Website of Author Keith Maillard

Humbly: On Translation

Literary translation is not something that I ordinarily do, and I might never have tried it if I had never been to Zacatecas. When I was there some years ago, it was not yet a destination point for American or Canadian tourists, and hardly anyone spoke English. My high school Spanish did not cut it; … Read more

In the Defense of My Novel

The things that alert you to another book you’re about to write are not necessarily the things that end up in that book. Why 1964? That’s when I heard Miles Davis for the first time—on someone else’s stereo. Playing Ascenseur pour l’échafaud (Lift to the Gallows) opened a sneaky door at the back of my … Read more

The Only Good Song on the Radio

The only time I listen to pop music on the radio these days is when I’m driving. I don’t expect much, just something pleasant enough to keep me going with the traffic over the Burrard Street Bridge—something with a good beat, lyrics that are not too idiotic, and a catchy melody. Usually that’s what I get, but a few weeks ago I realized that radio music had gone dead for me. The only thing that kept me from switching over to a CD was one song. They didn’t play it often enough, and I kept waiting for it—the only good song on the radio.

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AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CBC

Katniss Everdeen

Dear Canadian Broadcasting Corporation,

Since I emigrated to Canada in 1970, I have been listening to CBC Radio. I listen to it in much of my down-time—while I’m cooking, doing the dishes, putting away my socks, or driving my car. I regard CBC Radio as an old reliable friend, and I am writing to you in the spirit of friendship. In recent years Q was one of my favourite shows. The host is gone, but the show continues, and that’s what I want to talk about.

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Farewell, Rohan O’Grady

june_web

Canadian novelist, Rohan O’Grady, dies at 91 is a headline you will not read in any Canadian newspaper. June Skinner, who wrote under that pen name, has never received the recognition her work deserves. She never thought of herself as either a pioneering Canadian novelist or as a unique woman of letters, but she was both. She began publishing when Canadian novels were thin on the ground, and the publishers who picked her up were not in Toronto but in London and New York. From 1961 to 1981 she wrote in complete isolation, living a quiet life as a wife and mother in West Vancouver.

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STEVE IN TORONTO—AUDIO DRAMA

Motet, Cover Image (detail), HarperCollins, 1997
Motet, Cover Image (detail), HarperCollins, 1997

Warning–this is a dark scene from Motet, the darkest of my novels. Some listeners might find it disturbing.

“Steve in Toronto” opens in a loft on Queen Street in Toronto in 1977. I am playing Steven Beuhl. The amazing young Vancouver actress, Ranae Miller, is playing the punk rocker, Annie Epoxy.

If you want to know what happens next, listen to Episode 10 of The Canadian Fiction Podcast in which I read the rest of the story and talk about it afterward with podcaster Erika Thorkelson.

If I were writing Motet now, Annie Epoxy would have a far bigger role in it. Reading the book again for the first time after twenty years, I found her a fascinating, complex character who deserves far more stage time than I originally gave her.

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ON THE DEATH OF DORIS LESSING

Doris Lessing - The Golden Notebook“Literature is analysis after the event.” Doris Lessing from The Golden Notebook.

To say that Doris Lessing had a huge impact on me is a monumental understatement.

I first read Lessing in 1970.

For two years I had been pouring all of my energy into the American antiwar movement, but now  the New Left was exploding into fiery fragments — bombs going off on campuses,  the Weatherman faction of SDS at the height of its insanity,  paranoia, bone-grinding fear, bleak nihilism. During those two years of activism I had not read fiction. I remembered the writers I used to love, felt a nostalgia for a lost time when an innocent sweetness had been possible, but in 1970 it was not possible to admire John Updike for his elegant prose. Then I read The Golden Notebook and suddenly there was Lessing in all of her fury and intensity — WAKE UP, this is serious, this is BLOODY serious, this MEANS SOMETHING.

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