I'm no philosopher, but I think we can all learn a lesson from Dumbo's story, and mine Monica Schnarre AT A TIME when fewer and fewer people are reading books, it's reassuring to know that more and more people are writing them. Even more reassuring is the fact that the majority of people writing books today are not specifically or primarily writers. A glance at the Globe and Mail's national bestseller list, for example, reveals that there are a growing number of celebrities ?? Dave Semenko, Roseanne Barr, Shirley Temple, Erik Neilsen, Stephen King, and Pierre Berton on the list. In addition, with half of these books by non?writers written by Canadian non?writers, Canadians find themselves, perhaps for the first time, in the enviable position of assuming a frontline role in a modern literary movement. Of course, there will be those who see the emergence of the celebrity author as a disturbing trend. Clearly, though, the opposite is turning out to be true. It is, in fact, our best assurance that books will go on being published long after writers have grown tired of working in obscurity and have thrown in the towel. As long as hockey players and teen?age supermodels are taking meetings with literary agents and publishers, we have no need to fear the dire predictions being made about the coming post?literate age. Books will not disappear after all; they will just no longer he left in the hands of writers. This is not necessarily bat] news, particularly since its only non?writers, now, who can make the sacrifice required to publish their work in the absence of readers. (As Lee Iacocca says in his ground?breaking celebrity autobiography, "I didn't write it to get rich. I already have every material thing a person Could need. 11) Surely, this is the lesson we critics and reviewers ?? can learn from Monica Schnarre's memoirs, Monika: Between You and Me (Bantam Seal, 128 pages, $14.95 paper). The message con tained at the heart of tier seminal new work is incontrovertible: everyone can write a book; more important, everyone is writing one. It was with this in mind that I waited impatiently for Schnarre to show up for lunch at a downtown Montreal restaurant. I was more nervous than usual and the only explanation I could come up with was that I was on the verge of a revolutionary breakthrough in literary criticism. Still, old habits die hard. Even though I had spent the previous evening completing a textual analysis of Monika: Between You and Me ?? there are 77 exclamation marks in the book as well as 96 photographs of Schnarre ?? and analysing the Schnarresque use of colloquial expressions like "double gulp," "I'M Sure," "gosh," and "ugh," I found myself preoccupied with trivial questions, like whether I had enough get in my hair. This ?? I reminded myself, as I reviewed Schnarre's chapter on her own coming of age, "Boys: A Whole New World" ?? is an author interview, not a date. I also couldn't help asking myself the sort of questions that are bound to undermine any new approach to criticism In the 1990s, specifically, Should .111 18?year?old fashion model be encouraged to write her autobiography or, more to the point, Publish It' Schnarre, when she arrived, put my mind at ease on that point. "It's not an autobiography," she said, "it's sort of like this is how my life has been." She put me at ease on another point, too. Except for the fact that she ordered a Diet Coke and the waiter recognized her, Schnarre was no different from any other author embarked on a long book tour. She wanted to talk about her writing. In Schnarre's case, however, this was proving to be a problem. Although her nation?wide tour had been very successful she was doing at least 10 Interviews a day ?? no one was asking her about tier book. Instead she had been swamped by inane questions about tier height, tier weight, her alabaster skin, her languorous blue eyes, her long, long legs, her luscious, pouting lips. So when I informed tier that I was only and exclusively interested in tier book she Was Surprised at first, then grateful. We got off to a rocky start, nonetheless. Finding a common language was the initial problem. Schnarre, for instance, referred to the photos in her book as being ones kids could relate to. "You know, not too glam," she said. "Glam?" For my part, it was probably a mistake to ask Schnarre ?? especially so early in the interview ?? about her intriguing reliance on the doppelganger theme in passages like this one: I am two people. One is Monica ?? shy, self?conscious ... the other is Monika ?? sophisticated Young woman ... The two lead very separate lives ... yet they get along fine with each other. They have to. They're roomies in the same body. Allusions to Conrads The Secret Sharer and Dostoyevsky's The Double only made matters worse. "Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?" I said, reaching for a more Popular reference. "No, not like that!" Schnarre replied, giggling. Once lunch arrived, though, we both relaxed and talked comfortably about how she wasn't interested in doing a movie with Toni Cruise now that he was married. Schnarre is a Young woman in demand. She has been in demand ever since she won the Supermodel of the World Contest in 1986. The contest transformed a 14?year?old from Scarborough, Ont. into the "Face of the 80s," a Vogue covergirl, a jet?setting model with a $250,000 contract. But despite this "smorgasbord of options" ?? all lucrative ?? available to her, she never lost sight of her literary ambitions. When a book offer finally came, she was in a strong position ?? strong enough that she didn't have to compromise her non?writer's vision. I had always dreamed of writing a book. Then when I had all the success as a model the doors opened up in the way of publishers and I realized I had the power to do it. Prentice?Hall approached me and wanted me to do a beauty book, but I didn't feel girls needed another book like that. I wanted to talk to kids one on one, in a diary format, and Bantam Seal went for my idea. "I wanted to write about how I was before I started modelling, how I was this very shy, insecure girl who hated her height and how it turned out that tile thing she hated most about herself was her ticket into a very exciting life." Schnarre's reference to Dumbo, the fly ing animated elephant, suddenly made sense to me. "Of course," I interrupted, "that