$50,000 Montreal International Poetry Prize update
The winner of this extravagant prize will be announced on December 15th, 7 p.m. EST.

The epigraph to the introduction Mavis Gallant wrote to Home Truths (1981) is Boris Pasternak's “Only personal independence matters."
Gallant's desire for independence, which shaped her life as a writer, seems to me a good way in to her work. It allows us to hear her voice at its feistiest, and it allows us some sense of the connection between the life she led and the work she wrote.
Independence shows up in almost everything she said and wrote about her childhood in Montreal and about her youth; it comes up in much of her fiction, too, when she when writes about strong-willed fictional characters, most of them women and girls, who feel confined -- and who are determined to escape.
Many of her fictions are set in different parts of Europe, where she lived for more than sixty years. For a reader new to her work, my recommendation would be get hold of the series of six Montreal stories that she wrote about Linnet Muir, who is a character who shares some characteristics with Gallant herself.
The most beautiful of these stories – the most beautiful short stories I've ever read about Montreal – are two stories set in the 1920s, when Linnet was a little girl, as indeed Mavis Young was a child born in Montreal in 1922: “Voices Lost in Snow” and “The Doctor.”
Linnet left Montreal when she was ten years old, after her father died and her mother remarried, and she spends eight years at schools in Ontario and in New York, returning to Montreal in 1940, when she is eighteen. She finds work, and eventually becomes a journalist for a weekly newspaper called The Lantern, as Gallant herself became a journalist with The Standard. The first three and the last of these six stories are set in the 1940s.
These stories were all written in the late 1970s and first appeared in The New Yorker in 1977 and 1978.They were collected in Home Truths in 1981, Gallant's collection of stories about Canadians at home and abroad, which won the Governor General’s Award for fiction. They can be found in her Selected Stories (1997), as well, and in Montreal Stories (2004).
She insisted that they were not autobiographical stories, which is the context within which I first got to know her. When I first read these stories in The New Yorker, I was so taken with them that I wrote a review article on them for a magazine that no longer exists, Montreal Review. I had some questions, so I wrote to Gallant.
She responded threateningly, saying that if I were to say anything that would suggest there was anything autobiographical about the stories, she would sue me and the magazine that published the piece. I went ahead with the article and sent a copy of it to Gallant on publication. She responded, saying it was fine. “Such a relief!” she added. For me, too.
This is what she herself has said about the Linnet Muir stories: “She [Linnet] isn’t myself, but a kind of summary of some of the things I once was. In real life I was far more violent and much more impulsive and not nearly so reasonable” (HT xxii).
To be continued.
© Linda Leith, 2014
An audio recording of the talk was broadcast by CKUT here.
The winner of this extravagant prize will be announced on December 15th, 7 p.m. EST.

The assumption in “One Night at the Risiera” that the Risiera killed mainly Jews and the silence about the other victims may just be examples of Morris’s fabled carelessness and the ignorance of her reviewers, in homage to her lyrical cluelessness.
So, do you believe me, or the great Jan Morris? Do you trust me or the woman who says that Toronto is on Lake Superior, that there is a great hatter on a street in Toronto called Spandia, and that Yonge Street runs all the way to the “prairie farmlands”?

It’s lunchtime, and the Café du clocher (88 av. Morel, Kamouraska), has a dozen or more tables in pretty tablecloths set out on the grass overlooking the St. Lawrence (there are tables indoors, as well). A gentleman has a basket of chanterelles he picked that morning in the woods nearby, and he’s selling them for $12 a pound. He has a guitar with him, and he sits down to play and sing as you sit down to an al fresco lunch of salad, smoked Kamouraska lamb and some of the local smoked fish.
Photo: Linda Leith


The Tiger is a Poe-like thriller, an analysis of post-perestroika economic disintegration (with plenty of black humour included), a treatise on biodiversity, an overview of paleoanthropology, and a completely absorbing read. But its essence is an intricate and measured plea for humans to understand and value our co-existence with the natural world.