Since Adele Wiseman was Margaret Laurence’s close friend for many many years (remember Ella in The Diviners? “So you’re going to put me in a book!” wrote Wiseman to Laurence in 1972), the correspondence between these two contemporaries provides one of the richest threads in the emerging tapestry of Laurence’s life as a writer. And it is a rich tapestry indeed. Since Laurence’s death in January 1987 we have seen a collection of essays by friends and writers, editor John Lennox’s own selection of the Laurence-Purdy correspondence, and Laurence’s own memoir. A biography has also just been published. What the Laurence-Wiseman correspondence adds to the picture is an intimate dialogue between these two honorary sisters – well-known Canadian writers and mothers both – spanning over 40 years. As Lennox and co-editor Ruth Panofsky point out, their letters speak of the cost and stages of becoming a writer. Of being a woman writer, I would add. In some ways the costs were similar – guilt over spending too much or too little time and energy on family – but the stages were very different. Wiseman won critical acclaim with her first novel in 1956, and then waited until 1974 to see her second novel published. Laurence, by contrast, steadily gained recognition throughout her career to take her place as one of Canada’s best-known writers. Surprisingly, Laurence and Wiseman say very little about the greatest costs of all: Laurence’s battle over censorship of The Diviners; and both writers’ struggles with illnesses which, ultimately, led to their untimely deaths.

There are more letters by Laurence than by Wiseman – a function of which letters survived. That the strength of Wiseman’s character and conviction comes through as clearly as it does, despite this imbalance, is evidence of the editors’ careful selection. The clear-headed introduction, written by two authorities in the field (Panofsky wrote a biography of Wiseman), provides invaluable context, and explanatory notes are both helpful and easy to find. This is a touchstone text for Canadians.

Elizabeth Greene’s collection of poems, essays, and memories of Adele Wiseman echoes Laurence’s deep respect for her friend’s strength of conviction (“In about 20 years time,” Laurence wrote in 1968, “every book I’ve ever written will be out of print or on the remainder barrow…[i]t’s not the same for you…because you are trying to do that most difficult thing – to write with a kind of total commitment about whatever you could see, however terrifying it might be”).

As its title suggests, this collection is written in honour of Wiseman, and it includes a wide range of material, some previously published: creative writing inspired by Wiseman (such as Anne Michaels’ “The Hooded Hawk”), critical assessments of Wiseman’s work (such as an article on Crackpot by Wiseman authority Michael Greenstein, and an assessment of The Sacrifice within the context of the biblical slaying of Isaac, written by Jewish studies scholar Reena Zeidman), interviews about Wiseman, informal reminiscences (especially about her pivotal role in the Banff May seminars), and a wonderful novella by Wiseman herself – “Goon of the Moon and the Expendables” (previously published in The Malahat Review). What the collection does not contain, however, is anything critical of Wiseman. Indeed, Greene’s explicit praise of Wiseman and her work seems, especially in the introduction, a bit defensive. Acknowledging that Wiseman is still a comparatively neglected writer, she argues – echoing Laurence’s own sentiment – this is a function of her commitment to writing that will last, no matter what the fashion. But the novella makes the point well – well enough, in fact, that I wish this collection had been two collections (one, an “appreciation” of Wiseman the writer and, two, a critical examination of her work), precisely because Wiseman’s work is good enough and important enough to withstand close critical scrutiny.

Greene is to be congratulated for raising the issue and reopening what will be a significant critical dialogue. Ultimately, however, Greene’s collection makes a slightly different point, one about the quality of Wiseman’s humanity. Wiseman comes through as a formidable mentor and teacher – full of determination, wisdom, and spunk. This too, we learn, marks her contribution to Canadian letters.

Both these books are about writers as well as about writing – about their strength of conviction, and about their rich and humane legacies to future generations. “Coraggio avanti,” wrote Laurence to Wiseman in 1978, “a bravery given to you long ago/ by strange beloved people/ and passed on/ our slogan through the years.”