It’s with sadness that I write this tribute to Alistair MacLeod, one of Canada’s literary lions, who died on Easter Sunday. David and I both loved his writing. In the 1980s when I worked at Playwrights Union, our Executive Director Jane Buss gave me a copy of his wonderful short story collection, The Lost Salt Gift of Blood. I remember laughing, weeping, and marveling at MacLeod’s ability to get to the beating heart of family relationships. MacLeod’s novel No Great Mischief is, of course, a classic. (In 2006, I had the pleasure of selecting and editing David A. Young’s stage adaptation of that novel for Scirocco Drama.)
David French and I were lucky enough to meet Alistair several years ago when Lee Gowan of the U of T School of Continuing Studies Creative Writing Department invited Alistair, David, and Michael Winter to do a reading. We all went out for dinner first, and it stands in my memory as one of those golden evenings where the company could not possibly have been improved upon.
David was to get to know Alistair better a few years later when he went to be Writer-in-Residence at the University of Windsor. Alistair’s office was just down the hall from David’s, and they formed a teasing friendship that apparently involved a lot of ribbing about offices. (Alistair’s office was famously cluttered, while David, who was only in Windsor for a year, had a very sparse set-up.)
My condolences to Alistair’s wife Anita and his children and grandchildren. His deep love for his family was apparent, and they will miss him very much.