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The Bibliophile: Goran Simić, 1952–2024

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Goran Simić: 1952–2024

Photo: Goran Simić reading at The Windsor Festival of the Book, November 2003, the day he and publisher Dan Wells first met.

This past weekend I spent the better part of forty hours digging through old boxes dating to the earliest days of Biblioasis. A couple of archivists were coming to town on Monday and Tuesday to assess a potential acquisition and I wanted to make sure that the press archives were in presentable condition. It’s been a long-running joke at the office that I don’t recycle, I archive, which also explains the shape of some of the boxes I sorted through: photographs alongside event posters alongside production files alongside edited manuscripts and other press and literary ephemera. It made me nostalgic—which is, admittedly, not very hard to do—but this state was aggravated by the fact that in less than a week it will be the twentieth anniversary of the publication of our first book, Salvatore Ala’s Straight Razor & Other Poems. At one point we intended to mark this anniversary with some celebrations, but publishing continues to be hard, so outside of a few notes and posts in places like this, we’ll be focusing our energies on more essential things, like celebrating our authors and their books.

I got lucky early in my delvings, unearthing a range of photographs, documents, and ephemera from 2004–2006, when Biblioasis began to take shape as a press. And items even older than those. In a very real way, Biblioasis Press was conceived as a result of my work running The Windsor Festival of the Book, which began in 2002. I discovered copies of festival programs, posters, and photographs from the first couple of years, including many writers who would become central to Biblioasis as it developed: Caroline Adderson, Mark Kingwell, John Metcalf, Judith McCormack, and Leon Rooke, among others. And Goran Simić.

Photo: Hardcover and paperback editions of From Sarajevo, With Sorrow (Biblioasis) and Sprinting from the Graveyard (Oxford) by Goran Simić.

In my second year running the festival, we partnered with PEN Canada, who put together a panel of Paulo da Costa, Rishma Dunlop, Goran Simić, and a couple of other writers. I was determined to read at least one book by everyone who participated in our festival: Goran Simić had two titles available in English, Immigrant Blues, recently published by Brick Books, and Sprinting from the Graveyard, a gathering, by David Harsent, of English “versions” of Goran’s poetry dealing with the Serbo–Croatian war, published by Oxford but at that point already out of print. I found copies of both and read them, but it was the latter that especially quickened my pulse. Not yet knowing enough about publishing, I urged Goran to get it again into print; he drew hard on his pipe and did something with his body that, though not a shrug, made it clear that it was out of his hands. (His inscription in my copy: November, cold day 2003 / For Daniel, who surprised me with this book.) Later that evening, at the festival afterparty, I sat down with Kitty Lewis, the long-time managing editor of Brick Books, and enthused about Sprinting and how someone needed to bring it back. Between alcohol and enthusiasm I came on too strong, an occupational hazard, and at some point, exacerbated, she threw her hands above her head to be rid of me and said that if I thought it should be back in print so badly then why didn’t I do it?

That question lingered for months. The main answer was that it seemed an ultimate hubris. I wasn’t a real publisher, and certainly not the kind Goran Simić needed or should expect. We were planning a short fiction chapbook series and our first trade book, but I’d not yet even published anything. I wanted to do more, but had no way of attracting better manuscripts: the few I’d managed to solicit were terrible. So, one afternoon in the early summer of 2004, faking courage (the title of my publishing memoir), I wrote to Goran and told him that Kitty’s challenge had been weighing on me: would he let Biblioasis publish him? The answer came in the mail with not one but two manuscripts, what would become Biblioasis’s second and third trade books: the poetry collections From Sarajevo, With Sorrow, and the story collection Yesterday’s People.

Photo: Yesterday’s People and Sunrise in the Eyes of the Snowman by Goran Simić.

It had originally been my intent to simply republish Sprinting from the Graveyard as it was, but I knew nothing of copyright then and did not know that Goran did not control these poems: they belonged to Harsent. This, in my ignorance, seemed an injustice. Further, after other conversations with Goran, I learned that he had grave misgivings about Harsent’s “versions” as a result of liberties taken with his original poems: Harsent’s were scrubbed of the raw immediacy of the war. So after discussions with his ex-wife, Amela Marin, we decided to retranslate the collection, and Amela got to work, finishing a draft later that year for a planned Spring 2005 publication. We worked on it via email through the fall, but decided to do the final editing in person.

