This is the FINAL day of my 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment or description, 7 books in 7 days.
Book 7 is Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett.
Please stay safe. Solace always exists between the covers of a good book.
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 6
Day 6 of the 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment, 7 books in 7 days.
Book 6 is The Sympathizer, by Viet Thanh Nguyen.
Do your bit to bend the curve. Crack a book and stay safe.
#amreading #amwriting #StayHomeStaySafe #StayHomeSaveLives
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 5
Day 5 of the 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment, 7 books in 7 days.
My Day 5 pick is Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel.
Bend the curve. Stay safe. Crack a book.
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 4
Day 4 of the 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment or description, 7 books in 7 days.
Day 4’s book is Through Black Spruce, by Joseph Boyden.
Bend the curve. Crack a book.
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 3
Day 3 of the 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment or description, 7 books in 7 days.
Ah, but a QUOTE is not a comment or description. So I urge you to consider the timeless wisdom of Groucho Marx:
“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.
Inside of your house, though, it’s plenty light, and completely safe to read. My Day 3 book is The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion.
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 2
Day 2 of the 7 Day Book Challenge, wherein I post, without comment or description, 7 books in 7 days.
Every film, series and Netflix Original springs from the fevered mind of a creative soul. Do your bit during the lock-down by staying in and reading.
The Day 2 book is Half Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan.
The 7 Day Book Challenge: Day 1
I was recently tagged by a friend on Facebook to participate in the 7 Day Book Challenge. The Challenge involves:
1) posting, without comment, 7 books in 7 days; and
2) nominating one more person each day to do the same.
In these viral times, I’m not doing the viral nomination component. I invite everyone who wants to participate to do so. After all, the world is on lock-down. Where isolating physically. So we’ve all got the time, and it’s not like we have to be anywhere.
Also – hug a writer (metaphorically and safely, of course, from a distance): read a book, and let the world know!
This is my Day 1. Book 1 is Little Big Man, by Thomas Berger.
Finding the Voice and Finding the Time
I’ve felt this man’s eyes on me for years. His and George Vancouver’s.
On a recent trip to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich I discovered the famous 1775 portrait of the great mariner James Cook by Nathaniel Dance-Holland. I’ve done a lot of research on Cook and his era, and I’d seen this picture many times before, so it was a delight to discover the original there on the wall. So: selfie time. The resulting photo surprised me. I wonder if George Vancouver also felt Cook looking over his shoulder.
Vancouver was a midshipman on Cook’s last two voyages. With Cook, he twice circumnavigated the globe, spending more than eight years at sea. Thirteen years after Cook’s death, still only thirty-four, Vancouver was assigned to lead his own ambitious voyage of exploration. He was to complete the mapping of the northwest coast of North America, in the course of which he was to find or refute the existence of a navigable North West Passage.
My work-in-progress is set in Nootka Sound in 1792, during that epic voyage. I’ve long faced the challenge of how to tell an historical story with authenticity, how to be true to the characters and the age without losing contemporary readers. My initial effort produced a manuscript that veritably creaked with authenticity. Authenticity, good. Creaky, bad. I rethought it and eventually found a narrative voice that could accomplish what I wanted to do. It is omniscient, perhaps unreliable, egotistical, and it’s got attitude, which makes it fun, in a dangerous (though not Travis Bickle-dangerous) way. By dangerous, I mean unconventional.
My path to this approach was long and winding. Years ago, my daughter Kaitlin introduced me to a book she was reading at school: Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, in which the narrator is Death. I loved that book and drew inspiration from it in solving my narration conundrum, though I haven’t gone as far as Zusak in using Death’s voice. Not quite, though my narrator has a unique perspective and plenty of character. I’ve also been inspired by the German writer W.G. Sebald, whose novel The Rings of Saturn is unlike any I’ve ever encountered. In the course of his story Sebald’s solitary, nameless narrator digresses into history, biography, literature and architecture. His narrative arc winds, not aimlessly, but delightfully. A friend gave me the book and said I’d like it, and I did, though perhaps not for the reasons he anticipated.
I’m pleased to say the narrative voice in my novel-in-progress (working title: The Wind From All Directions, “TWFAD”) works. I’m making good progress on the manuscript and am happy with it. I’m taking risks with voice, perspective, and story-telling in general. I’m painting outside the lines and don’t give a damn about breaking literary convention. The way I see it, if you’re painting within the lines—if you can see lines—well, you’re working on someone else’s painting. What about your own? This is my last novel. I see no need to hold back now. What do I have to lose?
