Johanna Skibsrud, MEDIUM

 

“LET THEM SLICE OFF OUR HEADS”

“Let them slice off our heads in the desert,” I whispered.
“Let our eyes roll up toward the heavens; let our bodies
turn to dust and be blown in four directions from our
bones.”

I packed two sandwiches and an extra pair of stockings—
took my brother along.

When my uncle found us in the marketplace and
delivered us back home, my mother shook her fist,
then knelt and sobbed into her sleeve.

We tend to imagine our lives as though they are in
themselves a limit rather than a tool or simple accessory,
like a knocker on a door.

I used to weep over the passion until my head ached and I
could no longer see.

My father’s father was a Jew, condemned; my mother
desired nothing more than to lead a quiet, Christian life.

I hear loud noises in my head, which make it hard to
write this down.

The latest from Johanna Skibsrud [see her 2009 ’12 or 20 questions’ interview here], a writer who “divides her time between Tucson, Arizona, and Cape Breton, Nova Scotia” is the poetry collection MEDIUM (Toronto ON: Book*hug Press, 2024), a collection that “shares the lives and perspectives of women who – in their roles as biological, physical, or spiritual mediums – have helped to shape the course of history.” The author of three previous collections of poetry, three novels and three non-fiction titles, as she writes to open her “PREFACE”: “This project began a decade ago, while I was pregnant with my first child. I kept thinking during that time, and afterward—through those first all-consuming years of parenthood, two miscarriages, and the birth of my second child—about the ways in which women have served as mediums throughout history, and of the ways they continue to serve. I thought of and looked again for guidance from the powerful women whose bodies, minds, and spirits have acted as conduits of knowledge and intuition; as points of convergence for the past, present, and the future; as concrete points of channeling and accessing a way forward—or sideways, or otherwise.”

The poems that make up MEDIUM are carved and constructed in a kind of layering, providing different elements across a book-length project almost as a polyphonic call-and-response. Skibsrub’s lyrics and asides offer a multitude of voices, structures and perspectives, from Helen of Troy to Anne Boleyn, Marie Curie to Roe vs. Wade, and Shakuntala Devi to Hypatia of Alexandria. The effect is almost choral, offering threads on and around multiple figures vilified across history, reclaiming the stories, purpose and legacies of an array of historical women. “We don’t know either Julian of Norwich’s real name or / what her life was like before she recorded her Revelations / of Divine Love—the first known book to be written by a / woman in the English language,” Skibsrud writes, “in the 14^th century. Some / suspect she was a mother before taking her vows, and that / during the plague years she may have lost one or more chil- / dren.” Skibsrud writes akin to an anthology that leans into theatrical script, as different characters, including the narrator, take their turns in the spotlight. As the poem “SOMETIMES, I TELL MY DAUGHTER, / YOU MAY FEEL” begins:

“Sometimes,” I tell my daughter, “you may feel
one thing so strongly it seems it’s the only true thing.”

“But then the feeling splits into two, and you find
there are other true things.”

She holds onto my hand and doesn’t look up.

“It’s also possible, of course, to feel more than one thing.
Or for a single feeling to break down steadily into other
feelings over time.”

She begins to cry. There’s nothing more I can do. There
are, after all, only a very few hours in the day; they, at
least, do not divide endlessly.

I turn. She reaches after —.

There is a curious call-and-response element Skibsrud that employs in her book-length structure, offering poems with the occasional aside, akin to Greek chorus, providing further information and foundation to what it is she is slowly building. The narratives and legacies that Skibsrud weaves together alongside those of her (presumably) own first-person domestic considerations, including conversations with her daughter, utilize language to offer both warning and study, seeking to provide perspectives on histories lost or set aside, and what lessons might be garnered from those stories. The effect of becoming a mother to a young daughter, as Skibsrud, through both preface and the poems themselves suggest, push through a further examination of the legacies of women, and how too often those with something to offer have been ignored, pushed aside or silenced. I wonder if Skibsrud is aware of Gale Marie Thompson’s remarkable Helen Or My Hunger (Portland OR: YesYes Books, 2020) [see my review of such here], which focuses a book-length lyric gaze around Helen of Troy? Skibsrud’s aside to introduce the poem “LET THEM SLICE OFF OUR HEADS” reads:

Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) was a Spanish mystic, writer, religious reformer, and spiritual guide. Her paternal grandfather had been a marrano, or converted Jew, at one point condemned by the Inquisition for returning to his Jewish faith. But Teresa was born a Christian and a noblewoman—her father having purchased a knighthood after securing success in the wool trade. Teresa was introduced to mystic writings and romance novels by her mother and, as a child, dreamed of running away to North Africa in order to martyr herself there. At the age of twenty, she entered a convent and, after struggling with doubt, achieved the powerful connection with God she desired. Her fellow nuns were sometimes obliged to sit on her, or tie her down, in order to keep her ecstatic and sometimes painful visions from quite literally carrying her away.

