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Resistance is a noun. The dictionary defines it as “the refusal to accept or comply with something; the attempt to prevent something by action or argument.”

In Resistance, an anthology of poetry about sexual assault and abuse edited and with a foreword by Sue Goyette, the work does just that. It features a collection of poets who refused to accept blame—instead writing through their own traumas—and won’t allow anyone else to control their narrative. This is how writers from all over the world took back their voices and as a result found their power.

Rape culture is rampant. In the era of #MeToo, a movement that has instigated global conversations around violence, trauma and sexual assault, Resistance is vital and necessary reading. Poetry is an interruption, a way of processing and charging forward.

Goyette writes in the introduction about the reclamation of voice, how poetry can be a disruption to rape culture and how “poetry is essential for some of us in how we process our pain. I’d describe it as a form of courage or survival. Resilience.”

While Goyette was writing the introduction to the book, someone close to her was sexually assaulted. Not only did this reshape her thinking of the book, it also triggered her own past experiences. The sheer proxy to rape reminded her of how deeply traumatizing the abuse is and how the repercussions extend far beyond the physical act.

Goyette writes how trust is broken. “We feel singular and alone. Unworthy. And unsure. And these feelings are just the beginning.” Then with sheer conviction, she reminds us, “the problem is not you.”

And it’s not us. The problem is we live in a society that blames women. It’s our fault if we were drinking alcohol, or walking alone late at night, or dressed inappropriately. We are criticized if we embody our bodies—take up space, live in the world or inhabit our skin.

Rape and abuse is not about sex; it’s about power. Violence against women is inextricably linked to the destruction of the Earth. And as a result, Indigenous women and girls are at greater risk for violence, and murder. Goyette calls this a “femicide.”

Instead of taking pre-emptive action towards rehabilitating and educating people who are raping and assaulting, our legal system protects perpetrators, and not the victims. It further perpetuates harm.

As a result, we live in a society that supports the assailants and continues the cycle.

Poetry combats rape culture. Poetry cries out, and calls in.

Goyette writes, “Each person’s response in this anthology is as singular as they are and yet what they have in common is their refusal for anyone else’s version to occupy their first person.”

One of the most important elements of Resistance is that most of the poems are written from first-person perspectives. They do not tell, retell or attempt to rewrite another person’s pain.

Each poet is an individual. Their relationship to trauma is their own.

There is no appropriation of voice here—these are poets harnessing their own personal pain into poetic power.

As a poet, I learned this lesson the hard way when I initially published my book, Who Took My Sister? last spring with Book*hug, and it was pulled for not following Indigenous protocol. I had aligned my pain with collective unresolved trauma, which isn’t universal, and wrote about trauma that did not belong to me in the first person. Trauma is individual, case by case, and is deeply personal.

My book has since been revisioned and edited by Lee Maracle. The result is I Am A Body of Land, a collection of poetry exclusive to my own experiences as a settler-Indigenous poet and sexual assault survivor. Despite what many academic and creative writing courses preach, the first person is sovereignty.

This is what makes Resistance so charged.

Each of these poems speaks to the personal. Yet as an anthology of poems (and poets), Resistance acts as a choir.

The book becomes a collective of voices who harness poetics as a vehicle of reclamation. Poems like Natalie Baker’s “the telling,” in which she writes, “i used to say/ what i let happen/ instead of/ what he did,” offer profound insights into what it means to shift the blame. Baker knows: consent is everything.

In Kim Mannix’s poem “Memory, re-sequenced,” she writes around the mind disorientation and body’s recalling of trauma. Her opening lines “sparks/ around the campfire/ the shape of his jaw,” speak to a reorientation. In the seventh stanza she writes, “fill me up, pour me out/ only the shape inside/ has changed,” and leaves readers with the image of a singing owl. As the poem is a form of testimony, the bird and reader become witness.

In her preface, “Fuck Ghomeshi: a tribute to Lucy’s courage,” Lori Hanson writes a rally cry for Lucy DeCoutere (who testified against disgraced CBC personality Jian Ghomeshi at his trial in February 2016) and all women who speak up about sexual assault. Her poem is aptly called “Fuck Ghomeshi: a Rise up Chant,” and the final stanza ends with the lines:

“We do what we must do./ Our legal route is warped/ The streets are out there waiting/ Chants – our last resort,” and the instruction for this to be shouted in public by a large group of “women-supportive non-violent people.”

Resistance is a chant.

