Sylvia Fraser (born 8 March 1935 in Hamilton, Ontario) was a Canadian novelist, journalist and travel writer. Fraser was educated at the University of Western Ontario. In her fifty year career as a journalist, she has written hundreds of articles, beginning as a Feature Writer for The Toronto Star Weekly (1957-68), and continuing with articles for many other magazines and newspapers including the Globe & Mail, Saturday Night, Chatelaine, the Walrus and Toronto Life. She taught creative writing for many years at Banff Centre and at various university workshops. She has participated in extensive media tours, given lectures and readings throughout Canada, the United States, Britain and Sweden. She served on the Arts Advisory Panel to Canada Council and was a member of Canada Council's 1985 Cultural Delegation to China. She was a founding member of The Writers’ Union of Canada and for many years was on the executive of The Writers' Trust, a charitable organization for the support of Canadian authors and literature. Fraser lived in Toronto, Ontario.
I couldn't finish this book. It's a shame, because I really liked the concept: a 1990s academic hurled back in time decides that the best way to embrace her bizarre situation is to research her ancestors up close. My favourite parts were the subtle moments that helped her find out when she was: she had accidentally tipped the maid a whole day's wages, the clothes she'd brought all had longer sleeves and skirts, etc. But once she got a plan together, the only event that seemed consistent with her agenda was the boat ticket to Canada she was waiting on. She waits for her trip for the bulk of the story, and in the meantime it's a very day-to-day tourist type of adventure. I enjoyed her exploration of 1913 to a point, but apart from sparse instances of her chasing something from her past, it began to feel like I was just watching someone choose what to wear and eat each day of their vacation. The people around her were a little more interesting, but when I got to her rape/maybe-I-want-it-after-all scene, I couldn't read any more. Despite her adaptations to 1913, I expected an educated 1990s woman to be less ambiguous about how she wants men to treat her. When that expectation was not met, I lost my respect for the protagonist.
Really enjoyed this book and, surprise, she's a Canadian author. One of only a handful of Canadian novels I have enjoyed.
Why are so many Canadian novels so grim??? Do the authors in my country really believe that for a book to have merit it has to be depressing, or to be considered "literature" it has to be quirky and downright odd?
Thank you Joseph Boyden, Linwood Barclay, Giles Blunt, Trevor Cole, Kim Echlin, Sylvia Fraser, Sara Gruen, Helen Humphreys, Susanna Kearsley/Emma Cole, Sylvia Mulholland, Andrew Pyper, Peter Robinson, Claire Holden Rothman, Robert Sawyer, and Michelle Wan for writing Canadian books that I am happy to recommend to my friends.
Such a great idea , but then the book spins off into never-never land. Stuck with it to the bitter end in hopes that the author would rescue it, but no such luck.