The Ability to Forget

W.J. Keith is a retired professor of English at the University of Toronto and author A Sense of Style: Studies in the Art of Fiction in English-Speaking Canada.

Norman Levine is likely to be recognized by posterity as one of
Canada’s finest writers, though his name is not currently as well
known as it should be. Canadians have never quite forgiven him for
Canada Made Me, his sour but probing analysis of his native country that
appeared in 1958. Happily, though, there are signs that he is beginning
to be given the attention that is his due. In 2000, Lester & Orpen
Dennys published a retrospective collection of short stories called By a
Frozen River, and they now follow this up with a further gathering.

A Levine story is the literary equivalent of a dry martini—an
acquired taste, perhaps, but one that, when acquired, proves
irresistible. A stylistic minimalist, he eschews conspicuous effects of
any kind, having perfected a style so simple that it appears easy,
though any attempt to imitate it will show that it depends on a hard-won
artistry. The subject matter—he sometimes seems obsessed with human
failure—should be depressing, but the sheer dexterity of the writing
produces exhilaration.

The publishers are to be congratulated on recognizing, and propagating,
fine work when they encounter it, but I wish they would provide
intrigued readers with basic information. They print a list of
Levine’s previous books but give no indication of where each reprinted
story first appeared. Are the selection and ordering Levine’s or a
silent editor’s? The title story appears here for the first time.
Whether any of the others are new is uncertain. Why don’t Canadian
publishers offer the kind of elementary bibliographical help that
writers and readers can take for granted elsewhere?

Nevertheless, these impressive stories, wherever their first
appearance, are now available again. A new generation of readers has the
opportunity of encountering vintage Canadian work. That is the main
thing.