BOB DOBBS creative
visionary of the 2004 McLuhan Festival in Toronto returns in 2005 with
his own parallel conference - his anti-environment to the much maligned
McLuhan festival. Tentatively entitled, BOB
DOBBS and THE CANADIAN PHAT IN CONCERT 5-nite run - The previous theme
will be the invisible, confidential subtext. Details to follow, but except
5 conference sessions with one of the most interesting and enigmatic figures
in media studies today. Email for
more information.
TORONTO STAR STORY
ABOUT BOB DOBBS BY MCLUHAN BIOGRAPHER PHILIP MARCHARD
Sooner or later, I thought, I was going to have to read
The Da Vinci Code.
I was going to have to read it before I read the novelists on the Giller
shortlist. It was my duty as a books columnist.
I asked Bob Dobbs if he had read The Da Vinci Code. Dobbs was hosting
an
event in the downstairs theatre later in the evening. "Former McLuhan
archivist Bob Dobbs expands on McLuhan's ideas while discussing the
present-day simulation of ESP in our electronic environment," was
the way it
was described in the festival schedule.
Dobbs told me he was using a quotation from my Marshall McLuhan biography
on
the subject of McLuhan and ESP. "It's on page 142 of the book, I
think," he
said. (He was right, it turned out. I was flattered.)
Dobbs also told me the event was somewhat more involved than the description
in the festival schedule. It was more in the nature of an actual sÈance
with
some of the illustrious dead. He told me who they were, but I do not feel
at
liberty to reveal their names.
As for The Da Vinci Code, he hadn't read it. He hardly needed to. His
own
father had been a member of the Priory of Sion, the group of illuminati
mentioned in the novel. The novel itself was "simple and stupid."
I gathered at least that it was not a historical novel.]
http://tinyurl.com/3nuz8
[Toronto Star, Oct.16, 2004. 01:00†AM
Cracking Canada's literary code
Giller nominees reveal persistent obsession with past and small towns
By PHILIP MARCHAND
Thirteen years ago, I wrote a piece in the Star suggesting that the emphasis
in Canadian literature on rural or smalltown Canada, and the emphasis
on the
past as opposed to the present, was due to end.
Not that I was against such literature. I was just saying there should
be
more room in Canadian literature for fictional examination of the life
we
live now, in the suburbs and the great cities of this country.
I wasn't expecting Canadian authors to jump up after reading this article
and start writing about clubs on Queen St. instead of harvest time in
old
Orillia. It was a thought.
In more recent years, I noticed the tendency of the Giller Prize juries
to
like historical novels. I wrote about that, as well. I hope I didn't sound
crabby about it.
Recently, the 2004 Giller Prize shortlist was announced.
Three of the six nominated books were historical fictions ã Wayson
Choy's
All That Matters dealt with Vancouver in the 1930s, Shauna Singh Baldwin's
The Tiger Claw dealt with Nazi-occupied France and Pauline Holdstock's
Beyond Measure was set in 16th-century Italy.
Miriam Toews's A Complicated Kindness was set in a small Mennonite town.
Alice Munro's short story collection Runaway was also set for the most
part
in small-town Canada, and had a decided flavour of retrospective, of looking
backward.
That left Paul Quarrington's Galveston, which was contemporary in setting
and flavour, although a bit removed from life in the big city as well.
That was fine; I wasn't complaining.
But I still wondered if, in our literary culture, a work of fiction set
in
present-day Toronto was somehow regarded as a bit trivial.
A good writer who carefully observed contemporary life always ended up
sounding satirical, and to some people satire was Not Serious. Better
to
have these soulful looks at the past, at a way of life that was vanishing.
That was real literature.
Ezra Pound said that the artist was the antenna of the race, and presumably
he meant fiction writers as well. But there was nothing in such recent
Giller Prize winners as Richard B. Wright's Clara Callan (small-town Ontario
in the first part of the 20th century) or M.G. Vassanji's The In-Between
World Of Vikram Lal (Kenya in the 1950s and '60s) that suggested sensitivity
to new stimuli.
Pound, by the way, was not suggesting that artists made good fortunetellers.
He was merely suggesting that artists, unlike most people, actually lived
in
the present instead of the past. They might not even know exactly what
they
were doing but their work registered changes in the human environment.
You could see the bourgeois family coming into its own in the 18th-century
novels of Samuel Richardson. You could see the new urban life, shaped
by
such phenomena as finance capitalism and newspaper sensationalism, in
the
novels of Balzac and Dickens.
