Line of Inquiry: David Chariandy

David Chariandy has explored ideas of dislocation and cultural memory as an academic at Simon Fraser University, but he now offers those ideas to a wider audience in his luminous first novel entitled Soucouyant (Arsenal Pulp).

Set in Ontario, the story focuses on the fraught and tender relationship between a Canadian-born son and his Trinidadian-born mother, a woman who is suffering from dementia and uncannily 'forgetting to forget' the traumatic secrets of her past. The soucouyant - an evil spirit in Caribbean folklore - stands as a symbol of how the legacies of 'elsewhere' continue to haunt the lives of those born here.

Chariandy lives in Vancouver.

1) As a writer (i.e. someone whose artistic practice is predicated on time
spent alone) how do you approach performance? What do you get out of it?

It’s a good question. I’m told that I do alright in front of an audience. And I’m a teacher as well as a writer, so I should be used to public speaking by now. But the truth is that I’m usually a bit uncomfortable when I have to read my work, even though, apparently, this rarely shows. I’ve found that my type of writing requires quite a lot of introspection, which doesn’t necessarily help when it’s time to perform. Still, I’m so deeply grateful when anyone is willing to listen to me. That is an enormous gift to a new writer.

2) What do you want people to know about Soucouyant?

It’s a book about the elsewhere past, and about what haunts us when we think we’ve moved beyond. It’s also a book about forgetting, about the fragility of memory, and about the impossible burden of history. Really, it’s just a book about a mother suffering from dementia, and a son who is conflicted about his responsibilities. It’s a book that I worked on very carefully over many, many drafts, since I felt I owed this to the themes and characters.

3) What are you looking forward to in Winnipeg?

Frankly, I’m looking forward to hearing other writers read. I get inspired by that, the ebb and pitch of words in the air. And this particular festival has gathered together so many extraordinarily writers, both mature and new. Also, just about every writer I know tells me that the audiences in Winnipeg are the most lively and enthusiastic in the nation. I feel both thrilled and humbled to be able to participate in the groove.

4) What are you reading right now?

Lots of stuff. I usually dip into several books at once. (The tower beside my bed is sometimes outright hazardous…) I’ve recently read the new Ondaatje, Vassanji, Gowdy, and Hill, and I’m looking forward to perusing other CanLit offerings of the year. I’ve also been trying to catch up on books published a year or two earlier, like The Law of Dreams and The View from Castle Rock. I’m also right now re-reading Delible by Anne Stone, which I can’t seem to get out of my head. I’m always reading a lot of poetry. Poetry feeds me in a way that’s absolutely essential, even though I’ve never attempted that most daunting and demanding art. So Moure, and Brand, and Brathwaite, and Walcott over and over again, as well as a bunch of newer voices. I’ve co-founded, with Wayde Compton and Karina Vernon, a very (very) modest press named Commodore Books, and I’m really hoping that we’ll get to publish, as our third book, the poetry of an emerging Winnipeg-based writer named Troy Bailey. His poetry is exceptionally interesting, but I think he has the same neurosis that I do – he’ll never stop working on a manuscript until someone physically wrests the thing away. Maybe I’ll try pulling a heist when I’m in town…

5) What can being longlisted/shortlisted/winning an award like the Giller Prize do for a book and/or for your career? How does it feel to be nominated?

I’m both thrilled and shocked. As I mentioned, I worked extremely hard on my book for a number of years. Eventually, after painstakingly studying the works of more experienced writers, after many, many drafts, and after considerable pain and self-doubt on my own part, I got the narrative and language of my short book into a form that satisfied me. But I assumed, for a variety of reasons, that it wouldn’t get much attention, and I was honestly OK with that. Now, I’m suddenly in the company of the very writers, like Michael Ondaatje, whose work inspired me so profoundly in the first place. It’s such a strange and wonderful experience. I can’t fully express how meaningful it has all been to me, how deeply grateful I am by the nod from the Giller judges, and by the subsequent attention from people who, otherwise, might never have heard of my book or else taken me seriously. But I also know who supported me right from the beginning: a small and “regional” press, an independent bookstore or two, and a community of readers and writers, of all backgrounds and degrees of fame, who have taught me to understand “literature” not as the product of a few stars, but as a wild democracy of voices.

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David Chariandy will be appearing at THIN AIR, Winnipeg International Writers Festival:

September 28 - Writing through Race Panel, U of W, with Lawrence Hill and Paul Yee.
September 28 - Maintstage, with William Gibson, Lawrence Hill, Linda Leith, Brenda Hasiuk.

The Fashion Breakdown

Last night’s mainstage event was funny and moving. The young adult writers thoroughly entertained. But what everyone is talking about today is...Charlene’s boots. In fact, I feel far too much attention has been devoted to the writers and not nearly enough has been said about festival fashion.

So, let’s talk about those boots. Charlene purchased them at the Aldo outlet when she attended Book Expo Canada earlier this year. She was supposed to be seeking out fine authors to bring to Winnipeg Words, but really it was a charade to expand her footwear collection. Quite frankly it’s a hot miracle we even have any writers.



I told her I didn’t think it was appropriate to use festival funds to broaden her boot collection. Last night at the readings she even audaciously tried to connect her crazy boots to the theme Surviving Adolescence.

(Ed. - I'm sure Daria means 'festival time' or even 'time off from festival time'...heh.)

The rest of her outfit she explained is cobbled together “from here and everywhere.” She is extremely proud of her ability to seek out deals. I should hope so, Charlene, if you’re pilfering festival funds for your unique wardrobe. The earrings are twenty years old – from the last time long dangly earrings were in fashion.



The necklace, a lovely piece of jewellery, is a “talisman of when I was pregnant with Anna seven years ago.” I was actually thinking of stealing it until she said that. The ring is from a trip to Cuba, the watch exceedingly cheap. And her best accessory was the glass of wine she was sporting compliments of the hospitality suite.

The woman’s got style. And sometimes I wonder if the writers up on stage feel they are competing with Charlene’s wardrobe for audience attention.



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Daria Salamon’s first novel, The Prairie Bridesmaid, will be published in fall 2008 by Key Porter Books. Daria’s journalism has appeared in The Globe and Mail, Winnipeg Free Press, and Uptown Magazine; one of her non-fiction pieces appears in A/Cross Sections: New Manitoba Writing. She lives in Osborne Village with her son, Oskar, husband, Rob and cat, Dr. Puddles.

Out-take: hospitatlity suite

Charles LeBlanc, THIN AIR Foyer des Ecrivains author, unmasks himself in the THIN AIR Hospitality Suite after last night's Mainstage performance.

(His sixth collection, called Heures D'ouverture and featuring several plates with reproductions of Winnipeg urban landscapes, was launched yesterday.)

Out-take: Armin Wiebe

I sat next to Creative Communications faculty member and Campus Program emcee Armin Wiebe at the Lois Braun and Janice Kulyk Keefer reading/Q&A at RRC yesterday afternoon.

As I was snapping pics of the crowd and the readers I caught Armin’s hands in the frame.



Now forgive me for the faint whiff of lame but…looking at Armin’s hands through the lens, I realized that four novels and countless short stories (okay, okay, you can probably count them...) have moved through those hands and onto the page.

Even though I presume to call myself a writer, I couldn't tell you precisely where stories reside in the body and where they come from. But it's sort of strange to think that the stories rely on fingers and knuckles and hands in order to be made manifest in the world.