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Beth Follett and Stan Dragland in their St. John's home. In the foreground are some of the books published by Follettt's Pedlar Press.
Photo by Paul Daly
‘Ripe for being astonished’
Some words on a conjugal couplet: Stan Dragland, Beth Follett and the province’s ongoing literary ‘in-migration’
By SUSAN RENDELL
Saturday, March 01, 2008
The finest small Canadian press, from a literary standpoint.

— Canadian writer and publisher George Fetherling, on Pedlar Press



A hot topic in Newfoundland and Labrador these days is “out-migration” (one of those horrible words spawned by the pseudo-sciences — in this case sociology — for which there is a perfectly serviceable English word: emigration). Its terrible twin, “in-migration” (i.e., immigration), seldom gets much press.

I’ve decided to give it some here, because it has lately occurred to me the writing community in this province has been looting from that landmass to the west instead of being robbed by it. We have lost a couple of top writers to Toronto, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, they’re still writing about this place; one might consider them ambassadors rather than émigrés.

On the other hand, Canadian writers have been coming here, and staying here, in record numbers over the past few years. The numbers are not legion; it’s a matter of quality. These writers are excellent; some are among the top names in Canadian literature. They often begin by visiting, and quickly get hooked. (To paraphrase Julius Caesar, “They came, they saw, we conquered.”)

It’s a Saturday afternoon and Beth Follett, a slim woman with a striking face, meets me at the door of her Bond Street home. Follett, a 51-year-old writer and publisher originally from Ontario, invites me into the new-old house (the original burned down several years ago and was replaced with a heritage-award-winning dwelling designed by architect Robert Mellin, another theft from the mainland) she shares with her husband, Stan Dragland, also a writer and publisher.

They were married last summer, and the union has already produced a bouncing baby book, written by Dragland and published by Follett’s Pedlar Press.

The Drowned Lands isn’t Dragland’s first book by a long shot; the 60-something “man of letters” (The Globe and Mail) is the author of a yaffle of notable and award-winning books in a variety of genres, including literary criticism, children’s literature, poetry and the novel. His publishing house, Brick Books, has been a fixture (think Art Deco chandelier) on the Canadian scene since 1975.

So what made Dragland, originally from Alberta, decide to move here? “I fell for the place when I was here on sabbatical (from Western University) in ’97. It was like no place I’d ever been before. Especially the downtown part. I made more friends here in a short time than I’d made for decades before. So it seemed like the right place for me … never had a moment’s regret.”

Dragland says the local writing community is “complete … from not so good writers all the way up to the very best. And the very best are writers as good as (those) anywhere in the world.

“When I was first here, Paul Bowdring’s The Night Season was launched, and that year Patrick Kavanagh’s Gaff Topsails came out. I didn’t know anything about the writing here … didn’t know much about Newfoundland either, so I was ripe for being astonished. I think mainlanders know a few things about Newfoundland, and most of them are, if not wrong, stereotyped.

“It was a nation, almost, and it still is in the hearts of many people. When you’re here…you start to rethink Canada entirely. The question of identity of a person who moves here is always kind of in question, you know?

“I’m not a Newfoundlander, I won’t be a Newfoundlander, and I know now and then that gets on some people’s nerves — you know, you can’t be one. As far as I’m concerned, that keeps the question of identity alive.”

(Local poet Agnes Walsh would disagree with Dragland’s estimation of his “otherness”; she’s on record as saying he’s very much a part of the life here: “Not just literary life but part of the landscape, the rhythms, the people.”)

Follett first came to the province in 2005 to visit Dragland (the year his chapbook Stormy Weather was published by Pedlar).

“One of the first things I did with Stan was go on the March Hare circuit, which I loved, loved, loved,” she says. “Because young and old were mixing … Daniel Payne, red hair down to here, so talented, an actor, a musician. Gerry Squires was there that year … Wayne Johnston. There was a great feeling of a home-coming … there was something I just had never seen before.”

