Small Presses and Local Niches

In the world of publishing, the big houses have a reputation of attracting as large and general a readership as possible. Large publishers often exclude books that are primarily of local interest, books that recount some quirk of local history or the current trends in the region. Some writers have resorted to the difficult and oft-derided path of self-publishing in order to get their local-interest books out into the world; other writers have found a good match with one of the small presses in their native region. Indie publishers are usually better suited to concentrate marketing and sales efforts on smaller and more specific target markets.

Here at Ooligan Press, for example, our mission is to produce books that honor the cultural and natural diversity of the Pacific Northwest. Under this umbrella, Ooligan has published various works of fiction, nonfiction, young adult novels, and even poetry, all speaking to some facet of the complex Northwest ethos. One such book is Brew to Bikes: Portland’s Artisan Economy, by Portland State Associate Professor Charles Heying. In Brew to Bikes, Heying takes readers on a whirlwind tour of the many independent artisanal industries that have sprung up in Portland in recent decades, and muses on the factors that have made this particular city the ideal environment for such enterprises. For more books exploring the history and character of the Pacific Northwest, just visit our website.

Santa Fe, New Mexico. Image by user "Camerafiend" from Wikimedia Commons, resized under Creative Commons.

Santa Fe, New Mexico. Image by user “Camerafiend” from Wikimedia Commons, resized, under Creative Commons.

As proudly individualistic as Portland and the rest of the Pacific Northwest are, these are by no means the only places where small presses specializing in local-interest topics can thrive. Santa Fe, New Mexico, is home to an especially interesting example: The Palace Print Shop and Bindery, alternatively known as The Press of the Palace of the Governors. The Palace Print Shop and Bindery is an old-school press, living museum, and historical archive all rolled into one. It produces hand-bound, limited-edition works that focus on prominent events and personalities in the history of New Mexico, all while using genuine historical letterpress machinery.

The Hill Country of Texas. Image by David from Flickr, resized, under Creative Commons.

The Hill Country of Texas. Image by David from Flickr, resized, under Creative Commons.

Local presses need not be associated exclusively with major metropolises—west of San Antonio, in the aptly named Hill Country of Texas, the independent publisher known as Mockingbird Books can be found in a small town called Boerne. Mockingbird Books produces a few trade paperbacks and a whole passel of ebooks dedicated to the history and development of the state of Texas, and of the Hill Country in particular. Mockingbird Books also publishes a legal treatise on oil and gas titles, presumably of great interest in an oil-rich state. Despite being located a good thirty miles outside of San Antonio, Mockingbird Books is still able to call upon a rich regional history in its lineup of local-interest titles.

These three publishers are by no means the only presses dedicated to local topics. There are many such indie presses scattered throughout the United States, for every region, state, and city has its own unique character and history just waiting for native writers and readers to explore. Do you know of a small publisher in your area that focuses on local-interest titles? We at Ooligan Press encourage you to explore and find out—you may be surprised at what you find!

Susan Parr Guest Poet Post: “Flight from Fancy”

Every Thursday, Ooligan Press invites a poet whose work is included in Alive at the Center, our anthology of poetry from Pacific Northwest writers, to blog for us. This week, we are pleased to feature Susan Parr, a poet from Seattle, WA. Please enjoy her post!

The Flight from Fancy

That secret shake and cloak—the pen-name (or ‘anon’)—reads at first (briefly) like an evasion, but in the end is accepted as simple cache, as sphinx-in-a-clamshell, as one life’s sweat and sediment canistered. The life becomes mere cautionary pinpoint. But a tenth of one percent of its person still turns out; there’s this itchy prominent “I” in the pseudonymous sign-off. It lends legitimacy to what is probably a protective evasion.
But this hiding ‘I’ has an inverse: not in the individual, but in society: not in cover, but creation, in sheer fantasy. I don’t mean the genre, but the mental skill—the fat hamburgers of the practicing illumist, the slippery lost weekends, the dial-up connivances, in all of which we slay nine-and-ninety-nine hundredths of ourselves for the deliverance from reality. Whole societies can nearly die by some epidermic nicety or other. It is the de-nonymization of everyone’s perception; it is a kind of social sawtimber—not a protective cache and canister, but a polite mental clearcut. It’s denial’s scene and set engine.


