The Library History Interest Group is soliciting papers for a programme at the Annual Conference of the Canadian Library Association in Edmonton, Alberta, June 2 to 5, 2010. Particular consideration will be given to proposals dealing with the varied aspects of Canadian Library History. Consideration will also be given to papers on other themes.
Selected papers may be published by the Library History Interest Group in conjunction with CLA.
Papers are solicited on any of the following categories of library history:
1. Overviews and syntheses.
2. Studies of particular individuals, institutions, or developments, which provide generalizable interpretations or else serve as case studies.
3. Methodological studies, which look at various aspects of research in library history.
It is anticipated that papers will be based upon personal, funded, institutional, or degree projects. Papers should not have been previously published elsewhere. They should be fully documented, and accompanied by illustrations where appropriate. They may be presented in either English or French.
Deadlines:
September 25, 2009 proposals and brief abstracts
May 1, 2010 completed papers
For further information, or submission of proposals, abstracts, and papers please contact:
Professor Peter F. McNally
School of Information Studies
McGill University 3661 Peel St.
Montreal, QC
H3A 1X1
Telephone: 514-398-3367
FAX: 514-398-7193
email: peter.mcnally@mcgill.ca
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
THE OLD LIBRARY SCRAPBOOK: OLA INTELLECTUAL FREEDOM STATEMENT
Dear Journal:
I found all those pages on censorship and libraries in Ontario and Canada a bit trying. It took a long time for Canadian library associations and librarians to really address the issue of intellectual freedom. A lot of libraries were trying to help set community standards, not defend the right to publish or have free access to legal literature.
But, finally, I found a page from 1963: here's the intellectual freedom statement adopted by the Ontario Library Association at its annual meeting. It seems to be striking a balance between community standards and the rights of individuals.
1) The provision of library service is based on the right of the citizen, within the limits of the law, to judge for himself on politics, religion, and morality;
2) librarians are responsible to maintain this right and implement it in the selection of materials, subject to laws governing the suppression of treasonable, seditious, and obscene literature;
3) freedom of the press requires freedom to examine other ideas and interpretations than those currently approved by the local community or by society, including unpopular and unconventional ones;
4) freedom of the press requires a writer’s freedom to depict ugly, shocking, and unedifying ideas made with serious intent;
5) free traffic in ideas and opinions is essential to the health and growth of a free society;
6) libraries should resist any attempt by any individual or group to abrogate or curtail freedom to read by demanding the removal of materials from the library;
7) libraries should ensure that selection of materials is not unduly influenced by the personal opinions of its selectors, but it determined by the application of generally accepted standards of accuracy, style, and presentation
It doesn't speak to the issue of using rooms, etc. for meetings, but it was good start.
BFN
I found all those pages on censorship and libraries in Ontario and Canada a bit trying. It took a long time for Canadian library associations and librarians to really address the issue of intellectual freedom. A lot of libraries were trying to help set community standards, not defend the right to publish or have free access to legal literature.
But, finally, I found a page from 1963: here's the intellectual freedom statement adopted by the Ontario Library Association at its annual meeting. It seems to be striking a balance between community standards and the rights of individuals.
1) The provision of library service is based on the right of the citizen, within the limits of the law, to judge for himself on politics, religion, and morality;
2) librarians are responsible to maintain this right and implement it in the selection of materials, subject to laws governing the suppression of treasonable, seditious, and obscene literature;
3) freedom of the press requires freedom to examine other ideas and interpretations than those currently approved by the local community or by society, including unpopular and unconventional ones;
4) freedom of the press requires a writer’s freedom to depict ugly, shocking, and unedifying ideas made with serious intent;
5) free traffic in ideas and opinions is essential to the health and growth of a free society;
6) libraries should resist any attempt by any individual or group to abrogate or curtail freedom to read by demanding the removal of materials from the library;
7) libraries should ensure that selection of materials is not unduly influenced by the personal opinions of its selectors, but it determined by the application of generally accepted standards of accuracy, style, and presentation
It doesn't speak to the issue of using rooms, etc. for meetings, but it was good start.
BFN
Friday, August 07, 2009
THE OLD LIBRARY SCRAPBOOK: STEINBECK'S GRAPES OF WRATH IN TORONTO
Dear Journal:
Searching through some old library album pages I came upon summer 1939. Very interesting! Seventy summers ago Europe (and Canada by extension with Britain) was headed to war. But life goes on of course and Toronto library readers were taking out some good reads like Daphne du Maurier’s bestseller "Rebecca" or Margery Sharp’s "Harlequin House." "Mein Kampf" was available too if you were so inclined.
