Howard O’Hagan. The Woman Who Got on at Jasper Station (1977)

     Howard O’Hagan. The Woman Who Got on at Jasper Station (1977) Talonbooks reissued this collection, and it seems to have had a moderate success. This copy was originally shelved in the Mount St Joseph Separate School library, and contains many pencilled notes. These are of the “what you need to know for the exam” variety, unfortunately: there’s no indication of what the note taker actually thought of the tales.
     I don’t think much of them. O’Hagan is a good craftsman, and clearly wrote for a market. I read three stories thoroughly, and skimmed the others more or less carefully. The older tales have a serious, portentous tone, and deal with unsophisticated people living in times and places far removed from the city dweller or academic who presumably bought the magazines in which the stories appeared. Such tales were popular in the less pulpy fiction magazines of the 1930s, since they grant the illusion that one is hearing stories of “real life”. And of course they attract the high school English teacher, since they give occasion for discussion of themes. What would a high school English class do without themes!
     In the very first story, The Teepee, a white narrator sleeps with a Native woman; but her husband, when he comes to visit the narrator’s camp, all but invites the narrator to service his wife when he’s away. “Heavy!” as 1960s student might say. The most recent stories are clearly aimed at more modern tastes. The Love Story of Mr Alfred Wimple is a satirical glance at what drives the moneyed classes, the same lust for status and women as what drives the less dollar-obsessed ones, it seems. The title story, last in the book, describes a doctor’s wife returning home to a village in the bush near Jasper, and briefly thinking about a casual affair with a sailor on his way to Victoria.
     O’Hagan writes obliquely, suggesting rather than telling or showing. This is his strength. Even his first-person narratives display a reticence at odds with that mode. This method of storytelling works quite well, because it engages the reader’s curiosity. What is really going on here? is the question that keeps us reading. Again, such tales are attractive to the high school English teacher, since they afford opportunities for “close reading”. But in the end, the answers to that question are at best merely satisfying. I don’t get the sense of insight into a character or way of life, despite O’Hagan’s choice of material. That choice implies that the stories will be minor revelations at least, but they aren’t. The stories claim more meaning than they have. ** (2008)

P. Turner Bone. When the Steel Went Through (1947)

     P. Turner Bone. When the Steel Went Through (1947) Bone’s indeed written his book in “plain unvarnished prose”, as D’Alton C. Coleman notes in his introduction. Published posthumously, the narrative deals mostly with Bone’s career with the CPR and its subsidiaries. He designed and supervised the construction of the bridges on the line through the Rockies and into the Selkirks. He also participated in the surveys and construction of the International Railway (a US subsidiary of the CPR), and the Calgary and Edmonton Railway.
     The story begins with reminiscences of his childhood and schooling in Scotland, and ends with a brief Epilogue in which he tells that his elder son died in the 1914-18 war, and his wife in 1929. The plain prose in which he records these few details of his later life is moving. He went into private practice as a consulting engineer. The Glenbow Museum was fortunate to receive a large quantity of his papers when his house was torn down in 1962. Bone is remembered as a Calgary pioneer.
     In his book Bone comes across as a disciplined worker. His writing is about as factual as an autobiography can be; names and dates and places constitute the bulk of his reminiscences. He says little about his fortune, but we gather that he saved his money, invested it wisely, and put his talents to good use. His house was one of the first to be built in Calgary; pictures of it show it to be a substantial one. Bone indulges in no flights of fancy, and rarely attempts to express his feelings. Yet he has a sense of fun, and repeatedly says how delighted he was to meet old acquaintances again. He alludes to mountains he climbed with his camp mates, and clearly developed a passion for the outdoors. Many pictures in his archive show members of the Alpine club and their camps in the Rockies. Coleman calls him a kindly and lovable man, a judgment that the book supports. Somehow, despite the plainness of the language, we get to know Bone. I was pleased to read this book. *** (2008)

Clifford D. Simak. Our Children’s Children (1974)

