I've come to the conclusion after this past weekend that I'm a book junkie. And not only that, I'm an author groupie. I love authors. And although I did hear from a very reliable source what a miserable sod of a human being Mordecai Richler was when he graced the Festival of the Written Arts stage, my author experiences have all been positive.
Some of the authors I experienced this past festival I was already familiar with. I'd read Joy Fielding's books before. What a surprise to find out the woman who could create a remorseless monster looked perfectly ordinary. And not only that, she had perfectly ordinary hang-ups. It was a hoot to listen to her and Donna Morrissey discuss their exercise regimes, nice to know the rich and famous have bellies too. Fielding's reading delighted me. That she also had fun was evident from her voice, her face and her animated hands. No one, it appears, likes sex better than Joy Fielding.
I've long been a fan of Kim Bolan. I admire the sheer guts of the longtime Vancouver Sun reporter. Bolan was a brand new journalist when an Air India flight exploded in June 1985. After reporting on the case for 20 years, Bolan was commissioned to write a book on the tragedy. She's now a bona fide expert on the Indo-Canadian community, readily evidenced by her book Loss of Faith: How the Air India Bombers Got Away With Murder. Her life's been threatened several times by lowlifes who resent her digging. Frequently recognized by the newspaper industry, Bolan has been awarded the Courage in Journalism Award and a Jack Webster award, among others. And above all, she's a great writer. Bolan has a remarkable ability to take complex issues and make them understandable to everyone. That more than anything else is probably why she's still at the Sun after all these years.
Another gutsy journalist/author who inspired me was James MacKinnon. In 1961 the author's uncle Arthur, a Catholic priest, went missing in the Dominican Republic. MacKinnon went to the Spanish-speaking country and travelled for six months trying to find out just what happened to his uncle. His findings became the book Dead Man in Paradise. If your hair doesn't stand on end at least once when you read the book, get your nerves checked - they may be dead too.
MacKinnon was a charming presenter at the Festival. From his opening remarks about meeting some of his Maritime relatives at a 12-hour event at a local pub to describing his latest venture of eating only food grown within 100 miles of his home, he had his audience enthralled.
My favourite author from the weekend had to be Eden Robinson. The young Native woman is one hell of a writer. I bought her book of short stories, Traplines, and consequently lost a night's sleep. Start it and you're hooked. Robinson read from two of her books. Both Blood Sports, which gives a whole new meaning to the word gritty, and Monkey Beach, which has a gentler feel, are indicative of a huge talent. During the question and answer period, Robinson got teary-eyed when she talked about the hardships of the homeless. It would appear the size of her talent is matched only by the size of her heart. I can hardly wait for next year's fix for my wordy obsession.