2. The Department of Fancy, or, We Cannot Continue this Post Without a Look at Coleridge’s Thoughts on Imagination
Quick re-cap: Coleridge famously detangled the stems “fancy” and “imagination” in his 1817 Biographia Literaria. Energetically concerned about their misconstrual, he clarified, though not without some obscurity along the way, that ‘imagination’ rightfully named is an “esemplastic power” that creates by a repetition in the mind of the eternal “I Am” (BL, Chapter XIII). It is the reenactment of the creativity inherent in the oppositional forces behind transcendental reality. From the balancing of oppositional forces, the imagination finds energy to create a new, unified—well, a new unified art chunk, if you will:
The poet described in ideal perfection, brings the whole soul of man into activity, with the subordination of its faculties to each other…he diffuses a tone of unity, that blends, and (as it were) fuses, each into each, by that synthetic and magical power, to which we have exclusively appropriated the name of imagination. This power…reveals itself in the balance or reconciliation of opposite or discordant qualities… (BL, Chapter XIV)
But I think it’s safe to say that we don’t typically worry much about oppositions when we “imagine”—in fact what we more typically do is what he calls “fancy.”
This fancy is like a memory game liberated from physical boundaries, using fixed images to create unreal entities. For example, imagining the person you’re calling as the phone rings. Fancy works with what’s unreal and detached or associative: it is “indeed no other than a mode of memory emancipated from the order of time and space…equally with the ordinary memory the fancy must receive all its materials ready made from the law of association” (BL, Chapter XIII).
Back to that word esemplastic, which sounds a little like a Fimo clay version of empathic. Coleridge explains that it comes from the Greek for to shape into one. Though I think it can be said that empathy does shape after observation, this esemplastic power might operate at a “higher” octave of empathy. Since the “law of association” fixes fancy’s mode, do its parameters limit empathy to the bounds of personal memory? We fancy ourselves in someone’s place, but can the fixations of fancy limit resolution, so that we merely decorate with our projections—like this dude, bedeviled by wind chimes:

Windchimes Imagination Video

Click the image to watch the video on YouTube


3. Anthropoelgy?
It would be smart and updated to study Coleridge’s ideas in an empirical way, with the aid of MRIs and prone poets, and a quick check reveals that, OK, studies have been done, and Coleridge was right—about fancy, at least. The science seems to be teasing out that what we call imagination, disconnected from physical limits, relates to memory (see here as well). Moreover, the process works in reverse: fancying ourselves, to continue with Coleridge’s term, can stimulate memory. It’s clear this faculty is central to human interactions, planning, creativity, and on—this fancy is powerful stuff. But Coleridge insists on more.
Few would confess, “Oh, Colridgean imagination, I use it all the time.” I mean, what is he talking about? He seems to require us to imagine each concept in turn, holding the entity as long as possible until a personal example presents itself. We want a muscle-memory for both skills, not just one. But that understanding already involves memory, and certain pit-falls lie here should the hapless reader mistakenly use fancy to try and model the two terms. To avoid this, one almost wants to avoid imagining the abstractions altogether, even avoid thinking of them. We still need to intuit the way forward, or else bring it down to dirt level, twigs, ants, sap, a plastic cap, a wasp wing—here, in the world of poetic mythology, might we find Imagination?
Turn to the obscure, but worthwhile: the 1962 book, C.M. Bowra’s Primitive Song, has been praised as a rich compendium of indigenous poetry. Bowra’s material is the word-arts of a number of cultures living separate from twentieth century civilization, including Selk’nam/Owano, Inuit, San, Yamana, Vedda, Mbuti, and others. Binary like Coleridge’s system,the survey contrasts two terms, modern imagination and primitive imagination. Briefly, it works out something like this: modern imagination operates when a person forms a mental image without reference to the senses or world. That image may exist, in some other time or place (memory), but the original is at the moment of imagining “not present to the senses.” This sounds a lot like fancy, the faculty imaged in the fMRI scans.
In contrast, Bowra says, “primitive imagination does nothing of this kind. It is resolutely and rigorously concerned not with what is absent in time or place but with what is believed to be present but invisible.” This kind of imagination deals in visions. It connects to the supernatural; it intercepts important forms of entities that dwell in mythologies particular to a culture. It works to lend these entities a “household” familiarity, partly in order to remove barriers to calling upon them in matters of daily predicament. It’s the mental technique that gives authority to supplication. In other words, it helps people.
Such methods are commonly written off as superstition; moreover, the larger contrast between modern/primitive is commonly written of as romanticization of the indigenous. But here it’s a creative process, not a way of life under discussion; I think we can suspend the terminology as inherently fanciful. Meanwhile, consider the empiricism underlying the art form. Bowra painstakingly points out throughout this book that the practitioner of primitive imagination had an exceptionally detailed understanding of the local environment. They knew calendrical bud-phases, and cloud organization; they might pinpoint time of day by combining shadow angles, bird activity, waypoints spot-lit in the sun/shade forests. Against that highly specific field, the song-maker detected messages aiding survival. Without that field, the imaginative radar lost resolution.
Seeking help with all this, I tried some simple diagrams—but I fear that fancy destroyed my perception.