But patrons weren't checking out John Steinbeck's new novel at Toronto's library circulation desk even though it was getting rave reviews across North America. Nominated for some awards also. Although "Grapes of Wrath" managed to get through Canada Custom's agents at the border and booksellers in Canada were racking up good sales, it was a bit too risque for many libraries. The struggle of the dispossessed Okie migrants in California seemed to be an indictment of the existing capitalist system in general--a bad thing to some. But it was really the author's raw language that got many people upset. Perhaps there were too many "Goddams" and "Christ's sake" for the Toronto library, after all the library helped stand for moral uplift in "Toronto the Good." All that fuss about the American Library Association's adoption of the "Bill of Rights" in the same summer didn't affect Ontario librarians for a long time.
Of course, some people wrote into the Globe and Mail and Daily Star to complain about "Grapes'" absence from the library. They had to go to the bookstore to get their copy. "Its not censorship, its book selection" and "there's only so much money to buy books" were the library's main line of defence when the papers probed for information. I know years later, the library did get "Grapes" so I guess the wait was worth it. It didn't hurt bookstore sales or the city's rental libraries in the city. Eatons and Simpsons had a lot of popular books for sale or loan.
By the way Journal, I noticed 1939 was the birth of Canada's first national library association--a small group of dedicated children's librarians. They decided a formal association was needed after the joint meeting of provincial and special library associations in Montreal earlier in the year. But that's another story...
BFN
Searching through some old library album pages I came upon summer 1939. Very interesting! Seventy summers ago Europe (and Canada by extension with Britain) was headed to war. But life goes on of course and Toronto library readers were taking out some good reads like Daphne du Maurier’s bestseller "Rebecca" or Margery Sharp’s "Harlequin House." "Mein Kampf" was available too if you were so inclined.
But patrons weren't checking out John Steinbeck's new novel at Toronto's library circulation desk even though it was getting rave reviews across North America. Nominated for some awards also. Although "Grapes of Wrath" managed to get through Canada Custom's agents at the border and booksellers in Canada were racking up good sales, it was a bit too risque for many libraries. The struggle of the dispossessed Okie migrants in California seemed to be an indictment of the existing capitalist system in general--a bad thing to some. But it was really the author's raw language that got many people upset. Perhaps there were too many "Goddams" and "Christ's sake" for the Toronto library, after all the library helped stand for moral uplift in "Toronto the Good." All that fuss about the American Library Association's adoption of the "Bill of Rights" in the same summer didn't affect Ontario librarians for a long time.
Of course, some people wrote into the Globe and Mail and Daily Star to complain about "Grapes'" absence from the library. They had to go to the bookstore to get their copy. "Its not censorship, its book selection" and "there's only so much money to buy books" were the library's main line of defence when the papers probed for information. I know years later, the library did get "Grapes" so I guess the wait was worth it. It didn't hurt bookstore sales or the city's rental libraries in the city. Eatons and Simpsons had a lot of popular books for sale or loan.
By the way Journal, I noticed 1939 was the birth of Canada's first national library association--a small group of dedicated children's librarians. They decided a formal association was needed after the joint meeting of provincial and special library associations in Montreal earlier in the year. But that's another story...
BFN
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
ELIZABETH HOMER MORTON AND THE CANADIAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
REVIEW: THE MORTON YEARS: THE CANADIAN LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, 1946-1971 by Elizabeth Hulse.
Toronto: Ex Libris Association, 1995.
The genesis for this book dates to 1987 when the Ex Libris Association set out to honour the memory of Elizabeth Homer Morton (1903-77), the long-time executive director of the Canadian Library Association (CLA) and an important leader in Canada's twentieth-century library history. The Morton Years covers CLA's first quarter century and highlights Morton's contributions during her tenure of office (1944-68).
Elizabeth Hulse, a bibliographer and historical writer, has aimed for a broad readership: persons interested in librarianship, libraries, and the conditions that promoted progress in these areas during the postwar era's rapid growth of educational services. The Morton Years is a concise, authoritative history which will be recognized as a standard reference for many years. Hulse has delved into the CLA manuscript sources at the National Archives and has recorded a number of oral histories with former CLA officers. Researchers will be rewarded by studying the footnotes despite the fact that CLA's archives are not complete and that the administrative nature of many documents (often recorded or edited by Morton) are often unrewarding in terms of personal details or controversy.
A short introduction (1-12) provides a useful synopsis about the foundation of CLA in 1946. This account will likely undergo revision after a forthcoming publication (not available to the author) by William Buxton and Charles Acland on the Charles McCombs Report of 1941 appears. This new work will document the extent of American influence and financing for the educational goals that Canadian librarians actively pursued during the second world war and its immediate aftermath.