 

Ottawa International Writers Festival spring festival line-up now online;

including pre-festival events with Etgar Keret + Andy Lamey, and festival events with Elizabeth Hay, Clark Blaise, Alissa York, Joel Yanofsky, Michael Winter, Pearl Pirie, Michael Blouin, Gillian Sze, Robert Pinsky, Steven Hayward, Sharon Thesen, Ken Babstock, Matt Rader, jwcurry's Messagio Galore, Mike Carey, Andrew Pyper, Rob Winger, Sandra Ridley, J.M. DeMatteis, Madeleine Thein, Hisham Matar, Michael V. Smith, Sylvia Tyson, David Adams Richards, Timothy Taylor + Johanna Skibsrud (among others), here.

MINE MINE MINE NOW NOW NOW: Johanna Skibsrud, The Sentimentalists, Gaspereau Press + the Scotiabank Giller Prize

Everyone sure seems to have a lot of opinions about Gaspereau Press these days, for deciding to hand-print a thousand copies a week of Johanna Skibsrud’s debut novel, The Sentimentalists, winner of this year’s Scotiabank Giller Prize. Daily I’ve seen newspaper reports and opinions about Gaspereau’s decision to say no to certain outside offers to quick-print, and the oft-repeated number of “75,000” when referring to sales of previous winner’s titles. How could they pass up commerce for beauty? What about the opportunities for their author? How could they not understand? Don’t fool yourself: this is not about whether or not her work is getting out there.

Perhaps we need to change the way we think about books, and about how books are sold. Somehow, booksellers, readers and everyone else related to the literary book industry seem to have been self-programmed to expect that books are forgettable, and therefore, have only a shelf-life of six months. Books are aimed now for the quick, the immediate push and then nothing else; like butterflies, a quick season before absolute, utter death. Apparently copies of the book are available still on the Chapters site (Amazon’s unavailability is oft-quoted, but Chapters availability is ignored), and even selling plenty of copies as ebooks for those who want it quickly and can’t wait.

Exactly what is the concern here? Gaspereau won’t play along; I’m sure they, among many other small publishers over the past half-decade or more, have suffered greatly with the big chains over-demanding, over-ordering and thusly over-returning. Imagine a big-box chain bookstore demand to produce two, three or five times more than you would have otherwise, and then returning almost every one six months later, meaning a dead, unsellable stock that you still haven’t paid the printing for, let alone the years ahead of warehousing fees. It’s death to small press, pure and simple. So Gaspereau doesn’t play that way? Good for them. Will it hurt the immediate sales of Skibsrud’s novel? In the short term, sure, but so what? Awards and lists should be the opening for conversation and debate, and not a series of annual absolutes.

Awards make readers lazy, unadventurous and possibly stupid; instead of allowing to celebrate the accomplishment of a jury-decided award, it’s made an entire segment of the population and media focus on only the winning author and winning title, and ignoring most else of what gets written and published. A jury shouldn’t tell you what to read; if books are part of an actual culture, juries should tell you what else to read.

For god’s sake, write down the name of her novel on your calendar, and wait. Better that Gaspereau hold to their guns, despite the snide remarks that media has thrown, from the Globe and Mail to the Ottawa Citizen. Apparently they originally produced only eight hundred copies in their little shop, and ran through their initial run almost immediately. The best part? For some reason, they mailed me two copies of the first run (I immediately gave my extra away to Michael Blouin, who has been boasting on facebook about such). The entire point of their operation is hand-made books, so suck it up, gentle reader. Hold, for the obvious beauty. Savour in small, slow bites.