Over this period, we published Salvatore Ala’s Straight Razor and the first volumes in the Biblioasis short fiction series, including Leon Rooke’s novella Balduchi’s Who’s Who. Goran owned a building with his new partner at 226 Carlton in Toronto’s Cabbagetown, where he had a restaurant called Octopus’ Garden (and later Fellini’s Shoe), and suggested that we launch the press there. We did so on January 29, 2005, with Sal Ala, Rishma Dunlop, Leon Rooke, and Goran. The evening was so exhilarating that I suffered an adrenaline and dopamine hit from which I’ve not yet recovered. That date might mark the moment that the press was born as more than a sideline hustle of an unpractical used book dealer. It seemed, after the struggles of attracting audiences of any size in Windsor, almost too easy. (Later experiences taught me that night was an aberration.) More than a hundred people showed up at Goran’s small bar; it was so crowded that Thomas King offered to be my bookseller for the night just to have a place to sit. The applause was loudest and longest for Goran Simić. And the next day, while Goran helped us nurse our hangovers with a bottle of cognac from behind the bar, Sal and I worked with Amela at the front table in the Octopus’ Garden to make the final edits on the book that became From Sarajevo, With Sorrow. I remember the grey January light smudging through the Victorian front window of his Carlton restaurant, the dust glinting in the dim air, like us, still a little unsettled from the previous night. By the time Sal and I packed up to head home down the 401—a trip I’ve since made hundreds of times over the last twenty years—Biblioasis’s second book was ready for the press.

LEFT: Poster for ‘Not Just Another Reading Series…’ with Goran Simić and Zach Wells, February 13th 2006, presented by Biblioasis and the Flying Monkey Cafe & Juice Bar. RIGHT: Menu for Fellini’s Shoe.

I would work with Goran on two other books: the short story collection Yesterday’s People, published later that same year and also dealing with his war experiences, and 2010’s Sunrise in the Eyes of the Snowman, Goran’s first (and perhaps only) book written in English. His place at 226 Carton, in various incarnations, became Biblioasis’s Toronto home for launches and other events for several years, his spare bedroom often the place I laid my head. A tour this week through the internet’s scattered memory reminded me that we’d planned a selected poems, taken from his untranslated Serbian books. “I have joined the ranks,” he’d written in the introduction to From Sarajevo, With Sorrow, “of those poets who have lost their own tribal language and country, and then gone on to a place where the weight of previously published books is worth almost nothing.” It had been our hope, at the time, to change that, but the manuscript never materialized. I’ve been alerted too often of late of what we forget.

What I remember: the sharp, appealing funk of pipe and garlic; his laugh—he was always laughing—and the gravelly intonation of his English; his eyes sparking, an early warning of a gentle jibe; joking and flirting with anyone with whom he came into contact. (“X reminds me of a big hamburger.” A considered pause. “And I like hamburgers.”) Drinking cognac at Carlton into the evening as a kind of medicinal remedy as he gave me publishing advice and urged me to be more serious. I envied most of all his apparent ease in all things, especially as a person for whom nothing ever seems particularly easy.

I remember him playing soccer with my at-the-time very young son with an empty water bottle in our front yard in Windsor, the sound of glee and childish laughter as they booted around this increasingly crumpled bit of plastic, and not being sure who was laughing hardest or having more fun. I loved him for this, and even after our relationship soured and failed—two supremely impractical men increasingly alienated over necessarily practical matters—I would occasionally remember that crumpled plastic, that laughter, the sparkle, and love him again.

I thought about all this on Friday and Saturday and Sunday as I sorted through some of these earliest records. Grateful all over again for Goran, how his books and the work we did on them in 2004 and 2005 helped to give the press an initial direction and identity, and again saddened at our alienation. I thought, for the first time in many years, of reaching out to him. So when Amela’s message came via Facebook this Tuesday that he’d died on September 29, perhaps at the moment that I was sorting through the posters and restaurant menus and galleys, my sadness deepened. In place of reaching out to him, I’ve now written this.

Photo: Goran Simić reading at The Windsor Festival of the Book, November 2003.

In the introduction to From Sarajevo, With Sorrow he asks “for whom were these poems written under candlelight, between 1992 and 1995?” His answer is worth reading in full, but I’ll give another small bit of it here:

The lines I wrote were written in the belief that, when compared with the cold newspaper reports which would be forgotten with the start of a new war elsewhere, only poetry can be a true and decent witness to war. I remain uncertain whether this is because the history of horror is a bad teacher or we are bad pupils. I simply wrote what I saw. Perhaps I wrote them to explain to myself the fear in my children’s eyes when they walked along streets covered in blood. Or to comfort myself with the fact that I went to so many funerals, but nobody went to mine. New wars have indeed replaced old wars, and it’s hard to believe that ten years have passed since my own war ended, ten years since I wrote these poems as a poet, a witness, and a survivor.