The progress of many worthy CLA projects which Morton helped orchestrate between 1946-65 is traced in two chapters (13-52): the foundation of the National Library in Ottawa; the microfilming of historical newspapers; the development of the Canadian Periodical Index; successful publication ventures; the professionalization of librarianship; a CLA statement on intellectual freedom; and submissions to federal royal commissions to promote literacy, information services, women's rights, and bilingualism.
Hulse then addresses the problems faced by CLA in the mid-1960s and subsequent changes (53-90). Initially, CLA's organizational structure reflected the small base of its membership, but, by the mid-1960s, there were 2,500 members and the executive group which Morton guided was sometimes criticized as "out of touch." Under the terms of the first constitution only "library" members employed by libraries or library school graduates were eligible for election to the executive, which was assisted by a few councillors and section chairs (e.g., cataloging) in a formal legislative body. By 1971, the expanded membership had decided to reorganize along the lines of a "type-of-library" model with the presidents of five divisions (e.g., school libraries) serving on the executive along with elected representatives from regional library organizations. In this revised formation, a larger executive and council was deemed to be more responsive and representative. In addition, membership provisions were extended to all persons interested in the general welfare of library services.
In retrospect, it is clear that changes came about because CLA was not always effective in coping with professional issues or balancing diverse regional interests. This perspective is most evident in Hulse's description of the gradual withdrawal of francophones into their own national organization in the mid-1960s (72-77). Effectively, by centennial year, CLA had become a unilingual national organization less attentive to professional concerns.
A final chapter (91-104) focuses on CLA's search for a successor and Morton's retirement. Hulse addresses a number of sensitive questions about CLA's chronic financial problems, and the pressures its executive confronted by attempting to replace someone who had worn many organizational hats. Most participants convey the impression that they felt Morton could not really be replaced (her successor left after three years). Morton's qualities as an executive officer, her management style, character, and leadership abilities are recounted at this point by Hulse, who concludes with a very brief summary of CLA's accomplishments.
Throughout the Morton Years, Hulse balances the demand to study the development of CLA and to personalize Morton's role as a catalyst and administrator. At certain critical points, such as the search for a successor, the sources are not complete enough to provide more satisfying explanations or historical narrative. By all accounts, Morton was a hard working, dedicated professional. Her career coincided with a labour market that offered a limited number of relatively low-paying professional career opportunities for women and with social conventions that dictated that they must resign their positions if they married. Morton did not directly challenge these barriers. Instead, she focused her energies on improving librarians' educational and occupational attainment through association activities on a national scale to redress gender workplace inequality, a typical response in the library community.
Overall, Hulse has woven a reliable account of CLA's postwar growth and demonstrated the outstanding contribution one person can make to a national organization. Elizabeth Morton deservedly received a Centennial Medal and became a member of the Order of Canada in 1968.
Although it was published almost 15 years ago, the book is still available from the Ex Libris group at their website at U of Toronto.
Toronto: Ex Libris Association, 1995.
The genesis for this book dates to 1987 when the Ex Libris Association set out to honour the memory of Elizabeth Homer Morton (1903-77), the long-time executive director of the Canadian Library Association (CLA) and an important leader in Canada's twentieth-century library history. The Morton Years covers CLA's first quarter century and highlights Morton's contributions during her tenure of office (1944-68).
Elizabeth Hulse, a bibliographer and historical writer, has aimed for a broad readership: persons interested in librarianship, libraries, and the conditions that promoted progress in these areas during the postwar era's rapid growth of educational services. The Morton Years is a concise, authoritative history which will be recognized as a standard reference for many years. Hulse has delved into the CLA manuscript sources at the National Archives and has recorded a number of oral histories with former CLA officers. Researchers will be rewarded by studying the footnotes despite the fact that CLA's archives are not complete and that the administrative nature of many documents (often recorded or edited by Morton) are often unrewarding in terms of personal details or controversy.
A short introduction (1-12) provides a useful synopsis about the foundation of CLA in 1946. This account will likely undergo revision after a forthcoming publication (not available to the author) by William Buxton and Charles Acland on the Charles McCombs Report of 1941 appears. This new work will document the extent of American influence and financing for the educational goals that Canadian librarians actively pursued during the second world war and its immediate aftermath.
The progress of many worthy CLA projects which Morton helped orchestrate between 1946-65 is traced in two chapters (13-52): the foundation of the National Library in Ottawa; the microfilming of historical newspapers; the development of the Canadian Periodical Index; successful publication ventures; the professionalization of librarianship; a CLA statement on intellectual freedom; and submissions to federal royal commissions to promote literacy, information services, women's rights, and bilingualism.
