Raspberry - Winter/Spring 2018 by Raspberry

Winter/ Spring 2018 1

Raspberry Editorial Team Raspberry publishes letters to the editor of 150 words or less. Letters should be sent via email to info@raspberrymag. ca. The editors reserve the right not to print a letter for any reason. If you have a tip for arts, culture, or community coverage, let us know.

Katie Stobbart Editor-in-Chief

Jess Wind Communications Manager

Valerie Franklin Layout & Illustration

Raspberry Curatorial Team Aymee Leake Visual Arts Curator

Dessa Bayrock Literary Arts Curator The Red Press Society is a non-profit organization dedicated to fostering the growth of the literary arts in the Fraser Valley; publishing works which stimulate local arts and culture, including Raspberry magazine; and promoting awareness and readership of contemporary Canadian literature.

Writers Rajneesh Dhawan Cat Friesen Christopher Towler

Red Press Society Board of Directors Jess Wind

Interested in supporting local arts and culture? Help us continue publishing, host events, and provide a space for the Fraser Valley culture to grow and thrive. Email red.press@raspberrymag.ca for details.

President

Dessa Bayrock Secretary

Aymee Leake Treasurer

Lian McIntyre Member-at-large

Katie Stobbart Executive Director

contents Dungeons & Dragons in the Valley Jess Wind and Chris Towler dive into the local landscape of tabletop adventuring, and let you know why you should be rolling initiative

Verse and Converse with Mel Spady Read new writing by Mel Spady, then enjoy a casual conversation about idioms, tragedy porn, and writing mental illness

Review: Russell Peters’ The Indian Detective Whatever you learned about India from CTV’s comedy drama, it’s probably wrong

Making Music from the Bedroom Closet A Q&A with local rapper Darty Pan

Art by Serena J. Trinder Mission artist’s delicate watercolour-and-ink work draws on mythology, stained glass, and wild landscapes

“Severity is the New Normal” Salt Water Skin Boats invites environmental reflection at the Reach

Review: Pattern Recognition by William Gibson Dessa Bayrock reflects on jackets, identity, and consumerist coolness

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welcome Winter/Spring 2018 Hi, readers. It’s good to see you. Welcome to 2018’s first issue of Raspberry, featuring the work and words of Fraser Valley artists, writers, and musicians. In this issue you’ll find our usual crop of art, interviews, and reviews, as well as other goodies like an in-depth exploration of the vibrant imaginary worlds of tabletop roleplaying, and a selection of work by Mission artist Serena J. Trinder. It’s all local, and it’s all for you. As always, this magazine comes together only with the love and grit of its dedicated volunteers, artists, and contributors. We hope you enjoy. — Katie, Jess, and Valerie Raspberry Editorial Team

WHERE THERE BE DRAGONS, THERE IS TREASURE 6

Why people keep talking about Dungeons and Dragons, and why you should join the party

Jess Wind, Dwarf Fighter Christopher Towler, Half-Orc Paladin

ur story starts in a cafe on a sunny Saturday. You are surrounded by board games and locally sourced snacks. As party members you’ve all met a time or two before, but never in this setting. You gather around the table and await the details of your quest. A silver-haired woman breezes in, papers fluttering behind her as she dumps her bag on the table. You are expecting her. She hands out a quick survey asking about your experience, and orders some snacks for the table. She thanks you all for coming, and then asks you to respond conversationally to the questions on the survey. What do you do?

It’s a typical set-up for a Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) session. In real life there are a few people gathered around a table with snacks, pencils, and polyhedral (many-sided) dice scattered among them. One person narrates a setting and gives life to an imagined world. They are the Dungeon Master (DM). They are in charge of the world, but what the rest of the players do with it is entirely up to them. In the imagined space, players become characters — dwarves, elves, or orcs; wizards, fighters, or clerics — to engage with the new world around them. Maybe they spend time in a small trading village getting to know the locals and uncover a legend that promises riches. Maybe they’re summoned to rid a noble city of its dragon problem. Maybe they tromp through endless forest in search of a specific tree with only a crudely drawn map to guide them. The players debate over their course of action, and grapple with decisions that don’t always have a

right or wrong answer. They laugh a lot. They’ve become an adventuring party and before long, a few hours have passed. D&D is, at its core, a form of collaborative storytelling. Players come together to accomplish goals, develop skills, and tell a fantastic story. But it hasn’t always been viewed so simply and positively. D&D has a history of stigma around who gets to play (straight, white, and too-nerdy males) and the fantastical content of the game (magic, monsters, and good versus evil). So often folks have heard something negative about D&D before anything positive, and their minds are made up. But we live in a time of fantasy. We flood to the theatre for hobbits and dwarves or superheroes and villains. We make a date with Netflix for the latest season of Stranger Things and somehow Supernatural is in its 13th season. Audiences crave these worlds. To capture some of the draw, and consider what this might mean for

“Players come together to accomplish goals, develop skills, and tell a fantastic story.” game-playing in the Fraser Valley, we gathered some local D&D players at Boardwalk Cafe & Games in Downtown Abbotsford to discuss why they started playing, why they keep playing, and why others should start rolling for initiative. The party consists of: Greg Eliason // DM, Human Paladin, Aasimar Cleric Katie Stobbart // DM, Gnome Druid Benton Stobbart // Half-Elf Bard, Half-Orc Barbarian Lian McIntyre // DM, Tiefling Cleric Lian: Dungeons and Dragons is always something I’ve been interested in playing but I never felt I was really nerdy enough to start. But then through various social media outlets I got wind of a podcast called The

Adventure Zone, where they used the Dungeons & Dragons starter kit. It was fairly inexpensive so I bought it, and I said to some friends, “Hey I bought a thing, and we’re going to play.” And basically the rest is history. Few of us came to D&D without some prior knowledge or preconceived ideas about what the game was. With fantasy worlds now part of our mainstream popular culture, it was only a matter of time before the 40-year-old fantasy roleplaying game started getting the same attention. Whether you’ve played D&D, seen it played on TV, or remember something about a game where people make-believe a fantasy world, it’s nearly impossible to escape D&D’s cultural resurgence. And we’re along for the ride.

