David Remnick & Henry Finder, eds. Fierce Pajamas (2001)

     David Remnick & Henry Finder, eds. Fierce Pajamas (2001) As the subtitle describes it, this is an anthology of humour writing from The New Yorker ca 1929 to 2000. The net effect is oddly banal: so much of what may have seemed funny at the time has since become merely commonplace experience. Most of the pieces are satirical: humour is laughing with not at, and The New Yorker laughs with those who are laughing at those who lack the sophistication to be one of those that laugh at them. It occurs to me that satire is a species of science fiction, not only because so much science fiction is a form of satire, but because what annoys the satirist is almost always a development that he thinks has gone far enough. So he attacks it before it goes too far, attempting to stem the flow of history if not to reverse it. But things always go further than the satirist imagines. We can imagine how far things could go, but underestimate how far people will actually take them.
     Like all anthologies, this one exhibits the inevitable mismatch between the compilers’ and the readers’ tastes. Not that it matters: this mismatch encourages the reader to try another piece, in the hope (occasionally met) that the next piece will satisfy. **½ (2008)

Earl W. Buxton et. al. Points of View (1967)

     Earl W. Buxton et. al. Points of View (1967) A survey collection of essays for use in senior high school or junior college English courses. The selection ranges widely in time and theme, providing samples of the writing of acknowledged past masters of the form, as well as mid-20th century contemporaries, about half of whom are still relevant 50 years later. The standard is high, the biographical notes and critical hints compact but adequate. The editors’ introduction expresses high expectations of both teacher and student, assuming not only close reading, but active and personal engagement in the topics and themes. I’ve read most of these at one time or another, a few of them over the past few days. Good reading, despite the didactic purpose of the book, but it will go into the discard pile nevertheless. We can’t keep everything. *** (2008)

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)