Hulse then addresses the problems faced by CLA in the mid-1960s and subsequent changes (53-90). Initially, CLA's organizational structure reflected the small base of its membership, but, by the mid-1960s, there were 2,500 members and the executive group which Morton guided was sometimes criticized as "out of touch." Under the terms of the first constitution only "library" members employed by libraries or library school graduates were eligible for election to the executive, which was assisted by a few councillors and section chairs (e.g., cataloging) in a formal legislative body. By 1971, the expanded membership had decided to reorganize along the lines of a "type-of-library" model with the presidents of five divisions (e.g., school libraries) serving on the executive along with elected representatives from regional library organizations. In this revised formation, a larger executive and council was deemed to be more responsive and representative. In addition, membership provisions were extended to all persons interested in the general welfare of library services.
In retrospect, it is clear that changes came about because CLA was not always effective in coping with professional issues or balancing diverse regional interests. This perspective is most evident in Hulse's description of the gradual withdrawal of francophones into their own national organization in the mid-1960s (72-77). Effectively, by centennial year, CLA had become a unilingual national organization less attentive to professional concerns.
A final chapter (91-104) focuses on CLA's search for a successor and Morton's retirement. Hulse addresses a number of sensitive questions about CLA's chronic financial problems, and the pressures its executive confronted by attempting to replace someone who had worn many organizational hats. Most participants convey the impression that they felt Morton could not really be replaced (her successor left after three years). Morton's qualities as an executive officer, her management style, character, and leadership abilities are recounted at this point by Hulse, who concludes with a very brief summary of CLA's accomplishments.
Throughout the Morton Years, Hulse balances the demand to study the development of CLA and to personalize Morton's role as a catalyst and administrator. At certain critical points, such as the search for a successor, the sources are not complete enough to provide more satisfying explanations or historical narrative. By all accounts, Morton was a hard working, dedicated professional. Her career coincided with a labour market that offered a limited number of relatively low-paying professional career opportunities for women and with social conventions that dictated that they must resign their positions if they married. Morton did not directly challenge these barriers. Instead, she focused her energies on improving librarians' educational and occupational attainment through association activities on a national scale to redress gender workplace inequality, a typical response in the library community.
Overall, Hulse has woven a reliable account of CLA's postwar growth and demonstrated the outstanding contribution one person can make to a national organization. Elizabeth Morton deservedly received a Centennial Medal and became a member of the Order of Canada in 1968.
Although it was published almost 15 years ago, the book is still available from the Ex Libris group at their website at U of Toronto.
Monday, April 06, 2009
INSTITUTE OF PROFESSIONAL LIBRARIANS OF ONTARIO
Recently a paper on IPLO was published by Greg Linnell in the Canadian Journal of Information and Library Science : The Institute of Professional Librarians of Ontario; On the History and Historiography of a Professional Association. Greg is interested in library history and is currently at the Library Services Centre in Kitchener, ON.
Greg Linnell's descriptive analysis of the histories of the Institute of Professional Librarians of Ontario (1960–1976) reveals not only the circumstances surrounding the creation, growth, and decline of this singular expression of the professionalization of librarianship but also foregrounds the ways in which the historical narration of the profession must look beyond the traditional delineation of intrinsic traits in order to circumscribe librarianship more adequately. To that end, consideration is given to one important factor, the Royal Commission Inquiry into Civil Rights (1964–71). It is evident that historical recovery of this sort is crucial to the profession’s self-understanding as it negotiates its contemporary stance with respect to both librarians and the publics that they serve.
Greg has agreed to let me post this here, so please take time to read about. IPLO was an important Association, esp. in the 1960s, that expressed many librarians' views about professionalism in Ontario and their efforts to create a professional organization that could speak for librarians in all types of libraries.
To download Greg's article just go to : IPLO
If you have information IPLO that you would like to share, just point to the comment and let us know about your ideas.
Greg Linnell's descriptive analysis of the histories of the Institute of Professional Librarians of Ontario (1960–1976) reveals not only the circumstances surrounding the creation, growth, and decline of this singular expression of the professionalization of librarianship but also foregrounds the ways in which the historical narration of the profession must look beyond the traditional delineation of intrinsic traits in order to circumscribe librarianship more adequately. To that end, consideration is given to one important factor, the Royal Commission Inquiry into Civil Rights (1964–71). It is evident that historical recovery of this sort is crucial to the profession’s self-understanding as it negotiates its contemporary stance with respect to both librarians and the publics that they serve.
Greg has agreed to let me post this here, so please take time to read about. IPLO was an important Association, esp. in the 1960s, that expressed many librarians' views about professionalism in Ontario and their efforts to create a professional organization that could speak for librarians in all types of libraries.
To download Greg's article just go to : IPLO
If you have information IPLO that you would like to share, just point to the comment and let us know about your ideas.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
ONTARIO LIBRARY ASSOCIATION SUPER CONFERENCE 2009 -- TORONTO
Saturday, January 31, 10:40 a.m.