From imagination to table: Getting over our ideas about D&D How did we start playing D&D? Sometimes it takes more than rallying friends, sitting down and letting the dice roll. Some of us resist the pull to play because of stigma and assumptions about what D&D is, or who it’s for. D&D was the game that loomed in the distance, the apex of nerdery, a line that, once crossed, meant no coming back. Now in adulthood, we find ourselves playing D&D not strictly for the roleplaying but for its potential as a collaborative storytelling medium. It’s improvisational, it’s character driven, it’s creative. But getting to that point was not without its barriers. Greg: Dungeons and Dragons has always been that thing you hear about, especially growing up pretty nerdy. It was always on the periphery but seemed like the wrong kind of nerdy from all the preconceived notions I had on it. I grew up thinking it’s for straight and white and men, who would just sit around and pretend like, “I shoot magic missile! I shoot magic missile!” and kill ogres and stuff. Potential players might find a lot

of about D&D intimidating, and that’s enough to turn them off from the game entirely. Whether it be the rules, financial buy-in, combat and math, or the vulnerability of roleplaying, there’s plenty for new players to digest. For some, the barriers to entry go beyond the game itself and includes larger social issues that cut across lines such as race, gender, and sexual identity. Greg: I think one of my first biggest barriers to entry was thinking it was something I couldn’t play because I wasn’t part of the community — as a queer person, thinking, “You have to be a straight guy, kind of like hypermasculine.” It’s a game where you can be anyone or do anything but I still had in my mind that I could be anything — within reason. This is a fantasy setting, but I don’t see people like me in Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. I can be queer in my group, but for D&D in general I thought that would be frowned upon. But there’s such a huge [and growing] queer community in D&D, and it’s awesome to see and play with a bunch of queer people online and in person too. Greg points out that the D&D

“With 2018, everyone’s got their face stuck in a phone and it’s not about genuine friendships and genuine connections. With D&D you get that opportunity to form those bonds.” 10

Player’s Handbook (PHB) makes a point of celebrating the diversity and freedom that comes with character creation. “You don’t need to be confined to binary notions of sex and gender,” he quotes from the book. “You can play as a female character who presents herself as a man, a man who feels trapped in a female body, a bearded female dwarf who hates being mistaken for a male — likewise, your character’s sexual orientation is for you to decide.” This is reinforced in popular D&D media like The Adventure Zone, which features non-binary and transgender characters like Taako and Lup. These characters show that the only limits to who you can be or what you can do with D&D is your imagination. Some aspects of getting into D&D still prevent people from playing: the expense of buying the books and materials, stigma about playing, and perceived exclusion of who the game is for. But an active homebrew community and online tools like Roll20 make the game readily accessible to anyone with an internet connection. Greg: One of my all time favourite things, especially with 5E, is the massive homebrewing scene. Anything you want, you can look online and someone has made rules for it, someone has made a class for it, characters for it. Lian: Or if you want to create something and need help, there’s a huge community of people willing to help you. They’ll play-test your material for you, tell you if it’s broken. An active online community is always available to assist, bounce off story ideas, offer DM tips, and

more. While D&D might still appear dominated by straight white men, the community is shifting and growing as more people are rolling dice and inventing their own worlds to explore. Forging bonds around the table D&D allows for a specific kind of socialization not offered by other group dynamics. Board games are usually open and closed in one sitting. Dinner parties get people around a table, but aren’t necessarily anchored around shared experiences. But D&D gathers people consistently and collaboratively to make new memories and accomplish something together. Everyone who enters the imaginative space does so with a shared understanding of accepted interaction and (hopefully) they’re all there for the same reason. Greg explains to create this successful social space, folks around the table have to agree to certain etiquette. “There [are] some codes you have to accept,” he says, explaining that a player’s character may react differently from the real person in the room. “So, if you’re in a heavy roleplaying scenario everyone has to accept [that] you’re saying that, but it’s not you.” This suspension of disbelief allows everyone to work through scenarios and enact a personality and identity different from their own, which is a significant benefit for some players. But the codes go both ways. The party must also agree to a safe roleplaying space in which people are free to lean into their characters without fear of ridicule. “It was a lot easier to start playing with people that I knew, because we were all just figuring it out together,”

notes Lian. “Roleplaying is kind of weird to do with people you don’t know.” The most rewarding games are the ones that develop these codes and allow the space for players to roleplay in the way that they feel most comfortable. Often new players will start out hesitant, but before long they’re storming the fortress, their hands raised in attack, screaming a battle cry loud enough to scare the cats. The bonds formed around the table are built to last. Katie: You’re spending time with these people, but also with their characters. When you talk about it later, you use the first person pronoun and it feels like an actual visceral memory. I feel so much closer to the people I play with. You develop those social bonds in the same was as if you actually had those experiences. 12

Greg: These characters aren’t just pieces of scribbles on paper — they are real, living, breathing. You grow with them. They interact with other people. Lian: For me it’s the social aspect of it. You get to have a shared experience of playing, and the little anecdotes you can take away and tell people about -- it’s just fun. Jess: You’re getting together, you’re making dinner for each other. You’re not spending money in the traditional way. Ben: A lot of my life right now is just working and sleeping and occasionally eating. It’s nice when you spend a lot of time alone or in a customer service version of yourself to spend time with people and get that kind of social interaction you don’t get traditionally in your day-today life. It’s nice to walk into a room and have everyone genuinely happy to see you. And genuinely want you to

be there. With 2018, everyone’s got their face stuck in a phone and it’s not about genuine friendships and genuine connections. With [D&D] you get that opportunity to form those bonds. Playing D&D in the Fraser Valley and for life But what if you don’t have a group of willing and eager friends to start up a campaign with? D&D and other table-top roleplaying games (RPG) are increasingly played as open drop-in games in community spaces. Board game and collectable stores have hosted these kinds of games for years with D&D tournaments or other social community events. Recently, Boardwalk Cafe & Games began hosting bi-weekly drop-in nights with DM Lex Gaiger. After moving to the Fraser Valley with his wife, Gaiger was looking for

a way to meet new people interested in playing the game he grew up loving. With years of experience as a player and DM, he managed the group of strangers, all with varying RPG experience, and gave them a reason to keep playing. “[At] first we did one with pre-generated characters. I made them all and everybody showed up and got a character and we ran through a couple sessions,” he explains. “After that, everyone was really keen to keep coming.” He goes on to explain that he tries to let new players experience the full range of possibilities for the game. “I try to put a bit of a spotlight on them to make sure they enjoy it more and are getting into it. It’s really easy to sit there and be silent,” he says, noting he will prompt players to think about their characters. “If you’re a druid, what would you do here? There’s a forest, there’s stuff

going on. [I] try to poke them along to get them out of their shell.” By hosting the game at a board game cafe in downtown Abbotsford, with a wider customer demographic than your average collectable shop, Lex figures the drop-in sessions have a better chance of reaching more people. “Those people coming into [Boardwalk] maybe have never played roleplaying games before and maybe only played monopoly and other games,” he says, adding that it’s a great opportunity to get to know the game without investing as much time (or money). However, with the resurgence of D&D and a growing popularity for all types of games, Boardwalk drop-in nights aren’t the only place to get a community D&D fix, as Lex explains. “One thing that’s been happening … is Fraser Valley Tabletop Day. [It’s]

basically people on one day playing a whole bunch of board games or roleplaying games,” he says. “That’s really been bringing [D&D] out of the basement, giving it more attention.” Playing in a community setting with strangers can inevitably help folks meet new people, and try new things — all without the added pressure of a long-term commitment. This opens up more space for D&D to be used as a skill-building tool as much as a fun way to spend a Saturday. The skills and experiences we make use of during play transfer to encounters off the table as well. This is especially beneficial for folks that start playing early in life. Katie: There’s improvisational skills, there’s already a wealth of information out there about why that’s beneficial. That’s why kids are

