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Novermber 4, 2002, 9:00 a.m. Oh, Canadians! plus Sing Me an Opening, Great Muse!

ell, it looks like I have some ’splaining to do, as a sitcom character once said. In Friday’s column, I moaned over Canada, because some of its elites had behaved appallingly again — just as elites throughout the West are wont to do.

The government in Ottawa issued a travel advisory against the United States — against the United States, I ask you (as a British friend of mine would say). Canada took this action because of America’s new alertness to terrorists among us, particularly of the Middle Eastern kind.

And only days before that, the Canadian prime minister, Jean Chrétien, addressed a conference in Beirut, with the head of Hezbollah sitting only feet in front of him. Hezbollah is the killing machine responsible for much misery in that part of the world. It is the sword of the Iranian mullahs in Lebanon. Ottawa seems to think of it as some sort of Oriental Red Cross.

This caused me to say, “Next time you’re bashing the worst of the Euros, don’t forget their likenesses north of our own border.”

And, boy, did the mail from Canada pour in, of varying kinds. The hateful. The agreeing. The sheepish. The defensive. The explanatory.

Let’s take a look at some of the most hostile responses, and then I’ll do my “’splaining.”

One writer said, “Greetings from a real democracy to an idiot in a former democracy. You must be one of those ‘stupid white men’ written about by Michael Moore.”

Another said, “Your attitude (and that of the pathetic NR Right) simply underscores the startling paranoia of a sh**-scared, self-centred, remarkably world-ignorant, increasingly isolated, internationally abhorred republic.

“You’re on your own, Jay, just the way you want it. Go bomb somebody or [pleasure yourself]. Get it over with. You’ll feel better.

“Since it does not have planes crashing into tall buildings, the U.S. would do well to tear a page from Canada’s book. [The writer, having no grammar, meant that Canada does not have planes crashed into its buildings, and that, therefore, America should be more like Canada. It’s true that if the U.S. were like Canada it would not be the subject of this terrorism. For one thing, we’d throw Israel to the dogs.]

“F*** you, Jay. Please stay away from us. Far, far away.”

Okay, one more.

This charmer says, “Where can I send you and your buddies a pound of Canadian bacon and a case of Molson Canadian? When ingested on a regular basis, they apparently cure leprosy, verbal diarrhea, myopia, and various ailments of the mind. They apparently reset the brain within normal operating parameters and along the principles of realism.

“They may also add some substance to your ranting. I detect frustration in your recent farts for NRO. Were I a gringo, I think I would also feel frustration knowing that I and my government are feared and hated throughout Europe and most other continents including my own. But hey! There is a redeeming factor for most gringos: They are too idiotic and misinformed to even begin to fathom why the civilized world can’t stand them any longer and perceives them as bullish thugs. [The civilized world? Al Qaeda? Hezbollah? Berlin?] I just hope for your ‘great’ nation’s sake that its propaganda machine can keep the moronic masses asleep indefinitely. Keep on farting buddy! Your future depends on it!”

This writer concludes, “Please keep going, so the entire world finally tells Dubya, those running him, and their apologists to just get off the planet.”

All righty then.

As I’m still on the planet, let me speak for a moment about Canada and me. I am just possibly the greatest Canada-lover in the United States. For me — for any liberal democrat, really — Canada is one of the greatest of all countries. That is, in human history.

I grew up in southeastern Michigan, and very close to Canada. The CBC was a constant companion, both on television and on the radio. I watched Channel 9, out of Windsor. And I listened to CBC Radio on 89-point-something, I believe. I remember particularly afternoons with Bob Kerr (sp.?).

When I crossed the Ambassador Bridge — from Detroit to Windsor — I thought I was entering a better world. I love the Canadian national anthem, and know it by heart: both English and French versions. I spent many a pleasant — if not heart-pounding — hour on Route 401 (the Something-Cartier — MacDonald, I think).

And I don’t confine my admiration to English Canada, Quebec being one of the most enchanting places on earth.

I love Glenn Gould, Jon Vickers, and Maureen Forrester (and I guess we shouldn’t forget the Quilicos). I love Rich Little, Martin Short, Dan Ackroyd, and all the rest. Certainly when I was younger, I thought Strange Brew was a glorious contribution to world culture. And what could we do without the sages David Frum and Mark Steyn?