    Clifford D. Simak. Our Children’s Children (1974) The what-if: Suppose our descendants 500 years in the future come back, trying to escape aliens that are killing them off. Simak plots a movie-like story, focussing on the US government’s response, with meanwhile-elsewhere scenes to keep us up to date on the overall picture. The structure of the novel, the style, and the characterisation are strictly pulp, but well done. The story has a cop-out ending: the monsters have somehow found a way to move in time also, and do so whenever threatened. So they disappear. Simak wrote himself into a corner, making the monsters such efficient killing machines that some such resolution was the only way out. With careful development of the characters and some of the subplots, the book would make a good B movie. ** (2008)

Earl Chapin May. Model Railroads in the Home (1939)

     Earl Chapin May. Model Railroads in the Home (1939) It’s difficult to decide what to make of this book. The title promises practical advice, but there is hardly any. What we get instead is an arch, wannabe-witty survey of the model railroading of the time, with names dropping right and left, and an unsubtle tone of invitation to join the inner circle of true devotees. Some of the history is interesting, and if combined with other sources would enable a more complete account of early model railroads than we now have. The plates are interesting, too, but the captions are inadequate, and there is no attempt whatsoever to explain what the plates depict.
     Of practical advice on what to do and how to do there is almost none. Of sycophantic fawning over the elite modellers that May has met there is much. I paid $2 for this book in October 1972, or about $10 in today’s money. Too much, even if considered as a curio. May seems to be heavily influenced by Alexander Woollcott and other “witty” writers of the Algonquin Round table group, who operated on the assumption that anything said wittily was worth writing down, no matter how irrelevant or devoid of substance. I gave up about half way through the book. Bomb (2008)

Sarah Paretsky, ed. Women on the Case (1995)

     Sarah Paretsky, ed. Women on the Case (1995) The stories in this collection, even those written by Europeans and others, are “American”: they have a pulp fiction feel to them, often end in punch lines, focus on the sensational and uncommon rather than the ordinary, and often provide all the gory details of violence. Except for the subject matter, which is almost invariably a female ‘tec and (usually) victim, these stories could have been written by men. They vary in skill. One effect of reading a lot of short stories at once is to become acutely aware of the difference between writing and typing, and the rather peripheral role of plot. A good bed-time read. * to *** (2008)

L. T. C. Rolt. The Cornish Giant (1960)

L. T. C. Rolt. The Cornish Giant (1960) Richard Trevithick has been overshadowed by the Stephensons, who are generally credited with building first commercially viable steam railway, and that is usually interpreted to mean that they built the first steam locomotive. Actually, Trevithick did that, and between his demonstration of how “strong steam” could drive a locomotive and the Stephensons’ construction of The Rocket, several other builders made steam locomotives. Rolt’s biography, based on two earlier and more complete books, corrects this impression.
     Rolt also explains why Trevithick could not capitalise on his many inventions: he was a man of impetuous temper, a wide range of interests, and too much naive trust in his business partners. His powers of invention were prodigious, with little ability (or desire, it seems) to stay focussed on a project to its practical and commercial success. A great man limited by character traits he could not or would not control.
     Rolt’s prose is workmanlike and clear; the intended audience appears to be middle and high school students. The plates and drawings are well reproduced, but could benefit from extended captions explaining the operations of the machines. A good book, but not a great one, it is useful for anyone who wants to become acquainted with Trevithick. **½ (2008)

Leonard Maltin, ed. Leonard Maltin’s 2008 Movie Guide (2007)

     Leonard Maltin, ed. Leonard Maltin’s 2008 Movie Guide (2007) This is a frustrating guide. I’ve read my way from the title page to the last page. [Yeah, I know, I’m obsessive]. While it is a good guide to currently available or viewable movies, the standards of judgement are inconsistent. Maltin uses several reviewers (he obviously can’t watch even a few hundred new movies himself). But these reviewers vary in their standards. That’s especially obvious for titles receiving mild praise, which some reviewers interpret as two stars, and others as 2½ or even 3 stars (out of four). Some reviewers seem more attuned to the cinematic values of a title, others to its themes. It would help a lot if each review were followed by initials, that way the reader would get a better sense of how the review would relate to his own tastes and standards.
     By the way, Maltin (or his reviewer) still doesn’t get science fiction. The SF movies generally most highly rated are just oaters in SF costumes. He also overrates actors, underrating of the power of a director (and editor) to make an actor look good or bad. Still, this reference is the best available, if only because of its sheer size: this version covers over 17,000 titles. (Other Guides cover another several thousand additional titles not listed here). It also tells of variations in length or edition. **½ (2008)