In Beth Goobie’s poem “monarch,” she writes of emerging from a long period of solitude and silence. Her poetic inquiry is internal and subtly asks the reader “have i gotten it all yet? have i gotten enough/ even to begin to grasp the bigger picture/ this tapestry of inner fire and its shadow partner.”

This is a book about change.

Goyette writes, “This is what change will look like. All of us, contributing in whatever way we can: by writing and by reading, by sharing and by listening to the experiences we have in common.”

She reminds us, “We are a multitude, resilient and resisting.”

Resistance is about finding company in language. It’s a discourse offering offer courage, a way of using poetry to dignify our experiences, and a place to express, even offer, a sense of relief or reprieve.

Resistance is a collection of poetry to continue pushing conversations that defy violence and injustice.

This is for all of us in the resistance.

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The seasonal changes of the land, sea and the skies above feature large and luminous in Robert Burt’s anthology Even Lovers Drown, published 14 years after his last book of poetry. Divided into six sections, this latest collection comprises 44 poems from his four previous books of poetry, in addition to 13 new poems including the title poem, a line taken from WB Yeat’s poem, “The Mermaid.”

Inspired by the natural world, Burt’s poetry blends the pastoral with the romantic, weaving themes of love and loss, wandering and discovery.

Many of Burt’s poems read like hymns to the “ancient, breathing, wild hills” and the “never-ending shorelines” (as he notes in his introduction) of his beloved island home, as in the poem “Evening Service:”

In this nine o’clock/Watery purple afterglow/Everything is illuminated/Including me.
I’ve finally been confirmed/Here on the beach rock pew./The sunset is my communion/The water song is my hymn.
The sermon is written/On the curve of a seagull’s wing/Sailing into the crimson sky/Full of the next day’s hope.

Reflecting the adolescent musings in the untitled poems of the “The Boys of Summer: notes for a biography” section, Burt experiments with informal structure:

hot july rain/soft as a tongue/sounded its reggae rhythm/upon the cabin roof/boys of summer
slept like babies/in long jamaican dreams/where the drumbeat moon/hung like a big heart pumping light/across the onyx lake

Some of Burt’s word pairings are unusual yet apt, such as the “harshly snug cove” describing “Grates Cove in November.”

And, like finding a piece of translucent blue beach glass, there are the occasional gems, among the oft sentimental, such as the final line of the poem “November Harbour,” where he writes:

The sea is left alone to beat itself to death.

Not unpredictably, after a considerable writing career, Burt takes a backward glance in several of the new poems. Ruminating on his life as a poet he writes:

And I drank with praise and plenty,/I feared I had too much,/but the poetry came like a talon,/and I craved her raven touch.

Even Lovers Drown: New and Selected Poems
Robert Burt
Innisfree Press

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On March 18, 2018 the anthology collection Chillers from the Rock reached #1 on the Amazon Canadian Bestsellers list in four separate categories: Vampire Thriller, Werewolf & Shifters, Vigilante Justice and Hot New Releases (Thriller) . The book peaked at #152 on the Amazon.ca Bestseller’s Rank out of all of Amazon’s 1.8 million paid books at 5:17 pm Newfoundland time and was added to Amazon’s Bestseller’s list at that time.

Chillers from the Rock is a collection of twenty‐five short stories written by a diverse mix of some of the best suspense and horror authors in Atlantic Canada, including both award‐winners, veterans of their craft and brand new talent. This collection features the thrilling, creatively charged, astonishing fiction that showcases the talent, imagination and prestige that Atlantic Canada has to offer. It includes the work of Paul Carberry (Zombies on the Rock), Kelley Power (Winner of the Newfoundland and Labrador Arts and Letters competition), Matthew LeDrew (Coral Beach Casefiles, Infinity, Xander Drew), Ali House (The Six‐Elemental) and an introduction by Dale Gilbert Jarvis.

Engen Books is an independent publishing company based out of Newfoundland. It was started in 2007 by Matthew LeDrew and is currently run by LeDrew and partner Ellen Curtis, with a mission to promote literary expression and the medium of literature, regardless of genre, setting or style, and a belief that when you limit an author by geography or genre you are also limiting that author’s imagination, and thus limiting what you believe that author is capable of imagining.

Independent authors from Atlantic Canada and the world over offer some of the best, most imaginative, most exciting and transcendent fiction available on the market.

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If there’s one thing Atlantic Canadians consider themselves experts on it’s winter and if there’s one thing they all like to talk about it’s the weather. So Winter: Atlantic Canadian Stories, an anthology of short stories edited by Dan Soucoup focussing on both, should be of interest to just about everyone who can read.

