In Other Words

by Anna Porter

  From the very start, the Giller represented literary quality. The first three winners were M. G. Vassanji, Rohinton Mistry, and Margaret Atwood. Mordecai did not win until 1997, when he was no longer a judge. Alice Munro followed a year later. Rohinton Mistry, the 1995 winner, also won the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize. He commented after the evening that the crowd of guests had swelled to five hundred, that the tables had been moving closer and closer together to make room for more, and now also for the television cameras bobbing about filming the evening. No one minds, he said, because they are also here to celebrate literature.

  I read Rohinton’s winning book, A Fine Balance, while travelling in India and called to tell Jack that the book had ruined what I had planned as a relaxing, sightseeing journey. All I could think about each day as we visited temples and bazaars and tea plantations was the fate of the benighted characters who were the anti-heroes of the novel. I had so desperately wanted a different ending that one evening I asked Rohinton whether he had ever considered a less terrible fate for those two. He said, no. He hadn’t.

  Both Margaret Atwood (a winner for Alias Grace) and Alice Munro (winner for Runaway and The Love of a Good Woman) won other prizes—Margaret, the Man Booker Prize, and Alice, the Nobel Prize in Literature. One evening, years before the Booker and the Nobel, I told Alice that she was only one of two Canadian writers I had read before I arrived here. She was amused and wondered why, after reading her stories, I had persisted in staying.

  The 2001 winner was Richard B. Wright’s Clara Callan, published by Phyllis Bruce at HarperCollins, the same Phyllis who had urged me to start publishing fiction when she was at Key Porter. The 2011 winner was Esi Edugyan’s Half-Blood Blues, a book that had been scheduled to be published by Key Porter Books before H. B. Fenn declared bankruptcy. The 2016 Scotiabank Giller Prize winner was Madeleine Thien’s Do Not Say We Have Nothing, and in 2017 the winner was Michael Redhill’s Bellevue Square.

  People talk of the Giller effect. It’s evidenced by all the books on the short lists. Zsuzsi Gartner (her All the Anxious Girls had been published by Key Porter) told me that the prize changed her life. She is now invited to festivals around the world. The awards ceremony is viewed by 1.3 million people. There is even an anti-Giller faction and a big, casual-dress Giller-Lite fundraising party for all those who have not been invited to Jack’s glamorous gala.

  Every year, at the Giller party, Jack repeated the same simple suggestion: “For the price of a meal in this town, you can buy all the short-listed books. So eat at home and buy the books.”

  Is it any wonder that I loved him?

  * * *

  I. In 2005 the Giller was renamed Scotiabank Giller, and the award has been increased to $100,000.

  For the Love of Books

  IN A SHORT piece for Carol Shields and Marjorie Anderson’s Dropped Threads, June Callwood observed about old age: “I don’t know what death is, but it can’t be worse than the curse of an optimistic nature that learns nothing from discouragement.” Though June had meant this to apply to herself, it would also be a very astute observation about book publishers.

  Writing this memoir has forced me to think about both my love of books and the business of books. I think that publishing is more of an avocation than a business. It lacks predictability. It sells books fully returnable or, as it often seemed to me, lends them to booksellers with an option to buy, should they choose to do so. Publishing, then, requires some government funding, though not on the scale that Bombardier or the film industry does. If English Canada’s population were triple its present size, and if our country didn’t share a language with the United States, Canadian publishers could probably manage without subsidies. Had the French forces prevailed instead of the British on the Plains of Abraham in 1759, I think we would have a relatively healthy book industry.

  At both McClelland & Stewart and Key Porter we were publishing more than a hundred books a year, and every one of them had the potential to be plagued by gremlins: typesetters who lost pages, indices that were five or six pages out, jackets that didn’t fit, chapters gone missing from the printed book, entire shipments gone off the rails or into the ocean. My favourite book disaster is the one where an army of hungry weevils ate two skids of an expensive art book and the binder chose bankruptcy over paying for the damage. Today’s computer-based production systems have reduced the frequency of errors on the page, but they have created a new set of problems. Yet publishers persist, always hoping for that perfect book.

