted by strung-out tenants. One, on the third floor, liked to drop his bag of garbage out the window to the sidewalk. Now and then, a startled woman in a sari would be herding a child inside.

She's since moved away. I haven't seen any drug deals for a few years. The building is altogether quieter as the neighbourhood changes. Since last summer two older fellows have started sitting on the doorstep on sunny days. They smoke--cigarettes--and drink cans of pop. From their angle, low to the ground, they eye the legs that pass, but that's as threatening as it gets.
Today, a woman in her 40s--excitable, hair frizzed blond--was moving in. She had a gang of friends helping. The U-Haul was backing up at an odd angle--not to the door but a first-floor window. It had been slid open as wide as it could, which wasn't very a wide. She shouted for the driver to stop backing up so I could pass on the sidewalk.
On my way home, half an hour later, the move was finished. I could hear her in her new apartment talking loudly to her friends, deciding where things should go.

Here's the pizza. Homemade tomato sauce, sauteed arugula and leek, blobs of fresh mozzarella.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Five Roses memorabilia

In 2012 or 2013, when I was writing my novel, Five Roses, I bought a FARINE FIVE ROSES T-shirt in a shop on St-Laurent. It's not there anymore--the shop, I mean. St-Laurent still is, though it undergoes periodical and sometimes radical face lifts.
If I recall correctly, the shop sold better-than-average Montreal memorabilia. No snow globes, no flags, but other cool stuff like these T-shirts printed with a drawing of the red letters on the scaffolding high above the southwest horizon of Montreal. I got a grey T-shirt because it was the only choice in a size that fit me.

This green T-shirt belonged to a friend's daughter. She left in a give-away pile of belongings now that she's left Montreal to explore farther-off horizons. The T-shirt is worn and soft, but still gives off vibes of fiery hair, roller derby energy, brazen legginess. I like wearing it, though I'm short, my hair is going white, and I'm comfortable at my desk.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

book covers

I have a new novel, Five Roses, coming out with Dundurn Press in July, 2016. Yeah, I'm excited.

Among the many steps between having a manuscript accepted and seeing it published is choosing a book cover. Since I already have a suspiciously flowery title, I wanted to stay away from images that were delicate.
Montrealers will probably guess that the title has to do with the Farine Five Roses on the south-west horizon of Montreal.

I had expected to be able to use the sign for my book cover, but was not granted permission by the company who now own the building. I argued that the sign is an iconic landmark belonging to the skyline of Montreal since 1948. I've seen T-shirts, cushions, cellphone covers, even mirrors emblazoned with the sign, but the company was adamant. 

Fine. I took my camera through the neighbourhood of Pointe St-Charles and along the Lachine Canal where the novel is set. 

Here are some of the pictures I sent my press, Dundurn.

Brick row houses are the norm in Pointe St-Charles, though I suppose one would have to be an aficionado of brick (which I am) to truly appreciate this image. 

Here's an abandoned factory complex--Canada Malting--by the Lachine Canal. Since an abandoned factory plays a significant role in Five Roses, this could have made a good cover. 

Or this close-up? 

Pictures I took in the Pointe were characteristic of the setting of much that happens in the novel, but they were too visually busy to use as a background for a title. This, one for example.

Weaving would have been a good image since one of the characters in Five Roses has a loom she sets up in an old warehouse on the Lachine Canal. Weaving also lends the ambience of many threads being gathered together and woven into a piece of cloth, which is part of what I feel I'm doing when writing a novel. 

But as a book cover, the image is perhaps too staid? 

An important aspect in the novel is the gentrification of old neighbourhoods--people like Fara in the novel, (and myself and R) who move into rundown neighbourhoods, buy an old house and fix it up. On the one hand, this is called revitalization. On the other hand, the lower-income residents get  pushed out. I'll write more about this in a later blog. 

Between my press and myself we chose to use a photo which R took in 2001 when we moved to the Pointe.

Here's what the same door and window look like in 2016: 

That's gentrification. Perhaps including the wine bottles on the window ledge? Though who knows what was on the other side of the plywood. 