Within the general winter theme, stories range across the board. There is more than one recounting of feats of remarkable endurance and several childhood memoirs–often, but not always, involving hockey (this is Canada, after all). We’re also treated to the retelling of a Mi’kmaw legend, a truly tall tale, a ghost story and even a short story with an O Henry style ending.

Nonetheless, there’s a certain sameness to most of the stories. They were either written a long time ago, such as the offerings by Cassie Brown and Archibald MacMechan, or they hark back nostalgically to a mythical childhood that has long since disappeared. Even the ones that break the mould seem to somehow carry a whiff of camphor and candle wax. How often can you listen to Granddad tell a story, no matter how fascinating, without eventually rolling your eyes and fidgeting for freedom and a breath of fresh air?

As is often the case when the editor is going for a particular tone or type of story, the quality of the entries varies. Some are written by seasoned professionals and it shows. Some are written by rank amateurs. And, alas, it also shows. One thing all the stories do manage to achieve, however, is a true feeling of winter. That isn’t something that’s necessarily easy to accomplish, but it’s apparent that these authors really get the most dangerous of seasons–they know cold and they know snow, as well as what it can do to you. The stories, real or imagined, are steeped in authenticity.

It would have been nice to be given more information about the individual stories, such as when they were written and whether they were fiction or non-fiction. Most people like to know if what they’re reading is true or not and with realistic tales of long ago, written in the first person, that isn’t always possible.

Like winter itself this collection occasionally sparkles, but is too often just plain grey.

Winter
Dan Soucoup
Nimbus Publishing

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It’s a double header! Writing on Fire is launching its first anthology of youth writing, unapologetic hearts, as well as screening the documentary, Writing on Fire—North Shore Youth Experience on Sunday, March 18, from 1-3 in the Murray Room at the deCoste Centre, Pictou.

It will be a celebration of creativity, a revelation of the amazing authors, the incredible youth who enliven and enrich the North Shore of Nova Scotia. Over the past six years, Writing on Fire has brought authors and mentors to schools from New Glasgow to Pugwash for students in Grades 7-12. It has also sponsored a workshop Saturday, when youth who sign up spend a day with those authors, and then share their work in a Literary Café.

And, for the last two years, Writing on Fire has grown to include a mentoring weekend at the Thinkers Lodge in Pugwash. In 2017, this weekend was called Art Jam–art sparking writing, writing sparking art–with mentors Sheree Fitch and Louise Cloutier along with 12 teens creating an inspired blaze.

We have witnessed such powerful words, and youth, that we realized it was time to send them into the wider community. Special funding this year allowed the printing of an anthology and the creation of a documentary by filmmaker Catherine Bussiere. The documentary, while describing the motivation behind Writing on Fire, focuses on the creators and their ideas, these fabulous youth from our North Shore.

It has been a revelation, putting the anthology together and watching the documentary, just how much we have to celebrate here on the North Shore. There is a new generation in our midst, with strong voices and things to say.

On Sunday, March 18th, all are invited to listen to readings by these youth authors from unapologetic hearts, (which will be available for sale) and to watch the first screening of Writing on Fire’s documentary. Refreshments will be served.

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Prince Edward Island has produced its share of literature, inspiring place-based novels, poetry, children’s books, and what seems to be a never-ending supply of historical writing. One genre that is rarely associated with the province, however, is horror. While the local oral tradition is rich with stories about forerunners, personal appearances by the devil and other supernatural occurrences, this has not translated into the written word. Prince Edward Islanders may know their neighbour’s business, Dave Stewart notes in the introduction to Fear From A Small Place, but what truly frightens them remains largely unexplored.

The 20 short stories contained in this anthology are guided by two thematic underpinnings. All authors have, in the words of Stewart, “been shaped in some part by Prince Edward Island,” whether through birth, residence or in one case marriage. Authors were also given great leeway in defining “horror” on their own terms. The creative flexibility afforded the authors is matched by a diversity of experiences. Contributors range in age from teenage to senior, with the majority somewhere in between; some are publishing for the first time while others have numerous books under their belts.

As with any collection of this sort, some stories resonate more than others. And what works for this reviewer may not with another reader. Disclaimers aside, one standout contribution is Kelly Caseley’s “Mistress.” A short story in the truest sense of the word–it contains just 25 words–it highlights the squeamish feeling of appearing in public in the same outfit as one’s peer. Far-removed from the tropes of masked killers and sundry monsters, it nonetheless speaks to a deep-rooted fear that many have.

