Recently, we read Timothy Findley's The Wars for my second year Canadian History course at Dalhousie. For many of my friends and classmates, it was a seminal book in their high-school curriculum. For me, and just about every other student growing up in Nova Scotia, it wasn't.
Instead, we read Alistair MacLeod in high school.
If you haven't read anything by MacLeod, go read his collection of short stories, Island. Now. |
I was talking to my dad last night, after finishing Findley's novel. My dad said "Oh, I interviewed Findley once."
My dad is a radio broadcaster. I asked him about it.
He said "Oh yeah, he came in to the studio. I had heard that he was a tough guy to interview, he would dance around your questions. Findley's boyfriend or lover or husband came into the studio with him. The boyfriend had this long fur coat on, it was really extravagant."
"He had some lipstick or something of the sort, on. Bright, bright red. I can just remember this boyfriend sitting there, silent, nearly motionless the whole time, but sitting there with Findley. He was clutching Findley's arm. Seemed really intrigued."
That's how my dad chose to remember Findley. I don't think I've ever heard him mention Timothy Findley before. I asked him if he had read The Wars. He had. He had never bothered to bring this particular interview up before, but he remembered it with such vivid detail. That's how he'll remember Timothy Findley.
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