Monday, May 2, 2016

foreign words / pain in chocolate

When are words foreign and what do about them when they appear in text?

This affects you even if you're not a writer, because you're a reader, right? You're deep into a novel where the character has travelled to... Madrid, say, and she wants to buy soap and can't find it. She's looked up the word in her Spanish-English dictionary, and has tried and tried and tried again to ask for jabón, except that she doesn't speak Spanish and doesn't know j is pronounced like an emphatic h in English (because in Spanish h is silent), and the accent means that you truly have to sound that syllable stronger. She's rubbing her arms and miming washing, though what she actually wants to wash are her underpants. The scene doesn't work with the word soap. Spanish is necessary.

Even outside of desperate linguistic situations, a writer might simply choose to use foreign words. There's that old saw about local colour. Or the simple fact that a person travelling usually adopts some local lingo. In Berlin you take the U-bahn, not the metro, which is what you would take in Montreal. 

If you write or read about anywhere else but where you're at home, the words of the place seep in. That's a good thing, right? 

And once they've seeped in, are the words still foreign? In Montreal even Anglos buy beer at the dépanneur. The word has been folded into the lexicon.  

To the reader, however, the word might be foreign. Does that call for italics? 

What about words that aren't so obvious? A character steps into a patisserie and asks for pain au chocolat. That's what he would order because that's what it's called. But an English reader might do a double take, wondering why anyone would order pain in chocolate. Does it come in raspberry too? The hesitation only lasts a couple of seconds. The reader isn't stoo-pid! Obviously it's a French word for a French pastry. Keep reading. 

But in that instant of hesitation, the bubble of fiction was broken, and even if the bubble seals again almost immediately, why break it?

Sometimes the foreign word is the only word that fits. There is no English equivalent for medina. That's me walking through the medina in Fez.

Or the foreign word sounds right because it's the word that would be used in a particular situation. My character in Vienna doesn't ask for coffee. She orders a kleiner brauner because that's what it's called. Sure, she could have said cappuccino or latte. The waiter would have brought her a kleiner brauner anyhow--and she would be the one who would look disobliging.

There are times I like the sound and feel of a word in another language, and for those readers who understand that language, I want to share it. In the new manuscript I'm working on, I describe marmormehl. Literally translated, it means marble flour. To my ears, marble flour does not have the resonance--the sense of marble being ground--that the German does. So I can't help myself. I need to write marmormehl. Though I then repeat myself by writing marble meal in English. The repetition sounds fake--I agree--but what about the convention of writing isn't fake?

As a writer, I prefer not to italicize foreign words if they're not foreign to the character who thinks or speaks them. I understand and support the growing tendency not to italicize foreign words in text. Why separate it from normal font if it belongs to the language the character understands? 

But what about the reader? What about words--like pain--that mean one thing in French and another in English? Using italics lets the reader know it's not the English word. 

When I'm reading and come across words I don't understand, I'm grasping for meaning. If the novel is being told from the point of view of a character who wouldn't understand either, that's fine. We're both lost. 

Just now, however, I'm reading a novel with lines of dialogue in another language the characters understand but I don't. English words don't follow and the context leaves the meaning unclear. I'm in the dark and I'm the reader! This may be realistic, but is it wise? 

Someone argued with me once about not using italics for foreign words because it posited the reader, who might understand that foreign language, as an other. We live in times that have politicized font. 

I'm not trying to make my reader feel like the odd one out, but I also don't want to confuse the reader. I see the value of using a small visual tip that a word is different from the rest of the text--to let the reader know a character isn't trying to buy pain.  

In my novel Five Roses, coming out this summer, the words that aren't English are italicized. In my first novel, Arrhythmia, the words that weren't English weren't. For the next book... I don't know.   

These are jacaranda blossoms on a terrace in Mexico. Jacaranda was originally a Tupi word adopted by Portuguese, then adopted by English. No longer a foreign word. This is how language grows.