This book is for
my wife Diana and our siblings Carol, Fiona, James, Neil, Adam, Charles and Jo-Jo, together with any others whom I may have inadvertently overlooked.
~ Douglas Sutherland, The English Gentleman’s Child (Penguin Canada, 1979)
The names of all the white people who worked at the Indian schools mentioned in this book have been changed. The events actually happened. We genuinely regret any inadvertent similarity between these fictitious names and the names of real persons.
~ Jane Willis, Geniesh: an Indian Girlhood (New Press, Toronto, 1973)
This book is dedicated to the humble cod. May its fate be a lesson to those who would be humble. Let the meek and tasty stand on guard.
~ CODCO, The Plays of CODCO (Peter Lang Publishing, 1992)
I was thinking about the way a girl had talked to me on her houseboat in Chelsea, and the way two girls had talked in a singles bar in New York, and the way a German girl had talked in Hamburg, and the way the women used to talk on Saturday night on the last bus from Liverpool to Prescot, when I was a conductor, and the way Germaine Greer and Betty Friedan and Kate Millett and Shulamith Firestone and Marion Meade and other stalk through their books, when it struck me that I had hardly ever heard women talk like this in the theatre; there was a silence like Siberia.
Then in Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook I read this sentence: “I thought there here is a fearful trap for women, but I don’t yet understand what it is. For there is no doubt of the new note women strike, the note of being betrayed. It’s in the books they write, in how they speak, everywhere, all the time.”
And so, Old Flames.
~E.A. Whitehead, Old Flames (Faber & Faber, 1976)
Author’s Note: I am not I; thou art not he or she; they are not they.
~Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited (Little Brown and Company, 1946)