Wolfville, Nova Scotia’s Gaspereau Press, which came initially out of the poetry and fiction journal, The Gaspereau Review, has quite an extensive backlist, and I’m sure any of their other authors would very much appreciate the attention. If you are to like what Skibsrud has accomplished, and already it’s shown that many have, why not take a chance on another of the many books of poetry, fiction or non-fiction that the press has produced over the last decade? Why not pick up either of her other books, possibly? Her first poetry collection, Late Night with Wild Cowboys (Gaspereau, 2008) was lovely, although her second, I Do Not Think that I Could Love a Human Being (Gaspereau, 2010), didn’t really do it for me. Why not explore the short-list while waiting? Alexander MacLeod’s Light Lifting (Biblioasis) is one I would very much like to get my hands on, after a sharp, stellar reading at this past writers festival in Ottawa.

When we were in our later teens, my not-yet-ex-wife introduced me to the idea of walking into a video store and renting flicks neither of us had ever heard of, and what magnificent discoveries we made along the way. The disappointments were surprisingly few.

Reading should be something considered, thoughtful and long, and not caught up the immediate nonsense of instant gratification. As for myself? A copy of the novel has been sitting on my shelf for months, unopened. I’ll get to it when I get to it. I have no problem with any of that at all.

Suburban Dream No. 2

You will be counted on in heaven to bring,

to each and every book-club meeting,

two or three pearls

in order to illuminate the text for us so that it becomes

clear in those few moments, to

all of us, sitting upright in our dragged-in chairs,

how everything has to do with everything,

and our lives go down, and down.

Afterwards, someone will make a little joke,

or else a child will come

barrelling in from a driveway game,

and we will close our books

and laugh on our way to the door,

our voices trailing off into a sigh,

but not because we are either

discontented, or sad. (Late Night with Wild Cowboys)

12 or 20 questions: with Johanna Skibsrud

Johanna Skibsrud’s first book of poetry, Late Nights with Wild Cowboys, published by Gaspereau Press in 2008, was shortlisted for the Gerald Lampert Award. A novel, The Sentimentalists, is forthcoming in fall, 2009, and a second book of poetry in Spring 2010. Originally from Meadowville, Nova Scotia, Johanna currently lives in Montreal.

1 - How did your first book change your life? How does your most recentwork compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

I like to share my work, and after the book came out I started being able to do so more widely – I really enjoyed being invited to different reading series and poetry events in the months following publication. There’s definitely a lot going on in Canadian poetry, and it’s a tremendously supportive environment. I was really pleased to find that to be the case.

My next book, which comes out in fall 2009, is a novel, and so of course there is a big difference between the two projects. With the poetry book I could feel good about the work as a whole without feeling that each poem was perfect in itself – but because the novel needs to hold together as a single entity, I think I have felt a lot more anxiety about each different section of it.
2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I don’t think that I did, but it’s hard to say. I started writing both fiction and poetry as soon as I could read, and continued to do both all through my childhood. I took poetry and fiction workshops whenever I could during my years as an undergraduate and when I went on to do my Master’s at Concordia University in Creative Writing I worked on fiction for my thesis but continued to work on my poetry as well. They each offer me something completely different. Sometimes, if an idea for a poem is just not working I will realize that it’s not really a poem at all. Instead, maybe it’s just a fragment of a short story, or of a longer piece of fiction – like maybe just something a character in a story thinks about, or says. It also happens the other way. I’ll get going on something in piece of fiction that I realize I need to cut and completely re-work as a poem.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work comeout of copious notes?

At first I write quickly. Then I agonize about every single line, for months or years. What ends up as the “final shape” is usually very different from where a project began, and, because there has often been such a long editing process, I very rarely feel completely “finished” about anything. I think I could work on a single poem forever, but a bigger part of me wants – eventually – to move on.

4 - Where does a poem or piece of fiction usually begin for you? Are youan author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, orare you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

When working on poetry, it is for me very much a process of working on shorter pieces that then combine into a larger project. I don’t usually have a plan for a poem at all when I sit down to write it other than a particular feeling that I had that I want to explore, or a particular line in my head that seemed to come from nowhere. Poetry for me is precisely that – that not-knowing. Seeing where, and how far, you can get with it.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Usually I enjoy readings immensely, but I wouldn’t say they are part of my creative process in that I only read things that I feel are as finished as they are going to be, or pretty near. I think readings are very important, though – first of all, they are a great way to meet other writers and hear what they are working on. It is also a great way to be tangibly reminded of the fact that the work is meant for, and is (hopefully) going out to, an audience of readers and listeners; that writing is ultimately about communication.