I am going to be speaking on "Regional Libraries come to Ontario" and covering the period before 1966 when regional library systems were part and parcel of a revamped and enlarged Public Libraries Act that swept away many older vestiges of our library past and introduced many new ideas. Did the 1960s make us change radically in public libraries as it did in other cultural matters like music, movies, dress, behaviour, politics, etc. etc.?
Well, I think for public libraries it changed many things and the concept of regionalization for services across Ontario was an important one that unleashed ideas that had been held in check because the structure of service in our province had not kept pace with the realities of expanding populations, multicultural change, and technological developments.
The regional systems of the 1960s enabled changes that linger today, even if the regional structures themselves are no longer in existence. The regional library concept that developed in Ontario's public libraries from the 1930s to 60s was a flexible one that drew on many ideas and examples from the UK, US, and other Canadian provinces.
If you can't come -- you can view the powerpoint presentation here:
Enjoy
I am going to be speaking on "Regional Libraries come to Ontario" and covering the period before 1966 when regional library systems were part and parcel of a revamped and enlarged Public Libraries Act that swept away many older vestiges of our library past and introduced many new ideas. Did the 1960s make us change radically in public libraries as it did in other cultural matters like music, movies, dress, behaviour, politics, etc. etc.?
Well, I think for public libraries it changed many things and the concept of regionalization for services across Ontario was an important one that unleashed ideas that had been held in check because the structure of service in our province had not kept pace with the realities of expanding populations, multicultural change, and technological developments.
The regional systems of the 1960s enabled changes that linger today, even if the regional structures themselves are no longer in existence. The regional library concept that developed in Ontario's public libraries from the 1930s to 60s was a flexible one that drew on many ideas and examples from the UK, US, and other Canadian provinces.
If you can't come -- you can view the powerpoint presentation here:
Enjoy
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY'S ONTARIO LIBRARY CONNECTIONS
There are many enthusiastic Lucy Maud fans and scholars across the world, and the recent University of Guelph library's Montgomery conference held last weekend (Oct. 24 - 27) was a great success.
What many people do not know about are the library connections with Montgomery here in Ontario. After she moved to Swansea (now Toronto) in 1935, she became a library trustee on the local library committee, the Swansea Memorial Free Public Library that had been formed after WWI. Unfortunately, this coincided to some extent with Montgomery's later years that often saw her slip into a depressed state for some time (e.g., she really did not make many entries in her famous journal after the start of WWII). She did not write about libraries .... unfortunately for us. As a trustee, Montgomery would have been responsible for attending regular meetings, looking at finances, approving book purchases, etc. in the small Swansea operation.
But there is another connection as well. In 1929, Montgomery was asked to publish a short autobiography in the old Ontario Library Review that ran from 1916-1982. This was part of a series of articles by "famous" Canadian authors, and of course Montgomery easily qualified on that score. It makes for interesting reading, especially her stated love for poetry, her recollection about her father, and her obvious interest in her own book collection.
As this article in OLR (published by the Ontario Dept. of Education) is sometimes difficult to get a hold of, I am reprinting it here in this post as follows:
_____________________
An Autobiographical Sketch
By L.M. Montgomery
I wish it were permissible to write fiction about oneself when asked for “an autobiographical sketch.” I get so tired of writing the same old facts over and over. As Anne herself said, I could imagine a heap of things about myself far more interesting than what I know! Any one of the “dream lives” I have lived by the score would be really thrilling.
I was born – praise to the gods! – in Prince Edward Island – the colourful little land of ruby and emerald sapphire. I come of Scottish ancestry, with a dash of English and Irish from several “grands” and “greats” and a French origin back in the mists of antiquity. The Montgomery’s emigrated from France in wake of the French Princess who married a Scottish King. But they became so Scotchified eventually that they even had a tartan of their own.
My mother died when I was a baby and I was brought up by my grandparents in the old Macneill homestead at Cavendish – eleven miles from a railway and twenty–four from a town, but only half a mile from one of the finest sea-beaches in the world – the old North Shore.
I went to the “district school” there from six to sixteen. Out of school I lived a simple wholesome happy life on the old farm, ranging through fields and woods, climbing over the rocky “capes” at the shore, picking berries in the “barrens” and apples in big orchards. I am especially thankful my childhood was spent in a spot where there were many trees – trees with personalities of their own, planted and tended by hands long dead, bound up with everything of joy and sorrow that visited my life. The old King orchard in my books, “The Story Girl,” and “The Golden Road,” was drawn from life.
My little existence was very simple and quiet. But it never held a dull moment for me. I had in my imagination a passport to fairyland. In a twinkling I could whisk myself into regions of wonderful adventure, unhampered by any restrictions of reality.
