Tag Archives: andrea routley

Routley internationally recognized for LGBT lit

Andrea Routley, an alumna of the University of Victoria, has recently published her debut short story collection, Jane and the Whales through Caitlin Press. The collection is a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, an international English-language award for LGBT literature. Previously, Routley’s work  has appeared in numerous literary magazines, including the Malahat Review and Room Magazine. In 2008, she was shortlisted for the Rona Murray Prize for Literature. She is the founder and editor of Plenitude Magazine, Canada’s queer literary magazine. She also edited Walk Myself Home: An Anthology to End Violence Against Women (Caitlin Press, 2010). Recently, Coastal Spectator Managing Editor Nadia Grutter discussed Jane and the Whales with Routley via email.

Andrea, I was delighted to read a series of short stories that skims so close reality. Your stories—particularly “The Gone Batty Interpretation”—challenged and moved me emotionally. Would you mind describing the emotional journey you went through writing this book?

Well, each story is its own journey. I didn’t begin writing the first story with an over-arching concept for a collection, but, like any writer, your obsessions begin to reveal themselves in your writing patterns. That particular story, “The Gone Batty Interpretation,” I wrote about six months after the suicide of a high school friend, so it is not a humorous story or an intellectual story at all. Suicide is something that comes up in several stories. So many of us are touched by this, but I most often hear it talked about in medical terms, as a treatable disease, and it’s not that simple. “The Sign,” on the other hand, deals with the same subject but in a way that (I think) is humorous. It looks at choices like that from a more logical perspective.

Your writing is powerful in its restraint—both in its brief form and concise content. Is this something you learned to cultivate through, say, workshops during your time at UVic or has your writing style always been so distilled? Basically, how did you learn to write the way you do?

When I first started writing stories, I’d often get the question, “Is this the beginning of a novel or a short story?” At first I felt proud of this question, like looking like a novel meant it was a big, fat, interesting story and this was a good thing. Then I realized this just meant I had a lot of superfluous detail or was alluding to potential plot twists that were never going to happen. You definitely learn to pare down the more you write. (And yes, I learned this while at UVic with the fantastic instructors!) I think this is in part because your writing becomes less precious to you, simply as a result of quantity. I’ve axed characters from some of these stories who I’d thought were critical in early drafts. For example, there was a kid like a wild animal who likes to stalk around in the sage by the clay cliffs and hisses at people, but eats his wiener like it’s corn on the cob. Maybe he’ll come up in another story, and if not, that’s okay too–it was fun to write the scenes with him. It’s not about publishing everything you write. It’s imperative to just enjoy writing, too (or just feel compelled to do it).

Your stories are very diverse content-wise. How did the stories inform each other in the writing process? Was there one core story that sparked a sort of leap-frog of ideas into the other stories?

Every story explore in some way humans’ and animals’ relationships with the world around them, that search for a place. “Habitat” certainly carried over into “The Gone Batty Interpretation” with the protagonists both coping with grief and expressing their sadness through empathy for an animal, among other things. Many of the stories have characters trying to make sense of the past through their unreliable memories — or the way we discover just how unreliable our memories are when something surprising happens to a person we thought we understood.

The conclusions to your stories strike a careful balance between inevitable and surprising. What did the process of rounding out an individual story look like for you?  

I’m glad to hear the conclusions feel that way. I try to write a “satisfying” ending to stories. Sometimes stories end so abruptly and the satisfaction is really delayed; it only comes later when you’ve had time to unlock its meaning. I can appreciate those endings, but I don’t really “enjoy” them. I try to write something that will feel concluded and satisfying, but give enough to leave you with something to chew on. For some of these stories, the rounding out involves the editor’s feedback, deleting one line too many, or adding one more beat. (Sometimes more than that, of course, like going back and rewriting a scene that obviously was not doing its job of setting up the ending and things like that).

Are you working on any projects aside from Plenitude at the moment?  

I have some crazy, daunting, stupid idea of writing another book, one of linked short stories of exclusively queer characters, across decades. I have read at a couple queer events and it was incredibly rewarding to read a queer story for such an engaged, lively, appreciative crowd. I want to make more of those characters that we are obviously in need of — “we” includes me. The queer past is full of diverse and wonderful people and experiences, and there are not enough of us in story. If anyone would like some ideas on new queer books to read, though, I have an ever-growing list of new queer Canadian titles at PlenitudeMagazine.ca.

For more on new queer Canadian titles, visit http://plenitudemagazine.ca/resources/new-queer-books/.

Tosca restores faith for disillusioned opera fan

Tosca
Pacific Opera Victoria
The Royal Theatre
April 4, 6, 10 & 12 at 8 pm
Sunday Matinee April 14 at 2:30 pm

Reviewed by Andrea Routley

What comes to mind when you hear the word, “opera”? Viking horns and yellow braids? How about “Italian opera”? Sopranos in velvety robes, collapsing under the weight of their own agony? Lust, murder, star-crossed sort of thing?