Now back to Greenwich. It was a pleasurable working visit, the best kind. I did some research there for TWFAD that I could do nowhere else. I was there to investigate time and ogle the chronometers housed at the Maritime Museum and up the hill at the Royal Observatory.
John Harrison’s famous “sea watch,” known as H4, and its predecessors H1, H2 and H3 (all of which are still in working order), are on exhibit at the Observatory, where there is a very thorough, very accessible audible tour. If you’ve read Dava Sobel’s Longitude (nerd alert: Yes, of course I have.) you’ll know the significance of these chronometers. H4 was the timepiece that solved the great conundrum of marine navigators, the problem of determining longitude at sea, a problem that had preoccupied astronomers, mathematicians, horologists and instrument-makers for decades.
H4 was a masterpiece, a work of genius, a breakthrough for science and instrumentation, but a one-off. It was so expensive that it was impractical as a day-to-day solution for ships at sea. The navy could not afford to equip all its vessels with such a piece, and it was completely out of reach for the owners of merchant vessels.
The effort began to simplify the clock’s movement and cut costs. Britain’s Board of Longitude commissioned watchmaker Larcum Kendall to copy H4 with those objectives in mind. In 1770 he produced a timepiece called K1, which James Cook tested on his second voyage—George Vancouver’s first. K1 worked superbly—Cook referred to it as “our trusty friend the Watch.” It proved that H4’s success was no fluke. Kendall went on to produce K2 in 1772, and K3 in 1774, both cheaper, though inferior to K1. Cook took both K1 and K3 on his third and final voyage. K3 remained in service for many years. It was assigned to George Vancouver for his great expedition in 1791. It proved erratic in its running rate, although it was superior to other chronometers he was provided with. K2, by the way, was assigned to William Bligh (who was on Cook’s fateful third voyage with Vancouver) in 1787 for his voyage to Tahiti on HMS Bounty. It remained on the ship when Bligh was set adrift in the Pacific by Fletcher Christian. Christian took it to Pitcairn Island where he scuttled Bounty. Years later the last surviving mutineer on Pitcairn gave K2 to the captain of a visiting ship. It was eventually returned to Britain. It is exhibited in the Maritime Museum alongside K1 and K3.
These historic timepieces are awe-inspiring for anyone (such as yours truly) who finds inspiration in the long and ultimately successful quest for a solution to the vexing problem of longitude.
Here are some pictures of these historic timepieces and other eighteenth century navigational equipment housed at the National Maritime Museum or the Royal Observatory in Greenwich.
Harrison’s H1 and H4:
Kendalls K1, K2 and K3:
18th Century navigational equipment:
Progress on “The Wind From All Directions”
I hope your summer was wonderful. Mine was. It’s almost a year since Poplar Lake was released, and I haven’t posted here for months, at least on the subject of writing. I’m no longer New Release but Back List, and I’m writing again. The project I’m working on is one I’ve been working on, on and off, for fifteen years. It’s an historical novel set in the Pacific Northwest in 1792. That year, British mariner George Vancouver, on a voyage to chart the last unknown stretches of the North American coast, met Spanish commodore Juan Francisco Bodega y Quadra in Yuquot (Friendly Cove), in remote Nootka Sound. For a month that autumn, they wined and dined and played gunboat diplomacy while trying to convince the other to withdraw and cede his country’s territorial claims within the region. Neither asked the local Indigenous people what they thought. “Yuquot,” by the way, in the language of the Mowachaht/Muchalaht who lived there (and still do) means “the winds blow from many directions.” During those weeks of genteel pageantry and tense negotiations, the name of the places was particularly apt. And as the discussions became deadlocked, there was a murder, a murder that was never solved.
True story, so far. When I came across that nugget, buried in footnotes to primary sources, I knew there was a great story there and that I had to tell it. I went to work, researching and imagining the place, the time, life aboard a ship, life on the coast, the characters, the fraternization, the conflicts. I wrote a novel, which I called The Wind From All Directions. The first version didn’t work; it was historically authentic but it wasn’t alive. It didn’t breathe as it had to do. So I wrote it again. TWFAD v2 worked well enough to convince an agent to take it (and me) on. While he circulated the manuscript to publishers in Canada, the US, and the UK, I worked on other projects, projects which crystallized into A Person of Letters (published in 2015) and Poplar Lake (2018).