And it’s hard to believe that ten years have passed since I last spoke with Goran, and that in this time where new wars have replaced old wars he isn’t here, as poet, as witness.

Facebook is a useful tool for a flagellant, but it can give some relief as well: to see Goran akilter with his pipe and his dog and his smile. It’s okay: I can still hear his laugh.

Dan Wells,
Publisher

Goran Simić crosses the Mitjacka River on a water run. Frontispiece, From Sarajevo, With Sorrow. Photo Credit: Gilles Peress.

THE FACE OF SORROW

I have seen the face of sorrow. It is the face of
the Sarajevo wind leafing through newspapers
glued to the street by a puddle of blood as I
pass with a loaf of bread under my arm.

As I run across the bridge, full water canisters
in hand, it is the face of the river carrying the
corpse of a woman on whose wrist I notice
a watch.

I saw that face again in the gesture of a hand
shoving a child’s shoe into a December furnace.

It is the face I find in inscriptions on the back of
family photographs fallen from a garbage truck.

It is the face which resists the pencil, incapable of
inventing the vocabulary of sorrow, the face with
which I wake to watch my neighbor standing
by the window, night after night, staring into
the dark.

—Goran Simić, From Saravejo, With Sorrow

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In good publicity news:

COCKTAIL shortlisted for the Danuta Gleed Literary Award!

We’re pleased to share that this morning, The Writers’ Union of Canada announced the shortlist for the 2023 Danuta Gleed Literary Award, which includes Cocktail by Lisa Alward (Sep 12, 2023)! Check out the full shortlist announcement here.

About Cocktail, the jury praised:

“Lisa Alward’s Cocktail is skilful in its ability to capture the nuance and details of daily life in a way that is striking and deeply felt. With beautiful, precise descriptions and expert pacing, she effortlessly reveals tensions that feel both classic and utterly her own. Exploring the emotional and sexual tensions of couples and families in the Sixties and Seventies, these narratives bring the reader to the core of those unspoken moments, leaving us unsettled. The clarity of sound in Lisa Alward’s sentences—word after word after word—makes it impossible to turn your ear away. This is a quiet voice that booms.”

The 27th annual Danuta Gleed Literary Award recognizes the best first collection of short fiction by a Canadian author published in 2023 in the English language. The Award consists of cash prizes for the three best first collections, with a first prize of $10,000 and two additional prizes of $1,000 each.

The winners will be announced on Tuesday, June 11th at noon EDT on Facebook Live on The Writers’ Union of Canada’s page.

Grab your copy of Cocktail here!

ABOUT COCKTAIL

Longlisted for the 2024 Carol Shields Prize for Fiction • Shortlisted for the New Brunswick 2023 Mrs. Dunster’s Award for Fiction • One of the Globe and Mail’s “Sixty-Two Books to Read This Fall” • Listed in CBC Books Fiction to Read in Fall 2023 • A Miramichi Reader Best Book of 2023 • A Tyee Best Book of 2023

“A writer to watch.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

A girl receives a bedtime visit from a drunken party guest, who will haunt her fantasies for years. A young mother discovers underneath the wallpaper a striking portrait that awakens inconvenient desires. A divorced man distracts himself from the mess he’s made by flirting with a stranger. These intimate, immersive stories explore life’s watershed moments, in which seemingly insignificant details—a pot of hyacinths, a freshly painted yellow wall—and the most chance of encounters come to exert a tidal pull. Set in the swinging sixties and each decade since, Cocktail reveals the schism between the lives we build up around us and our deepest hidden selves.

Credit: Maria Cardosa-Grant

ABOUT LISA ALWARD

Lisa Alward’s short fiction has appeared in The Journey Prize and twice in Best Canadian Stories. She has won the Fiddlehead Prize as well as the Peter Hinchcliffe Fiction Award, has been a finalist for The Malahat Review’s Open Season Award, an honourable mention in the Peter Hinchcliffe Award, and been featured on numerous other long lists, including for the CBC Story Prize and Prism International’s Jacob Zilber Prize (three times). She was born and grew up in Halifax and completed an English degree at the University of Toronto and an MA at Queen Mary College in London, England. In the eighties and early nineties, she worked in book publishing in Toronto, before moving with her young family to Vancouver and ultimately to Fredericton, New Brunswick, where at fifty she began to write stories. Cocktail (Biblioasis), which received a starred review in Kirkus Reviews, is her debut collection.

