In school, I was forced through the Canadian literature wringer with books by Margaret Atwood (which bored and upset me) and Margaret Laurence (which gave me trust issues). We read stories about mothers who go crazy during the Dust Bowl of the Thirties and poems about men dying in torment from mustard gas poisoning.
Never once did we read the positive, energetic, hopeful stories of L M Montgomery. I read all of the Anne of Green Gables series on my own, and loved them for their purple prose, colourful characters, and the romance between Gilbert and Anne.
This official rejection of Lucy Maude always made me think that the study of literature in school was turned into an exercise in despair and frustration deliberately. And it didn't have to be! We could have spent time in our Canadian literature class laughing at Stephen Leacock or learning about the north through the haunting narrative poems of Robert Service. Fortunately, I had excellent teachers who let me look into alternatives, so I managed to retain my love of reading.
It has been nearly thirty years since I graduated high school, and still this irks me. Hopefully times have changed, and students are now exploring a new kind of Canadian literature. There are a lot of books out there; it's well past time to focus on delight rather than depression.
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