  Our industry relies on the brilliance of writers who may or may not produce a manuscript in any given year. Without them, there would be no book business. And it relies on a dedicated group of people (many more than those I have acknowledged in this book) who believe in the value of books.

  I grew up believing that those who have the power of words can shape our memory and our history. My wise grandfather used to tell me that smart dictators first jail the writers. It’s always been thus in Russia, whether under the czars or Stalin or Vladimir Putin. In 1989, the Iranian Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini issued a fatwa ordering Muslims to kill novelist Salman Rushdie. I was proud of Canada for being the first country to welcome Rushdie and of Ontario Premier Bob Rae for being the first government leader to appear on stage with him during the 1992 PEN Canada benefit. In his short speech, thanking all those responsible, Rushdie reflected not so much on his own fate but on the fate of all writers who were killed or imprisoned.

  Publishing is still a very personal endeavour, relying on the talents and commitments of a few inspired, grievously underpaid stalwart individuals. We call them editors and publishers. At a gathering of lawyers—I have attended several of these over the years—a very successful corporate lawyer asked me why I would want to be in the book business. I told him it was because I loved it. Much has changed during the years since I first entered 25 Hollinger Road, there have been some winners and some losers, but the essentials have remained the same. There has also been much to celebrate: for example, the House of Anansi fiftieth anniversary in 2017 with the publication of Dennis Lee’s Heart Residence; the happy handover of ECW Press to its co-publisher, David Caron; the continuing efforts by Chapters/Indigo’s CEO Heather Reisman to support books in Canada even as US bookstore chains decline. Digital books have not destroyed the audience for books; in fact they may have expanded it. The television series based on Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale became the most successful drama series on TV in 2017, and the second season started in 2018. The Amazon Canada First Novel Award celebrated its 42nd year in 2018 with Michael Kaan’s The Water Beetles taking the first prize. Past winners include Michael Ondaatje, Nino Ricci, and Madeleine Thien.

  Over my forty-year career, I can honestly say that I looked forward to every day at M&S and Key Porter Books, and more than a few days at Doubleday and Seal. Like many of my colleagues, I have enjoyed being a publisher and miss the companionship of my peers, the moment of recognition when a new manuscript reveals itself to be a work of art or insight, or sheer brilliance. I miss the delight of holding one of our new books in my hands; I love even the smell of fresh book pages. I can rarely resist wanting to share books with friends and family. Though I still worry about some of my stupid decisions, in hindsight, I do not think I would have chosen a different life.

  In reflecting on my own writing, I have come to realize that I invariably return to my childhood. I have written about Hungary and Hungarians—both real and imagined—about the troubles faced by Central Europe, about the defunct Hapsburg empire and its descendants, and about my own strange family. Even The Appraisal, my 2017 novel, relies on what I have learned about the realities of today’s confused Central Europe. Most of my writing is a way to understand the world.

  Margaret Atwood said that writing involves “negotiating with the dead.” I have been aware of this throughout the years it took me to complete this memoir, much as Atwood herself had negotiated with Susanna Moodie, and Pierre Berton had negotiated with the men who
built the railway, and Basil Johnston had negotiated with his school friends and his ancestors. I negotiated with Jack and Al, Margaret and Irving, Leonard and Farley, George and Doris, and what I ended up with is never the whole truth, but it is as truthful as I could make it.

  I give the last word to Margaret Laurence. From The Diviners: “Look ahead into the past, and back into the future, until the silence.”

  Vili Racz, my extraordinary grandfather and the storyteller of my childhood, in his First World War uniform.

  On the catwalk modelling a dressing gown for a New Zealand department store—one of the many jobs I took to support myself through university.

  My grandmother Therese, my mother’s dog, and me in our old house in Budapest, just before we were moved to a small apartment on the other side of the Danube.

  Margaret Atwood in 1969, around the time we first met.

  Graeme Gibson paddling a canoe, sometime in the early seventies when we began our long friendship.