explains the reference to Dumbo. Dumho is your central metaphor, as it were." "Um hmnn," Schnarre said, sipping her Diet Coke. Schnarre began writing Monika: Between You and Me two years ago when she was 16. Although she is a literary pioneer among fashion model,,, h(: is also part of a tradition of celebritv non?fiction the personal?success?and?advice genre that can be traced to Lee lacocca, Shirley MacLaine, and Bill Cosby. When she finally got down to writing her book Schnarre did run into some obstacles, among them high?school exams, driver's ed., and not having nearIy enough time to read. "When I do have time to read, like on a plane, I just crash," she explained. But she admitted that her own dream of writing has been influenced by other non?writers. "I like Stephen King. He's ultra?scary! What do you like? Horror? No, I didn't think you would." I admit now that Schnarre's remark caught me off guard. Were my old, elitist biases that transparent? And if they were so hard to conceal, how would I ever overcome them? One thing was clear: I had to make the effort. This is a crucial time for critics and reviewers. We can either go on being obsessed with books by men and women who call themselves writers or we can reassess our anachronistic view of literature. If we do, we will also have to face the implications of that reassessment. For me, it meant having lunch with Monica Schnarre ?? as good a place to start as any. Perhaps it's time for the rest of my colleagues to apply their critical judgement and talent to books by non?writers, too. I make this proposal with all modesty. The choice ?? between oblivion and welcoining the 1990s ?? is ours. JOEL YANOFSKY IN PRAISE OF Louis DUDEK Louis DUDEK, a poet of ideas, has always rejected the thought of art as competition. He refers to the poisonous literary environment in Canada as the "ego system." One fairy?tale?like day in March, Montreal writers turned the system around for Dudek by bestowing a loving tribute: the Canadian Writers' Award offered for the first (and last) time. The afternoon ceremony at Ben's restaurant took place in the Poets' Corner, a special area founded by Dudek and reserved for living poets ?? unlike the corner at Westminster Abbey. "Montreal poetry has always carried the aroma of smoked meat:' he quipped to a large gathering of young and senior poets, friends, media people, and customers surprised by this rare roast. Ken Norris presented Dudek with a framed certificate bearing the names of 4 5 poets, prose writers, Visual artists, small presses, and magazines from across the Country who added their push to the mountain of support in Montreal. Some of the other contributors included Phyllis Webb, George Bowering, Robin Blaser, and Sharon Thesen from the West Coast; Douglas Barbour mid George Amabile front the Prairies; Margaret Atwood, Frank Davey, and Raymond Souster from Toronto; John Metcalf and Michael Gnarowski in Ottawa; and the Antigonish Review in Nova Scotia. Upon accepting the award for half a century of literary achievement, Dudek, one of the pioneers of the modern poetic voice in Canada, stood up and said: "I never hung LIP Illy Ph.D. but this will definitely go LIP on my wall." When it comes to poetry and money, Louis Dudek has always been the giver. This time, Ken Norris handed him a $1,300 cheque, while quoting Wallace Stevens: "money is a kind of poetry.'' Dudek also received a deluxe hardbound edition of his selected poems, Infinite Worlds. The celebration then proceeded that evening to the amphitheatre of the Redpath Museum at MCGill University. The building houses an Egyptian mummy in a coffin, hones in a pot, and African hairpieces. The aniphitheatre itself resembles an autopsy observatorium. Nevertheless, an audience of close to 100 sat enraptured while favourite selections from the works of Lotus Dudek were read by 14 poets: Marc Cote, Endre Farkas, Raymond Filip, Gary Geddes, Ralph Gustafson, Steve Luxton, Stephen Morrissey, Billy Neal, Ken Norris, Sonja Skarstedt, Darko Suvin, Ruth Taylor, Peter Van Toorn, and Bruce Whiteman. The irony of the venue did not go unmentioned. Gary Geddes remarked that he had it from informed sources that the basement contained "a live crocodile." Dudek smiled as his creations issued from the mouths of fellow poets. Half the readers consisted of former students. They recited passages from Atlantis, Europe, En Mexico, and other visible and hidden spaces in a two?hour journey through the infinite worlds of Louis Dudek. Ralph Gustafson elaborated upon the hexagonal structure of "The Pomegranate." Stephen Morrissey had done his homework, looking up the foreign words in Dudek's poetry, "which you probably knew already." The inimitable Peter Van Toorn, dressed like a '50s beatnik with beret and red shades and missing only bongos and dragonfly wings, dug up the poem "Inscriptions" about two lovers in ancient Pompeii who had scribbled on the wall: "We made love here." And Steve Luxton stitched together a hilarious romp through Dudeks epigrams. Bruce Whiteman, a co?organizer of the event, acted as host. He mingled his introductions with light arcana, such as Polish history being listed in the Library of Congress classification system under "DK," and theology Linder "BS." Then the moment arrived for the big man to step up to the microphone. Louis Dudek stated that it would take him years to figure out this whole day, and Ile Could add little more to his "Pilfered" words. The experience of hearing many different voices delivering his poetry reinforced the mystery of individuality for him; how his texts had imprinted themselves like "scripts" upon other minds. The 71?year?old mentor concluded by whipping Out a new section from his long poem "Continuation" (which Dudek once imagined he had finished!). The revolving lights of the beacon atop Place Ville Marie welcomed the participants as they left the Redpath Museum. A perfect day had ended. Art and life had come together beautifully. The two sides of Louis Dudek had been honoured: the academic and the delicatessen dreamer. The pettiness of literary feuds and jury politics had been transcended. Just as the blind cannot see Mount Royal, so the dishonest cannot recognize Louis Dudek as one of the major poets in Canadian literary history. On that victorious Friday, March 2, 1990, the mountain came to LOUIS Dudek.