The intersection is in
(And there never was a pink house there. Magic!)
Here's the photo (click to enlarge):
(Many, many thanks to Yvonne D. for this.)
(Town corrected - thanks, Macx)
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Literary tourism, AWOT-style
This is odd and unexpected, but very flattering: someone actually sought out the exact intersection on the cover of my book and sent me the photographic evidence.
The intersection is inDorchester Sackville, New Brunswick. (And, as some of you may know, has a "Stop/Arrêt" sign that had to be unilingualized for the cover.)
(And there never was a pink house there. Magic!)
Here's the photo (click to enlarge):
(Many, many thanks to Yvonne D. for this.)
(Town corrected - thanks, Macx)
The intersection is in
(And there never was a pink house there. Magic!)
Here's the photo (click to enlarge):
(Many, many thanks to Yvonne D. for this.)
(Town corrected - thanks, Macx)
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A very subtle and funny writer - one I've become obsessed with over the past year - in a decidedly Muriel Spark mood. Imagine The Pr...
4 comments:
A bad review has nothing on a CN locomotive when it comes to destroying a book.
Hey Nathan - it was sheer literary tourism pleasure. The magic of the sleuthing includes a cover, under Sherlock Hemlock magnification, showing the NB route sign and number. After that, it was simply a matter of Google Earth. Well that and finding the right Maritimer -- he and his buddies would have likely been driving that very road when and the trees were small and the photo was taken. AWOT is a story of all these places, and all the times. I've passed it on to him (on loan Dave, on loan). ~Yvonne
I know Sackville very well, and when I was told this was actually Sackville, my first thoughts were:
1) There's no pink house there!
and
2) That's on the way to Dorchester! (So I can understand the Dorchester/Sackville confusion)
I believe the train track is the town limits at that point, so this is taken standing on the very cusp of Sackville and Dorchester, looking into Sackville.
The very cusp...
It was a dark and stormy night. Fists jammed into his Wrangler wide legs, wet and frozen to the knees, he shivered in his jean jacket at the very cusp of Sackville and Dorchester. He trudged on, the Pen an hour behind him, Dorothy's warmth an hour ahead.
~Yvonne
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