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

The big question for me always seems to have to do with that great gap between what I want to express and what I am able to. What is the distance between the brain, the heart, and the page? How can that distance be traversed? And to what purpose?

7 What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture?Does s/he even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

A writer, I think, is that person who is able to keep these – very general – questions in mind. I think that we live in a world with less and less space for that sort of reflection – of thinking about and questioning things. There can be, and is, of course, so many different kinds of writing, and as many different books as there are experiences – as there are thoughts in your head in a lifetime... And that’s the beauty of it, I think. I hate the idea that some people seem to have that there are or could be “too many books,” or “more writers than people who read” etc. I don’t think there are nearly enough books! There is so much more, obviously, that we need to explore – that we need to expand, and celebrate, and criticize – and there is more of it every day.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

I have been incredibly lucky to have been able to work with Gaspereau Press on both my book of poetry as well as my forthcoming novel – the editing process on both books was extremely enjoyable, and an essential part to the completion of both projects. I think that an outside editor allows the project a bit of necessary breathing room. A writer will have been living so close up against something they’ve been working on for so long that they will have – in all likelihood – lost perspective on some aspects of it. A good editor can identify these blind spots.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily givento you directly)?

One time, my father and I were listening to this NPR interview with Ray Bradbury and he was talking about a time, when he was a child, when he went to meet the electric-man at the travelling circus. The electric-man apparently put his hand on Ray Bradbury’s head and said, “Live forever!” That is the best piece of advice I have ever heard.

10 - How easy has it been for you to move between genres (poetry to fiction)? What do you see as the appeal?

I tend to work on one major project at a time, but during that time I often save up ideas for other projects, and that makes it easier to feel okay about finishing a project. Switching between genres is also refreshing for me.

11 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even haveone? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

I try to write in the mornings. I get up, get my coffee, and turn on the computer. Then just try to stay put until noon. I don’t ever give myself any specific project or task. If something isn’t working on a particular day, I will work on something else.

12 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

I have a lot of notes and stored up ideas that I have saved in little notebooks from various times in my life, so once in awhile I will go back to look at these books and get an idea from there. Mostly, though, I have resigned myself to the idea that the majority of those little notes that I thought at one time were so important, and perhaps the beginning of something great, will never actually get dealt with. There’s just too much.

13 - What fairy tale character do you resonate with most?

I’m not sure I understand the question. I’d like to be the rooster from the Bremen Town Musicians. I’m terrified of being the wife from The Fisherman and his Wife, but I don’t think I will be now. I think that – as I get older – I get more easily satisfied with things.

14 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

I think probably visual art and nature are the biggest influences on my work. Finding ways to incorporate many different ways of experiencing and understanding the world into literature is important, of course, I think, and for me, the visual always seems to offer an interesting angle – it allows me to access a world which is, of course, my own, but is at the same time not my own.

15 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

I am reading a lot of American poetry right now. I went back to school last fall and am currently studying toward my PhD in English Literature at the Université de Montréal, so I am lucky that my work right now is to read. My comprehensive exams, which I will sit for next spring, are on American Literature from 1900 to the present day, and I have included a fair amount of poetry on that list. Wallace Stevens, George Oppen, and Jorie Graham are the three poets that I hope to work on for my dissertation – their poetry just continually astounds to me.

16 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

There are too many things. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Also my ideas change frequently, or I learn about new things that I didn’t even know existed and then I want to do that. I feel okay about it. I don’t feel panicked or anything, or like I have to do it all. But there is – there’s an awful lot I’d like to do.

17 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

If this is a fairly loose, in-your-dreams sort of question, I would probably end up choosing country music star – it would be hard to let the circus dream die, though. Otherwise, I have never seriously considered a profession other than writing.

18 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I was extremely lucky in the fact that even as a young child I was encouraged to pursue my writing. My mother is an English teacher and a great lover of books, and so she was very pleased to have me take an interest in literature as well. I was always given the sense, from her, that I could succeed at whatever I chose to do, and I have never really doubted it – I am continually grateful to my mother for that.

19 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

I just read Don DeLillo’s White Noise again, and was blown away again by how he is able to be both amazingly funny and devastatingly serious at the same time. As for a movie: Waltz with Bashir, Ari Folman’s animated documentary, which I saw earlier this winter, is extraordinary, I think.

20 - What are you currently working on?

A second collection of poetry, forthcoming with Gaspereau in Spring 2010, as well as a collection of short stories.

12 or 20 questions archive (second series);