The Wind From All Directions never found a home with a publisher, and I didn’t look at it again until 2017, after I’d signed a publishing contract for Poplar Lake and was wondering what I’d work on next. I blew the dust off my now-ancient manuscript and read it cover to cover. I saw immediately that it needed work, that my initial reach had exceeded my grasp. Readers want a good story, well told. In TWFAD, I had the former, not the latter. This was a humbling realization.
I decided to rewrite Wind. I started from scratch, re-imagining the story, re-inventing its characters. I spent a lot of time puzzling over what I see as the central challenge, which I failed to solve in TWFAD v2: that is, of how to relate a story about a time so far removed from the modern, one that has British, Spanish, and Indigenous characters, and that captures their drivers, their motivations, their truths, while connecting with modern readers who know nothing about the period. The key, I realized, lay in the narrative voice, and I came up with a novel (so to speak) solution for that; and I’ve finally worked my way through the story from start to finish and produced a first draft. Call it TWFAD v3 d1. Now I begin the process of kicking the crap out of d1 to produce d2. That’s what the writing process entails—at least my writing process. I’ll say more about the narrative challenges and the voice I’ve chosen and the project in general in future posts. Meanwhile, it’s back to the drawing board.
Yuquot remains a beautiful and unspoiled place, not much changed from the place where high drama and diplomacy played out in 1792. I’ve included photos of it as it was and as it is as a teaser for those interested.
Going Ashore in Normandy, July 1944
I’ve been posting this week from war historian’s Robert Spencer’s account of the deployment of my father’s unit, the 15th Canadian Field Regiment RCA, in Normandy exactly 75 years ago. Today I’m posting my third and final post to mark this anniversary of the regiment’s initial deployment in France.
Some context from the other posts: The 15th was a field artillery formation, part of the as-yet untested 4th Canadian Armoured Division. The regiment had left its base south of London on July 18 to be marshalled for embarkation. It boarded two merchantmen in the Thames on July 20. The ships joined a convoy that sailed into the North Sea, entered the English Channel, and anchored in the Solent off the Isle of Wight on July 23. They sailed for the Normandy beachhead next morning. Hours later, they caught their first glimpse of France.
In today’s installment, they wait offshore for two days to land, helplessly watching air battles overhead and casualties being evacuated from the beaches. When they disembark near Courseulles-Sur-Mer on July 26 with their guns, vehicles, and all their gear, they have been in transit or cooped up aboard their ships for more than a week.
Here is Robert Spencer’s official account, slightly abridged and occasionally annotated:
“NOUS SOMMES ARRIVÉS”
Dead ahead masts of ships appeared on the horizon like trees in a primeval forest. More and more came into view as the convoy continued southwards under the hot noon sun. Speed slackened as the ships moved in past a group of empty merchantmen, lying at anchor awaiting the return convoy. As the ships became more closely packed the church towers of the little villages along the Normandy coast could be distinguished through the maze of masts. Several miles off shore the convoy turned westward inside a line of Liberty ships, busily unloading, and dropped anchor.
[At anchor off the bridgehead 24th July] From the ship the coast could easily be seen: broad beaches of white sand shining in the brilliant summer sun; battered buildings in the little coastal villages; and beyond the rolling hills and green fields that looked as if they had never known war. Directly inland was a breakwater made of sunken ships, beyond that an improvised harbour, and everywhere ships. Hundreds of merchantmen lay off the coast, some idle at anchor, others discharging into LCTs [Landing Craft, Tank] their cargoes of guns, vehicles, troops, and all the equipment of war. Short squat LCTs and seagoing LSTs [Landing Ship, Tank] lay inshore, waiting the turn of the tide. Sleek destroyers lay at anchor and fast motor launches dashed between the ships. DUKWs [six-wheel-drive amphibious vehicles] with casualties slung across the deck shuttled between the beach and two hospital ships, just inshore of the convoy. Through binoculars troops could observe the casualties being hauled aboard and greeted by pretty nursing sisters as they arrived on deck.
[Further waiting] All ranks crowded the rails to watch the fleets of LCTs that made trips from merchantmen to beach and back, and wondered when their turn would come to land. All that afternoon and all the next day these ferries passed by. Sometimes they would come along side, only to turn away and tie up to a neighbouring ship. On the evening of the second day, a sapper officer came aboard from a motor launch to check the number of vehicles, and the welcome news quickly spread around the ships – unloading begins at dawn.
[Nightly air raids] Both nights the regiment lay off the Normandy beaches the usual air raids took place. First there was a sound of planes high overhead; then searchlights probed the sky, seeking the enemy who took advantage of low clouds to remain hidden. Flares from the attacking planes lit up the scene, revealing the vast mass of shipping. Then the AA went to work, sweeping the sky; high up the delicate pin-points of light from the heavy guns; lower down the great orange trails of Bofors and 20 mm. Soon the attack was over and darkness reigned again for a few minutes, to be shattered when the planes appeared once more.
