October. A lovely month, often resonant of summer, and just as often, it seems, of winter. I spent half the month in Nova Scotia, visiting my daughter and her family, who have moved to the Annapolis Valley. It was my first time in the Maritimes. I experienced heat, cold, wind, rain, and beauty wherever I looked. There were many fine days too, as in almost perfect, and the fall colours were spectacular.
As per family visits I spent time with my dear people, and as per my personality, tried to make myself useful (!) by mending, digging up the garden beds, playing with the children. All of which I enjoyed.
We did a few outings — to a tall lighthouse and a short one, to small villages, and to the Frenchys thrift clothing store in Digby (apparently the original). I especially enjoyed seeing the replica of painter Maud Lewis‘s house (the actual house is in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia) as well as her gravesite and the memorial structure where the house used to stand, which the designer called a “ghost house.” It reminded me of the bones of what’s left of things (sort of like Borrowing Bones!).
Since returning to B.C., I’ve been catching up with family and friends and reading a fair bit (attempting to read the Booker shortlist, though since I’m depending on the library I may not get there by the winner announcement Nov. 10). And, like many other Canadians, I’m following the World Series and holding my breath on behalf of the Blue Jays!
Mid-afternoon I learned that All That Belongs is featured on the cover of the current issue of Prairie Books Now and that a review of the book had appeared in the Winnipeg Free Press today. Both were lovely surprises. I haven’t seen the PBN article yet or read the review but my sources told me it was good, which was enough to get me through the evening without worrying about it. Some writers don’t read reviews, either good or critical ones. I’ll read this one eventually, but today was not the day. I needed to focus on the evening event.
Dear Evelyn opens with a birth — of Harry Miles, who is half the couple featured in the book. I’d just read some wonderfully feisty comments by the late Margaret Laurence about birth scenes in novels, so was immediately positively predisposed to this novel by Kathy Page, which dared such a scene right out of the gate. (A male reviewer of Laurence’s first novel, This Side Jordan, had wondered about “the obligatory birth scene in novels written by women,” which infuriated Laurence, though the good thing was, “that dolt” launched “a kind of self-liberation” for her in writing. Fine for men to write endlessly of violence or masturbation or sexual conquest, she said, but “not at all right, apparently, for a women to speak of the miraculous beginnings of human life.” After that, she never hesitated to write about birth, “from the viewpoint of the mother.”*)
Borrowing Bones 