For anything I know I might have been born reading and writing. I have no recollection of learning to do either. I devoured every book I could lay my hands on and new most of “Paradise Lost” and “The Pilgrim’s Progress” by heart when I was eight. Novels were taboo, but fortunately there was no ban on poetry. I could revel it will in “the music of the immortals” – Tennyson, Byron, Scott, Milton, Burns. And one wonderful day when I was nine years old I discovered that I could write “poetry” myself!
It was called “Autumn,” and I wrote it on the back of an old post-office, “letter bill” – for writing paper was not too plentiful in that old farmhouse, where nothing was ever written save an occasional letter. I read it aloud to father. Father said it didn’t sound much like poetry. “It’s blank verse,” I cried. “Very blank,” said father.
I determined that my next poem should rhyme. And I wrote yards of verses about flowers and months and trees and stars and sunsets and addressed “Lines” to my friends. When I was thirteen I began sending verses to the Island weekly paper – and never heard either of or from them. Perhaps this is because I did not send any return stamps – being then in blissful ignorance of such a requirement.
Before this, however, when I was eleven years old, I had begun writing stories. I had a boxful of them – many tragic creations in which nearly everybody died. The “happy ending” was a thing unknown to me then. In those tales, “battle, murder and sudden death” were the order of the day.
When I was fifteen I had my first ride on a railway train, and it was a long one. I went out to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, and spent a year with father who was living there. During that winter I sent a “poem,” written around one of the dramatic legends of the old North Shore, down to Charlottetown Patriot – and the Patriot printed it –thereby giving me the greatest moment of my life!
Being now, as I thought, fairly launched on a career, I kept sending verses to various papers and began to plume myself on being quite the literary person. I returned to Prince Edward Island the next summer, attended school for another year, then went to Prince of Wales College, Charlottetown, to qualify for a teacher’s licence. After that I taught a year. During these years I was writing all sorts of stuff, mainly verses and short stories, but had never succeeded in getting into any periodical that paid anything. All the stuff I sent to other magazines came promptly back. I used to feel woefully discouraged at times over those icy rejection slips. But I kept on. Whatever gifts the gods had denied me they had at least dowered me with stick-to-it-iveness!
After teaching a year I went to Halifax and spent a winter taking a selected course in English literature at Dalhousie College. One day in that winter I got a letter from the editor of an American juvenile magazine accepting a short story I had sent him and enclosing a check for five whole dollars. Never in all my life have I felt so rich as I did then! Did I spend it for needed boots and gloves? I did not. I wanted to get something I could keep forever in memory of having “arrived.” I hied me down town and purchased leather-bound dollar editions of Milton, Byron, Wordsworth, Longfellow, and Tennyson. I have repented me of many things rashly bought in my life, but never of those. I have them yet – dingy and shabby now – but with the springs of eternal life still bubbling freshly in them. Not that I do not love many modern poets. I do. But the old magic was good and remains good.
I taught two more years. Then grandfather died and I went home to stay with grandmother. She and I lived there alone together in the old farmhouse for thirteen years, with the exception of one winter which I spent in Halifax working as proof-reader and general handy-man on the staff of the Daily Echo. In those years I wrote literally thousands of poems and stories – most of the latter being juveniles for the United States periodicals, the Canadian magazine market at that time being practically non-existent.
I had always hoped to write a book – but I never seemed able to make a beginning. I have always hated beginning a story. When I get the first paragraph written I always feel as if it were half done. To begin a book seemed quite a stupendous task. Besides, I did not see how I could get time from my regular writing hours. In the end I never deliberately set out to write a book. It just “happened.”
In the spring of 1904 I was looking over my note book of plots for an idea for a short serial I had been asked to write for a certain Sunday School paper. I found a faded entry, written many years before, “Elderly couple apply to orphan asylum for boy. By mistake girl is sent them.” I thought this would do. I began to “block out” the chapters, devise incidents, and “brood up” my heroine. Anne began to expand in such a fashion that she soon seemed very real to me. I thought it rather a shame to waste her on an ephemeral seven-chapter serial. Then the thought came, “Make a book of it. You have the central idea and the heroine. All you need do is to spread it over enough chapters to amount a book.”
The result was “Anne of Green Gables.” I wrote it in the evenings after my regular day’s work was done. The next thing was to find a publisher. I typed it myself on my old second-hand typewriter that never made the capitals plain and wouldn’t print “w” at all. Then I began sending it out – and kept on, because the publishers did not jump at it. It came back to me five times. The sixth time it was accepted. “Anne of Green Gables” was published in 1908. I did not dream it would be the success it has been. I thought girls in their teens might like it but that was the only audience I hoped to reach. Yet men and women who are grandparents, boys at school and college, statesmen at the helm of empires, soldiers in the trenches, old pioneers in the Australian bush, missionaries in China, monks in remote monasteries, Mohammedans in Java and red-headed girls all over the world have written to me of the delight they found in Anne.
