In a place that is neither here nor there, a great celebration once took place. A celebration so large, it changed the world.

People came from all over to attend the celebration. People from the mountains, people from the forests, people from the lakes, people from the deserts, and people from the frozen, forgotten places of the world. There were so many people that everyone found friends, everyone had delicious things to eat, and everyone learned something new.

No one wanted the celebration to end.

In order to keep the celebration going, someone (no one remembers who), suggested a storytelling competition. Whoever could tell the best story would be crowned king or queen of the whole celebration.  Everyone was eager to tell their story and win the crown.

People from the mountains told of the dwarves that lived deep below them, mining for precious stones. People from the forests told of ancient tree spirits that watched over them, and mischievous faeries that caused all sorts of trouble. People from the lakes told of water sprites and monsters, fooling unwary travelers. People of the desert told tales of their magnificent horses, so swift they seemed to fly over the seas of sand. And the people from the frozen, forgotten places told of endless snow, days as long as months, and a night sky filled with dancing colors.

Finally, there was only one small child left to tell their story. No one recognized the child, but, there were so many people that was to be expected. If one or two people got a chill when the child stepped into the firelight, it must have been the wind. No one thought this child, this story, would change the world.

The child began simply enough, telling of their home. But slowly, it became something darker. First came wariness, and trickery, and greed. Then came sadness, and hunger, and pride. Finally, came terror, and misery, and rage. When the story finally ended, even the fire seemed dim.

The people from the mountains, and the forests, and the lakes, and the deserts, and the frozen, forgotten places stood silent. They had never heard of such things. They had never wanted to hear of such things.

A grandmother, old and wrinkled and grey, finally spoke.

“Take your words back, dark child. We have no use for them here.”

But the child just giggled. For they knew that the words could never be taken back once they were in the world, and nothing would ever be the same.

When someone asks me where home is, I always pause. It’s not an easy question to answer, you see.

I was born in British Columbia, but by the time I was 8, I had lived in five different towns. By 16, I was living in my eleventh house. Between 18 and 24, “home” had been six different cities in four different countries spanning two continents.

Some of my homes

Of course, others have moved more than me. It’s not a competition. I’m not complaining. I have had the most amazing, wonderful experiences in all of these different places, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.

But still, when someone asks me about my home, I have to pause and gather my thoughts.

Are they asking about where I was born? Where I have lived? Where I spent the longest? Are they asking about my town, my province, my country, my continent, or my culture?  Because when someone says “home”, they are asking about all of those things and more.

Further complicating the question is the asker. Are they also from Canada? Well, then I might say my province. They’re from the same province? I’ll name the closest thing I have to a hometown. They’re Finnish and asking about my accent? I’ll say I’m from Canada.

Home, for me, is not a place. It’s not even people. It’s a feeling of relief when I walk through the door. It’s flopping on a bed, sighing, and snuggling in. Safety, peace, and hopefully some quiet. Whenever I find that, I’m home.

Chamberlin touches on the idea of the distinction between  “literate” and oral cultures near the beginning of the book and then throws it out the window: “All so-called oral cultures are rich in forms of writing, albeit non-syllabic and non-alphabetic ones” (19-20, link my own).

“Skyscraper Quipu”

However, I would argue that this is the not same distinction that we see caused by technological advances.

With the rise of social media, we see a shift from the written word to a “visual culture” which includes writing but has a host of other ways to communicate thought. The “visual culture”’ also includes pictures, memes, emojis, and videos. Particularly interesting to me are the videos, which contain many elements of oral storytelling (audio, movement, occasionally able to see the storyteller), but also have elements of the written word (subtitles, the audience’s inability to communicate with the storyteller, an unchanging telling). Social media has also allowed the publication of new stories, or in some cases old stories, without having to go through a traditional gatekeeper. The removal of the gatekeepers (publishing houses, media outlets) has allowed marginalized communities a platform on which they can showcase their stories and their struggles. However, this does not always increase our exposure to new ideas. Instead, social media algorithms reinforce the opinions we already hold.  

