It only seemed right to post a most “Happy Happy” to neighboring countries sharing the same continent.
Canada’s celebrating the 1st (though I’d always hoped I’d [at some time] be embracing the 4th, but life/fate just hasn’t cooperated in that department, LOL).
A very basic bare-bones history lesson . . . but a very intricate, multifaceted past.
July 1st, Canada Day, came about in 1868, when the Governor General, Lord Monck (I must have failed history 101 because that name’s unfamiliar) signed a proclamation; it requested those residing throughout the country to celebrate the anniversary of the creation of the unification of the provinces in British North America (whew) under the name of Canada on July 1st 1867.
Called Dominion Day, it was legally established in 1879 . . . but celebrations didn’t really start until 1917. And it wasn’t until 1958 that the government organized an annual ceremony, which started with “Trooping the Colours”, a sunset service, concert, and fireworks. A decade later, Dominion Day became Canada Day. Celebrations, of course, have evolved over the years, as we well know—to embrace community events, concerts, parades, barbecues, and picnics.
July 4th, the Fourth of July, Independence Day, has been a federal U.S. holiday since 1941 (I’d have thought much earlier; yup, must have failed history 101). The tradition, however, dates back to the 18th century and the American Revolution. It was July 2nd, 1776, that the Continental Congress voted in favor of independence; two days later, delegates from the then thirteen colonies implemented the Declaration of Independence which, for those not in the know, had been drafted by Founding Father and [third] President Thomas Jefferson.
Since 1776, July 4th has been celebrated as the birth of American independence and, like Canada, does so with a host of festivities including parades, concerts, fireworks, family get-togethers, barbecues, and picnics.
Given the writing and editing components of this blog, I considered what made for definitive Canadian and American books . . . that are reflective of Canadiana and Americana. There are countless stellar ones, but there are two that I recall vividly from both sides of the border. They’re replete with challenges and struggles, strength of character and resilience, learning and growth, sin and virtue—features that form and solidified both countries, and made them what they are today.
In terms of Canada, thanks to outstanding descriptions and details, Gabrielle Roy’s The Tin Flute and Margaret Laurence’s The Stone Angel make the top of the list.
The former, the first novel for Roy, is set during World War II, and revolves around Florentine Lacasse and her family, which consists of eleven siblings. They reside in Saint-Henri, an impoverished part of Montreal. They’re so poor, they often go without necessities, including much-needed healthcare. Working at the Five and Ten, she flirts with Jean Levesque, a handsome man with ambitions, including living in Westmount, an affluent district on Mont Royal. Florentine’s “unrefined” nature has Jean soon believing that she’d never succeed in the world he yearns and aims for—one that knows no poverty. Eventually, he turns his back on her. A provocative read, it’s not a happy-ending type of tale, yet it’s not a sad one, either, for happiness comes in many forms, contrived or otherwise.
The latter, The Stone Angel, written by Margaret Laurence in the 1960s, features Hagar Shipley as the protagonist. The reader is pulled into this curious, obstinate woman’s life when, at the age of ninety, she recounts several decades. Her inability to relent costs her in the relationship department with the different people in her life, including her father, brother, husband, and children.
An amazingly strong person, she’s also an unemotional one. She refuses to take a softer line for anyone, even a dying brother. To show feelings is to show weakness. This stubborn if not detached approach to life and its challenges leads to many tragedies, some emotional/mental, some physical. You have to feel for her, though, particularly in those later years. Growing old and enduring all the trials that come with aging is difficult. And life in a nursing home, at best, is pitiful. Again, it’s not a happy-ending book, but it is an intelligent and thought-provoking read.
The two quintessential American books, in my humble opinion, are To Kill a Mockingbird (one of my all-time faves) and The Scarlet Letter.
Written in 1960, Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is set in Alabama, and follows young Scout Finch and the adventures she undergoes with her brother, Jem. Her father, Atticus, is a prominent lawyer, who rears both children with the help of Calpurnia, the cook and mother figure. Finch determines to defend a town resident, a Black man named Tom Robinson, wrongly accused of rape. He saves the man from being lynched by an angry, unthinking mob but can’t save him when he is shot while trying to escape custody.
Prejudices and biases exist on many levels, and Scout and Jem—and best friend, Dill, who visits every summer—hold their own in relation to a neighbor, Boo Radley, a man rarely seen in public. Kids being kids, they create crazy stories about Boo; some are most unkind. I’ve noted this previously I’m sure, but when reading Mockingbird, I can taste the sugar sandwiches, see small-town America, and feel the tension and prejudices. It’s . . . tangible.
Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter was published in 1850 and is set two-hundred years prior. It encompasses those early years in the great US of A . . . when challenges and struggles, puritan values, and religion and politics reigned with a iron fist. It’s the story of Hester Prynne, a woman who had a child out of wedlock and must, as punishment, wear the letter “A”—for adulteress—on her garments.
Hester had thought herself a widow, but one day her husband arrives out of the blue. The man becomes obsessed with finding out who the father of Hester’s daughter is. When he discovers it’s a young and well-respected minister, he begins to plague him. A tale of guilt and enlightenment, punishment and repentance, it provides an intriguing view into a time long ago. How vastly things have changed. Or have they?
The beauty of living in [relatively] independent times, is that we can make our own choices. Perhaps your choice of books is vastly different from mine. I love that we can agree to disagree. Calmly, creatively, and/or collectively. And maybe you’ll choose to celebrate quietly, by yourself, or with a close friend or family member. Variety [truly] is the spice of life . . . is it not? 😉
Happy 1st and Happy 4th! Embrace your independence . . . as a collective whole. Have fun, stay safe, be kind, and forgiving.
It’s been a rough few weeks. Ding! Lightbulb going off. Maybe it’d make for a great “purge” if I posted about all that’s been peeving me of late.
Perhaps you might like to check out how the pretty private eyes, JJ, Rey, and Linda solved their first official case? 😊
But that’s not the progress I’m excited about (well, not as much). It’s been a year since I started studying Japanese! I can read Hiragana and Katakana now. Granted, I may not necessarily know what’s being written—someone could be calling me some rather unpleasant name—but damn! I can read it!
Jina S. Bazzar is one of the most prolific writers I know. She has no fear of tackling any genre and does so exceptionally well. She’s come far since the days of the Roxanne Fosch series, which were good stories to be sure, but she’s developed her craft prodigiously.
The memories? I buried my mom on Monday. The service was short and pleasant. And emotional. When the celebrant played “Amazing Grace”, Niagara Falls erupted.
The Writer's Grab-Bag 