enrolled in theatre programs all the time. And doing something offscreen and collaborative. And if you really wanted to make a kids’ story there’s also a built-in babysitter, because okay, the kids are now doing this for the next four hours! Lian: It seems like a really good socialization tool. [People] come together on the regular, spend time together, have a shared experience, and it really does cement friendships. Contrary to decades-old, concern-fuelled media reporting, D&D players express real-life benefits that come with playing: everything from simulated social situations to improvisational skills and being able to think on your feet in all kinds of situations. Children especially embrace D&D for all its versatility. With powerful, untempered imaginations, D&D gives them permission to let those ideas take them wherever they want to go. For kids, being able to share in a collaborative storytelling and worldbuilding experience like D&D is the perfect tool with which to hone those creative muscles. Greg: As a kid, you’re being told constantly you can’t do that. It’s so freeing — I can see for my niece — to be able to do whatever they wanted. They weren’t being told no. They were being told yes, and they were loving it. Immediately the day after we played for the first time, I got a message [asking] when are we going to play again? And now there are more ways to play than ever, be it with friends and family around a table, in a low-stakes drop-in setting at your local board

game cafe, or at an annual gaming convention in the Fraser Valley. Out of the basement and into the mainstream Even if you overcome your barriers to entry, find people to play with at home or in your community, and fully embrace the benefits of D&D, there remains a stigma that has been perpetuated in our media for decades. Lian: Part of that is, in the ‘80s, the whole satanic panic. You have media that portrays [D&D] as this ultra negative, nerdy thing, and you have this historical perception that still lingers for a lot of people. When I first started … my mom was like, “Why would you bring that into the house?” and I was like, “Mom, it’s just a game! I don’t understand why you are pushing back.” Lian persuaded her family to play a session over Christmas so they could put decades-old notions about D&D behind them and enjoy collaborative family time. More people are playing D&D than ever before and the diversity of those players continues to increase. The game is being given space in some of our most mainstream media, and conversations have gone from, “Isn’t that the game where people pretend to be wizards?” to “Is that the game they play on Stranger Things?” Wizards of the Coast, publisher of the official D&D game, reported that following the launch of the game’s fifth editionin 2014, women now make up 20-30 per cent of players and most players fall between the ages of 25-34. The PHB climbed to the top of Amazon’s best-selling book list at its release and is still number 49 at the time of publica-

tion. Increasingly, the game is being taken up for its accessibility to anyone with a creative imagination. But, as Greg points out, further strides need to be made. Greg: The celebritization of D&D has been very, very white, though. I was watching a roundtable with three or four of the biggest names in D&D on D&D’s official Twitch account, and they were four heterosexual white guys and it was weird because they were talking about how D&D is so open and could be anything — but you mostly see white people. If it was such a big deal to you to diversify, you could have been the first step in that by going out of your way to invite someone else. D&D continues to try to do better. Between gender inclusiveness in the published materials and active engagement in conversations about race and othering coming from well-known D&D players other fans look up to, there is a lot of good work being done to change the game. And with so many people playing and engaging with the D&D community, we look to the biggest names in the community to guide the way. From the McElroys (The Adventure Zone) and the cast of Critical Role to Satine Phoenix (Maze Arcana) and D20 Babes based in Vancouver, these D&D celebrities have a large platform and a tough quest ahead of them. Katie: In terms of the Critical Role cast and the fame they’ve accrued, I’m really impressed with the community. There’s a lot of positivity and socially minded tweeting. It’s not about the heteronormative white male in the basement playing D&D, it’s in general more accepting. The celebritization allows that to happen because you suddenly get groups of people who are fans of this thing and they interact [more mindfully] because of that fandom. Greg: It’s really interesting to see celebrities like Vin Diesel and Joe Manganiello, who are the picture of hyper masculinity — Lian: Turning out to be massive D&D nerds. I

“Getting to escape this world is a nice way to spend a few hours. You can beat the bad guy in D&D. You can fix the problem.”

think any celebrity [playing D&D] can only be positive because it brings [D&D] out of this old perception and it really indicates that literally anybody can play and enjoy this game. No longer is D&D a game played solely in private among friends in the dark depths of basements and rec-rooms. Families, colleagues, and acquaintances play around dining tables; strangers becomes parties in community games; and despite its technology-free origins, D&D is part of our media consciousness like never before. Let’s roll initiative It’s the common call to action when an adventuring party encounters a monster or evil foe. Everyone rolls their 20-sided die and a turn order is established. Combat has begun. Greg: Just dropping your cell phones and dropping electronics

and playing in a setting that hasn’t got any of that influence in it — you’re going to inns and taverns and ordering mead. Especially with 2017 and now 2018, the world we’re living in now — getting to escape [this] world is a nice way to spend a few hours. You can beat the bad guy in [D&D]. You can fix the problem. The folks around the table on a sunny Saturday in downtown Abbotsford defy the increasingly false “straight, white, male” D&D prerequisite and stereotype. The strangers that gather at Boardwalk for drop-in sessions defy the assumption that this game needs to be played in a private gaming space. D&D is experiencing a resurgence felt in our popular culture, and locally here in the Valley. So the only question left is: how do you want to do this?

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Email info@raspberrymag.ca

Umbrellas asunder A broken umbrella is a soliloquy of chaos. Two broken umbrellas are a conversation: about rain and wind, about the fragility of our attempts to shield ourselves from that which, though it may seem catastrophic, is natural. Two red umbrellas, each torn in two, is as artistic a representation of this place as I have ever seen.

Mel Spady

Gales and Cyclones 20

I. There are things that I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t do remember birthdays catch candles going out appearing after confetti drops, little bits of rainbow scattered among dust and dirt and disappointment despite desperately yearning to deliver but the things I can do weigh heavily in heart of hearts when you need a soft space to land when proverbial fans are hit when vents clogged from dust and dirt and disappointment, a ferocious air sweeps in to hold you to love you to be the wall that sound beats against turning winds and unscalable walls never show in facebook albums they donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t get baby shower invitations they get whispers over drinks, dark rooms, no one else has so many nooks to hold the quiet thoughts, secrets when birthdays roll over clean floors snuffed candles remember, even walls and winds and quiet thoughts need soft spaces to land

II. This self is not a sad story This self of mine is not here for you broken pieces I put back together, not for glass cases in museums but to be able to carry them, shards glued tightly for my own display, admired for tenacious existence This self is not a moment to hold yourself against a backdrop to lessen the blow of minute disappointments thanks for widening the gap between us lowly strugglers and the thread of normal life This self is no inspiration for you to jerk off to when you feel bad for your own self thinking that if I can climb my way out of hell you can stomach an awkward family dinner

This self is not tragedy porn for you a luxurious climax and subsequent relax into safety, knowing this self will never happen to you This self is not imposing hierarchical structures on you for trauma failure or heartbreak but calls to stop using this self as a curtain a shield protection from bright lights of misfortune This self does not share its stories for you, dredged in milky batter crispy and palatable for the masses, stories made wide and open and accessible for the quiet alleyways between homes this self will never inhabit, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s for other sinners left off the invitation lists for housewarmings, we are not for the civilized feint of heart unless we are the looming poster of whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worse off than you

Idioms and overturning Ernest Hemingway with Mel Spady Interviewed by Dessa Bayrock Mel Spady grew up in the Fraser Valley and now lives in “the Paris of the Prairies”: Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Their work has appeared in the Louden Singletree, of which they are also a former editor. They are also a fan of mystery novels, and one-quarter of the force behind Best Canadian Book Club (BCBC), a podcast for people with a complicated relationship with Canadian literature and an uncomplicated love for their friends and fellow book nerds. Fellow BCBC podcaster Dessa Bayrock chatted with Mel about their poetry, identity, and debunking the tortured artist.

