Marinesko's Legacy

I’m re-reading Ruta Sepetys’s novel, Salt to the Sea, not only because it’s a really good book but also because it’s set near the Baltic—January, 1945. The story centers on the greatest maritime disaster, the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff, when more than nine thousand people (many women and children) drowned in the icy Baltic after three Soviet torpedo strikes.

Bundesarchiv_Bild_183-H27992,_Lazarettschiff_"Wilhelm_Gustloff"_in_Danzig.jpg ‎

I’ll be biking through most of the places Sepetys's that characters travel, but Gdynia, Poland (called Gotenhafen during the Nazi years)—the goal of Sepetys’s four main characters—is not on the itinerary. However, since Gdynia’s only about twenty kilometers further down the coast from Gdansk, perhaps I'll be able to fit in a day trip. Its maritime museums should be interesting.  

Originally part of Poland, Gdynia was once the busiest port on the Baltic. In September 1939, when the Nazis invaded Poland, they renamed it Gotenhafen, (meaning harbor of the gods) and used it as a port for their Kriegsmarine. Crushing attacks in the final months of the war—by both the fleeing Nazis and the offensive Soviets—destroyed most of the city. 

There's a 1960 movie called Darkness fell on Gotenhafen. (Nacht fiel über Gotenhafen) which I will try and hunt down. 

When in Kaliningrad, I’ll be hunting down the bronze sculpture dedicated to the Soviet commander who fired the three fatal S13 torpedoes. Alex Marinesko later ended up in the gulag system because of bad behaviour due to his heavy drinking.  He died in 1963. Decades later, in 1990, he was proclaimed a Hero of the Soviet Union by Gorbachev.

Marinesko is an important character in Günter Grass’s 2002, award-winning novel Crabwalk and over in St. Petersburg, the Submarine Museum is named after him.

Baltic Dreaming

From the Baltic Bike Travel website: www.bbtravel.lt

So excited! Finally, this meanderer gets to do some more off-road meandering. By that, I mean digging around for ghosts still calling for me from overseas. I’ve put down my deposit for a September bike tour from Riga, Latvia, through Lithuania, the Kaliningrad Oblast to Gdansk in Poland. Maybe I’ll find some remnants of my family. An old linden tree, perhaps? Stones, for sure. Amber, maybe. I'll get to hear the rhythm of those Baltic waves pounding the sandy beaches and shiver in the Baltic's salt spray. Can't wait!

For years now, I’ve been immersed in history books, photographs, films and memoirs set in East Prussia of the 1930s and 40s.  I've been digging up my mom’s tumultuous, pre-Canadian, life. 

Biking seems to be the right way to appreciate this natural and historical landscape. Now, if only Manitoba's snow would go away so I could get my cycling muscles into shape. 

Good time for more research. I’ll share some of my reading material soon. Check out the images haunting my dreams here. 

Musing on a Quote

Here's a quote I want to remember.

"This is how novels are nourished—on their authors' passions and obsessions, all those things that cannot be exposed overtly to the outside world for fear of appearing insane...fragments of truth and fantasy." (page 207)

It's from Tatiana deRosnay's biography Manderley Forever about Daphne du Maurier—a book that had mixed reviews but leaves me wanting to read more about this fascinating author.  I've very much enjoyed deRosnay's other books and, of course, du Maurier's Rebecca—which I read in German since it was in my dad's collection.  A 1938 international best seller and still in print.

TOK - a rehash

I attended TOK Winnipeg on Saturday. Held at the Manitoba Museum Auditorium, the free, public symposium was surprisingly not well attended. Is that because ‘free’ is too good to be true, or because it was poorly advertised? It’s unfortunate because the speakers were engaging and dynamic—the topics relevant and important.

What is TOK? From the handout: “TOK, the digital magazine of Diaspora Dialogues, publishes fiercely honest, freshly original writing from our cities, and from around the world.”  

Stories reflect a search for identity. I can relate. Much of CanLit, when I was growing up was about isolation on the prairies and the weather. There were no stories of immigrant girls like me. I tried hard to be invisible by fitting in. It worked. . . sort of.   But as I continued to search for my stories, I realized I had to write them myself.

The TOK speakers included David A Robertston (DAR), Sheena Kamal (SK), Minister Faust (MF), Marilyn Biederman (MB), Deborah Sun de la Cruz (DS), John Toews (JT), Niigaanwewidam James Sinclair (NJS), and Ify Chiwetelu (IC). 

Here’s a mishmash rehash of my notes—(the ones I can read).

Young people today are more city-based and want to read about their experiences. (MF) 

We reflect ourselves in our stories. (DAR)  

Independent presses are important to these new voices. Winnipeg is a hub for publishing these new stories. (NJS) 

CanLit is a dusty, old castle, while others are out in the meadow enjoying sunshine and new growth. (SK) I love that metaphor! Our home is in our art. 