STOOP CITY Wins ReLit Award!

Stoop City coverWe’re thrilled to announce that Stoop City by Kristyn Dunnion has won the 2021 ReLit Award in the short fiction category!

Founded in 2000, The ReLit Awards are awarded annually to book-length works in the novel, short-story and poetry categories, and are considered the preeminent literary prize in independent Canadian publishing.

Stoop City was selected from a shortlist which also included Here The Dark by David Bergen (Biblioasis), Seeking Shade by Frances Boyle (Porcupine’s Quill), The Swan Suit by Katherine Fawcett (Douglas & McIntyre), The End Of Me by John Gould (Freehand), Swimmers in Winter by Faye Guenther (Invisible), Permanent Tourist by Genni Gunn (Signature Editions), Czech Techno by Mark Anthony Jarman (Anvil Press), Dominoes At The Crossroads by Kaie Kellough (Esplanade), Paradise Island and Other Galaxies by Micheal Mirolla (Exile Editions), and Goth Girls Of Banff by John O’Neill (NeWest Press).

 

ABOUT STOOP CITY

Welcome to Stoop City, where your neighbours include a condo-destroying cat, a teen queen beset by Catholic guilt, and an emergency clinic staffed entirely by lovelorn skeptics. Couples counseling with Marzana, her girlfriend’s ghost, might not be enough to resolve past indiscretions; our heroine could need a death goddess ritual or two. Plus, Hoofy’s not sure if his missing scam-artist boyfriend was picked up by the cops, or by that pretty blonde, their last mark. When Jan takes a room at Plague House, her first year of university takes an unexpected turn—into anarcho-politics and direct action, gender studies and late-night shenanigans with Saffy, her captivating yet cagey housemate.

From the lovelorn Mary Louise, who struggles with butch bachelorhood, to rural teens finding—and found by—adult sexualities, to Grimm’s “The Golden Goose” rendered as a jazz dance spectacle, Kristyn Dunnion’s freewheeling collection fosters a radical revisioning of community. Dunnion goes wherever there’s a story to tell—and then, out of whispers and shouts, echoes and snippets, gritty realism and speculative fiction, illuminates the delicate strands that hold us all together.

ABOUT THE AUTHORKristyn Dunnion

Kristyn Dunnion grew up in Essex County, the southernmost tip of Canada, and now lives in Toronto. She is the author of six books, including Tarry This Night and The Dirt Chronicles, a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Her short fiction is widely published, most recently in Best Canadian Stories 2020FoglifterOrca: A Literary Journal, and Toronto 2033. Dunnion works supporting homeless adults with serious mental illness, and has been a healthy food advocate for marginalized communities in Davenport-Perth, where she resides.

 

Order your copy from Biblioasis, or from your local bookstore!

 

 

Events

Mark Jarman at the Cork Short Story Festival

Mark Anthony Jarman, author of Burn Man: Selected Stories, will be appearing at the Cork Short Story Festival in Ireland! Mark will be joined by fellow writer Adam Marek in a discussion moderated by Patrick Holloway.

The event will take place on Friday, October 18 at 7:30PM.

Tickets and more details here.

Grab your copy of Burn Man here!

ABOUT BURN MAN

“Literature at the highest level: heartrending, disquieting, fascinating.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

Drawing together the best of his short fiction published over the last four decades, Burn Man: Selected Stories showcases Mark Anthony Jarman’s sharply observed characters and acrobatic, voice-driven prose in stories that walk the tightrope between the commonplace and the mystical. With an insightful introduction from John Metcalf, this revelatory selection highlights one of the most spirited and singular masters of the short story form.

ABOUT MARK ANTHONY JARMAN

Mark Anthony Jarman is the author of Touch Anywhere to Begin, Czech Techno, Knife Party at the Hotel Europa, My White Planet, 19 Knives, New Orleans Is Sinking, Dancing Nightly in the Tavern, and the travel book Ireland’s Eye. He was an acquisitions editor for Oberon Press, and introduced many new writers through the Coming Attractions series. He is also the editor of Best Canadian Stories 2023. His novel Salvage King Ya!, is on Amazon.ca’s list of 50 Essential Canadian Books and is the number one book on Amazon’s list of best hockey fiction. Widely published in Canada, the US, Europe, and Asia, Jarman is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, a Yaddo fellow, has taught at the University of Victoria, the Banff Centre for the Arts, and the University of New Brunswick, where he has been fiction editor of The Fiddlehead literary journal since 1999. He is also co-editor of literary journal CAMEL.