Figure 1

Figure 1: Bowra’s Primitive Imagination.

(Does this exist?) If thought follows the curved tracks, then the four inner circles represent the hidden-but-real emerging in those thoughts from an inner store of mythic narratives, sensory skill, and local natural science (pharmacology, hunting, foraging, agriculture, etc.)—and from a place indicating the connectedness of all of these. Seasons, moon cycles, along with some sense of an eclipse calendar emerges.


Figure 2

Figure 2: Bowra’s modern imagination.

Similar but less specific than Coleridge’s concept of fancy. If thought follows the curved tracks, then the twelve circle tracks represent thought that is detached from time and space emerging from an infinite source. The overlap in thinking (overlap of the circles) represents the proliferation of forms resulting from associations. This associative material is often specific to a cultural mindframe, even as the imaginative creations are excised from time and space, suggesting that modern imagination’s sense of liberation is an illusion.


Figure 3

Figure 3: Coleridge’s Fancy.

 (We’re pretty sure this exists, and has been mapped via fMRI.) Similar to modern imagination, but here thoughts are tracks spanning left-right and top-bottom quadrants, suggesting memory of the past transformed into prediction for the future. Nonetheless the thoughts are linearly boundless and come from a center of infinite associative possibilities. But liberation is an illusion, because symmetry—and memory?—controls direction. (Note, in the Lottery spot, how the wind-chime hater loves symmetry). As memories are added, fancy’s possibilities grow. Fancies themselves become memories. Old fancies can be revised, referenced, and re-fancied.


Figure 4

Figure 4: Coleridge’s Imagination.

 “It dissolves, diffuses, dissipates, in order to recreate…yet still at all events it struggles to idealize and unify.” Unless I’m misinterpreting, this yin and yang figure captures the idea quite well. No need for a new diagram? I might only add that Coleridge references art, and so the process “struggles” to unify. Therefore some wobble in this figure might add accuracy. Source: Wikimedia Commons.


Two systems, clearly indicating a common form of imagination linked to memory. Two systems, rather divergent on Imagination, but one hinting that empiricism might play a role. To truly imagine, if one must reconcile opposites, one’s thinking must include both empiricism and intution.
This leaves us with the question: do we fancy Imagination? Or does our fancying it, hide it?


4. Oysters
When The Seattle Times reported that by 2038, ocean waters off the Washington coast are projected to become so acidic that shelled creatures important to the marine food chain will begin to dissolve—why didn’t the city stop?
Did anyone else who read this imagine an eighty-year-old in 2091 (today, the two-year-old), standing back from the surf and watching the ocean like a dying relative, imagining the old lost ocean life, the food for god’s sake: the Chinook, the Coho, the Sockeye salmon, the crabs, the oysters, all the shellfish, along with the sea butterflies and other pteropods, by then existing only in, what, remnant pockets? What would that eighty-year-old think of the poetry of say, 2011? Will she or he bother to read it at all? Does this person’s car run on carbon pulled from the air, but require by financial contract that it be driven mind-numbing miles five days a week? Does this person eat AquAdvantage Salmon, genetically modified with eel genes and reared in artificial pools near a slowly drying Panamanian river locked up by multiple dams and almost devoid of aquatic life—fish that is nevertheless packaged and sold as de facto Atlantic salmon? If so, who then becomes the Government, and who the Department of Imagination?
I mean, who did those wind chimes chime for, buddy?


