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Fiction Short Stories (single Author)

River Of Stone

by (author) Rudy Wiebe

Publisher
Knopf Canada
Initial publish date
May 1995
Category
Short Stories (single author), Literary, 21st Century
  • Paperback / softback

    ISBN
    9780394280783
    Publish Date
    May 1995
    List Price
    $22.00

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Description

A rare and marvellous collection by a master teller of tales, together in one volume for the first time.River of Stone brings to readers an appealing selection of Rudy Wiebe's best and most loved writing — and draws us into a world that he has made distinctively his own. In this haunting collection, his stories and memoirs play off each other to reveal the geographical and emotional range of the country. Here we have timeless meditations on country, particularly the West and the North; memories of a Mennonite childhood, and the pain of being cast out by the community; of writing and history; of pioneer days lived with love and struggle; and unexpected, entertaining stories that are by turn loving, macabre, ironic, sad and joyful, and very funny.

About the author

Rudy Wiebe was born near Fairholme, Saskatchewan in 1934. From the University of Alberta, he received a B.A. 1956 and a M.A. in Creative Writing in 1960. He studied under a Rotary International Fellowship at the University of Tuebingen in West Germany, and in 1962 he received a Bachelor of Theology degree from the Mennonite Brethren Bible College. In 1962ᆧ63 he was editor of the Mennonite Brethren Herald, a position which he resigned because of the controversy over his first novel,Peace Shall Destroy Many. From 1967 to 1992 he was Professor of Creative Writing and English at the University of Alberta. Wiebe has published twenty-five books, including nine novels and the non-fiction best-sellerStolen Life: The Journey of a Cree Woman, co-authored with Yvonne Johnson. He was awarded the Governor General’s Award for fiction forThe Temptations Of Big Bear in 1973, and again in 1994 forA Discovery Of Strangers. He is also the winner of the Lorne Pierce Gold Metal of the Royal Society of Canada for his contribution to Canadian literature ླ87). Wiebe has served as chairman of both the Writer’s Guild of Alberta and the Writers’ Union of Canada. He now lives in Edmonton, Alberta.

Rudy Wiebe's profile page

Excerpt: River Of Stone (by (author) Rudy Wiebe)

Foreword
Love Letters from Land and Sea

North and wilderness. When I consider my country as a place distinct and particular from all the other places I have seen and lived in, that’s it: north and wilderness.

Never mind that I live in a modern city: my travels and any map tell me wilderness and north are no more than a few minutes away from anywhere in Canada by air. And air travel is the Canadian way: this century’s plane or helicopter is our continuation of the canoe, carried on endless streams of air with endless stories of long flights and crashes in our turbulent air’s weather rapids. Canada reaches so far north that air will carry you in that direction until suddenly you will be going south.

And somewhere there is tiny Hedwen Island; at the outermost tip of the giant Dehcho (Mackenzie River) Delta, anchored between Richards and Summer Islands in Kugmallit Bay. One hundred and twenty kilometres northwest of Tuktoyaktuk as the helicopter flies its island-sea route, where the July-green land undulates gently above the grey ice-ridden water of the Beaufort Sea.

I slide one hundred and twenty metres down sand cliffs to the rippled beach, and walk west singing. Centuries of Dehcho driftwood caught in the hollows of bays; a loon’s pre-emptory nest of waterplants smeared on a spit between sweet water and salt, its long, deep-brown egg dappled black; three pieces of hollow petrified bone sticking out of a headland eroding steadily into the sea: what animal were they? Dinosaur seventy million years ago when the globe tilted differently and tropical trees flourished here two metres thick? The loon, most ancient of birds, calls where it rides between ice-pans; perhaps longing for its solitary dappled egg.

A flash of red beyond the nest in the hard sand: a detergent container, crushed, but containing a bleached mass of aluminum foil. I complete the break, shake out the black sand; and disclose a message from the sea.

“beaufort sea’s arctic / 1986,” I read on paper mottled by seepage. “August 1986 / Arnak Drilling Rig / Kenting 32 / Esso Resources Canada Ltd.” Twenty-two signatures under “Names” and as many dates and places under “Date of Departure” – everything from August 1 for Aklavik to August 18 for Australia. And under that, curled tight, a second sheet with twenty-one more names and departures. Only three names have comments: “Flo Keir (No. 1 Cook yah)” and “Les R...” bracketing to his indecipherable signature “(Homo)”, and the last name: “Thora Reid – Fifteen years of missed boats.”

Somewhere in the Beaufort Sea on a manufactured steel and gravel island, forty-three people, five years ago.

I walk on, trying to imagine at least one of those lives, the sea nudging an occasional beluga whale rib near my boots. And discover beside me the ice that undergirds the world here: a crumbling cliff and beneath a few centimetres of moss the massive black ice wedge that holds the land up and reaches down, hundreds of metres down, down to the limits of the permafrost. Geologists tell me later this may be the black ooze of prehistoric glaciers which here still give shape to the land. Or, some theorize, much of northernmost Canada may be supported on ice wedged somewhere kilometres down into the yet undiscovered texture of the earthen earth: they cannot tell for sure.

What is obvious: without the ice, the island would not exist.

I climb and slither and sink up the oozing cliff, between floating tussocks of moss brilliant with tundra flowers, bottomless sand, vanishing water. I touch, fondle, lick this black ice, this primordial cold which solidified here before the existence of humanity.

“Forget me not,” the last words on the last sheet from the sea, serrated by sand and water, ask of me. If I am ignorant, forgetting is impossible. Only this bit of knowledge allows me to promise: “I will remember.”

Editorial Reviews

"Only the stories we tell each other can create us as a true Canadian people." —Rudy Wiebe, at Governor General's Award Ceremony
"Wiebe is able to be both Faulkner and Balzac...[he] can construct scenes of painstaking detail and psychological insight...exciting and unpredictable." —Books in Canada

"An outstanding writer...immensely talented...whose contribution will endure." —The Globe and Mail

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