So let’s talk about your poems, and everything about you. Oh, no. We both laugh. Okay, hit me with your questions. Mel’s avatar pops up on the Google Doc with their poems in it, which I have open on my screen. Ha! I love that we’re both looking at this same Google Doc. Well, I want to know what I’m talking about! Great minds think alike.

But the minds of fools seldom differ. Although I don’t think that applies. I’ve heard that’s all one saying — that it’s not actually two different sayings? — which I did not know. I thought it was two different sayings. Yeah, there are actually a lot of those. Like, “Blood is thicker than water.” There’s another part to it. I don’t know what it is, but there are a lot of sayings where the end is dropped off. Now I’m just looking through your poem to try and find a line that reads like an idiom, like a line that could become an idiom. That would be cool. Hmmmm. I think it’s a little bit idiom-free. I do like “this self is no inspiration / for you to jerk off / to”. Mel guffaws. Ahhhh. Inspiration porn. That’s like tragedy porn. It’s sort of… not everyone has heard that before, but you can immediately understand what it’s about. And there’s a lot of it! Especially for people with mental illnesses, or

a disability of some kind. It’s like — Terry Fox. He was an amputee, and he did this great thing, and everyone looks at that and thinks, “Wow! So inspirational!” And I’m like, great, it’s a great thing that he did that, but people will disabilities or mental illnesses don’t owe you some notable life to be worthy of dignity. Inspiration porn. It’s what drew me into this poem — that feeling that I don’t want to be anyone’s — “Oh, I’m going to pity you, and that’s going to make me and my life feel better.” And meanwhile I’m like, yeah, if you could not stand on my neck? That would be great. Yeah. And there’s something in that, too, where that sort of view simplifies the person you’re looking at, until that one aspect becomes their whole identity. You know? Like, Terry Fox is a really good example. What did Terry Fox do before he didn’t have a leg? What were his favourite books or movies? What kind of person was he? Did he go to school? What was he good at? What was his field of study? 25

And I have no idea if this is true or not, [but] he could have been really terrible just as easily as he could have been a really great guy. You don’t know, because he’s just reduced down to — well, one really amazing thing. But we’ll never get to know what he was like as a person, which I think is more important. That description made me think of Margaret Atwood — how she’s held up for the great things she’s done in writing and feminism and The Handmaid’s Tale, which is held up as the prime feminist text, and in some ways is that prime feminist text, and yet at the same time it seems like the world’s said, “Okay, checkmark! You did your thing. Now you are past critique.” Yeah, that you get to say, “Well, I did this great thing! I’m past critique! No one can ever criticise me about anything ever again!” That’s just not how it works.

Sometimes you have to have lines like “jerk off” in your poem, and make it a little ugly, to really hit home. Yeah. So I think those are some of my favourite lines in the poem: “this self is no inspiration / for you to jerk off / to”. Ha, yeah. It turned out pretty visceral, and that’s how I felt about it. I don’t want to be the backdrop to someone else’s life. Don’t hold me against things that are happening

You don’t have to be tortured to make good art. I would like to see that trope die in a dumpster fire, because it’s telling people that you have to stay sad, or stay miserable, to do anything worthwhile. in your life and say, “Ohhhh, well, I don’t have to deal with that, so my life must be pretty great.” Don’t put me in that position, or use me in that way. I’m still a person. Yeah. “This self is not tragedy / porn for you … knowing this self will never / happen to you”. Exactly. So how do you balance that? Between wanting to write about this kind of struggle with mental health, or disability, or any other life struggle, and not wanting to end up as tragedy porn? The way I look at it is that the best way for me to do that is to, sometimes, just write ugly things. Everyone wants to read the story about how you overcame your ultra-depression. And that can be really important to read that, to understand what it takes to get yourself out of depression or what it’s really like, but I find that those stories are often… not polished, that’s the wrong word, but… palatable. And so sometimes you have to have lines like “jerk off” in your poem, and make it a little ugly, to really hit home. Don’t glamorize mental illness. And that’s something I’ve been seeing a lot, that hashtag of “relatable stuff,” where people say, “Ha, ha, I can’t even make phone calls because I have such crippling phone anxiety!” And no. It’s great that you can relate to

that. And it’s important to talk about mental illness, but how you talk about it is even more important. I’ve just seen a lot of diminishing themes in posts on Twitter and Tumblr. And I don’t want to be satisfied in the mediocre quality of my mental health. I want to do something about it, and celebrate small victories, and big victories, and talk about the ugly stuff, instead of just falling into that trend of people saying, “Ha, ha! It’s so funny!” It’s not. Do you see that as tied, at all, to the Ernest Hemingway idea of an author? That idea that, “Oh, man, he was so depressed and he just sat in a shack and drank for breakfast and bled into his typewriter and that’s how real writers make their writing”? Or like, the Vincent Van Gogh. Yeah! The tortured artist. “You gotta suffer for your art.” Yeah. I had that idea in my head for a long time—that I would only write for catharsis. And you can do both: it can be cathartic to write when you’re feeling great, and you want to share that feeling in words. And it can also be cathartic to write when you feel like garbage and you just need to get it out. But you don’t have to be tortured to make good art. And I would like to see that trope die in a dumpster fire, because it’s telling people that you have to stay sad, or stay miserable, to do anything worthwhile. The price you pay for making good art is that you have to hate your life the whole time? I hate that. It’s so depressing. And it tells a lot of people that you can’t be happy, and write, and enjoy it. You have to drink in a shack for breakfast. You have to bleed into that typewriter. Yeah. Or like — one thing I hate about writing advice, is that I hate writing advice. It’s always so, “This is how you have to do it.” And that’s Ernest Hemingway again — write drunk, edit sober? That you have to torture yourself and be wasted to do anything worthwhile. But you can tap into that source while being in a good mood, or enjoying where you are. And maybe you want to be drunk, but that’s your business. You can be sober, too. You don’t have to be this frazzled shell of a human to make something good.

