Douglas Gibson (with Joan Baril)
As
Canada's most celebrated editor and publisher, Douglas Gibson has
helped shape the country's literature for over four decades. And boy, does he
have the stories to prove it. We were fortunate enough to sit down with him
recently to glean some of the wisdom that just a few of his many colourful
literary friendships have brought him.
From Alice Munro: Always tip the waitress
The question I’m usually asked about Alice Munro is 'What is she really
like?' And I answer that by saying, 'You know what Alice Munro is really like.'
She's the author of Who Do You Think You Are?— she's straightforward,
modest, no fooling around, no fancy stuff. Ordinary nice person. And it's very
unusual to find artistic genius, which is precisely the word for Alice Munro,
genius. Other writers don't know how she does what she does, but that artistic
genius to be allied with this genuine ordinary niceness, it's just
extraordinary.
"I’ll give you an example of the niceness with the following story.
An American tourist was in Alice Munro country, in the little town of Blyth. He
was at a chicken supper which was to raise funds for the Blyth summer theatre
festival. And like all little theatre festivals, it runs on volunteer time, and
chicken suppers, and raising funds. He had enjoyed his chicken supper and he
said to the waitress, a grey-haired woman: 'Now I understand that there is a
very famous woman novelist who lives nearby, could that possibly be her over
there?' And framed in the window was a very dramatic looking woman with great
coils of auburn hair, and she looked wonderful and very very impressive. So the
harassed waitress clearing off the dirty dishes looks in that direction and
says: 'I'm not sure,' she leans closer to the picture, then, 'Yes... maybe,
that might be her...' And then, Alice Munro, the waitress, clears the dirty
dishes away, takes him back to the hot kitchen where the other volunteers are
hard at work. That's Alice. A part of the community, literally getting her
hands dirty in a good cause, but also with that wicked sense of humour."
From Robertson Davies: If you're not
"there yet," change the destination
Robertson Davies was interviewed in my office at McClelland & Stewart
in about 1990 by a wonderful journalist named Val Ross, who later wrote a
terrific book called Portrait in Mosaic about Robertson
Davies. But in this case she asked a journalist question: 'If you were an
animal or a bird or a creature of some sort, what would you be, what would be
the most appropriate?' And he said: 'The ugly duckling.' And she was amazed,
why the ugly duckling? He explained that he had spent his adult life trying to
become Canada's great playwright. And he'd written lots of plays and he was OK
as a playwright, but he wasn’t a great playwright, he was an 'ugly duckling.'
Then in his late fifties, he brought out the novel Fifth Business and
it was revealed that he wasn't a duckling at all, he was a swan—he was a great,
world-famous novelist. He spent the rest of his life gliding along not as an
ugly duckling, but as an elegant white swan."
From Mavis Gallant: Never, ever, interrupt
a reading
Mavis Gallant was honoured by having a QWF award named for her, the Mavis
Gallant Non-Fiction Prize. She came back to Montreal, and an event was held in
a hotel and it was really just a bare-bones event: stacking chairs, a
microphone, no drinks, no food. I was there; I came from Toronto to be present
and to help introduce her. In the preliminary meeting it was agreed that, Ok,
we’ll start at 6 but we have to be out of the room by 7. All right, all clear?
Out by 7. And that was fine. I was introduced and I talked about Mavis'
important role in the world of literature as one of the recognized great short
story writers in the English language.
Then I introduced William Weintraub; he’d worked with Mavis in the
newspapers in Montreal. He introduced her affectionately and then Mavis gave me
her purse, and went up on stage and said: 'Because this is a non-fiction award
I thought instead of reading a short story, I would read non-fiction. So I’m
gonna read my diary for the year 1991. January first, a dull day, go to
dinner...' etc, etc. Now this is at 6:20 and we have to be out by 7. At 7:40
she reads the words 'July 1st, Canada Day.'
And it's clear at this point that she's going to go on and read the
entire year. Bill Weintraub and I are in the front rows, I say, 'She's going to
read the entire year,' and Bill's wife Magda is saying, 'You've got to stop
her!' and Bill is going 'Aaahhh...' So I foolishly try to stop her; I went up
to the podium and I said, 'Excuse me Mavis, but I think people are very keen to
have the chance to ask you questions.' Not bad. Mavis might have said 'Oh my
goodness, twenty to eight is that... oh yes! Let’s go straight to questions.'
What she did say was: 'Questions? Questions? But I’m in the middle of my
reading!' I tried again, and I said: 'Yes I know... But time is going on and I
think people really are very eager to be able to ask you questions.' And with
this Mavis went over my head literally, she appealed to the crowd and said:
'Aren't you enjoying my reading?,' and they, bunch of cowards, applauded.
So I slunk back to my seat defeated and produced the best line of my life
to Bill Weintraub, I said 'Well, I think that went pretty well, don't you?'
Mavis now was furious and was reading with terrific energy and went on until
about 8:10, and then the question period did not go well. But it was a dramatic
moment, and it took Mavis a long time to forgive me; in fact, her instant
response to Bill Weintraub was 'Doug Gibson, I’ll kill him!'
From W.O. Mitchell: If you need to rally a
nation, bring in a writer
People see W.O. as the crackly-voiced funny old Prairie guy. Great joker.
But in 1972, when Pierre Laporte was murdered, Canada was aghast. It changed
the country. Nobody knew what to do, nobody knew what to say. A CBC producer in
Toronto knew what to do. He said: 'Let's find out what W.O. Mitchell has to say
about this.' And they flew him to the Toronto studio and he went in front of
the camera and spoke to the nation and he began with the words: 'There's been a
death in my family'. And then spoke about what this meant to him,
crackly-voiced man from the Prairies. And, at the end he said, “So that's why I
said 'There's been a death in my family.'" And every eye in the CBC studio
hall right down to the hardened cameraman, everyone was in tears. W.O. pulled
the family together that day."
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