There’s an international demand for Canadian settings. 2020 Frankfurt Book Fair will highlight Canadian authors, exposing them to eighty thousand new publishers. (MB)

Stop hiding like there’s something wrong with you. (MF) 

Audio books are a big growth industry and there’s a new course at Ryerson specializing in this. (MB)

What does ‘literary’ fiction really mean? What is ‘genre’ fiction? (DAR, SK)

What is CanLit? Answer is in “Refuse.” Stop succumbing to someone else’s definition. (NJS, MB)

When pitching her logline, SK bypassed the Canadian publishing scene and went straight to a pitch-fest in NYC. Learn by doing. (SK)

Always ask writers how they make their money. (MF)

DAR didn't know who he was until he was older. Inspired by the things that were absent. Intergenerational trauma must be healed by reconciling with fathers. Graphic novels show, don’t tell. (DAR)

Believe in yourself. Do the work. Be excited about yourself. (SK)

“Unless the lion learns to write, the tales of the hunt will always reflect the truths of the hunter.” MF

Interview your relatives. Get their authentic stories. (MF)

Do people really have conversations about balsamic vinegar?” (IC)

Canada: founded on oppression and genocide. (MF)

Connection between hip hop and country music: both tell stories. (MF)

It’s ‘story’ that makes us different from other life forms. We learn history through story. (MF)

Robert Sawyer said, “You can’t punch your way to Utopia.” Self-determination begins with self-description. Fiction can show us a better way.  (MF)

Just a brief summary of a day of thought-provoking presentations.  I'm feeling empowered knowing that the next generation is telling their stories with energy and conviction. 

Trails of Summer

It’s been a great summer here in Winnipeg—one of the best. (But then, my memory’s spotty and every precious summer is the best.) No mosquitoes—except the one that got me on the ankle the other day. No forest fires—although we had a couple of hazy days from eastern fires. No tornadoes—although Alonsa, only an hour west of here, had a bad one with a fatality. But here, in my southwest corner of the city, summer’s been near perfect. 

I’ve enjoyed every moment of it and spent happy hours biking the Harte and Grand Trunk Trails. Great summer for berries and I’ve stashed away containers of saskatoons and chokecherries. 

If there was one word to describe this summer for me, it would ‘biking.’  I’ve been trying to convince myself that I can do a more ambitious bike trip along the Baltic next summer and have discovered that I love it. It’s so much faster than walking, but slow enough to experience nature. . . like flowers and clouds.

Now if only I had a dog's nose...

Lessons from Mom

Mom was tiny…under five feet…but she had a big life. After all, her father was once a landowner with a windmill back before collectives and kulaks. He dreamed big…until the liquidation of kulaks crushed his windmill, his family and finally his life during the Great Terror.

Mom reached her tiny adult height at the age of twelve. The orphaned kids moved from Siberian exile to the prosperous Third Reich. But life under Hitler was no better than life under Stalin. Mom worked long hours in a munitions factory in East Prussia, then spent the winter months of 1945 trying to flee the Red Army. She failed. After spending two and a half years in a forced labour camp in the Ural Mountains, she kept putting one foot in front of the other until she ended up here in Winnipeg. Winnipeg in the mid-50s welcomed big dreamers—even little women—and Mom had enough life savvy to prosper.

While she never became fluent in English, she understood finances. Interest payments were evil. Mom never owned a credit card—never understood their purpose. All those years of powerlessness gave her a steely determination to never be poor or hungry again. Within twelve years of arriving in Canada my parents owned a mortgage-free, new house; soon after that, a cottage. We always had a car and a truck—later, a boat and a snowmobile. Zero debt. My parents traveled back to Europe, down to Florida and often to BC.  Mom worked hard for those material things. They were important to her. But she could never regain the family that she’d lost.

As a child, I resented her workaholic attitude and miserly ways. After all, there’s more to success than just material goods. In many ways, I was under pressure to also have material success. To study literature and strive for an artistic career was beyond Mom’s comprehension. I let her down. She once complained, “I never survived Siberia so that my daughter could freeze on the streets of Winnipeg.” (I worked as a mail carrier to pay the bills that my literary ambition could not.)

I never knew how hard it would be to achieve my writing goals. But my mom taught me to never give up. And on this, the seventh anniversary of her death, I remind myself to keep going—to keep chasing that dream—step by step, word by word, book by book. And for that determination, I thank her.

Is it really dead?

Gardening teaches us many things that we can apply to other areas—especially in a writer’s life. One thing I’ve noted of late is that dead things are sometimes not really dead.  

We humans can determine death by listening for a heartbeat, but what about with plants? When a potted plant doesn’t get enough water and shrivels up, is it really dead? Maybe or maybe not. Sometimes a bit of TLC will revive it. But when it’s really dead, no amount of water or care will help.  

Some of my manuscripts hide, comatose, in rarely opened drawers or computer files. Maybe words, once written, also die without light...or should I say...without readers. 

On the other hand, maybe the comatose stories…like Sleeping Beauty…just need someone who believes in them. Some of these stories just might respond to some TLC.  A bit of revision—some cutting, some new scenes—maybe there’s still some life in them. Maybe they’ll still grow into a story worth sharing. 

As for my neglected hanging basket. I think it’s dead.