[Unloading begins 26th July] Nine days had elapsed since the regiment left Sheffield Park, of which a week had been spent on the boat. As a result troops were impatient and disembarkation was eagerly awaited. A fatigue party had already removed the hatch covers, and at dawn on the 26th unloading operations began. LCTs came alongside, and Pioneers – stevedores in uniform – came on board. Derricks were rigged and winches prepared. Vehicles were then lifted one by one through the hatch and, swaying precariously in their nets, were guided clear of the ship and lowered into the craft waiting alongside. Troops crowded around and anxiously watched the vehicles being unloaded, for each had been modified and equipped to suit the crew’s particular need. The loss of one of these mobile homes, packed with kit and stores, would be a serious blow indeed.
Guns, trailers, and quads were loaded on a Rhino ferry, a huge floating raft, and limbered up ready for landing. Vehicles were loaded onto LCTs and manoeuvred to give the maximum load. An almost dry landing was anticipated but waterproofing was checked, last breathers were sealed and engines tested. When the last vehicle was loaded men swarmed down rope ladders to the waiting craft below.
As soon as a craft was loaded it set off for the shore. On passing the control launch, the loud-hailer announced a wait until 1400 hours for the proper tide. The skippers swung their craft seaward and anchored. A chill wind blew up a light rain, which quickly passed, and the sun came out warm and clear. As one dozed in the hot midday it was as impossible to realize that these tranquil ships, sleeping in the sun, lay off the fiercely contested bridgehead.
[Landing at Courseulles.] At 1400 hours the engines started, anchors were weighed, and the LCTs turned towards the shore. Everyone climbed into the vehicles and motors were started. As craft neared the shore Royal Naval Beach Parties could be seen indicating beaching points. The craft lurched as they struck a sandbar, then floated over to the beach beyond. They touched down, the ramps dropped, and vehicles rolled off in quick succession, splashing through six inches of water to the dry sand beyond. Some craft had a completely dry landing, the LCTs beaching so that the ramp dropped above the water’s edge. The Rhino ferries came alongside improvised jetties and vehicles drove off.
[The assembly area, Normandy, 26th July] Following guide signs along the beach, vehicles came to the Beach Exit and then pulled into a taped off transit area in the tiny village of Courseulles-sur-Mer to carry out the first stage of dewaterproofing. French women and children, poverty stricken peasants and fisherfolk who had survived the ordeal of war passing over their homes, eagerly gathered . . . vehicles were guided to the Star Assembly Area, on the hills above Courseulles, where the rest of the division was concentrated. Thousands of vehicles, the mechanized might of an armoured division, crowded row upon row in broad open fields, an impressive tribute to the Allied mastery of the air over the bridgehead.
[Dewaterproofing and repacking] The CO came from the concentration area to meet the regiment. All afternoon the regiment arrived by craft loads, until by nightfall only the armoured OPs [forward reconnaissance and observation post vehicles] were missing. They had landed at another beach and were in another assembly area. A busy afternoon was spent completing the second stage of dewaterproofing. All kit and equipment was removed from the waterproof bags and from the precarious position on the tops of vehicles, where most of the stores had been carried. Loads were carefully repacked according to the previously rehearsed plan. Supper was cooked from the 24 hour ration packs. Recce parties went to inspect the concentration area at Crépon [where an advance party had arrived days before to prepare their bivouac]… Line had been laid and the regimental exchange established by the time the main party arrived.
[Night move to Crépon] After dark the convoy set out over the narrow dusty roads that a few weeks before had been tracks crossing open fields. The long line of vehicles, using dimmed headlights, moved nose to tail owing to the shortage of large scale maps. The column reached Crépon shortly after midnight and vehicles were quickly dispersed around the fields, taking what cover they could from trees and hedgerows. Camouflage nets were erected, slit trenches dug, and then troops bedded down for a night’s sleep, their first on the soil of liberated France.
[The men of 15th Field would remain in Crépon for only a short time. In days they would advance with 4th Div and be thrust into some of the fiercest action of the war – the fight for Caen and the Battle of the Falaise Gap, where they would be fiercely tested. In the succeeding weeks and months, they would campaign with the Division through France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. By February they were inside Germany. At war’s end, May 1945, they were deployed near Oldenburg.]
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