THE IDENTITY FILE
Canadian writers talk about whose voices are being heard and how we define the stories that reflect our identities,
When wrestling with the age-old issue of Canadian identity, we often turn to our writers for help — or to complicate things further. In this much-debated anniversary year, they’ve been keener than ever to weigh in.
The upcoming International Festival of Authors (which runs Oct. 19-29 at the Harbourfront Centre) features panels such as “Glorious and Free? Canada in 2017,” and the Canada-themed November issue of literary magazine Granta offers what co-editor Madeleine Thien calls an “incredibly rich, combative, polyphonic” collection of texts, culled from 1,000 submissions.
Mike Doherty spoke with Thien and three authors appearing at the IFOA — Canisia Lubrin, Lee Maracle and Eden Robinson — about the state of Canadian literature in 2017 and whose voices are being heard, and by whom.
What does the term “CanLit” mean to you?
(born in Vancouver, lives in Lee Toronto. ConversationsMaracle New book: withthe essay Canadians collection (BookThug): Basically, it started out as white male literature in Canada, and then it turned to females that sell, but it’s essentially white folks. It also means if you don’t write like them, if you’re not following the formulas they have made, then you don’t get the kind of attention that (your writing) warrants. There are more people of colour writing (now), but they’re not writing any differently than other people are, much. I think a lot of them have abandoned their own voices.
(born in St. Lucia, lives in Canisia Whitby. Voodoo LubrinNew Hypothesisbook: the poetry collection (Wolsak & Wynn): I find the term to be quite nebulous. It’s un-pin-downable, because so much of our literary output has roots in other places in the world. I identify more as a transnational writer.
(born in Vancouver, lives in Montreal. Latest book: the Gillerand Madeleine GovernorDo Not Thien General’sSay We Award-winningHave Nothing novel (Knopf): It doesn’t signify to me what I love. What stands out to me about work that has really changed me, like Dionne (Brand)’s work or Ondaatje’s Through Slaughter, Coming
Austin Clarke, (Mordecai) Richler, is the space that made possible the risks that they took, and I don’t know if “Can Lit” was the ground where they were standing. But if someone said to me I wasn’t a Canadian writer — which has happened throughout my career, often internationally — I bristle against that, too. They think of my work as being more about the Asian diaspora, that I’m not writing to the thematic idea of Canada that they imagine through the work of someone like Atwood, but I think it’s all of a fabric.
Eden Robinson (born in Kitamaat Village, B.C., where she lives. Latest book: the Giller-shortlisted novel Son of a Trickster (Knopf): I wish we had sexier acronyms. I dunno — Canoe Lit? (laughs) We seem to be at a giant crossroads: With the Appropriation Prize and other conflicts of 2017, who’s speaking and who’s listening are very big questions. At the same time, Indigenous literature seems to be having a breakthrough year. I’m hoping that 2018 is just as inclusive.
Is it healthy that despite so many attempts to decide “What is Canadian identity,” no one has come up with a widely accepted answer?
ER: That is a big positive thing. You’re not being hammered into an identity. Canadian identities are flexible enough to encompass many little bits, so you can make (one) your own. I think it only gets inflexible when you start choosing hockey teams.
MT: I suspect the question never was meant to have an answer. It was a way to think about our literature in relation to our country, to language. The idea of a (Canadian) mythology was always an illusion. The literature we have has provided the best evidence of that. It’s very wary about language. Mythology is a solid, set thing, whereas literature is made of language, which is always shifting. Narrative is always in flux.
CL: I think Canada, by its very nature, is full of mythologies. There’s no one Canadian mythology . . . I don’t believe in the idea of the American Dream or the Canadian Dream. I can’t find myself in there. The thing about literature that I really love is not going after answers; it’s the questions, the mystery and the wonder- ing after what is and what could be.
LM: The word “Canada” means “village.” We need to get beyond being villagers, I think, but first admit that that’s what we are. We’re parochial; we’re narrow-minded; we’ve got our head up our ass. Where do we want to go is the next question.
Are Canadian writers reaching enough readers from cultural backgrounds other than their own?
ER: That’s a complaint I’ve heard across CanLit: I think we’re staying in our own lanes. It’s a lot more fun when we mix. The mixing has become more prominent in the last few years.
LM: I have a consistently diverse audience (at readings); to qualify that, you see many more white women than you do white men. I’m the person who actually represents diversity. I don’t think I belong to Canada; I think Canadians belong to me. They have to fit into my world. That’s where they change, and it’s like some of them woke up one morning and realized: “Jesus Christ, this isn’t London!”
CL: I run a reading series (Pivot), and now I see the crowds are getting a little more diverse. There’s a shift in our consciousness right now toward diversity, toward inclusion, toward reflecting the panorama that’s part of our literary, creative output.
MT: Part of me fears parameters that are being placed on writers whose voices have not traditionally been heard, whether it’s to be “authentic” (however we decide to define it), to be representative of their culture or to be the interpreter for a group of readers that’s assumed to be a mainstream/white readership. I wish I could remove those outside forms of validation, so they could freely create and imagine, and represent or not represent but not have to feel they have to defend the very ground they’re standing on.
What value do you see in the kind of “combative” writing Madeleine describes?
ER: I think we can change the connotations of “CanLit” to include more people of colour, people of different genders. The cultural conversations that we’re having are painful but good. Canadians are famous for repression, and it’s part and parcel of politeness, but it doesn’t seem to have done any good here. Inherent in the moment — that is, the “Trump world” — you have a lot of voices coming at the same issues from very different perspectives. The younger Indigenous writers are fed up, and you’re not going to intimidate them.
One of the characters in (my next book) is an eccentric writer, and a bit of a political activist — not based on anyone! (laughs) Some of the conversations that I’ve had will be coming through her.
MT: (The Granta issue is) not easy to read in some senses: There’s some harshness in there, but it felt true to our moment.
I wonder if it’s part of our sensibility that there’s always something not visible to you around the next curve, and that is as true of land as it is of history. And so, there’s a kind of fascinating thrust and parry with language. It tries to wrap itself around a subject.
CL: In diasporic literature, because of things like colonialism, migration and globalization, we have to contend with overlapping mythologies. For me, poetry is a way of understanding the world, of moving chaos toward clarity. The idea of having competing or combating mythologies is just another opportunity to manage the mystery of us a little bit better.
LM: Sometimes cultural collision produces great wealth of knowledge. That’s what I’m calling (the strategy of my book) — cultural collision. And I hope somebody collides back with me, answers me back. We could have a long conversation.
“There’s a shift in our consciousness right now toward diversity, toward inclusion, toward reflecting the panorama that’s part of our literary, creative output.” CANISIA LUBRIN “Indigenous literature seems to be having a breakthrough year. I’m hoping that 2018 is just as inclusive.” EDEN ROBINSON