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Antigonish Review # 149
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George Sanderson
as Editor
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Cover
Family Photo by Brendan Sanderson
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George, Oasis of the Mind and Heart
Jeanette Lynes
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George Sanderson possessed rare gifts. He was spiritual, yet sceptical; serious, yet hilarious; grounded yet quixotic; tough yet gentle. He could see through pretence and shallow trends in a minute. He was endlessly creative. He was culturally savvy. He was fun.
The Antigonish Review published a few of my first poems in the nineties so, having a soft spot in my heart for this literary quarterly of the Canadian east, I decided, on joining the St.F.X. faculty in 1998, to meet the man behind the helm of this generous publication. The Review was, after all, located on the very campus where I was employed. It seemed silly not to pay a call. I really had intended only to drop in and say 'hi, thanks for publishing me.' I'd expected the editor to be lofty and aloof, with little time for someone like me. I was wrong. I took to George right away. I became a kind of regular at The Antigonish Review. I loved hanging out there. George was always so funny and interesting. The wonderful office manager Bonnie McIsaac was there too, a true delight. The coffee was perpetually on. That was 1998. I have been involved with The Antigonish Review in one capacity or another ever since.
When George passed away in the fall of 2005, I was devastated. I still can't accept his absence. I've been trying to figure out why my brain is having so much trouble processing the fact of George's passing. I think it may be because in so many ways, he's not gone. Every time I step into the office of The Antigonish Review, George's spirit fills the room. I scan the bookshelves - thirty years of TAR back issues - and in my mind's eye I see George trundling into the office in his blue rain parka, carrying a Tim Horton's coffee. In my imagination's echo chamber, George is making some quip or other about a silly movie or the state of the world. His spirit is abundant; it's everywhere.
George was so much more than an editor. He was a brilliant editor, no question. But his influence on so many of us went beyond his immense editorial talents. He really created a culture during his years with The Antigonish Review - and in this observation I include his wife, Gertrude - equally brilliant, engaging, and kind. George was enormously loyal to his friends, former students, and colleagues. With respect to The Review, he created a community - no small feat in an era of atomization, dispersal, and alienation. Anyone looking through the publication's masthead for the past twenty or so years will see a remarkable consistency. People on the editorial of The Review tended to stay involved with the publication in a long-term basis. Many are still involved. I suspect this consistency attests to George's personal charisma, the special-ness of the collegiality he offered, and his commitment to literary culture. I'll wager these editorial board members stayed, like I did, because of the Sandersons' generous spirits and their dedication to Canadian literary culture. I have fond memories of drinks and conversations about Canadian literature on their sweeping green lawn with its ocean view at Lanark, Nova Scotia. Strange as it may sound for someone like myself who teaches in an English Department, venues for discussing our country's writing have been rare. The Sandersons read voraciously, and their insights were always valuable and thought-provoking.
When it came to The Review, I just kept going back. That English Department politics can be stressful will hardly shock anyone. In my early days at St.F.X., The Review office became an oasis for me - a place where I could laugh, de-stress, drink coffee, and gain the valuable experience of being involved with a creative publication. It occurred to me more than once that George had a kind of cult following; I mean this in the best possible sense. We all loved him, and I dared to think myself a member (albeit recent) of the cult. This sense of belonging that George instilled brought me - and many others - meaning and sustenance.
Since those early days with The Review, I've learned that being an editor is not the glamorous gig I once envisioned. It is, rather, a thankless job. Letters from the rejected and disgruntled trickle in. Grant deadlines loom. Though The Review has been very fortunate in receiving support from St.F.X. University, procuring other sources of funding is an ongoing challenge. Now that I have a better sense of what being an editor is like, I marvel even more at George Sanderson's immense gifts - not least of all, his ability to maintain his sense of humour in the face of everything. He remains an oasis in my mind and heart.
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