With the publication of Green Gables a long struggle was over. Since then I have published thirteen novels and a volume of poems. Poetry was my first love and I have always regretted being false to it. But one must live.
Seventeen years ago I married a Presbyterian minister and came to Ontario to live. I like Ontario muchly but anyone who had once loved “the only Island there is” never really loves any other place. And so the scene of all my books, except the “Blue Castle” has been laid there.
The “Blue Castle” is in Muskoka. Muskoka is the only place I’ve ever been in that could be my Island’s rival in my heart. So I wanted to write a story about it.
My new book, “Magic for Marigold,” will be out next summer. I’ve gone back to “The Island” in it. For there the fairies still abide despite the raucous shrieks of motor cars. There are still a few spots where one who knows may find them.
Ontario Library Review, February 1929
What many people do not know about are the library connections with Montgomery here in Ontario. After she moved to Swansea (now Toronto) in 1935, she became a library trustee on the local library committee, the Swansea Memorial Free Public Library that had been formed after WWI. Unfortunately, this coincided to some extent with Montgomery's later years that often saw her slip into a depressed state for some time (e.g., she really did not make many entries in her famous journal after the start of WWII). She did not write about libraries .... unfortunately for us. As a trustee, Montgomery would have been responsible for attending regular meetings, looking at finances, approving book purchases, etc. in the small Swansea operation.
But there is another connection as well. In 1929, Montgomery was asked to publish a short autobiography in the old Ontario Library Review that ran from 1916-1982. This was part of a series of articles by "famous" Canadian authors, and of course Montgomery easily qualified on that score. It makes for interesting reading, especially her stated love for poetry, her recollection about her father, and her obvious interest in her own book collection.
As this article in OLR (published by the Ontario Dept. of Education) is sometimes difficult to get a hold of, I am reprinting it here in this post as follows:
_____________________
An Autobiographical Sketch
By L.M. Montgomery
I wish it were permissible to write fiction about oneself when asked for “an autobiographical sketch.” I get so tired of writing the same old facts over and over. As Anne herself said, I could imagine a heap of things about myself far more interesting than what I know! Any one of the “dream lives” I have lived by the score would be really thrilling.
I was born – praise to the gods! – in Prince Edward Island – the colourful little land of ruby and emerald sapphire. I come of Scottish ancestry, with a dash of English and Irish from several “grands” and “greats” and a French origin back in the mists of antiquity. The Montgomery’s emigrated from France in wake of the French Princess who married a Scottish King. But they became so Scotchified eventually that they even had a tartan of their own.
My mother died when I was a baby and I was brought up by my grandparents in the old Macneill homestead at Cavendish – eleven miles from a railway and twenty–four from a town, but only half a mile from one of the finest sea-beaches in the world – the old North Shore.
I went to the “district school” there from six to sixteen. Out of school I lived a simple wholesome happy life on the old farm, ranging through fields and woods, climbing over the rocky “capes” at the shore, picking berries in the “barrens” and apples in big orchards. I am especially thankful my childhood was spent in a spot where there were many trees – trees with personalities of their own, planted and tended by hands long dead, bound up with everything of joy and sorrow that visited my life. The old King orchard in my books, “The Story Girl,” and “The Golden Road,” was drawn from life.
My little existence was very simple and quiet. But it never held a dull moment for me. I had in my imagination a passport to fairyland. In a twinkling I could whisk myself into regions of wonderful adventure, unhampered by any restrictions of reality.
For anything I know I might have been born reading and writing. I have no recollection of learning to do either. I devoured every book I could lay my hands on and new most of “Paradise Lost” and “The Pilgrim’s Progress” by heart when I was eight. Novels were taboo, but fortunately there was no ban on poetry. I could revel it will in “the music of the immortals” – Tennyson, Byron, Scott, Milton, Burns. And one wonderful day when I was nine years old I discovered that I could write “poetry” myself!
It was called “Autumn,” and I wrote it on the back of an old post-office, “letter bill” – for writing paper was not too plentiful in that old farmhouse, where nothing was ever written save an occasional letter. I read it aloud to father. Father said it didn’t sound much like poetry. “It’s blank verse,” I cried. “Very blank,” said father.
I determined that my next poem should rhyme. And I wrote yards of verses about flowers and months and trees and stars and sunsets and addressed “Lines” to my friends. When I was thirteen I began sending verses to the Island weekly paper – and never heard either of or from them. Perhaps this is because I did not send any return stamps – being then in blissful ignorance of such a requirement.
