Author Archive

Poetic justice, perhaps?

Posted on: July 28th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston No Comments

Colonialism forced the people of the native traditions to lose or rearticulate their gods. Science forced the people of the Abrahamic religions to lose or rearticulate their God.

Dear American literature professors,

Posted on: July 28th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston 9 Comments

What is the next generation of questions about Hemingway?

paranoia blues

Posted on: July 24th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston No Comments

Preface – and Postcript
Driving through Ketchum one cold, snow-blown night, Ernest became
upset when he saw lights on in their local bank. ‘They’ were in there
checking on his accounts, he said. Tillie Arnold thought it was
probably the cleaning women. ‘They’re trying to catch us,’ Ernest
replied. ‘They want to get something on us.’ Mary asked who ‘they’
were. ‘The F.B.I.,’ he replied.
– Michael Reynolds, The Final Years, 2000

Professor Northrop Frye

Posted on: July 24th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston 1 Comment

Memories of two great scholars!

If Northrop Frye were alive, he’d have just turned 100. And he would
be grieving the death of Jay Macpherson, his best friend at Victoria
College, University of Toronto. With their brilliance, joie de vivre and integrity,                                                                  they demonstrated the “educated imagination” at its best.

Say: Wisdom is a silver fish
And Love a golden hook.

Donne would like this.

Posted on: July 20th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston No Comments

It was recently discovered that the family of William Tell bowled
frequently. Research was put into finding out what social group organized
the bowling, but unfortunately it seems that all records were burnt in a
great fire. So to this day no one knows For Whom the Tells Bowled.

(Thanks to Bonnie)

What kind of novel?

Posted on: July 18th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston 7 Comments

Literary novel – Okay, this term sounds pretentious and maybe is pretentious. We have spent the past gazillion years, both of us, reading literary novels and admiring some more than others in terms of criteria that evolved over time. That was fine since all life forms evolve. I think that the nail on the coffin of The Great Tradition was the book that defined it.
Things happen faster now. Love and Death and the American Novel, Leslie Fiedler’s attention-getter of an American literary critic, had enough attention. Next up was Margaret Atwood’s Survival focused on the themes of Canadian literature: survival and victims. The main characters suffer in the great white northern wilderness and either survive or die, usually by freezing in the snow. Character building. Since Survival came out, Can lit has gone urban.
A literary novel tackles big themes and tries really hard to develop its characters in terms of the techniques used by contemporary great authors (if a novel can have human aspirations).
A literary novelist would love to be read by professors and admired and/or envied by grad students.
A literary novel might love to be a best seller or a sleeper discovered by an egotistical grad student or an aspiring novelist with a penchant for bullfights.
A literary novelist hates tours, book-signings, book readings, not only because they become routinely tedious but also and more importantly, after a late night of hobnobbing with one’s fellow scribes, one has no sense of inspiration the next morning (as opposed to the morning after because there’s no such thing on a book tour).

Postscripts to Hemingway’s Island

Posted on: June 27th, 2012 by Eleanor Johnston No Comments

 1. On our partnership

After all, writing a book together is easier than hanging kitchen wallpaper.

2. Wayne and El,

I’ve had enough of postmodern griping, whatever post-modern means.

I have just read “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” for the hundredth time. It’s the story of our suicide. The woman gives birth and the man kills. The snows melt and the deer die.

See ya! Remember 42.

A friend, 2011 email

3. For months, our working title for this book was The War on Hemingway.