5. The Flight from Fancy
Coleridge tells us that any era pushes toward a correction: “It is not, I own, easy to conceive of a more opposite translation of the Greek phantasia and the Latin imaginatio, but it is equally true that in all societies there exists an instinct of growth, a certain collective, unconscious good sense working progressively to desynonymize those words originally of the same meaning…” (BL, Chapter IV).
It’s not something we often think to do: calm the spin of time-and-space-detached material, switch to the more perceptive mode, uncover the hidden in the real, better picture our predicaments. To help ourselves: begin at the pinpoint and, with caution, un-shellac until we find the end of the simple evasions.
It might require the re-learning the local natural environment in great detail. Start with the orchestrations of sound, progress to the colors of things…later, take up the whole system of Imagination as that central mythic material (see diagram one), and claim a household familiarity with its hidden powers. At last, the desynonymizing of the skills fancy and the skills imaginative gains speed. We reach toward a more radically palpable new pattern for thought—and some new brain cells form, too, probably a good thing.


6. Search and Rescue: A Few of Imagination’s Pen Names
The Turbulent Presence. Barbara Guest, Forces of Imagination
“…Imagination the changeling can sting you with its fictive barbs. Coleridge wrote Biographia Literaria in his youth when he was trembling with imaginative power…Imagination lives with the visionary. When you touch its glass there is a ring. The French have a phrase clair-obscure which translates as obscure light and means the mysterious side of thought…It is also the “absent flower” of Mallarme. A turbulent presence. And we must acknowledge this turbulent presence because it is there to save the poem from a disobedient disregard of its own nature.”
Betokening the Invisible. Wallace Stevens, Journals.
“In the cathedral, I felt one presence; on the highway, I felt another. Two different deities presented themselves, and though I have only cloudy visions of either, yet I now feel the distinction between them. The priest in me worshipped one god at the shrine, the poet, another god, at another shrine. The priest worshipped mercy and love, the poet, beauty and might. As I sat dreaming with the congregation, I felt how the glittering altar worked on my senses, stimulating and consoling them, and as I went tramping through the fields and woods, I beheld every blade of grass revealing, or rather, betokening, the invisible.”
The Choice. David Foster Wallace, Kenyon College commencement address.
“The capital-T truth is about life before death. It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time…”
Full version of David Foster Wallace’s Commencement Address.


 Turning it over to that collective good sense now, and wishing it good speed.

Susan Parr was born in Las Cruces, New Mexico and grew up in Florida, central Illinois, West Virginia and Ohio. She was educated at Barnard College, and studied at Leningrad State University during the summer of 1988. In 2005 Susan left her job as a self-taught graphic designer and earned an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Washington. In 2009, her first collection of poems, Pacific Shooter (Pleiades Press), won the Lena-Miles Wever Todd Poetry Prize. Concurrently, she began to gradually lose some sense of hearing.
The poem “Receding Universe Rag,” which appears in this anthology, can be seen as an attempt to construct the hidden puzzle-piece flow of fate. Seen through an X-ray telescope, or plotted chronologically on a chart, failure might have a lovely form. Her barcode poem, “Bootlegs,” appeared graphically at several Seattle galleries as a part of NEPO 5, the 2011 Seattle arts installation. “Receding Universe Rag” is featured in the complete Alive at the Center anthology as well as the Seattle edition. Both books are currently available from your favorite local bookshop or online retailer.

Susan McCaslin Guest Poet Post: “The Han Shan Poetry Project: How Poetry Came to Save a Rainforest”

Every Thursday, Ooligan Press invites a poet whose work is included in Alive at the Center, our forthcoming anthology of poetry from Pacific Northwest writers, to blog for us. This week, we are pleased to feature Susan McCaslin, a poet from Fort Langley, BC. An earlier version of this piece was first published in the March 2013 issue of Common Ground. Please enjoy it!

