The Joy of Writing: A Guide for Writers, Disguised as a Literary Memoir (Hardcover)

Pierre Berton's The Joy of Writing is a joy to read. Breezy, humourous, and surprisingly blunt in its appraisal of the author's own shortcomings--right down to a savage critique of an early draft of The Mysterious North by Berton's editor--the book feels like a return to form, especially on the heels of the curveball that was Cats I Have Known and Loved. Yet as its subtitle suggests, the book is intended as much for students of Berton's work as those yearning for a professional writing career. Berton scavenges his bibliography for examples of dos and don'ts, and fans of titles like Klondike, Vimy, and The Last Spike are rewarded with juicy insights into his inimitable research process, his labyrinthine filing system, and how exactly he makes long-dead politicians seem so darn interesting. Berton even includes sample pages of early drafts and other tidbits, some in his own hand. But whether his 30 rules for triumphant nonfiction writing--which form the book's narrative arc--will transform wannabes into winners is debatable. Really, you've either got it or you don't, as any beleaguered editor will attest. Still, Berton's tips--"know and understand your audience," "don't give up your day job," "read some good stuff before you begin," "don't use a ten-dollar word when a 50 cent one will do"--are sound. And with some exceptions (how to handle an autograph session for instance) they're universal enough to be relevant to everyone from students to secretaries. In fact, The Joy of Writing celebrates one of its own tenets--"master the art of recycling"--a necessary skill for an author who is as wildly prolific and versatile as Berton. --Kim Hughes

It always comes as something of a surprise to me that there are so many people who want to write and, failing that, want to read about what it takes to be a writer. This may have something to do with two complimentary misconceptions about the literary life—one that everyone has a book in them. The other that there is a secret lurking out there somewhere that will make it possible for them to get that obstinate— and, no doubt, best-selling—manuscript finished.
Somerset Maugham summed up the bad news for aspiring writers a long time ago. There are three rules for writing a novel, he said, unfortunately no one knows what they are.
Berton, whose flamboyance is restricted to the bowties he wears on TV panel shows, is as industrious as a beaver. A typical chapter title from Berton's book: "The Joys of Organizing". We get, it seems, the elder statesmen we deserve. Berton, who escaped the fate of working 70-hour weeks in a Yukon mining camp, set out to make a small success for himself in this country and wildly exceeded his modest dreams.
But Berton understands that it's no picnic being a famous author. (He should try being obscure.) For Berton, this has meant enduring requests from wannabe writers for advice, which Berton puts to good if somewhat cruel use, starting his book with a sampling of letters he's compiled over the years. Here's an excerpt from one fan's grandiose and ungrammatical correspondence: "What I have decided to put on paper it's my true experience and I'll tell you that's between Grapes of Wrath and Peyton Place."
Of course, Berton's not really being sadistic—or not just sadistic—by including letters like this. He has an important point to make: being a writer is not about the story you have to tell, it's about how you tell that story.
In The Joy of Writing, Berton generously includes anecdotes about his early failures as well as samples of the scathing and lengthy letters he has received over the years from disappointed editors. The message to aspiring authors is unmistakable: you better learn to deal with rejection.
The Joy of Writing is a useful manual, though Berton's book has more to say about efficiency than inspiration. To that end, his list of "30 rules for up-and-coming writers" are scattered throughout the book like way stations—reminders to "Start small." (No. 9) Or, my favourite, "Suck up to your editor." (No. 26.)
Berton, who's written 49 books at last count, has a journeyman's instincts. He's respectful of editors, colleagues and gives credits to his researchers. He does get worked up once, though, repeating a run-in he had with historian J.L. Granatstein. Criticized by Granatstein for consciously being too interesting, Berton responds: "Well, professor, I sure as hell don't consciously make (my books) dull."
But even here he reveals an ulterior motive. "Rule No. 29: Use a bad review to sell your book." For the most, though, Berton takes bad reviews in stride, holding to the sensible opinion that there's no such thing as bad publicity. I mean, what are you going to do? Beat up your critics?
Books about writing can't help but be pulpits, the bullier the better. Berton, who's spent his career celebrating his country, isn't done preaching yet.
Joel Yanofsky (Books in Canada)