Caroline Adderson at Whistler Writers Fest: A Conversation with Writers of Fiction

Join Caroline Adderson, author of Giller-longlisted A Way to Be Happy (Sep 10, 2024) at Whistler Writers Fest for the reading event “Compassion and Happiness: A Conversation with Writers of Fiction.” Caroline will be joined by fellow fiction writers Jowita Bydlowska and the winner of the Whistler Independent Book Award for fiction winner, in an exploration of the question “How does the heart learn to find what it needs?” and the interlacing themes of loneliness, connection, duty, and happiness. The event will be moderated by Rebecca Wood Barrett.

The event will take place on Saturday, October 19 at 10:15AM.

More details here.

Grab A Way to Be Happy here!

ABOUT A WAY TO BE HAPPY

Longlisted for the 2024 Giller Prize

Short stories about disparate characters consider what it means to find happiness.

On New Year’s Eve, a pair of addicts robs a string of high-end parties in order to fund their own recovery. A recently separated woman relocates to a small northern town, where she receives a life-changing visitation, and a Russian hitman, suffering from a mysterious lung ailment, retrieves long-buried memories of his past. In the nineteenth century, a disparate group of women coalesce in the attempt to aid a young girl in her escape from a hospital for the insane. These are but some of the remarkable characters who populate these stories, all of them grappling with conflicts ranging from mundane to extraordinary. Caroline Adderson’s A Way to Be Happy considers what it means to find happiness—and how often it comes through the grace of others.

ABOUT CAROLINE ADDERSON

Caroline Adderson is the author of five novels (A Russian Sister, Ellen in Pieces, The Sky Is Falling, Sitting Practice, and A History of Forgetting), two previous collections of short stories (Pleased to Meet You and Bad Imaginings), as well as many books for young readers. Her award nominations include the Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award, the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, two Commonwealth Writers’ Prizes, the Governor General’s Literary Award, the Rogers’ Trust Fiction Prize, and the Scotiabank Giller Prize longlist. The recipient of three BC Book Prizes, three CBC Literary Awards, and the Marian Engel Award for mid-career achievement, Caroline lives and writes in Vancouver.

Caroline Adderson at Whistler Writers Fest: Sunday BookTalk and Breakfast

Join Caroline Adderson, author of Giller-longlisted A Way to Be Happy (Sep 10, 2024) at Whistler Writers Fest for the reading event “Sunday BookTalk and Breakfast.” Caroline will be moderating a conversation between authors Conor Kerr, Bob McDonald, and Leanne Toshiko Simpson in a conversation about their new releases.

The event will take place on Sunday, October 20 at 10:45AM.

More details here.

Grab A Way to Be Happy here!

ABOUT A WAY TO BE HAPPY

Longlisted for the 2024 Giller Prize

Short stories about disparate characters consider what it means to find happiness.

On New Year’s Eve, a pair of addicts robs a string of high-end parties in order to fund their own recovery. A recently separated woman relocates to a small northern town, where she receives a life-changing visitation, and a Russian hitman, suffering from a mysterious lung ailment, retrieves long-buried memories of his past. In the nineteenth century, a disparate group of women coalesce in the attempt to aid a young girl in her escape from a hospital for the insane. These are but some of the remarkable characters who populate these stories, all of them grappling with conflicts ranging from mundane to extraordinary. Caroline Adderson’s A Way to Be Happy considers what it means to find happiness—and how often it comes through the grace of others.

ABOUT CAROLINE ADDERSON

Caroline Adderson is the author of five novels (A Russian Sister, Ellen in Pieces, The Sky Is Falling, Sitting Practice, and A History of Forgetting), two previous collections of short stories (Pleased to Meet You and Bad Imaginings), as well as many books for young readers. Her award nominations include the Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award, the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, two Commonwealth Writers’ Prizes, the Governor General’s Literary Award, the Rogers’ Trust Fiction Prize, and the Scotiabank Giller Prize longlist. The recipient of three BC Book Prizes, three CBC Literary Awards, and the Marian Engel Award for mid-career achievement, Caroline lives and writes in Vancouver.