  Between Peter C. Newman (left) and Pierre Berton at a McClelland& Stewart event for authors and booksellers.

  Artist Harold Town outside the Art Gallery of Ontario in 1969, around the time we were assembling his book, Drawings.

  One of my first jobs at McClelland & Stewart was to print, collect, and box copies of Scott Symons’s controversial Civic Square. Here he is in 1979.

  Al Purdy at his A–frame on Roblin Lake, in Prince Edward County.

  The young novelist Matt Cohen at about the time we first met. We remained friends for more than thirty years.

  Julian and me on our snowy wedding day.

  Sylvia Fraser with her goddaughter, my daughter Catherine, in 1973.

  My mother, Maria (Puci), in 1986, as beautiful as she was when we left Hungary.

  The magnificent Irving Layton with Isabel Bassett at one of our many book launch parties.

  With my two daughters, Catherine and Julia.

  The remarkable Earle Birney—poet, teacher, mountain climber, adventurer, lover, novelist.

  Jack McClelland in his usual pose at the office: feet on desk, cigarette in hand, phone at the ready.

  Laughing with Mordecai Richler at a McClelland & Stewart party.

  Farley Mowat, the ultimate storyteller.

  Margaret Trudeau at around the time Seal Books published her bestselling memoir, Consequences.

  Aritha van Herk and Jack McClelland (centre) on a platform in front of her giant $50,000 cheque for winning the inaugural Seal Books First Novel Award for her novel Judith in 1978.

  At a Seal Books party with Bantam Books’ Alun Davies.

  With John Irwin, publisher of Hidden Agenda, and Janet Turnbull at the subway station in Toronto where my first mystery begins.

  I first met the legendary Leonard Cohen in 1972, when he was not yet a legend.

  Margaret Laurence, anxious about my introduction, and Catherine focusing on her balloon, on the podium during the Authors at Harbourfront series.

  Barbara Frum at the CBC, interviewing someone for As It Happens.

  A young Conrad Black (left) sharing a laugh with Prime Minister Joe Clark.

  The redoubtable journalist and advocate Doris Anderson in her office at Chatelaine.

  Peter Worthington’s election button. He ran for the Conservatives in the 1984 general election.

  Michael de Pencier, John Honderich, Peter Gzowski, and Honor de Pencier at a Peter Gzowski Annual Invitational (PGI) golf tournament in the 1990s.

  With McClelland & Stewart president Linda McKnight (left) and literary agents Bella Pomer and Lucinda Vardey (right).

  With Lorraine Durham (left) and Annabel Slaight in the makeshift Key Porter booth at a Canadian booksellers’ convention.

  My close friend and renowned photographer Dudley Witney, in 1995.

  Alberta Premier Peter Lougheed and writer David Wood at the launch of The Lougheed Legacy.

  The irrepressible Gloria Goodman with a larger-than-life picture of me at the launch of my second novel, Mortal Sins.

  Prime Minister Brian Mulroney holds a copy of Ontario, our big sesquicentennial book, in 1984.

  Jean Chrétien at the podium in our home celebrating the English language publication of his soon-to-be mega bestseller, Straight from the Heart.

  Journalist Allan Fotheringham at a cover shoot for his book Birds of a Feather, published by Key Porter in 1989. The bird kept nipping at his ear during the shoot, but we got this great photo out of it—and it was hilarious to watch.

  Jack McClelland announcing the sale of McClelland & Stewart to Avie Bennett (right) in 1985.

  Author and photographer Fred Bruemmer, whose books and images form a lasting legacy of the Arctic.

  Filmmaker Norman Jewison at one of our dinner parties, with Margaret Atwood in the background.

  Author Basil Johnston at the Native Arts Festival in Owen Sound, 2005.

  My friend, the multi-talented, urbane CBC producer, brilliant writer, and all around wit, George Jonas.

  The unstoppable journalist, author, and activist June Callwood.

  With Scott McIntyre of Douglas & McIntyre at a Giller Prize gala.

  With Peter Munk at the launch of Kasztner’s Train.

  With my dear friend Jack Rabinovitch at a Giller Prize gala.

