101 Letters to a Prime Minister (24 page)

The illusion of complicity is helped by the fact that not very much is known about Jane Austen, despite her being the author of six novels that sit with full rights in the library of great English literature. She wrote
Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, Emma
and
Persuasion
in unremitting rural obscurity. She became a published writer only six years before her death and the four novels that came out during her lifetime were published anonymously, the author being described only as “a Lady.” And even when it became widely known after her death that the lady in question had been one Jane Austen, resident of the village of Chawton, in Hampshire, posterity didn’t find out much more about her. Jane Austen never met another published writer, was never interviewed by a journalist and never moved in a literary circle beyond the completely personal one of her family, who were her first and most loyal readers. What we might have found out about her through her letters is partial, since many were destroyed by her sister Cassandra. In other words, Jane Austen lived among people who hardly took note of her, and I mean that literally: except for some few family members and friends, very little was written about Jane Austen during her lifetime that might have allowed us to become acquainted with her. A biography of such an elusive person will therefore have more the character of a spiritual quest than of a factual account. Therein lies the excellence of Shields’s biography. It is not cluttered by facts. It is rather a meditation on the writerly existence of Jane Austen—and who better to do that than a writer who can be viewed as a modern incarnation of her? Carol Shields had a similar interest in the female perspective and was as comfortable as Jane Austen in exploring the domestic and the intimate, plumbing its depths until the universal was revealed. The intuitive rightness of her biography amply makes up for the dearth of hard facts.

The eleventh book I sent you was a Jane Austen novel, though a minor one because unfinished,
The Watsons
, if you remember. If that’s the only Austen you’ve read, you don’t have to worry that you will be left in the dark by this biography. It’s called
Jane Austen: A Life
, after all, and not
Jane Austen: Her Books
. Of course, her books are discussed, but only to the extent that they shed light on their author. The reader doesn’t have to have an intimate knowledge of them to appreciate what Shields is discussing.

This book is a real pleasure to read, I must emphasize that. It is intelligent in a most engaging way, not only making Jane Austen better known to us, but also bringing the reader in on the alchemical process of writing. Jane Austen, unlimited by her tightly circumscribed life, composed novels that still speak to readers today, whose lives, especially that of her female readers, have changed vastly. Carol Shields, for her part, unlimited by the poverty of source material, composed a biography that speaks to everyone, male or female, devoted Austen reader or neophyte. I hope you will enjoy it, this, the fiftieth book that we have shared.

In front of the Jane Austen Centre
.

I was in Bath recently, where Jane Austen lived for a few years. She was miserable while there, but it’s a lovely town nonetheless. I took a picture for you, which I include with this letter.

Yours truly,

Yann Martel

C
AROL
S
HIELDS
(1935–2003) was an American-Canadian poet, novelist, professor and critic. Her works include ten novels and two collections of short stories. During her literary career, Shields was a professor at the University of Ottawa, the University of British Columbia, the University of Manitoba and the University of Winnipeg, where she also served as chancellor. She is best remembered for her highly acclaimed novel
The Stone Diaries
, which won the Pulitzer Prize and the Governor General’s Literary Award. Her biography of Jane Austen won the Charles Taylor Prize for Non-Fiction.

Dear Mr. Harper,

Yesterday was the Ides of March, and so
Julius Caesar
, by William Shakespeare. There is nothing sacred in or about Shakespeare, but one can lose and find oneself in his work the way one can lose and find oneself in the Bible. Both are full worlds, one secular, the other religious, and both have spawned generations of readers and scholars who can quote chapter and verse from any given book or play. If one were on a desert island with only the Bible or the complete works of Shakespeare, one would do all right. If one had both, one would do well.

There is everything in Shakespeare (including dullness in the history plays). The English language and the nature of drama were still on the anvil in the smithy when Shakespeare was around, which was between the years 1564 and 1616, and the formative beatings of his hammer mark to this day the English language, theatre, and our view of the world. To give you just two small examples: in Act I, towards the end of Scene II,
Cassius asks Casca if Cicero had anything to say about Caesar fainting. Cicero did, but in Greek. Casca deadpans, “It was Greek to me.” Later, in Act III, Scene I, Caesar is making clear that his will is firm and that he is not easily put off his course. He is, he says, “constant as the northern star.” These are but two of the many expressions that Shakespeare brought to the language he was working in. He brought more than that, of course. His plays, besides being vivid and dramatic, overflow with insights into the human condition. The adjective “Shakespearean” is a broad one. If that single man was a spring, we now all live in his delta.

Julius Caesar
is a play about politics, more specifically about power. The potential power of one individual, the power of tradition, the power of principles, the power of persuasion, the power of the masses—all these powers clash in the play, to deadly effect. Shakespeare takes no sides. His play is a tragedy, but it is not only Caesar’s tragedy. It is also the tragedy of Brutus and Cassius, of Portia and Calpurnia, of Cinna the Poet, of Rome itself.

Since
Julius Caesar
is about power and politics, we might as well talk about power and politics. Let me discuss concerns I have with two decisions your government recently announced.