Before this, however, when I was eleven years old, I had begun writing stories. I had a boxful of them – many tragic creations in which nearly everybody died. The “happy ending” was a thing unknown to me then. In those tales, “battle, murder and sudden death” were the order of the day.
When I was fifteen I had my first ride on a railway train, and it was a long one. I went out to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, and spent a year with father who was living there. During that winter I sent a “poem,” written around one of the dramatic legends of the old North Shore, down to Charlottetown Patriot – and the Patriot printed it –thereby giving me the greatest moment of my life!
Being now, as I thought, fairly launched on a career, I kept sending verses to various papers and began to plume myself on being quite the literary person. I returned to Prince Edward Island the next summer, attended school for another year, then went to Prince of Wales College, Charlottetown, to qualify for a teacher’s licence. After that I taught a year. During these years I was writing all sorts of stuff, mainly verses and short stories, but had never succeeded in getting into any periodical that paid anything. All the stuff I sent to other magazines came promptly back. I used to feel woefully discouraged at times over those icy rejection slips. But I kept on. Whatever gifts the gods had denied me they had at least dowered me with stick-to-it-iveness!
After teaching a year I went to Halifax and spent a winter taking a selected course in English literature at Dalhousie College. One day in that winter I got a letter from the editor of an American juvenile magazine accepting a short story I had sent him and enclosing a check for five whole dollars. Never in all my life have I felt so rich as I did then! Did I spend it for needed boots and gloves? I did not. I wanted to get something I could keep forever in memory of having “arrived.” I hied me down town and purchased leather-bound dollar editions of Milton, Byron, Wordsworth, Longfellow, and Tennyson. I have repented me of many things rashly bought in my life, but never of those. I have them yet – dingy and shabby now – but with the springs of eternal life still bubbling freshly in them. Not that I do not love many modern poets. I do. But the old magic was good and remains good.
I taught two more years. Then grandfather died and I went home to stay with grandmother. She and I lived there alone together in the old farmhouse for thirteen years, with the exception of one winter which I spent in Halifax working as proof-reader and general handy-man on the staff of the Daily Echo. In those years I wrote literally thousands of poems and stories – most of the latter being juveniles for the United States periodicals, the Canadian magazine market at that time being practically non-existent.
I had always hoped to write a book – but I never seemed able to make a beginning. I have always hated beginning a story. When I get the first paragraph written I always feel as if it were half done. To begin a book seemed quite a stupendous task. Besides, I did not see how I could get time from my regular writing hours. In the end I never deliberately set out to write a book. It just “happened.”
In the spring of 1904 I was looking over my note book of plots for an idea for a short serial I had been asked to write for a certain Sunday School paper. I found a faded entry, written many years before, “Elderly couple apply to orphan asylum for boy. By mistake girl is sent them.” I thought this would do. I began to “block out” the chapters, devise incidents, and “brood up” my heroine. Anne began to expand in such a fashion that she soon seemed very real to me. I thought it rather a shame to waste her on an ephemeral seven-chapter serial. Then the thought came, “Make a book of it. You have the central idea and the heroine. All you need do is to spread it over enough chapters to amount a book.”
The result was “Anne of Green Gables.” I wrote it in the evenings after my regular day’s work was done. The next thing was to find a publisher. I typed it myself on my old second-hand typewriter that never made the capitals plain and wouldn’t print “w” at all. Then I began sending it out – and kept on, because the publishers did not jump at it. It came back to me five times. The sixth time it was accepted. “Anne of Green Gables” was published in 1908. I did not dream it would be the success it has been. I thought girls in their teens might like it but that was the only audience I hoped to reach. Yet men and women who are grandparents, boys at school and college, statesmen at the helm of empires, soldiers in the trenches, old pioneers in the Australian bush, missionaries in China, monks in remote monasteries, Mohammedans in Java and red-headed girls all over the world have written to me of the delight they found in Anne.
With the publication of Green Gables a long struggle was over. Since then I have published thirteen novels and a volume of poems. Poetry was my first love and I have always regretted being false to it. But one must live.
Seventeen years ago I married a Presbyterian minister and came to Ontario to live. I like Ontario muchly but anyone who had once loved “the only Island there is” never really loves any other place. And so the scene of all my books, except the “Blue Castle” has been laid there.
The “Blue Castle” is in Muskoka. Muskoka is the only place I’ve ever been in that could be my Island’s rival in my heart. So I wanted to write a story about it.
My new book, “Magic for Marigold,” will be out next summer. I’ve gone back to “The Island” in it. For there the fairies still abide despite the raucous shrieks of motor cars. There are still a few spots where one who knows may find them.
Ontario Library Review, February 1929
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