Everything that's wrong with

The Indian Detective Rajneesh Dhawan

Russell Peters has made a career out of feeding the West with often misconstrued and misinformed ideas about India and the Indians. His representation of the sub-continent and its inhabitants is simply a continuation of the Slumdog Millionaire syndrome where the West and the Westernized Indians indulge in the poverty-stricken, corrupt, and chaotic images of India and gloat over the fact that they are on the greener side of the fence — they have made it while those on the other side are stuck in the germ-infested open drain that is India. So, when I tuned in to watch the premier of Russell’s latest offering, The Indian Detective, on CTV, I was expecting nothing more than the perpetuation of the vulgar Indian stereotypes, and I must give credit where it is due — the dude did not disappoint me. Russell Peters plays Doug D’Mello, the solitary brown-skinned cop in a Toronto precinct who is a misfit, not because of the colour of his skin, but because he is an idiot. He is served a suspension for a month for his latest blunder, and to make matters worse, he receives a phone call from India informing him that his father has suffered a heart attack.

Doug reaches India where his father Stanley (played by Anupam Kher) says that his heart attack was actually a “fart attack”. Yes, on national TV a supposedly international production uses a punchline that even the most naïve stand-up comic would be loath to use. But this is just the beginning of this sad attempt to make a comedy. What follows is the televised version of Russell Peters’ stand-up material: the cab that smells like a cow, lazy and corrupt police officials, and an intelligent upcoming lawyer, who seeks the help of Doug D’Mello to solve a murder case, but blushes

“Did I mention that there is a street urchin in the mix who picks Doug’s pocket? Beware, Canadians!” upon seeing the picture of a suitor for an arranged marriage. Did I mention that there is street urchin in the mix who picks Doug’s pocket? Beware, Canadians! And of course, how could the mockery of India be complete without ridiculing the Hindu faith? This time the victim is Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, wisdom, art, music, and literature. If only the writers had sought her blessings, this might have been a better production. The production value of the show reminded me of yet another Russell Peters gig where he makes fun of the cheapness of Indians. This show smacks of cheapness on all fronts — script, research, actors, set design, music. Punjabi music plays in the background as the montage on screen tries to establish the city of Mumbai. That’s like playing Inuit music to establish Houston. The actors playing the Indian characters can’t speak Hindi. Maybe good bilingual actors do not come cheap. Even the versatile Anupam Kher has been reduced to caricature, mouthing lame one-liners like, “I am Stanley and I want to look man-ly.” The episode ended with Doug solving the murder mystery in the most unconvincing manner, and I was left wondering if I could ask for a refund for the time I wasted in watching this show.

Aymee Draws Stuff @aymeedrawsstuff

Elsaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s midnight convoy This humble grocery cart, parked patiently, awaits some night-time adventure to carry it far from its mundane destiny, when it too is frozen in place by an icy spell cast over the valley, one that gilds and encases trees, stones, mere constructs such as this wire vehicle, everything.

CLOSET BEATS, vALLEY ROOTS An interview with local rapper Darty Pan

Darty Pan is a local hip-hop artist who produces tracks from his bedroom closet with nothing more than a mic and his computer. Priding himself on hometown roots and big dreams, he raps about things that only a “cheesy white kid from Abbotsford” could rap about. “I have a memory of walking to the candy store with my mom when I was eight and I’m teaching her the lyrics of “Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?”

He writes music that he wants to hear, while telling his story. “While I’m producing music I might as well use it as a commentary on my life,” he says. “Or a bit of therapy.” Having dropped a track on January 31, and with his EP Lava on the way, Darty elaborated on his style, his influences, and the benefits (and struggle) of making art in the Fraser Valley.

Who is Darty; what is Darty Pan? Most people want to know the name. Because they’re like, “That name sounds stupid.” I know, it’s the worst thing in the world. I was in this improv group in college and we had this group chat. They were calling me different things like Business Dan because I was the only one that knew how to use an Excel spreadsheet. One of them made a typo and called me Dusiness Dan by accident, and then they started this list of like 20 different names. Eventually one of them said, because they knew I liked to party a lot, “oh Darty Pan.” Then when I

Some of your early stories and your early Instagram following was talking about the Fraser Valley influence. Can you comment on growing up in the Fraser Valley and how that influences your music now? I have this weird yin and yang of having hometown pride but also being super jaded about growing up here. Maybe that’s just where everyone grows up. I love Vancouver so much. My parents would often take us to events in the city. We sometimes went to church downtown. My sister lives down there. All the comedy stuff is down there. When I was in college I liked to go out

If I ever got to be huge I would want people to know that I was kind of trolling the whole time. was throwing parties at my house they called them the Darty Pan parties. This was way before I started music. In August I started to go full bore into it and I was like, I can’t have any other name. This is my alter-ego party rapper. That’s my name. A lot of people just call me Darty. Some of my friends are like, “That name sounds gross. It doesn’t sound nice.” I kind of like that, because if I ever got to be huge I would want people to know that I was kind of trolling the whole time.

and party more than I probably should have. All that’s in Vancouver. Bars close at 1 a.m. in Abbotsford. So I’ve kind of always lived outside of the city that I actually wanted to live in. It’s kind of like you’re a serf in a medieval feudal system and you’re living outside the castle. You’re not the ones living inside the walls. You constantly see all the dignitaries walking in all the time, and sometimes you go in there if there’s a rally. But at the end of the night you have to walk out of the gates and go back to your tent in the woods. I kind of see Abbotsford as a bit of a

small … it’s a big small town. It’s a “city in the country.” So I’ve kind of come to this place of equilibrium of having all those negative thoughts, but I also have a lot of pride about my high school experience. My three oldest friends are guys I went to high school with. Panthers for life. Part of why I’ve been bringing attention to the fact that I’m a small-town producer is to try to see if other musicians are going to come out of the woodwork. It’s kind of like an arts drain — like a brain drain but for the arts. If all the musicians here are like, “Abbotsford sucks, there’s nothing here, let’s all just move to the city,” it’s an endless cycle. Nobody writes rap songs about “I

shop at Winners, half the time I eat taquitos for dinner.” Nobody really raps about that, they rap about their brands and their Bugattis. What about the normal people who are like, “Yeah, I just want a girl that I can get smoothies with at the McDonald’s drive-through at 2 a.m.”? That would be sweet. How many people think that? But nobody really sings about that. And that’s growing up in a small town. I just have a weirdly jaded view of this place while also … I’m proud. I enjoy that I grew up here. If I ever did blow up into some huge artist, I’d probably still want to come back and do shows here. I’d go to Abby Senior, wear my letterman. You can’t totally disown things, because it’s your

