A Good Cry

Grace Willet read the letter while lying upon her bed during the noon Rest Hour.

“How awful, you poor darling, incarcerated in that lung place. How can you bear it? but, for the sake of others—of course. If (scratched out and when substituted) you do come out, you will have to be so frightfully careful, careful for yourself, careful for others.”

Grace Willet scrunched the letter, wrung it like wash, flung it under the bed.

“I am going to cry! simply howl. Don’t care! I just shall!”

Doctor’s step in the corridor. “I’d better wait till she has paid her visit, then cry, cry, cry I shall!” Doctor took the east wing first. The lunch bell had gone by the time she came to the west wing and Grace. Grace was still holding back her tears.

“Can’t go to lunch bellowing!” She powdered her sharp little nose, brushed the reddish terrier-like hair back from dry burning eyes, went to table.

Dobbin said, “Where do you walk this afternoon, Grace?”

“Stillfield.”

“Good, so do I.”

Dobbin was a dull but steady talker. Grace Willet gave vague answers or none. She was saying to herself, “I want to cry, I want to cry!”

“You’re walking too fast, Grace!”

“Don’t care. Something I must do before supper.”

Grace got the clean hankie, the lavender-water, arranged the hiding screen. Everything was to hand, everything except tears.

“They’ve teased to come all day. They shall come. I’ll make them!” She tried and tried. Her eyes remained desert dry.

She even scrambled under the bed and retrieved the letter. Smoothed, read it from “My Darling!” to “Eternally yours”. Not one tear.

Doctor came to pay her Rest Hour visit, sat toying with the lavender-water bottle. “Bonny wee bottle.” She removed the cork and substituted her nose.

“A-a-a guid! Lavender grew in our old home garden.” She returned the cork, continued her rounds.

“Lavender, lavender! Mother cutting the long stiff spikes.” For nearly an hour Grace’s homesick tears poured.

Supper! A letter torn to bits in the waste-basket—cold water—powder—clean hankie. Grace sailed down the dining-room, sharp little nose red, but very “up”. Between munches Dobbin remarked, “You’re all perked up again, Grace! You were dull company on our walk.”

Klee Wyck

Emily Carr wrote these twenty-one sketches after visiting and living with Native people, painting their totem poles and villages, many of them in wild and remote areas. She tells her stories with beauty, pathos and a vivid awareness of the comedy of people and situations.

The Book of Small

Emily Carr wrote these thirty-six sketches that relate anecdotes about her life as a young girl in the frontier town of Victoria. She notes: “There were a great many things that I only half understood, such as saloons and the Royal Family and the Chain Gang.”

The House of All Sorts

Emilly Carr wrote these forty-one stories of those hard-working days as landlord and the parade of tenants — young couples, widows, sad bachelors and rent evaders. In an additional twenty-five stories, she describes the mutual bonds of affection between her and her dogs.

Growing Pains

Completed just before Emily Carr died in 1945, Growing Pains tells the story of her life, beginning with her girlhood in pioneer Victoria and going on to her training as an artist in San Francisco, England and France. She writes about the frustration she felt at the rejection of her art by Canadians, of the years of despair when she stopped painting and of the unexpected vindication and triumph she felt when the Group of Seven accepted her as one of them.

Heart of a Peacock

A collection of 51 short stories by the legendary writer and painter Emily Carr, arranged in themes such as her experiences with Native people, her adventures with various beloved creatures and her love of nature. Together, they underline Carr’s place as a writer with the sharp yet tender eye of an artist, with a deep feeling for the tragedies of life and with a rich sense of the comic.

Pause

While studying art in London, Emily Carr seriously undermined her health and was sent to a sanatorium for a complete rest cure. Bridling at the hospital’s rules, which prohibited excitement of any kind, the always rebellious Carr proceeded to make friends, raise birds, and cause trouble. In words and enchanting sketches, in Pause: A Sketchbook, Carr presents a funny, poignant account of her 18-month convalescence,

Hundreds and Thousands

Hundreds and Thousands consists of her journals from 1927 to 1941. She began keeping a journal in 1927, when, after years of her work being derided and ignored, came unexpected vindication and triumph when the Group of Seven accepted her as one of them and encouraged her to overcome the years of despair when she stopped painting.

Opposite Contraries

Collected from Emily Carr’s private and public writings and edited by Susan Crean, these previously unpublished pieces reveal the outspoken artist at her most forthright. Expurgated sections from Carr’s journals detail her anguished meditations on her spiritual mission, musings about Native culture and the white community’s reaction to it, and thoughts about her family. Her groundbreaking 1913 "Lecture on Totems”, her first recorded writing on Native art and people, is also included, as are some of her most fascinating letters to friends and colleagues.

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