Diane Mott Davidson. The Cereal Murders (1993)

     Diane Mott Davidson. The Cereal Murders (1993) Another formula book, this time a mystery whose ‘tec is a single mother (survivor of an abusive marriage) who makes her living in Aspen Meadows, Colorado, by catering to those who pay more when the menu is written in French. However, unlike Baldacci, Mott Davidson can write.
     Goldilocks Bear (yes, that’s her name) is a pleasant person with enough self-respect to get good and angry when necessary, and enough self-knowledge and confidence to fall in love when the right man (Tom Schulz, a cop, whom she met in a previous book) presents himself. Tom is a bit too good to be true, being both a superb lover and a good cook, and deeply respectful of Goldy’s feelings. The perpetrator is a bit too monomaniacal and psychologically twisted for credibility. Three people die because he wants his daughter to go to Harvard, which requires that she rank first in the graduating class. At least Mott Davidson has the sense to let the Denver police express the incredulity the reader must feel, and so defuse it.
     The schtick in this series is the food: Goldy not only describes food in vivid detail, she also gives us her recipes, which I (despite my culinary dunciness) could understand, and which seem more than feasible. A pleasant read, which with its two predecessors could make a pleasant season of TV. **½ (2008)

David Baldacci. The Christmas Train (2002)

     

 David Baldacci. The Christmas Train (2002) Tom Langdon, barred from flying because of some misunderstanding with airport security, takes the train from New York to L.A. Eleanor Carter, his ex who walked out on him in Tel Aviv because he wouldn’t commit, is also on the train, and after the usual expressions of anger etc, they make up and presumably live happily ever after. Along the way there is an avalanche that blocks the train on Raton Pass, a wedding, a mysterious thief, assorted salt-of-the-railway characters, and other nonsense.
     This is a manufactured book. Baldacci never misses an opportunity to tell when he should show, nor to explain when he should suggest. He inserts chunks of information (and propaganda) about Amtrak via “conversations” with Amtrak employees and former employees. He avoids offending anyone, of whatever race, religion, gender, or social status. His attempts at tension and foreboding consist of weather forecasts and sudden hidden-camera bits of narration. His metaphors are 99.4%-pure cliche. In a word, this is a Harlequin Romance plus TV movie scenario told from a male point of view.
     The best thing about it is the plot, which Baldacci undercuts by making the meeting and reconciliation between Tom and Eleanor a set-up scripted and directed by Max, the director for whom Eleanor is supposedly revising a script. According to the jacket copy, Baldacci is a multiple NYT best seller, has sold 40 million copies of his books in 35 languages, and has assorted other support for the inevitable inference that because he sells a lot of books he is a great writer. If his product represents what airport and beach literature has become, we are in serious trouble. * (2008)

James Filby. Credit Valley Railway (1974)

     James Filby. Credit Valley Railway (1974) This is an annoying book. Filby has done a lot of research, but has neither the scholar’s understanding of the significance of his data, nor the journalist’s sense of narrative. The result is more of a compilation of source material, both quoted and paraphrased, with bridging remarks. What he needed was an editor. The maps on the end pages are awful, being a reproduction of a printed map with thick ink strokes superimposed to show the route of the CVR. The photos are poorly reproduced, which is the fault of the Boston Mills Press (their later books have much better quality printing). It’s a pity, since this could have been a good history of the CVR. Whoever writes one will no doubt find Filby’s work useful, if only for its source list, if he can decipher it, that is, as Filby has no idea how to format a bibliography. * (2008)