Then you’re probably thinking of Tosca, one of Puccini’s most famous operas, which first premiered in Rome in 1900. It has often been dismissed by critics, but the singers, director, production designer, instrumentalists, and the many others involved in Pacific Opera’s production, as well as the audience which packed house at the Royal Theatre on Saturday, feel differently.

What is really praise-worthy about this production are the understated aesthetics and direction which actually made all this slap-stick emotional climaxing seem, well, almost genuine.

Production designer Christina Poddubiuk presents a set of rustic, bare wood scaffolding which plays the role of church, police chief office, prison cell and battlements. I appreciated this for the way it evoked the cages the characters find themselves in, but also provided a modern, muted aesthetic. This, combined with relatively simple costuming–solid colour dresses for Floria Tosca, unadorned uniforms for Scarpia’s henchman–compensated for all the flashy melodrama.

The highlight for me was tenor Luc Robert, who played the role of Tosca’s lover, Cavaradossi. His voice is silky–almost boyish, but offered a nuanced, raspy quality now and then which gave depth to the character. Opera is not praised for the acting, something which typically takes a back seat to the musicianship (not to mention the years of practice in Italian diction and storming around stages without tripping over long heavy dresses). Not surprisingly, this was also the weakest element in this production, but Robert really impressed me. His movements were natural and organic–there was no cheesy arm-acting or “ta-da!” physicality from Robert. It looked as though he were really listening to what the other characters were saying, and responding authentically to that in a complex and elegant way. His response to Tosca’s coquettish insecurity in Act One, for example, was at once tender, patronising, and subservient.

This production also offered a colourful variety of voices. If you’re an opera newbie, you may think one tenor sounds just like another, but pay special attention to Scarpia’s henchman, Spoletta, played by Michel Corbeil. His voice has a watery, burbling quality to it that is totally exciting.

Finally, thank you to the director, Amiel Gladstone: The last time I saw a production of Tosca, I almost left after the second act. I stayed for the third. Stuff happened, then Tosca spun around and leaped off a fake building, in front of a fake pastoral scene. “Oh, for chrissakes,” I said, peeved.

But you, my dearest Gladstone, have waved your wand to give us a perfect death.

Curtain.

“Nice.”

My faith in opera: restored.

 

Wong’s ambitious journey in Escape to Gold Mountain

Escape to Gold Mountain
By David H.T. Wong
Arsenal Pulp Press, 239 pages, $19.95

Reviewed by Andrea Routley

Many readers are probably familiar with some of the history of Chinese settlers in North America. Maybe they think of racist policies like the Chinese Head Tax, or the Chinese Immigration Act in Canada, which effectively banned all Chinese immigration for a quarter of a century. In Escape to Gold Mountain, David H.T. Wong tells this story through a narrative which spans generations of one family, from an aging father in 19th century Qing Dynasty China, the Opium wars, the construction of the Transcontinental railroad in the USA and the CPR in Canada, violent oppression including a massacre of Chinese miners in Wyoming, lynchings in San Francisco, through to the pioneering achievements of Chinese-Canadians and Americans in government, political activism and more. Sound like a big story? It is.

Although a fictional graphic novel, Escape to Gold Mountain is based on historical fact, and on Wong’s own family history. The character readers follow most is Wong Ah Gin, who endures a barrage of predicaments and situational conflicts. We gleam only a little insight into his personality through his relationship with an adopted son, but we must soon leave him behind. Maybe this reflects all histories: the way we touch here softly for a short time, then die, another faint stroke on the past, faint memory for the future. But this may disappoint readers looking to become emotionally invested in the life of one character. Indeed, as the novel progresses and the family tree expands, it is hard to keep up with who is who.

Still, Wong’s drawings do much of the work of individuating characters. The illustrations have a dynamic cinematic quality, with variation in the layout and dimensions of frames, close-ups and aerial views that reflect the scope of the story and the pace of change.

Of course, any story spanning these historical events would be the stuff of an epic novel, but I love this form—the graphic novel—for the way it reconstructs a pictorial history. There is a shortage of images from this time—how many photos have we seen of Chinese workers blasting the side of a mountain, or working at saw mills in places like Port Alberni? And to follow so many generations, each confronted with yet another kind of legislated hate or violent backlash, is exhausting. Even in reading this dynamic graphic narrative I thought, “Not another tax increase!” or “Not another attack!” as if the story were becoming repetitive. But that is exactly the point, of course. Even from my comfy spot on my couch with my coffee and decades (not to mention cultural heritage) between myself and many of these events , I am exhausted by them, a frank reminder of the persistence and endurance necessary for early Chinese Canadians to live in Canada.

I admit I have a soft spot for the historical graphic narratives. In high school, I was a big fan of shoplifting books like Nietzche for Beginners, Fascism for Beginners, or Maus. I can still picture Wagner and Nietzche on the same page, Wagner with his wild hair and “Humph!” expression on his face, having their man-crush fall-out. Okay, so maybe I missed some of the bigger picture. But any book that can make a teenager steal for History is doing something pretty remarkable. If I were 17 again, I might have stolen Escape to Gold Mountain, too.

(Don’t worry, I paid for it.)

 

Andrea Routley is a writer and musician based in Victoria, BC.