Some of the limitations of the written word can be overcome through the use of hypertexts. Hypertexts allow more interaction between the writer and the audience, in some ways similar to that found in storytelling. A writer can clarify what they are talking about with a link, without having to break the flow of what they are saying. This is similar to being able to ask questions when hearing a story: you can click on the link (ask a question) if you want more info, but if you understand or are already familiar with what is being discussed, there is no need to break the story. Hypertext also ties stories together, physically creating links between different stories and different ideas. 

Of course, hypertext does not replace the give and take found in oral storytelling. The closest thing to the give and take found in oral storytelling is the ability to comment on items in social media. The audience can express an opinion, and the storyteller can have a conversation about their story. It’s certainly not the same, but it’s fascinating to see how we are slowly circling back to our oral roots.

Works Cited

Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Vintage Canada, 2003.

“How Filter Bubbles Distort Reality: Everything You Need to Know.” Farnam Street. fs.blog/2017/07/filter-bubbles/. Accessed 20 Jan.2019.

Lo, Lawrence. “Quipu.” Ancient Scripts. www.ancientscripts.com/quipu.html. Accessed 20 Jan. 2019.

Vicuña, Cecilia. Skyscraper Quipu. 2006. Brooklynn Museum, Brooklynn, New York. Brooklynn Museum, www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/cecilia_vicuna. Access 20 Jan. 2019. (Photograph by Matthew Herrmann).

First, let me take a second to welcome all of my readers to this blog:

Hi Mom!

I’m joking, of course; I also welcome all three of my classmates who read this page.

A Brief Bio

I’m Cianne, and this is my blog. While I’ve started it for the 2018W T2 section of ENGL 470 (Canadian Studies for any of you not in the know), I’m hoping that it will eventually become a place for Canadian storytelling outside of just this one class (check back next year to see if this is the case!)

I’m an English Major in my “3rd” year of a never-ending B.A., and I also have the wonderful privilege of working for UBC full-time. So, I’m on campus nearly every day, but I rarely see the inside of a classroom, as unfortunately, most classes fall in that 9:00 – 5:00 range.  I’m from both B.C. and Alberta, and Vancouver was the 7th city within 7 years that I called “home”.

Bowen Island, B.C.

So, what exactly are Canadian Studies?

Canadian Studies is a fairly broad designation. I mean, just look at the size of the country. In the English Literature discipline, it generally refers to the reading and analyzing of Canadian “canon” literature: names such as Margaret Atwood, Margaret Laurence, and Sinclair Ross. However, in this particular class, we are going to be focusing on Canadian Indigenous literature,  reading some written works, and examining the role that orality plays in Indigenous literature. We will explore how stories are used in nation building, the stories we all tell about being Canadian, and the implications of a “Canadian canon” that often leaves out most Indigenous literature. Hopefully, we will discuss ways to shift this canon.

Expectations

I expect and am excited to become acquainted with Indigenous literature, as it is a genre (if that is the correct term) to which I am a newcomer. I am eager to expand my knowledge of the rich literary tradition, both written and oral, that has been a part of this land for generations untold.

In particular, I look forward to continuing the process of decolonizing my own personal stories about Canada, and to learn more about the land that I call home. I am also extremely thrilled to learn about reading for symbolism from cultures other than my own: it’s a skill I plan to put to good use!

Works Cited

“Creation Story.” Nisga’a Lisims Government, 12 Jan. 2019, www.nisgaanation.ca/creation-story.

“Decolonizing Ourselves.” Centre for Humans Rights Research. University of Manitoba, 12 Jan 2019, law.robsonhall.com/chrr/other-resources/critical-conversations/critical-conversations-on-truth-and-reconciliation/decolonizing-ourselves/.

McKinnon, Cianne. Bowen Island Cliff. 2017. photos.app.goo.gl/zMZ8o3TuQbrCg6tF9. Accessed 12 Jan. 2019.