  In Budapest in 2005, when I was visiting as part of a CBC documentary commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution.

  Acknowledgements

  IN THE COURSE of researching the past, confirming or correcting my own recollections, I have contacted a lot of people in the publishing world—writers, poets, editors, publishers, journalists. I thank them all for their own memories: Phyllis Bruce, Susan Renouf, Jennifer Glossop, Michael de Pencier, Dennis Lee, Annie McClelland, Sylvia Fraser, Scott McIntyre, Graeme Gibson, John Macfarlane, David Berry, John Neale, Sandra Martin, Gloria Goodman, Jack David, Lily Miller, Beverley Slopen, Jim Marsh, Paul Dutton, Angel Guerra, Sheila Douglas, Linda Pruessen, David Shaw, Barbara Berson, Dean Cooke, Linda McKnight, Roy MacSkimming, John Pearce, Tom Best, Jim Polk, Ken Rodmell, Suzanne Drinkwater, Stephen Anderson, Charis Wahl, Jonathan Webb, and Margaret Atwood.

  I am grateful to all the extraordinary people I have had the privilege to work with at McClelland & Stewart and Key Porter, at Seal and Doubleday, Douglas & McIntyre, ECW, and the Association of Canadian Publishers. I am thankful for all the great independent booksellers who have continued to promote new books by Canadian authors—in particular, Book City, Munro’s Books, Ben McNally Books, A Different Drummer, The Bookshelf, The Odd Book, Café Books, McNally Robinson, Woozles, Paragraphe Bookstore, Mabel’s Fables, and all those who have soldiered on through the decades of my life in the book business. I will always miss the Book Room, once Canada’s oldest bookstore, and I am sad to see that Bryan Prince Bookseller has closed its doors. They were some of the best.

  The McMaster Library and Archives have helped enormously by allowing me access to documents. McMaster has Key Porter’s, McClelland & Stewart’s, Pierre Berton’s, and Farley Mowat’s archives. I would be remiss if I did not mention here that the Key Porter fonds at McMaster would not exist had Sheila Douglas not packaged them, labeling each box with great care, and dispatched them to Hamilton. I want to thank the McClelland family for giving me access to the M&S fonds and Sheila Turcon for spending many weeks digging up information, memos, dates, and letters in the files.

  Dr. Norman Allan’s manuscript about his father, Ted, was a great source of inspiration, as was Frank Newfeld’s Drawing on Type, Roy MacSkimming’s The Perilous Trade: Publishing Canada’s Writers, and Bruce Meyer’s Portraits of Canadian Writers, published by Porcupine’s Quill.

  Thank you also to Marc Côté of Cormorant Books for publishing George Jonas’s Selected Poems: 1967–2011 in time for George to be able to hold the book in his hands and, later, for allowing me to reprint the poems in this memoir.

  Julian Porter has been kind enough to read the whole manuscript twice to remind me of what I had missed, and to
make some suggestions to save us from libel suits.

  A heartfelt thank you to Phyllis Bruce for her patience as my editor bringing this book to life and to Kevin Hanson and his talented Simon & Schuster team.

  Catherine, Julia, Jessica, Suse, Graeme, and Cam have all contributed in various ways to filling in the blanks. Sometimes just being there is great encouragement. My mother, as always, remained generous with her own memories of the events and the people who make up this book.

  About the Author

  AUTHOR PHOTO © DOUG FORSTER

  ANNA PORTER was born in Budapest, Hungary, and escaped with her mother during the 1956 Revolution to New Zealand. In 1968 she arrived in Canada and was soon swept up in the cultural explosion of the 1970s. In 1982 she founded Key Porter Books and published such national figures as Farley Mowat, Jean Chrétien, Conrad Black, and Allan Fotheringham. She went on to write both fiction and non-fiction works, including Kasztner’s Train, which won the Writers’ Trust Non-Fiction Prize and the Jewish Book Award, and The Ghosts of Europe, which won the Shaughnessy Cohen Prize for Political Writing. She has published four mystery novels.