story. It’s made you who you are. There’s a lot going on in Abbotsford. There’s not enough emphasis on the arts and culture and that kind of thing. I can see there’s so much potential for Abbotsford to be better and we’ve got to all get on the same page and turn initiatives toward better community and better arts. Make something out of this town that’s grown bigger than a small town, but still is acting like a small town. Talk to me about your influences: Notorious B.I.G., Childish Gambino, Eminem. How do they play in to your music? I’ve always loved hip-hop and rap music. I’m a physical person — I sway and groove when I walk naturally. I love to dance. I love good beats. I’ve always loved it. And I have always liked rappers who have really good flow. Some of the rappers that have influenced me a lot are the ones who can just dance and just juke their way through a line. I’ve been listening to a lot of Kendrick Lamar lately and their words are just doing parkour through the line. They’re just jumping around. Childish Gambino has insane metaphor and simile work — his lyricism is insane. He can come up with rhymes and metaphors that convey exactly what he means, but are also funny, and also unexpected, and also unique. But totally perfect. Eminem was the first rapper I ever listened to. He just has this energy. With Biggie Smalls he just had so much boom-bop. He was a big guy obviously, but when he’s on the mic he’s got a big presence and he commands a lot. Drake I started listening to mostly in college. Of all the rappers, I relate to him the most. I see a lot of his ambition. I share his ideals about ambition and long-term focus and just working to become better than what you came from. Chance the Rapper has that underground, internet-discovered vibe going on which is super cool. And he does some tracks that are kind of silly, but he kind of connects with the person who is trying to find their way into the world when they get to the age they feel disconnected from their parents as a teen.

Or they’re in college and they feel like they don’t like the system that’s around them. He kind of displays a lot of, “We’re not as conservative as the previous generation and let’s find our own identity in that.” It’s interesting, Kendrick is one of the only rappers that will talk about God, and being a Christian. Putting all religious debates aside, it’s interesting that he embraces that and isn’t afraid to say that. You talk a lot about your Day Ones. What are the Day Ones? The Day Ones are the people who were with my from day one. Because as soon as you get rich, lots of people start to hang around you. The people who are actually there and are loyal for you are the people who saw value in you when your net worth was minus 50 grand because of your student loans. Your car was breaking down and they actually waited for three hours while you called a tow truck that you had to borrow money from them to pay for. And they saw value in you before you had any worldly materialistic value. Or before you were famous. Those are the people who matter the most. I always want to make sure no matter how successful I get with music or business or comedy or whatever it is — if there’s a guest room in my house it’s going to be reserved.

Talk to me about Lava. Around July or August I’d hit rock bottom on my life, so in August I had to hit the reset on everything. New job, new place to live. Parachute down and land into my dreams again, which had all kind of died in 2017. It sounds super morbid — it kind of was. I was kind of discovering myself, so I moved to a new place. This place is really small. I was shopping in Walmart with my buddy Jesse and I saw this lava lamp and I was like, “I want to buy this.” So I bought this lava lamp, and when I go to sleep I have this lamp on so it’s a red glow in my room, and when I record I have the normal light off and just the lava lamp on so it casts this red glow. Because when you’re in the studio you have to have a vibe in there. You have to have this intangible mist floating around for you to create. This album is basically just putting out songs that are made by the light of my lava [lamp]. [This] is kind of my first stab at putting together a project where I wrote all the lyrics myself. I recorded all the lyrics myself, and all the rap. I did all the mixing, recording, producing all myself. I’ll probably look back in two years and be like, “The album is shit.” Or it’s not as good. When I put out “Venita”, which is kind of like my baby, after a month I’m like, “Yeah, I could have done way better with the flow on that track.” I guess it’s a sign that you’re getting better.

I can see thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s so much potential for Abbotsford to be better and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to all get on the same page ... Make something out of this town thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s grown bigger than a small town, but still is acting like a small town. 43

It’s also the sign that you’re a creator. Yeah, some people hate on my stuff and I’m like, “Why? I have enough selfhate already. I got this, don’t worry.” It’s interesting. For a long time I thought up the few tracks I was going to do. And then I put out “Venita”. And that took me so long to perfect. That took a lot of energy, and it kind of drained me; I needed to recuperate. I came back to the lava project and I was like, “I hate this. I don’t believe in these songs. I don’t feel what I’m rapping.” Screw it. Pause. I’m just going to do some singles; I’ll come back to the album later. So then going into the project now, literally a week ago I still hated this album. And then one day I got into the studio; I remembered how much fun I had recording “Stay Darty.” Sure, it wasn’t the best because my flow at the time wasn’t good, but man did I have fun. And there was laughter in my voice when I rapped that song. I was a comedian long before I was a rapper and I’ve been an entertainer my whole life. And I just think [I was being] too serious. I’m a cheesy white kid … who grew up in Abbotsford. [I thought] I should just try rapping it like I did with “Stay Darty.” Get in there, laugh, and don’t take it too seriously. Just have fun with it. Within an hour I had the whole song done. It was probably the best stu-

dio session I’ve had in months. And I cleared some stuff out of my closet so I had more room to dance around and I just tried to be as excited as I can. I gave myself the freedom to not be so serious and not care so much. This whole album and recording experience, the last five months that I’ve been doing it, has been such a mental journey. It’s insane how you are fighting a war against yourself. And some days you’re winning and some days you’re losing, but the only way to eventually win more days than you lose is to keep fighting every day. And give yourself the freedom to accept defeat some days. [Darty goes on to describe his production process.] I do all my producing in GarageBand. Pretty much I’m at the ceiling of everything you can get out of that program. I’m pumping it hard. This is probably revealing my secrets as a magician, but I’ll take the simple tinny keyboards that they have and I’ll just mess with them. And then I’ll push it all through a bass amp and then it comes out this totally new instrument sound that no one’s heard. I’ve been messing around with audio engineering and stuff like that. [In] my music, there’s a lot of different flavours of sounds. Some are a bit more danc-

ey and groovy, some are a bit more of a club banger, a bit more oomph to them. Some are a bit more silly, and I have a couple that are a bit more soft. You’re actually classically trained. You didn’t just pick up a computer and start making music. You know your shit. Well, I mean, I make it seem that way. The greatest composer alive happens to be my dad, so that’s the shadow that I’ve grown up under. I’ve played piano since I was five or six. I started playing bass when I was 11, so for like 12 years. I got to be playing in worship bands, or pick-up bands. I would just have a few chord notes but then I would improvise the rest. So doing that over the years helped me be able to sense when I’m listening to a song, it’s like, “Oh, it’s going to go to this chord next, or this chord,” and I can tell [how it’s going to resolve]. I took a music theory course when I was in university to build on those concepts. I sang in choir for I think four years. I taught myself guitar when I was in high school. And then I play a handful of small percussion instruments. Some people, they just want to make beats, but for me I actually want to learn and I’ve been taking teachings from different music theories, or getting to know how theory works in choir. And also just consulting with my dad a lot, like, “How do you successfully modulate in a chorus?” I play every song that I do for my parents. My dad knows more about music, and he has the best ear and concept for chord progression than anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s an amazing resource for anything to do with music or composition. With every song I do, I’m learning