Another standout is Russell Stewart’s “The Flag.” A piece of nonfiction told from the perspective of the author 26 years earlier, it describes his family’s early morning drive to an undisclosed location in Charlottetown. While Stewart and his sister struggle with sleep in the backseat of the family car, it is revealed in the postscript that his parents had joined other Islanders in attending the hanging of two men charged with murder. While this, the last public execution in Prince Edward Island’s history, has been written about elsewhere (most notably Michael Hennessey’s award-winning fictional account, The Betrayer, published by The Acorn Press in 2003), the juxtaposition of innocent youth unknowingly attending this gruesome event as the assembled adults treat it as a public outing speaks volumes.

Also worth highlighting is Dale Nicholson’s “No Regrets.” An eight-panel comic that addresses loneliness among senior citizens, it strikes a chord due to the reality of its premise. Like many other contributions to Fear From A Small Place, it reveals that for many of us, our deepest fears concern personal relationships and how they may play out over an extended period of time.

One of the strengths of this anthology is the diversity of formats it represents. While most contributions appear as traditional short stories, Nicholson’s comic is joined by poet John MacKenzie’s “Blood and Frost in a Stand of Birch (a redneck neurological noir in narrative verse)” and David Moses’ “Birth Father,” which is presented in the form of a television script.

I enjoyed this book and encourage fans of the horror genre–local or otherwise–to give it a read. My endorsement, however, is not without quibble. The book is quite attractive, as one might expect from a publication put together by a graphic design firm. That said, I did find myself distracted by the appearance of the occasional typos. While not the end of the world, these minor blemishes could have been rooted out with more vigilant proofreading, thereby affording the stories the final form they deserve.

Fear From A Small Place
Edited by Dave Stewart with Laura Chapin
Graphcom Publishing

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M-Word Goose Lane Editions Kerri Clare I’ll admit that I was apprehensive when Carolyn suggested I choose The M Word: Conversations about Motherhood as my next book. Mother’s Day was on the horizon so this essay collection was a timely choice, but I am, in our modern parlance, child-free (or child-less, depending on your view). What business do I have reading a book about motherhood?

This book, I soon learned, is so much more than reflections on Baby Björn products, home versus hospital births and essays on the infinite joys of finally becoming a parent. The collection’s editor, Kerry Clare, writes in her introduction:

In fact, it seems that outside the zone are most of us, those whose relationships to motherhood are complicated – we’ve lost children, we never had the ones we longed for, the children we have are not biologically ours. We are the women who’ve had too many children or not enough, or we didn’t have them properly. Women for whom motherhood is a fork in the road, encountered with decidedly mixed feelings. There are those of us who made the conscious choice not to have children, and yet find ourselves defined by what we’re lacking instead of the richness of our lives.

The M Word touches all of these topics and more. Whether you’re a mother by choice or by circumstance, a woman without children by choice, circumstance or tragedy, or simply someone who has yet to decide which path to take, you’ll find yourself in one of these stories. And not always the ones you’d suspect.

Essay collections are often a hard-sell when I recommend a book, but this one has real appeal. These are not simply essays by mothers, they are essays by writers at the top of their games. An IMPAC award winner rubs pages with a National Newspaper Award winner, while Journey Prize nominees and GG finalists pop in and out of this anthology. These 25 voices are fresh, diverse in tone and, frequently, brutally honest.

While this book is light on the Atlantic content we usually highlight in this space, it does feature a powerful essay from Nicole Dixon, an award-winning short story author from Cape Breton Island. “Babies in a Dangerous Time: On Choosing to be Child-Free” meditates on the pressure women feel, all too often from other women, to pro-create:

You have to explain why you don’t want to have kids because people are never happy with the simple answer, ‘No, I don’t want kids.’ They look at you. They raise their eyebrows. They call you anti-kid or assume you’re barren. They tell you, actually say to you, as if they know your mind better than you do, ‘Oh some day? Don’t worry. You’ll change your mind.’

Dixon doesn’t apologize for her child-free status. She highlights, using a mix of personal prose and pop culture references, the times she’s pondered crossing over into motherhood, and the reasons that she’s decided to stay put.

Whether you’re a mother or not, almost a mother, or mother-like; female or otherwise gendered, this engaging book will make you think about the many ways we do or don’t become parents and the choices our parents made before us.

The M Word: Conversations about Motherhood
edited by Kerry Clare
$22.95, paperback, 310 pp.
Goose Lane Editions, April 2014