And then there is the entire, not-insignificant issue of Dieppe and the rest of Canada’s fighting past. A couple of years ago, when it seemed that Canada would disintegrate, I objected more hotly than many (most?) Canadians. Why destroy — why dismember? — one of the most liberal, most humane, most successful, freest countries in the history of the world? (In using this language, I echo Charles Krauthammer, originally from Montreal.)

Many years ago, there was something of a contest for Most Boring Headline. The winner? “Worthwhile Canadian Initiative.” Would that Canada were more boring, sometimes.

My Canadian detractors should recognize that, when I go after certain of their elites, including those in the governing class, I’m doing no more than what I spend most of my life doing: with reference to my own country. You have perhaps heard some of the things I’ve said about Bill and Hillary Clinton, Toni Morrison, and Susan Sontag. That hardly means I’m anti-American.

On to some other mail (all from Canada, mind you):

“I think ‘creepy grossness’ [a phrase I had used] is an excellent description of Canada today. I am regularly ashamed to call myself Canadian. Like millions of people around the world I honor your country and its people. Thank you.”

Another:

“I am a Canadian, and your report of Nov. 1/02 stung. [I had never seen that formulation for a date — liked it very much.] Not that you were wrong in your analysis of Canada’s ‘creepy grossness.’ Quite the contrary. I couldn’t agree with you more.

“The only trouble with the report is that it appears to paint all Canadians with the same brush. [It was no “report” — just a brief cry. An Impromptu.] I can assure you that this is not the case. In my experience (I live in southern Ontario, just outside Toronto), the vast majority of Canadians are with the Americans (and the Bush administration) in how they are handling the crisis since 9/11. Our problem is with our (Liberal) government. As you may be aware, the Liberals have run the government since the early ’90s, when the Conservative government of Brian Mulroney imploded. Since that time, there has been a fractionalization of the conservative parties in Canada with all the attendant in-fighting, which has assured a Liberal majority ever since.

“I have proudly worn an American-flag lapel pin since shortly after 9/11 to show, in a small way, my solidarity with the U.S. in its battle against terrorism. To read the PM’s (and other government officials’) remarks fills me with anger, frustration, and a real sadness. Like the U.S., Canada has its share of the fringe Left, but . . .

“I don’t mind your message — in fact, I welcome it. However, a reminder that the Canadian populace is in the U.S.’s corner would be welcome.”

From another reader:

“I wish I could say the recent ‘grossness’ you wrote about were isolated. It gets worse. Our foreign minister, Bill Graham, is of the opinion that Hezbollah isn’t really, entirely, a terrorist organization, because its ‘political’ and ‘social’ wings are not of a military nature; therefore they are allowed to operate here unhindered. [Ah, shades of the IRA.]

“I wish more of us Canadians found this embarrassing and unacceptable. Sadly, this once-great country has been dominated by liberal/socialist governments and bureaucracies for so long that most Canadians have lost their capacity to think critically. Anti-Americanism, once a mere reflection of our own national and cultural insecurity, has become reflexive, and meaner.

“I further wish that a thoughtful conservative movement were around the corner, but the Canadian Right is currently in a state of disarray, and the Left benefits from the resulting vote-splitting every time.

“I fear it will take a catastrophe to cause people to think differently. And when that catastrophe occurs, I expect the United States will be a better friend to us than we have been to you.”

Another:

“Please keep Canada in appropriate perspective. . . . In eight of our provinces, Chrétien is as popular as the American Olympic hockey team. In British Columbia, we have been ignored and abused by this man (and his party) for seven years now. As much as he creeps you out, he gives us the chills far more. So please, don’t lump all Canadians together. To define our country by that man would be much the same as us defining Americans by pointing to a country that would twice vote Bill Clinton into office, give Al Gore 50 percent of the popular vote, and make Tom Daschle the leader of the Senate. Do you know what I mean?”

Sure do. That letter is signed — charmingly — “Sincerely and politely Canadian, . . .”