Two oddities

     Brock Silversides. Prairie Sentinels (1997) Historical photos and a diagram of the innards complement the brief but surprisingly thorough history of the elevator in western Canada. Well done. **½

     The Railway Correspondence and Travel Society. The Locomotives of the Great Western Railway: Part Eleven: The Rail Motor vehicles and Internal Combustion Locomotives. (1956) Just what the obsessively descriptive title says, and obsessively complete and detailed. Useful as a reference, but its discursive style and arrangement makes it a difficult to find exactly the information desired. A few more tables would help, as would an index. Good photos. I bought this from a stall at the Gloucester & Warwickshire Railway at Toddington for £5. Its original price was £1, which would amount to about £10 in today’s money, so I got a bargain. **½  (2008)

Linda Finn. War Letters Project

     Linda Finn. War Letters Project (At the Timber Village Museum, Blind River, 2 November 2013 to 20 January 2014.)
     Linda Finn’s grandmother Essie Sann wrote letters to soldiers during World War One, and again during World War Two. She saved many of the letters written back to her. Linda Finn has created a number of pieces using scans of some of these letters along with found objects, parts of uniforms, scans of photographs, and abstract and realistic images. These items are layered onto painted or monoprinted backgrounds, some have translucent layers of paint added, and Finn incorporates one of her favourite media, hand-cast paper layers or pieces into several of the pieces. Finn is nothing if not inventive in her use and melding of media.
     She also has a gift for design, and knows how to use limited palettes. Visually, all these pieces are interesting, most are engaging, and a few are stunning. I especially liked Requiem and When Words Are Not Enough. Requiem shows the life-size outline of a dead soldier over blotches of red, ochre, and mud, with the pieces of a uniform glued onto the base of raw canvas. I don’t know why this picture is so powerful, perhaps it’s the dead soldier, whose image hovers at the edge of visual awareness while we focus on the details of the background and overlays. Words consists of digital images of dozens of letters glued onto the canvas, with a life-size soldier overlaid on it. The letters are almost all legible, here and there the smudge of the soldier’s figure hides the words like a scorch mark.
      Also impressive is War Marked the Landscape Like Language, in which Finn has placed twigs painted black onto small wooden plaques arranged on short ledges. Anyone who has seen images of the World War battlefields will recognise the allusions. Seeing so many miniature trees shattered by shellfire lined up in rows and columns emphasises their calligraphic qualities. The title is apt; the language of war is destruction and death.
     A very moving exhibit is a suitcase containing stories and reminiscences told by the relatives of the dead, along with some photos and drawings, which the viewer is invited to pick up and read. I had time to read only one, a daughter’s account of how she yearned to have known her father, who died when she was three, and who knew her only as a two month-old baby. She keeps his portrait on her bedside table still.
     These are art works with intended meanings and significance. The fashion for many decades has been for supposedly pure art, which at most expressed the maker’s individual responses to the world, or recorded the artist’s exploration of his or her visual dialect. But even these meanings were politely ignored: what was supposed to matter was the design, the palette, the dialogue with similar and contrary styles, the demonstration of how the new visual dialect could be used.
     But the making of artworks that made a public statement never went away. In the second half of the 20th century, the comment was as often as not satirical, ironic, or self-deprecating; or too solemnly serious to be taken seriously. The work of people like General Idea almost apologises for having ideas, and ideas about politics and culture at that. Their in-your-face commentary made them seem somewhat indecent.
     The kind of comment Finn offers, straightforward invitations to think and feel about what it means to know about and be linked with people in the viewer’s personal and collective past, that was largely left to the makers of greeting-card verse and calendar art. Linda Finn shows us that questions raised by memory are serious, not only for the viewer’s sense of his or her own past, but also for our collective understanding of our shared history. Memories are too important for sentimentality. Her work is about war, and the sacrifices that we offer to the god of war; but it is not a glorification of war. In this, it is a welcome counter to the current jingoism. Highly recommended. ****
     Disclosure: we own one of the works in this series, it is part of this exhibition.
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