My first concern is about the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. New money allocated to the Council is apparently to be spent exclusively on “business-related degrees.” Don’t you feel that there’s a measure of contradiction between the libertarian, small-government ideals of your party and telling an arm’s-length body how to spend its money? Aren’t you making government bigger and more intrusive by doing so? But that’s an aside. More troubling is the denaturing of SSHRC’s role. I’ve never understood why public universities, funded by the taxpayer, should necessarily have business departments. Is making money really an academic discipline?
Don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing shameful about money, or the making of it, but we’re losing sight of the purpose of a university if we think it’s the place to churn out MBAs. A university is the repository and crucible of a society, the place where it studies itself. It is the brain of a society. It is not the wallet. Businesses come and go. Shakespeare doesn’t. A university builds minds and souls. A business employs. The world would be a better place if rather than having business types infiltrating universities, we had Shakespeare types infiltrating businesses. I imagine this line of argument is falling on your deaf ear. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood. To paraphrase Antony speaking of Brutus, you are an honourable man and you must know what you’re doing.

My second concern is the announcement by the Canadian Heritage Minister James Moore that funding from the new Canadian Periodical Fund might be restricted to those magazines that have a circulation greater than five thousand. That will pretty well kill off every single arts and literary magazine in Canada. “Good thing,” you might be thinking. “Elitist little rags, who needs them?” Well, we all need them, because good things start small. I’ll give you just one example: my own. I was first published by the
Malahat Review
, which comes out of Victoria,
B.C
. Their early support, when I was in my twenties, galvanized me. It made me want to write more and to write better. It’s because I was published in the
Malahat
that I won my first literary award, that I met my literary agent, that I came to the attention of Toronto publishers. The
Malahat
is where I was born as a writer. If it goes, so does the next generation of writers and poets. But perhaps I’ve misunderstood. You are an honourable man and you must know what you’re doing.

Turning SSHRC into an MBA funding agency and eliminating arts and literary magazines are incomprehensible measures
to me. The sums involved are so small relatively, yet the purposes they serve so important. Is it really your aim to transform Canada into a post-literate society? As it is, many young people are post-historical and post-religious. If literacy is the next pillar to go, what will be left of our identity? But perhaps I’ve misunderstood. You are an honourable man and you must know what you’re doing.

In Act III, Scene 3 of
Caesar
, you will meet Cinna the Poet. He is torn to pieces by the rabble, who mistake him for another Cinna, one of the conspirators. That is not the Canadian way. Here in Canada, at this time, it is the Canadian government that is attacking Cinna the Poet. But perhaps I’ve misunderstood. You are an honourable man and you must know what you’re doing.

Yours truly,

Yann Martel

REPLY:

May 1, 2009

Dear Mr. Martel,

On behalf of the Right Honourable Stephen Harper, I would like to acknowledge receipt of your correspondence regarding the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) and the Canadian Periodical Fund. I would also like to thank you for the enclosure of
Julius Caesar
, by William Shakespeare.

Please be assured that your comments have been given careful consideration. I have taken the liberty of forwarding
copies of your correspondence to the Honourable Tony Clement, Minister of Industry, and the Honourable James Moore, Minister of Canadian Heritage and Official Languages, so that they may be made aware of your concerns.

Once again, thank you for writing the Prime Minister.

Yours sincerely,

S. Russell

Executive Correspondence Officer

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE
(1564–1616) wrote plays and poems.

Dear Mr. Harper,

I had never heard of Cape Farewell, a British NGO, until an e-mail from them popped into my inbox. They were inviting me, thanks to funding by the Musagetes Foundation here in Canada, on a trip they were organizing to Peru. To explain their organization and its objectives, they offered to send me a book and a DVD. I was intrigued and so accepted. What did I have to lose? A few days later, said book and DVD arrived in the mail. I read the book, watched the DVD, checked out their website (
www.capefarewell.com
) and promptly wrote to Cape Farewell to accept their invitation.

Many people were first introduced to climate change by
An Inconvenient Truth
, the movie based on the touring presentation by Al Gore. Cape Farewell’s mission is to move beyond that initial awareness and orchestrate a cultural response to climate
change. To do that, they organize expeditions to the frontiers of climate change, those hot spots (literally) where the change is most apparent. Scientists are there too, doing their research, and so artists can see both climate change’s theatre and some of its actors. The artists are then invited to respond, to become actors themselves. The DVD
Art from a Changing Arctic
documents the first three Cape Farewell expeditions to Svalbard, while
Burning Ice
records some of the responses by the artists.

It’s a varied book, as you’ll see. There is visual art, both photographic, pictorial and sculptural, there are essays, both scientific, giving a good recap about climate change, and personal, relating the reactions of individuals to that change.
Burning Ice
came out in 2006 and it’s already out of date. In one essay, a scientist states that by 2050 there will be no more summer ice in the Arctic. Scientists are now predicting such a disappearance by 2013. Only three years on and matters have already gotten worse. It’s easy to fall into pessimism when contemplating climate change. “Such a global calamity—what can I do?” The great quality of
Burning Ice
is that it shows what can be done: one can respond. Of course, a painting, a photograph, a string of words won’t save the planet. But it’s the beginning of coming to grips with the issue. Climate change on its own is an impersonal force, deeply disempowering. Art inspired by climate change, because the making of art is personally involving, a whole-person activity, is empowering, both for the maker and the spectator.