Just one more, while I’m on this Canada jag:

“When I think of our current party in power, and our prime minister, I too am inclined to groan. Bill Graham is even to the left of Jean Chrétien. . . . They are national embarrassments, but no more so than were Madeleine Albright and Bill Clinton, and I don’t think you’d find the Eurobashers of America calling for the bashing of your entire country because of these weak leaders.

“Don’t get me wrong: Canada has some serious work to do to purge these clowns from office and to install some leaders who aren’t wracked with equivocation. I just don’t like being lumped in with the anti-American, lazy, wine-drinking cheeseheads holding court in Paris cafés.

“The actual travel advisory, stupid as it was, warned Canadian citizens who were born in Iran, Iraq, Syria, etc., that they would be subject to fingerprinting and so on if they travelled to the United States. My position — and this should differentiate me and millions of like-minded Canadians from the Europeans — is that, if anyone doesn’t like the measures taken by the USA at its borders to ensure security, then he should stay home.”

That letter was from Prince Edward Island, one of my favorite places on earth. Anne of Green Gables — and Canada — forever!

All right, out of the North. Also in that previous Impromptus, there was a little blurb on Great First Lines in Literature. I offered the two I admire most, one from a P. G. Wodehouse golf story, and one from a book by Marchette Chute called The Search for God:

“It was a morning when all nature shouted Fore.”

“Job was not a patient man.”

Naturally, readers wanted to contribute their own candidates, and I will relate a bundle. I can’t vouch for the accuracy of these quotations, and if some are slightly off, please don’t get your knickers in a twist. I am not disposed to entertain corrections, I’m afraid.

Many, many readers nominated: “There was once a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.” C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

How about this, from The Towers of Trebizond by Rose Macaulay? “‘Take my camel, dear,’ said my aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass.”

One reader writes, “I had a student assistant from Georgia (the country, not the state) who loved two things dearly: American jazz and Rafael Sabatini. He could not understand why jazz was not more popular in the country of its birth, and I had no answer for him.

“As for Sabatini, this line from Scaramouche is a total classic: ‘He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.’

“Try and stop reading after that one.” (We will get into the legitimacy of “try and” in a future column.)

Another writer submits:

“Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous.” H. P. Lovecraft, Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and His Family

“It was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen.” George Orwell, 1984

“I am a sick man. . . . I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased.” — Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from the Underground

“Finally [says the writer], this one doesn’t open the book, but how can any list of ‘openers’ leave out ‘Ivan Illych’s life had been most simple and most ordinary and therefore most terrible’?”

Several put in,

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way” (Anna Karenina), and

“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times” (with one reader adding, “You would swear that Dickens was talking about the years of the Clinton presidency!”).

Another reader gives us three more:

“The cell door clanged shut behind Rubishov.” Arthur Koestler, Darkness at Noon

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“I wasn’t doing anything that day, just catching up on my foot dangling.” A Raymond Chandler short story

Another reader says, “This is my favorite: “It was inevitable — the scent of bitter almonds reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.” Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

Says another, “My personal favorite is still ‘Call me Ishmael.’ There is something about that line that sends a chill through me, setting up as it does the wonderful tale that follows. Of course, one other has to be ‘In the beginning . . .’ A great tale follows that line also!”

Someone else writes, “Let me nominate this opening from G. K. Chesterton’s Autobiography: ‘Bowing down in blind credulity, as is my custom, before mere authority and the tradition of the elders, superstitiously swallowing a story I could not test at the time by experiment or private judgment, I am firmly of the opinion that I was born on the 29th of May, 1874, on Campden Hill, Kensington; and baptised according to the formularies of the Church of England in the little church of St. George opposite the large Waterworks Tower that dominated that ridge.’”

A reader writes, “The one I have remembered for over 65 years is: ‘The last man on earth sat alone in a room. A knock came on the door.’”

And do you want a last line?

“I never really cared for the book — perhaps because I never really cared for pot, acid, and whatever else makes one believe that ‘beat’ is poetry and Bob Dylan is God — but I’ve always been fond of the last line in Richard Brautigan’s Trout Fishing in America: ‘I’ve always wanted to write a book that ended with the word Mayonnaise.’”

Okay, “In the beginning” is the all-time champeen. But that’s almost unfair!