French Made Easy: The Gaspe
oh. canada.
It's no longer fair to refer to Québec
as the poor man’s French vacation...
as the poor man’s French vacation...
In 1934, five years into the Great Depression, an unlikely tourist attraction rose from the
farmland near North Bay, Ontario. The jaunty draw was a hospital, Dafoe Hospital, also
known as Quintland.[1] Built to accommodate the Dionne quintuplets, this medical facility
soon grew into Canada’s most popular destination, raking in half a billion dollars from its
three million visitors. And for the better part of a decade five bundles of joy supplied their
fellow countrymen with infectious bliss.
Also in 1934, two Connecticuters set out to explore the Gaspé, Quebec's rugged tongue
of land between the Saint Lawrence River and Chaleur Bay. Artist Putnam Brinley and his
wife, Kathrine Gordon Brinley, traveled for two months on this peninsula, where the neck
bones of the mighty Appalachians bow into the frigid gulf waters.
Kathrine recounts the minutiae of their jaunt in her odd travelogue, Away to the Gaspé.[2]
Throughout the book she repeats one detail with chilling regularity: Gaspesians are totally
gay. Again, the year is 1934, so of course she means gay in the jolly and exuberant sense
of the word. The Quebec maritime is not a land of queer wanton lust, but rather the
happiest place on Earth.
...
Brinley returned to Canada to pen Away to Cape Breton, Away to the Canadian
Rockies and British Columbia, and Away to Quebec: A Gay Journey to the Province.
By all accounts, the entirety of Canada is totally gay--again, in the jolly and exuberant
sense of the word.
It's all too easy to equate their character with the happiness of idiots, but don't be fooled.
It goes beyond innocuous cheer. To complicate matters further, they seem immune to the
severe giddiness of the Danes.[3] Therefore, we cannot assume that the Canadian problem
will resolve itself in the foreseeable future.
...
missing footnotes:
[1] Ostensibly, they appropriated Disney's christening formula, except that the first brick in
the Magic Kingdom had yet to be laid. In that respect they beat us by exactly twenty years.
[2] The author poses a bit of a sex mystery for unsuspecting readers. I presumed the
author was male. The name appears on the book as Gordon Brinley, and the narrator
assumes the persona of an unnamed artist with a vaguely romantic interest in his traveling
companion, "the Duchess." Intrigued, I poked around Trinity College archives and
discovered the records of Kathrine Gordon Brinley, a Chaucerian drag king and
outspoken advocate for women's rights. This led me to the immediate conclusion that her
deliberate vagueness on romance was a subversive device to cloak a torrid lesbian affair.
Regrettably, my theory soon shriveled in light of her marriage to artist Putnam Brinley.
It then became clear that she'd assumed his identity for the first-person narrator and
portrayed herself in the third person as the so-called Duchess. Letters from her publishers,
all addressed to Mr. Gordon Brinley, further implicate her in additional incidents of
identity/gender swapping. Apparently her elaborate charade was necessary because few in
the book industry at the time regarded women as capable authors of travel guides.
[3] Denmark leads the world in per capita deaths caused by giddiness. Canadians,
however, have so far survived all known cases stemming from giddiness-related
complications. (Source: World Health Organization Mortality Database, 2005)
farmland near North Bay, Ontario. The jaunty draw was a hospital, Dafoe Hospital, also
known as Quintland.[1] Built to accommodate the Dionne quintuplets, this medical facility
soon grew into Canada’s most popular destination, raking in half a billion dollars from its
three million visitors. And for the better part of a decade five bundles of joy supplied their
fellow countrymen with infectious bliss.
Also in 1934, two Connecticuters set out to explore the Gaspé, Quebec's rugged tongue
of land between the Saint Lawrence River and Chaleur Bay. Artist Putnam Brinley and his
wife, Kathrine Gordon Brinley, traveled for two months on this peninsula, where the neck
bones of the mighty Appalachians bow into the frigid gulf waters.
Kathrine recounts the minutiae of their jaunt in her odd travelogue, Away to the Gaspé.[2]
Throughout the book she repeats one detail with chilling regularity: Gaspesians are totally
gay. Again, the year is 1934, so of course she means gay in the jolly and exuberant sense
of the word. The Quebec maritime is not a land of queer wanton lust, but rather the
happiest place on Earth.
...
Brinley returned to Canada to pen Away to Cape Breton, Away to the Canadian
Rockies and British Columbia, and Away to Quebec: A Gay Journey to the Province.
By all accounts, the entirety of Canada is totally gay--again, in the jolly and exuberant
sense of the word.
It's all too easy to equate their character with the happiness of idiots, but don't be fooled.
It goes beyond innocuous cheer. To complicate matters further, they seem immune to the
severe giddiness of the Danes.[3] Therefore, we cannot assume that the Canadian problem
will resolve itself in the foreseeable future.
...
missing footnotes:
[1] Ostensibly, they appropriated Disney's christening formula, except that the first brick in
the Magic Kingdom had yet to be laid. In that respect they beat us by exactly twenty years.
[2] The author poses a bit of a sex mystery for unsuspecting readers. I presumed the
author was male. The name appears on the book as Gordon Brinley, and the narrator
assumes the persona of an unnamed artist with a vaguely romantic interest in his traveling
companion, "the Duchess." Intrigued, I poked around Trinity College archives and
discovered the records of Kathrine Gordon Brinley, a Chaucerian drag king and
outspoken advocate for women's rights. This led me to the immediate conclusion that her
deliberate vagueness on romance was a subversive device to cloak a torrid lesbian affair.
Regrettably, my theory soon shriveled in light of her marriage to artist Putnam Brinley.
It then became clear that she'd assumed his identity for the first-person narrator and
portrayed herself in the third person as the so-called Duchess. Letters from her publishers,
all addressed to Mr. Gordon Brinley, further implicate her in additional incidents of
identity/gender swapping. Apparently her elaborate charade was necessary because few in
the book industry at the time regarded women as capable authors of travel guides.
[3] Denmark leads the world in per capita deaths caused by giddiness. Canadians,
however, have so far survived all known cases stemming from giddiness-related
complications. (Source: World Health Organization Mortality Database, 2005)
| Conquest, Tourism, and Eternal Canadian Rapture |
appears in Post Road issue no. 15. Unfortunately, they left
out a few crucial footnotes. In the interest of full disclosure,
the author dutifully provides the missing info below.
excerpt:
Americans are at a loss to explain Canadian superiority.
We invaded in 1775 and 1812, failing in both efforts to
conquer our northern enemies. They seem not only
indestructible, but also interminably cheerful, able to
tolerate a host of woes in the most dismal times.
out a few crucial footnotes. In the interest of full disclosure,
the author dutifully provides the missing info below.
excerpt:
Americans are at a loss to explain Canadian superiority.
We invaded in 1775 and 1812, failing in both efforts to
conquer our northern enemies. They seem not only
indestructible, but also interminably cheerful, able to
tolerate a host of woes in the most dismal times.
To read the rest of this special report from the
Committee of Patriots for Truthful Intelligence,
get a copy of Post Road, issue no. 15.
Committee of Patriots for Truthful Intelligence,
get a copy of Post Road, issue no. 15.
It is here full gangs, shootings each week,
a méga-traffic of meth...
a méga-traffic of meth...
related articles:
 |
| |
 |