Good-bye road trip, hello Vile Metropolis
"There is no
such thing as an insignificant human…"
Margaret
Laurence
At the end
of a visit to the lake blessed region around Bancroft, Ontario, I gave in to
the temptation of a “book sale” sign. Going to book sales far
from home seems to increase the possibility of finding something rare, weird
or somehow, perfect. Under a ceiling fan that distributed
the distinctive scent of old books around the room, I found a real mixed
bag of treasures including a book of Ontario ghost stories and this George
MacDonald book of fairy tales.
It wasn't until I got home that I opened it and discovered it once belonged to the North York Public Library collection. Things sure have changed — no more cards in books and "date due" stamps. Now we have barcodes and RFID check out. But the particular joy of books is the same as it ever was.
On a table devoted to Canadian literature I
found Heart of a stranger — a book of Margaret Laurence essays, which I
happily tucked under my arm. Recently, I borrowed a book of letters exchanged
between Margaret Laurence and Canadian poet Al Purdy from the library: Margaret Laurence — Al Purdy: a friendship
in letters: selected correspondence.
Finding the book of Laurence’s essays, and the lingering sense of
Purdy and Laurence as living presences in my mind (an after effect of the strange
illusion of intimacy that is created when reading people’s private letters) inspired a spontaneous literary road trip on the way back to Toronto, to the
last house Margaret Laurence ever lived in.
Laurence began
life on the Canadian prairies, and later lived in Africa with her engineer husband.
After her divorce she spent many years in England, growing quite attached to
Elm Cottage, her home in Buckinghamshire. But her letters to Purdy show she
often felt the pull to move back to Canada, which she eventually did, settling
in the village of Lakefield, near Peterborough.
On the way to
Lakefield, I imagined being in Laurence's tidy kitchen, looking out the same
windows she once looked out. If the other author groupies weren’t breathing down
my neck, I’d take my time reading the titles on her book shelves. What I most looked forward to was
standing quietly in the room where she wrote, conjuring her rattling away on her old
typewriter, a cat curled up nearby.
With these
Canadian literature sugar plums dancing in my head, I drove into the village of
Lakefield, and was immediately unsettled by the sight of a Pizza Hut and a Tim
Horton’s, side by side – no doubt Lakefield had changed a lot since Laurence
lived there.
I was even
more unsettled when the pizza guy couldn’t tell me where Laurence’s house was. In
fact, he didn’t seem to know who she was. I set off aimlessly down the sun
blasted street, reasoning that Lakefield was small, so I might just stumble across Laurence’s house.
What I
stumbled across was an imposing looking book store that used to be the Lakefield train
station. Was this how Laurence travelled to the Vile Metropolis, I wondered?
(She didn’t drive, I knew, from reading her letters to Al Purdy). Now, my
fellow Torontonians, don’t take this personally, but Laurence was not fond of
Toronto. In one of her letters to Purdy she lamented that she had to make a
trip to “The Vile Metropolis,” her charming nickname for our city. Remember,
she was a small town girl, from Neepawa, Manitoba (please see the lovely clip
from the National Film Board of Canada movie about Laurence at the end of this post).
The proprietor
of the book store said that Laurence’s house was just around the corner on
Regent Street. But there would be no conjuring
visions of Margaret clacking away at her favourite old typewriter – the house was
privately owned. “There is a plaque
in front of the house,” he said consolingly, as if he could see the sugar plums
falling from the air and splattering on the floor all around me.
The house was
just what I’d imagined – a classic old two storey brick, modest yet stately, with a
big front porch. Here’s a picture. And here's the promised plaque:
It was a
pity I couldn’t go in, but I could stand on the sidewalk and look at the house, and imagine Margaret having
coffee on her front porch, taking a break from writing. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, and all that. But as I prepared to
engage my conjuring powers, I was startled by the sight of a man wearing nothing
but a pair of shorts puttering around in Margaret Laurence’s back yard.
It was no use. I couldn’t navigate my mind
around Mr. Scantily Clad to achieve the mental state required for summoning visions
of the author. I snapped the two photos above and hurried away, worried I
might be breaking some privacy law, or that Mr. Scantily Clad would
think I was taking photos of him.
Driving home, near Uxbridge, I saw a historical plaque
bearing the name Lucy Maud Montgomery. I suddenly remembered that the author of
Anne of Green Gables and her Presbyterian minister husband had lived in the
area for a time. The ghosts of Canadian
literature peeled the squashed sugar plums from the floor and set them dancing in my head again. I
LOVED Anne of Green Gables! Is there a Canadian girl who doesn’t? I would take
the turnoff to Uxbridge. Literary road trip!!! I was going to Lucy Maud
Montgomery’s house!!! But the sugar plums didn’t dance for long. ‘There’s probably a
guy in a thong in Lucy Maud Montgomery’s backyard,’
I thought, and kept my nose pointed towards the Vile Metropolis.
If you would like to renew your aquaintance with some of our great Canadian writers, or if you are a newcomer to Canada, and would like to sample some Canadian literature, consider some of these books:
The Diviners, by Margaret Laurence:
book | eBook | large print
The Stone Angel, by Margaret Laurence:
book | eBook | audio book | large print
A jest of God, by Margaret Laurence:
A bird in the house: stories, by Margaret Laurence:
Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery:
book | audio book | large print | eAudio book
The blue castle, Lucy Maud Montgomery:
One of Lucy Maud Montgomery's only novels intended for an adult audience, The Blue Castle is a humorous, romantic cinderella story set in Muskoka, in the fictional town of Deerwood. The main charater's name is Valancy Stirling. How can you resist?
The more easily kept illusions: the poetry of Al Purdy:
Beyond remembering: the collected poems of Al Purdy:
"When Purdy passed away in April 2000 he left behind not only the huge
gift of his writing, but literally of his own voice captured on this
wonderful recording…for the uninitiated this CD recording serves as an excellent introduction to one of our finest poets."
4 thoughts on “Good-bye road trip, hello Vile Metropolis”
The Stone Angel is one of my all time favourite books. What a wonderful article you wrote. It conjures up memories of great Canadian literature. Small town Ontario, Manitoba, the Maritimes, and all places in Canada where these great writers spun their craft.
Yes, what a great book that is! “A jest of God” is one of my all time favourite books. Thanks for your kind comment.
Thank you for such an insightful blog about your literary
travels, and tribute to Margaret Laurence, such a commpassionate
writer.
I encourage anyone who hasn’t read Margaret Laurence, to give some of her books a try – she was a wonderful writer. Thanks for your comment.