The Han Shan Poetry Project: How Poetry Came to Save a Rainforest

Last Thanksgiving, my husband and I visited an old rainforest in GlenValley, Langley, British Columbia, not far from our home. We’d heard the Township of Langley was planning to sell it off to raise funds for capital projects.
As we walked through the forest, we paused at the base of a giant Black Cottonwood, possibly 240 or more years old. I’d fallen in love with a forest and become an activist.
This forest and a neighboring one had been publically owned for decades. The westernmost parcel, known as “McLellan Park West,” had been taken off the market because of public outcry led by a local group of residents called WOLF (Watchers of Langley Forests). In July, WOLF was given a two-month window to raise three million dollars with which to purchase McLellan Forest East.
Many felt it unfair to force residents to buy back land already belonging to them. Besides, shouldn’t there be other ways to raise funds for capital projects than destroying a rare, wild ecosystem?
It was rumored a local developer wished to selectively log and build private country estates. If this happened, the land would no longer be accessible to the public. It would cease to be a vital ecosystem providing suitable habit for the endangered Pacific Water Shrew, Oregon Spotted Frog, the blue-listed Red-legged Frog and Great Blue Heron.
Scientific reports had documented the ecological value of the forested areas, but the Mayor and Councillors continued to speak of the land as “inventory,” “surplus,” and “idle land.”
It takes a village to save a rainforest. But what can an artist do? It occurred to me that poets understand the intrinsic value of nature and out need for it. So I decided to organize “An Afternoon of Art and Activism” or “Art in the Park” in McLellan Forest East.
This event drew together local visual artists, poets, musicians, ecologists, photographers, a dancer, university students, high school students from the Langley School of Fine Arts, and the general public.
A week later, 160 high school students from the Langley Fine Arts School poured out of two big yellow buses to sketch, sing, and photograph the forest. After sharing their art in the woods, they organized a poetry reading and photo show of their own at a local café.
Next, my husband noticed an ad in the local paper announcing renowned wildlife artist Robert Bateman would be signing books in a nearby mall. He quickly emailed Bateman’s website, and within an hour or so, Bateman himself responded: “Yes, I’ll be there in the morning.”
Bateman commented on the irony of logging a vital ecosystem in order to build a recreation center elsewhere. “This is the recreation center, right here!” he said, gesturing to the earth. Shortly after, the story went national.
My poet friends were eloquent in their support for protection. Dispersed acrossCanada, many would be unlikely to come see the forest for themselves. How could their voices be present here?
Then I remembered studying the zesty poems of an old hermit monk from ancient China named Han Shan from Cold Mountain. There he scribbled poems on rocks and suspended them from trees. Han Shan was to become my mentor and muse. The Han Shan Poetry Project was born.
I put out a call for tree poems on the websites of the various writers’ organizations. Soon my calls appeared on people’s blogs and websites all over the world. Over 150 poems poured in within a week and a half, and within two weeks the number had gone up to over 200.
Han Shan Poems in Trees
We placed the poems in plastic paper protectors, threaded them with colorful ribbon, and festooned them from the trees. Poems poured in from all over the lower mainland, Vancouver Island, other provinces, as well as New Mexico, California, Florida,  the UK, Australia, and Turkey. The exhibit included poems by major prize-winning Canadian poets like Lorna Crozier and Patrick Lane, Fred Wah (the Poet Laureate of Canada), and children as young as six years of age.
Poems pirouetted like white angels. Heavy drops of rain, frost, sprigs of moss, and bark covered them and seemed the forest’s way of claiming them. We advertised the event in the local papers as the forest’s anthology. Poet had set their small gestures of creative expression beside the vaster creativity of nature.
Han Shan Poems 2
People arrived from all over the lower mainland to stroll through the woods, pausing to read the poems. Local visual artist Susan Falk donated a painting to the ongoing work of WOLF. The Opus Women’s Choir performed in the forest.
At the Langley Township meeting just prior to the December deadline, WOLF informed the politicians they weren’t able to raise the three million. A letter from the BC Ministry of Environment arrived that afternoon saying that, in response to recent government ecological studies, McLellan Forest should be protected as an “ecological reserve.” However, they would not provide funding to allow this to happen.
Within a few days, the Mayor and Council turned around, announcing the forest had been given another reprieve. A local newspaper declared McLellan Forest the “story of the year.”
In response to grassroots initiatives, in January of 2013, the Mayor and Council sent out a press release saying they were taking the parcels in the western part of the McLellan East off the market, while authorizing the sale of the four lots to the east. The community was greatly relieved that sixty percent of the forest would be saved. It was clear that without the public outcry, and months of work, the entire forest would have been sold.
Elation was qualified by disappointment, since the portion of land the politicians wish to sell contains some of the most sensitive habit for species at risk and endangered species.
Yet poets claim this union of arts and activism a victory for all. The Han Shan Poetry Project demonstrates that the arts have an untapped potential for transforming society. Art and activism can dovetail in remarkable ways. I would say this is because art pauses before beauty, raising the conflict between conservationists and developers beyond their various ends. It appeals to a common recognition of beauty in biodiversity.
An activist must live in the paradox of unknowing. For me, it wasn’t easy being in the process without attachment to outcomes. Yet there is always the consolation that nature holds us within a larger story, a more expansive narrative; that somehow our words and actions matter.
Han Shan Spirit
Yes, poetry matters, as old Han Shan himself could have told us.
The forest’s story is not over. McLellan Forest East and a  neighboring forest, McLellan Forest West have been taken off the market, but they are not yet permanently protected. If you wish to help, please write the Township of Langley and the Provincial government of BC, urging them to work together to designate McLellan Forest East as a park or ecological reserve both for the community and for posterity.
Township of Langley
Ministry of Environment, Hon. Dr.TerryLake