Dragland and Follett are impressed by the range of local artistry, from folk to ultra-sophisticated, and also by the fact many artists work in more than one genre — or even art form.

“Toronto is competitive and writers do feel the expectation, unspoken, to be excellent in one direction,” Follett says. “You’re expected to be seriously polished and seriously serious. I just think this is a culture that’s trying on so many things right now. It’s very exciting.

“It’s like this wonderful heat must be coming up out of the ground, affecting people. Because there’s so much activity … music and painting and writing. It’s thrilling.”

Her husband agrees. “I was offered different things to do here that I would never have had a chance to do anywhere else. I would never have co-written a play (The Atom Station, with Agnes Walsh) anywhere else — people here are accustomed to slipping genres. And (local craftsman) Jerome Canning has asked me to write a poem to go on a hutch, translated into Morse Code. You can actually go online and translate your work into Morse Code, you know … in case you want to do this.”

Follett still spends a lot of time in Toronto looking after the press she started in 1996 after giving up a career as a social worker. “I was really burnt out. I had worked a lot with women and kids who’d been sexually abused, and I took that work home with me. I was tired, very tired.”

Shortly after she quit social services, a close friend died and left her his estate, part of which was translated into start-up capital. “I had never, ever considered a life in publishing. I was a writer … I must have been out of my mind, really,” she says, laughing.

But Follett has proven she was quite sane in making a choice to produce superb (inside and outside), award-winning books.

“I love language as much as life itself … in its most rich and complicated forms.” (Anyone who has read Follett’s novel, Tell It Slant — an exquisite, bruising complex of richness — could tell you that.) Around the time she began her business, she had a conversation with the famous American poet Adrienne Rich. “She said ‘Don’t fall in love with the boys’ machinery.’ It was like a blessing that she gave me. I never wanted a machine.”

Follett’s husband is one of her biggest fans. “She was the best publisher I’d ever found,” Dragland says, looking uxuriously at his wife.

Newfoundland has already profited from Follet’s association with the province. Pedlar has produced two books with local artist Michael Pittman’s paintings on the covers, and an upcoming memoir by top Canadian poet Roo Borson will feature work by Will Gill.

We could really use a good literary press here, I say. Would she consider moving Pedlar to Newfoundland?

“I need to think things through very carefully … I would like to do it, of course, but I would like it to survive in the move. I’m tough, but the business aspect of it is delicate. There’s no bookstore here that I could easily see carrying all my new titles … chains like Chapters return books after a few months, before they are adequately reviewed.”

Dragland’s Brick Books has also proven to be an asset to Newfoundland writers (and vice versa). Brick published Agnes Walsh’s Going Around with Bachelors last year, and this month it released Night Work: The Sawchuck Poems by Corner Brook poet Randall Maggs.

Dragland says Maggs’ book, a collection of poems about hockey legend Terry Sawchuck, has caused one of the biggest poetry print runs in Canadian publishing history: 2,000 copies instead of the usual 750, owing to pre-orders of 1,000 copies.

I ask Dragland about his new book, The Drowned Lands, hot off Pedlar’s presses.

“I was living along Depot Creek (Ontario), and my landlord told me about an explosion that took place early last century … blew up the Petworth dam about five miles south of Bellrock. I had fallen in love with this creek…I was fascinated to find out there had been this drama along it.

“I found out there was a huge amount of difficulty among the manufacturers, the farmers and the loggers … there was all kinds of blowing up of dams and so on. For some reason, as soon as I heard that story, I thought about three young people being involved in all this … caught up in the trouble inadvertently.”

The Drowned Lands represents two decades of off-and-on work. Dragland says it required “lots and lots of research to get the background right … do people have brassieres in 1913?” (They were invented in 1913, but hadn’t made it to Bellrock.)

Before I leave, I want to make certain of one thing. I worry we’re going to lose both of you eventually, I say.

“No, there’s no way,” Follett says adamantly, shaking her head. “They’d have to drive me out of here,” ehoes Dragland.

Whew.
 
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