By coincidence, just as the Giller announced its shortlist, the McLuhan
International Festival of the Future ã named after a professor
of literature
who took much of his inspiration from the works of James Joyce and other
modernist writers ã came to town. (It continues until tomorrow.)
I thought I'd drop by the Drake Hotel one night last week and ask some
of
the McLuhanites, or McLuhanatics, as they are sometimes referred to, what
they were reading.
Were they finding in the "serious" fiction of today the same
insight McLuhan
found in Joyce and Wyndham Lewis?
Were they looking forward to the new Wayson Choy or the new Paul Quarrington
or any of the other novels on the Giller list?
The Drake Hotel, in case you didn't know, is a trendy place that opened
on
Queen St. W. earlier this year. It had different rooms for different events,
including a little theatre downstairs with plastic lawn chairs for the
audience. Upstairs, in the main lounge, was a fireplace and an inscription
on the wall: IT'S A CRUEL WORLD AND I'M GONNA DO ALL I CAN TO KEEP IT
CRUEL.
A dozen or so people had gathered in a section of the lounge to talk about
Marshall McLuhan when I arrived. Eric McLuhan was hosting the discussion
and
urging the creative director of the festival, Thom Sokoloski, to repeat
an
experiment that his father undertook in 1960, when one group of students
listened to the Kennedy-Nixon debates on radio, and another group watched
it
on television.
This time one group could watch the Kerry-Bush debate on television, and
another could just listen to the audio portion.
"Get the two groups sequestered and after the debate have them talk
among
themselves and collect their ideas, and then have them talk to the other
group," McLuhan suggested. "Why not?"
He looked up and saw a Computerland balloon floating in the sky. "Talk
about
media ã a hot air balloon."
"Advertising computers," another member of the group said, to
laughter.
I asked Eric McLuhan what he was reading.
"I love detective stories," he said. "I like to see how
they're built." This
was in keeping with Marshall McLuhan's own interest in the genre, which
he
felt had affiliations with French symbolist poetry. Both started with
a
certain effect (in the case of the detective novel, a murder) and invited
the reader to discover the process by which that effect came to be.
Eric McLuhan also liked The Da Vinci Code.
"Totally bogus," he said. "And a good read."
I asked Sokoloski what he was reading. The answer was varied. He had just
read a book by Guy Debord titled Society Of Spectacle, about a school
of
artists called the Situationists, and also the catalogue for the Jean
Cocteau exhibit in Montreal. A lot of his reading was done on the computer
screen.
"I like to build my own book and sit down and read all these interesting
things I've picked up from the Internet," he said. "During the
Iraq war, I
was fascinated by what other newspapers in the world, like Le Monde, were
saying."
I pressed him further. "I love cooking magazines," he said.
"You give me a
good recipe and I'm in heaven. That's a complete commitment to recipe
form,
structure and delivery. You start cooking at 4 and you've got to put it
on
the table at 6."
I was beginning to despair about Choy and Quarrington and Alice Munro.
I asked a man named Eric, a 39-year-old McLuhan devotee who had worked
in
advertising and building websites, what he was reading. He said Camus's
novel L'
tranger, which sounded hopeful, if not exactly something
hot off
the press.
Then he added, "The Da Vinci Code. Couldn't put it down for two days."
A volunteer for the festival said she was on the waiting list for The
Da
Vinci Code at her local library.
Sooner or later, I thought, I was going to have to read The Da Vinci Code.
I
was going to have to read it before I read the novelists on the Giller
shortlist. It was my duty as a books columnist.
I asked Bob Dobbs if he had read The Da Vinci Code. Dobbs was hosting
an
event in the downstairs theatre later in the evening. "Former McLuhan
archivist Bob Dobbs expands on McLuhan's ideas while discussing the
present-day simulation of ESP in our electronic environment," was
the way it
was described in the festival schedule.
Dobbs told me he was using a quotation from my Marshall McLuhan biography
on
the subject of McLuhan and ESP. "It's on page 142 of the book, I
think," he
said. (He was right, it turned out. I was flattered.)
Dobbs also told me the event was somewhat more involved than the description
in the festival schedule. It was more in the nature of an actual sÈance
with
some of the illustrious dead. He told me who they were, but I do not feel
at
liberty to reveal their names.
As for The Da Vinci Code, he hadn't read it. He hardly needed to. His
own
father had been a member of the Priory of Sion, the group of illuminati
mentioned in the novel. The novel itself was "simple and stupid."
I gathered at least that it was not a historical novel.] The Great Bob
Dobbs
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