something new about how to compose it. I’ve been inspired by the musicality of my family. If you’re going to make a go of it, do interesting things with it. Learn to compose as you go. Otherwise you become stagnant — why make a song that’s just a duplicate of the last? It’s exciting to see the growth and I have to stay positive about that. Talk to me about home producing. You want to find other home producers, but it’s a lonely gig, right? It is. It totally is. First of all, it’s cheaper. It’s really raw. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m dissing on people who have a big recording studio or stuff like that. That’s great, but that would be wasted on me. I don’t know what all the dials do. I don’t know how to plug everything in the right spot so it’s not making weird sounds. And also, if you soundproof your recording space properly and you have a semi-decent mic and you know what to do with your program, you can make a song that sounds just as good. There’s kind of a nobility in if you’re just a poor kid in your home with your toque on and your glasses on because your contacts hurt your eyes — shout out to all my contact users by the way — and you’re in sweatpants and maybe you haven’t brushed your teeth that day and you’re just doing it on your computer and your room’s a mess and you’re recording in your closet. People just hate on you for that. Yeah, it’s hard, but in the world of entrepreneurship it’s actually better that way. At least for me. The reason I went into making music is not to make money. The reason I went into music is to speak about the things that I want to 47

talk about, and to make music that I like. And it’s kind of a cool challenge. If you have every single sound at your fingertips, and you have a million resources, obviously you’re going to make a great track. I think at a later chapter in my life I’d like to be in that situation, so it’s not that I’m dissing on that, I’m just enjoying the chapter that I’m in right now. It’s very raw, and rudimentary. It’s a grind. It’s a total grind. There’s a lot of people who just want to make art, and the arts have been starving for so many years and this world has become so capitalist. I’m damn glad that we can make art in our rooms for free and still be able to create cool stuff. Because if the only way for us to make our own songs was to have thousands of dollars to pay a studio, that would be so sad for so many people that would just miss out. I’m talking very positive right now, but half the time I’m so scared. There’s this constant ebb and flow of your confidence levels. They go up and down. Sometimes you’re way over-confident, and other times you’re like, “I’m horrible at everything. I can’t do it at all.” It was a bit therapeutic for me to say to myself and say to the world, “I know I’m not at the top yet, but I’m motivated and I’m going to work to rise to the top.” I talk a lot in “Climb” about the voice of self doubt that lives in our minds. It’s like having an enemy as a roommate who lives inside your

mind. And it causes you to have this constant battle [with] this bully that’s shouting at you all the time. And that’s your own view of yourself and your art when you’re trying to make it. I deal with some pretty bad depression and I’ve realized that’s something that you can’t just put a cast on until it heals. I have depression that’s really heavy, weighing on my shoulders, but it’s just something I have to carry that’s extra. So, it just means my legs are going to be stronger from carrying it. [“Climb” has] been really therapeutic for me because it was kind of a memoir to myself. People hate on me, but they’re less because they can’t challenge themselves … I’m choosing to better myself, and I’m excited to think outside the box and get creative and do things that most people wouldn’t just step out and decide to do. Do you have anything else you’d like to add? Stay Darty. *laughs*

The art of

Serena J. Trinder Serena J. Trinder is a contemporary artist originally from the southwest coastal county of Dorset in Britain but now living in Mission, B.C. Serena started her working life as a Registered Paediatric Nurse but later went on to fuel her passion of history and art by achieving her bachelor honours degree in history. She currently serves on the Mission Arts Council. Serenaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work focuses mainly on landscape, nature, and architecturally inspired works that draw on her deep interest in mythology and history. Using watercolour and ink, she draws her inspiration from her admiration for the great European stained-glass windows visited during her childhood, the changing land-

The Wish Serena J. Trinder

scapes around her, and how these landscapes interact with the human story throughout history. Jewel colours and intricate detail are woven together to produce pieces of art which hold the interest of the onlooker and draw them into the painting. In 2013 Serena was awarded the Muse Award for Visual Arts: Emerging Artist Category by the Mission Cultural Resources Commission. Serenaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work resides internationally throughout the United Kingdom, Europe, Canada, Australia, U.S.A, and the United Arab Emirates.

Alouette Lake, B.C. Serena J. Trinder 52

Elderflowers Serena J. Trinder

The Blue Raj Serena J. Trinder 54

Leaping Trout Serena J. Trinder 55

Beer, Devon Serena J. Trinder 57

Stonehenge Serena J. Trinder 58

Resting 3 Serena J. Trinder 59

Art is meant to be seen. So show the world. Submit your work for publication in Raspberry at info@raspberrymag.ca.

SNAPSHOT 3 Construction: a ghost story What is going up and going down? Is the city always in flux? When we expose the buildingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s skeletal framework in its infancy, do ghosts reside there? Where are its organs? What does it look like in the dark with the distant glow of gas stations, with the cars coming and going, when the shell is empty?

SALT WATER S Adorned with lights and branches, an otherworldly art exhibit laments the looming environmental crisis Cat Friesen

On January 18, the Reach opened four exhibits, including Erica Grimmâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Salt Water Skin Boats. Grimm, an artist and professor at Trinity Western University, collaborated with Sheinagh Anderson, a sound artist, and Tracie Stewart, an arborist, to create a multi-faceted work of art which examines our damaging relationship with the ocean, and immerses the audience in an evocative sensory experience.

R SKIN BOATS

Shortly before the opening, the lobby buzzes with dozens of people: some with bouquets of roses or peonies, others with cameras and notebooks. Laughter and conversation melts together to create a pleasant din, punctuated by the soft chink of wine glasses. Tonight is a night of celebration for the artists.

At 7 p.m., the crowd trickles into the main showroom and are met by four distinct installations. Erica Grimmâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s exhibit, Salt Water Skin Boats, on the left, fills half the gallery space. The overhead lights have been dimmed, allowing a soft glow to emanate from Grimmâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s boats: a blend of dogwood branches, cheesecloth, beeswax,

binder twine, and LED lights suspended from the gallery ceiling. The lights cast eerie shadows on the walls, and patrons; as if we’re standing at the bottom of the ocean, staring up through the water to the bottoms of boats. Eerie oceanic sounds echo throughout the space, a mix of waves and whale calls that sound similar to wind howling through a tunnel. Grimm’s boats are striking, but they also serve another purpose: to call attention to the alarming changes we’re seeing in our environment. Through the use of natural and man-made materials, the combination of which would not hold up on an ocean voyage, Grimm displays our connection to the ocean, and the fragile state it’s in. “Extreme weather is increasing in frequency, and severity is our new normal,” Grimm says, noting that “the ocean

“Extreme weather is increasing in frequency, and severity is our new normal”

has acidified, warmed, lost oxygen.” Our treatment of the world is causing extreme damage. By inviting “curiosity regarding ocean change and its implications,” as Grimm puts it, the exhibit urges us to examine our relationship with the ocean and begin the process of self-reflection. How are we impacting the nature that surrounds us? Grimm asks: “Can we tackle the violence that remains — the violence enacted against the earth that we have been blind to? In denial of?” You can visit the Reach to see Salt Water Skin Boats, as well as Touch, Search by Image, and The Projectionist, until July 5, 2018.

