Reading Ondaatje
Perhaps one of the delights of a new Ondaatje book arriving is learning how others read his work, or first came upon it. I like reading the stories interviewers tell. The way he once took a Robert Frost quotation from his wallet and read it to a reporter, which I came upon in the Toronto Star but was originally from the Guardian. The quotation: “What we do when we write represents the last of our childhood. We may for that reason practise it somewhat irresponsibly.”
And then I came across how he came to write “The Cinnamon Peeler” (which is likely where people often begin their Ondaatje journey, if you will). This is a conversation with Eleanor Wachtel on CBC. He was talking to someone “who could put charms on people.”
"He knew how to do charms, and knew also how to get rid of charms, which was actually what I was interested in. So I went to see him, we were chatting and we had a great conversation. I was taping him and when I got back to write about this, the tape recorder didn't work at all.
"I thought, 'What the hell is this?' I was so angry because it was a great 20 minutes of chat about charms.”
After that, the CP just magically arrives. And you know how I feel about cassette recorders most likely. (I love them).
I enjoyed the NPR conversation as well:
SIMON: The book is called "A Year Of Last Things." Do you think about what's next?
ONDAATJE: No, I don't actually. I mean, when I finish a book, I'm in a very empty landscape of possibility. I've never really thought about what was next. And I - and this jump from poetry to fiction to poetry to fiction - you know, usually when I've finished a book, I feel, in some odd ways, it's mortal, you know, in a way. You can't go back and rewrite that book.
So what tends to happen when I finish a novel that's taken me four or five years, is I want to try and write something where I've never been before. And it could be poetry as opposed to fiction. So you're finding something new constantly to discover.
And then there’s the lovely discussion about the ordering of the poems on LitHub.
I’m a terrible reviewer of books, though quite good at sharing my love for certain ones, certain authors. I’m with Rilke:
“Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them.” (Rilke — which can be found on the masthead of Brick Magazine where Ondaatje was an early editor).
I’ve learned so much from the writing of Ondaatje, as a writer — minor writer though I am. The moving from poetry to prose and back and forth and in between was certainly an early gleaning. Permission.
And the idea that one could be happy and write.
Probably I was first led to Rilke via Ondaatje? That makes sense. And to Cary Grant, which might not make sense. There was a time in my life when I took copious notes about the influence of Cary Grant and his films on Ondaatje’s work. But it was all speculation and I would have been too shy to approach him in any way and ask if I was being ridiculous.
The first time I heard Ondaatje read was when I was doing my library tech diploma at what is now MacEwan U but was then a small community college. I’d bought a few copies of the book because I wanted my friends to read this book — In the Skin of a Lion — which blew the top off my head. I stood in line after the reading to get them signed but I was so shy then. I still am but I just hide it better now. I was maybe three away from my moment and you know, I just couldn’t. I bolted.
The next time he swung into town was for the English Patient and it was on Whyte Avenue at Greenwood’s Books. (Incidentally the store where Rob and I bumped into each other after meeting at a party…and thirty one years later here we are). This time I took my professor cousin, M, and she made sure I didn’t bolt and even said something witty when it was our turn. I was silent. It was too overwhelming!
At this same signing, of course I was there early and so was the splendid Greg Hollingshead (who was my professor over the years many times over and for whom I have such an appreciation and so much gratitude). Anyway, as people arrived for the reading, they kept saying things like, there he is! Is that him? That’s him! And of course it was Greg, and not Ondaatje. And Greg is even taller than I am and I just remember catching his eye over the bookcase and smiling.
When I worked at a mall bookstore, Doug Barbour would come in and I remember several times having long talks about Ondaatje’s work which was so lovely and I wish I would have taped any of them. Doug was such an enthusiast, and that was a good thing to learn too, those days — how to be an enthusiast, with such delight and rigour, as Doug was.
Lastly, I briefly shared a press/publishing house with Ondaatje. (M&S). There was a spring group launch in Toronto of four poets, where I was completely out of my depth. Utterly. Tim Lilburn, my editor for Against Paradise, gave me the tip to wear black. I didn’t know then that what he was really saying was that I ought to gird myself. Edmonton back then was so not connected to Toronto…and I in Edmonton then, was just a very small (though tall) odd misfit. (I guess we’re still considered backwater which is fine). It’s difficult to describe the disconnection at that time for someone like me. Anyway, the rumour was that Michael Ondaatje might come to the launch. After, someone said he had been there and then slipped out immediately after. I still don’t actually believe he was there. Like, I hope not lol! My reading, at best, could be described as stricken.
Anyway, all this to say, there are a lot of really lovely reviews and conversations out there about A Year of Last Things. Me, I’m just going to go on reading the lines and passages I love, and slip them into my pockets.
I was thinking, as I meandered through this post, of my essay “A Year with Springsteen” in Apples on a Windowsill. (We’re born to love, as I say there). But really it’s been all of my adult life with Ondaatje — he’s put the charms on me.
I can only end this post with deep gratitude. And just a few lines from the book on the loss of a beloved dog, Stella:
“So many things to learn, keep on learning
during these last days, watching us
with an awareness that we perhaps
have not learned but shall
Now we are less. How do we become more?
How to die courteous and beautiful…..”