Three Poems for the Trees of McLellan Forest East,Fort Langley,BC

Susan McCaslin


Dear Black Cottonwood

   (GlenValley, Langley, British Columbia)
“I stood still and was a tree amid the wood…”
–Ezra Pound
Your saffron leaves unselve us
hollowed trunk a doorway
summoned from forest floor
Melded branches winding
whispered texts entangled
torqued to speechless autumn skies
flaming torsos rising
mottled leaves dropping
honed to shape of tears
What would take you out,
hang for sale signs by the roadway
all in the name of development
de-creating where children
breath in the moist greening
courtship cries of wild barred owls?

Dear Lovers’ Tree

I fell in love with a forest
and became an activist
but first there was you
one, no, two, two cedars twinned
around the heartwood of a tree husk
a realm—two torsos attuned
stretched limb to limb
two root systems’ wet entangling
two of you ascending
splitting, reuniting
like Plato’s round being
against the gods of progress
There are those who would chainsaw
your wide open hearts
and, yes, you pant toward union
under the sky canopy
bride-ing the soar of day
palm to palm like holy palmers’ kiss*
blessed jointure each to each
pressed each into the other’s ahhhh
So, silenced at your mossed knees
I surrender all
to the forest which makes and remakes
your lust and breath
your aching stately pavane**
*holy palmers’ kiss: Juliet to Romeo in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet: “For saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch,/ And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.” Palmers are pilgrims who go to a sacred site.
**pavane: a stately Renaissance dance

Dear McLellan Forest

(for the students of the Langley School of Fine Arts who came on Oct. 15, 2012 to experience the endangered McLellan Forest, Glen Valley, Langley, BC)
For the graced and gravitied trees
lolling by the Fraser, this green hymn
Hildegard’s viriditas,
greening power, stemming from the woods
Green man, green woman, green child
mossed and tossed from green
for the unabashed tree huggers
who know it takes a village to save a forest
forHopkins’ Binsey Poplars
hacked and hewn
for the tall earth-honouring dream
and the dropping, dripping boughs
for the squadron of teens
streaming steadily from yellow buses
into the sacred space to stand
among maidenhair ferns
with serenades for the mushroom stairway
climbingCottonwood’s hollowed heart
for the auric fairy rings still visible
to un-inventoried eyes
for the Councillors who would barter heritage
for a recreation centre elsewhere
a deeper council, wisdom works,
a pealed appeal rising
Land appellants come
singing for hemlock and cedar—
those who long to be re-created
by mother world, held in green veils
chanting green

Susan McCaslin is an award-winning poet from Fort Langley, British Columbia, and Faculty Emeritus in English Literature of Douglas College in New Westminster, BC. Her most recent volume, Demeter Goes Skydiving (University of Alberta Press) was a finalist for the BC Book Prize (Dorothy Livesay Award, 2011) and the 2012 winner of the Alberta Book Publishing Award (Robert Kroetsch Poetry Book Award).
Susan’s poem “Border Boogie” will be featured in the complete Alive at the Center anthology as well as the Vancouver edition. Both books are currently available from your favorite local bookshop or online retailer