Photos by David Myles

A myth of three jackets and A NOVEL OF CONSUMERISM Dessa Bayrock I bought my first leather jacket â&#x20AC;&#x201D; well, faux leather â&#x20AC;&#x201D; in Metrotown when I was seventeen. I was on one of those mythical Vancouver shopping trips that practically everyone from the Valley can bring to mind; a friend of mine had just gotten his licence, and it was thrilling to hop in a car without parents, without any defined plans, and race out to Vancouver. The jacket was somewhere between a royal blue and a navy blue. Ironically, I plucked it off the rack in a store which also had a location in Chilliwack, a 15-minute drive from my house. But there was something about being in Vancouver that made the process of buying this

jacket exotic — almost mythical. For the next four years, I wore that jacket almost every day. Eventually I wore through the sleeves — the faux leather cracking and peeling at the elbows, just like the skin of my elbows in winter. A jacket from Mariposa isn’t designed to last more than a season, let alone four years, and it ended up in a Value Village donation bin. Even then, with it falling apart, I couldn’t bear to throw it out. Even now, five or six years years since I got rid of it, it’s inextricably tied to this memory of place: not just the shop that I bought it, but the house I returned home to, and the journey between the two. How is it that a physical object, a garment, can be such a strong reminder of physical place? This is a question I found myself stuck on as I read William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition, whose main character likewise obsesses over a jacket. In a world that looks both like and totally unlike our own, Cayce Pollard is a coolhunter: someone who identifies fashion and art trends before they take off, and then sells that information to people who can commodify the next big thing. As you might expect, this work makes Cayce extremely cynical — about self-expression, about creativity, about the ability to make anything truly new without recycling the old. She removes all brand markers from her own clothing — going so far as to ask a locksmith to grind the logos off the buttons of her Levi’s jeans. In her perspective, fashion is a sort of shell game; no matter what brand you buy or admire, everything begins to look eerily similar once the brand name is removed. She simply speeds up the process — revealing the ways in which fashion promises uniqueness and creative expression to consumers, but actually delivers a homogenous, choice-less world. Her single exception to brand disillusionment is her jacket; her black Buzz Rickson’s replica MA-1, which manages to be both utilitarian and exceptionally cool. Despite the fact that she rejects the 67

“What is the power of a single garment to represent the complexities of identity, of personhood?” symbolic value of every single other brand on the planet, Cayce revels in the envy her jacket — which consumers have to wait years on a waiting list to get — inspires in others. This jacket is the single redeeming, unique feature in an otherwise bland world; this jacket is more “home” to Cayce than her apartment, than the city where she lives, than anything. Because in this violently homogenous consumer world, even geographic place seems to lose its identifying markers: when she travels to London on a consulting contract, she can’t shake the feeling that England is a “mirror world”— uncanny, in the classic sense of being both familiar and just unfamiliar enough to be entirely unsettling. The book falls halfway between a novel about aesthetics and a highstakes international mystery hinging on a global conspiracy, which is to say it’s both philosophical and high-action. All in all, it’s an entertaining read. And yet the biggest questions remain unanswered: how do we depend on the objects we purchase to define who we are? What is the power of a single garment to represent the com-

plexities of identity, of personhood? Over the course of the novel, Cayce finds a hole in the back of her jacket and eventually replaces it with an exact replica. Is it still the jacket she loves and depends on? How is she able to overlook the uncanniness of this replacement — the fact that it is both the jacket she loves, and a brand new object? I still think of my old jacket often, and nostalgically. I love and miss the colour of it, the comfort of it, and the ways in which it served as a reminder of a certain place and time in my life. But even if I found an exact replica tomorrow, I would never buy it — let alone wear it. What does that say about me? Last fall, I bought a new fake leather jacket, second-hand. It, too, is falling apart at the sleeves and the collar, but for five dollars I couldn’t complain. I can’t explain why this wear and tear is more acceptable to me than the wear and tear I put on my blue jacket, so long ago — except, perhaps, to say that it’s somebody else’s wear and tear, and somebody else’s history, and somehow that makes it less constricting.

SNAPSHOT 2

Pedestrian at best How do the pathways that lead here and there sculpt and define our experience of place? This work in progress invites reflection on the ways we render ourselves in relation to our geography: what does the sole know that escapes the wheel?

Our contributors Dessa Bayrock is an ex-journalist with a soft spot for the Fraser Valley. She currently lives in Ottawa and studies the apocalypse as part of her M.A. in English. You can find her reviewing books online at Bayrock, Bookrock and for Ottawa Review of Books. If you rearrange the letters of her name you can spell “abyss croaked,” “as bark decoys,” or “brocade as sky,” all of which describe her in one way or another. @YoDessa www.bayrockbayrock.wordpress.com Rajneesh Dhawan is a professor of English at the University of the Fraser Valley. He is a playwright and his plays have been performed at various venues across the Fraser Valley. He is also a screenwriter with both fiction as well as non-fiction credits to his name. Valerie Franklin is an illustrator, editor, and writer living in the Fraser Valley. She draws a lot of cats, drinks a lot of tea, and thinks that’s a fine life. Cat Friesen is a fourth-year creative writing student at UFV, and is the copy editor of UFV’s student-run newspaper, The Cascade.

In her free time, she enjoys writing poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, as well as reading, hiking, photography, and baking. In future, Cat hopes to work for a literary magazine and complete her master’s in creative writing. Aymee Leake is an arts advocate and artist in the Fraser Valley. She was the Gallery Coordinator at the Abbotsford Arts Council among other roles for several years. Aymee is known for her dedication to the arts community and for guiding artists to find opportunities in their own city and beyond. Mel Spady is a reader, writer, blogger, and lover of music. Among other escapades, they have been on the editorial board of Louden Singletree literary magazine, and were a staff writer for The Cascade. Mel currently studies and lives in Saskatchewan. Katie Stobbart is a writer and editor from Abbotsford. She has edited The Cascade newspaper, Louden Singletree literary magazine, and the Pacific Rim Review of Books. She is also a proud co-founder of QuiQuill Communications, and is working hard to improve her patio gardening game.

Raspberry is a magazine devoted to Fraser Valley culture and community life. Established in June 2016, Raspberry publishes reviews, event coverage, and other local content online as we work toward our goal of publishing in print. You can follow us on social media for updates on our progress, information and insights on the Fraser Valley arts and culture scene, and more.

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Christopher Towler just finished his Master of Arts in Communications & New Media. He is an avid roleplayer and board- and video-gamer (surprised?). He is also a writer, musician, and really into improv theatre. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s also the owner of a rad pug-familiar named Oscar! Jess Wind somehow managed to earn two degrees by writing about zombies. She holds a BA in Creative Writing from UFV and an M.A. in Communication from Carleton University in Ottawa. Jess is an ex-editor of The Cascade, is published in the Louden Singletree, and has been known to blog about entertainment media and culture. She likes her coffee black, her video games retro, and her sports local.