j-j-lee

[j-j-lee]

August 2025 Update

BETTER THIS YEAR GOES TO PRESS

Just sent off the third volume of the Better Next Year anthology of true stories by Christmas disaster survivors. Better This Year will be the last of the three we wanted to do at Tidewater. It comes out in November 2025.

CBC BOOKS CONTRIBUTOR

The anthologies have put me back into the mix of Canadian literature (though it sounds odd to put it that way). Any how, it's worked wonder on my ego. Having only one book out and a smattering of contributions to other people's anthologies sometimes made me feel like I was done for. But since editing my own anthologies, I've had a greater opportunity to engage with the larger writing community.

That includes contributing to CBC Books.

In February, I joined host Antonio Michael Downing and contributor Christine Estima on The Next Chapter to chat about James by Percival Everett.

Talking about books other than my own stuff on CBC has been really fun. The very first time I had a chance to do so was in December 2024. It was by accident, sort of.

With the release of Upon A Midnight Clear, the second book of the anthology series, I was hoping to discuss this new edition with Antonio Michael. However, it would have been very much like my first interview on the show with then-host Ali Hassan. That time I was promoting Better Next Year, the first volume, alongside the great writer and contributor Sonja Larsen (best known for Red Star Tattoo).

It would have been too much of the same. Instead they asked me to discuss on the show three horror titles to read during the holidays.

You can listen to it here: The Next Chapter. It's about 30 minutes in.

All this to say it's been an unexpected pleasure to be a semi annual contributor to The Next Chapter. I love the team there. Admire the producer Jacqueline Kirk to bits. And it's fun getting to know Antonio Michael over the mic lines!

And better yet, I'm recording another three-book-look for Halloween 2025. More on that later.

I suppose this whole post is to acknowledge how grateful I am to The Next Chapter team.

Ok. Next time.

[j-j-lee]

Why Captain America

One evening two summers back (editor’s note: this post was composed back in 2010! Excelsior!), Len Lee, my friend and film director of the documentary, Tailor Made, which featured my master tailor, Bill Wong, and I considered going to film.

Len is the art house guy. I am not. I tend to fork over cash for movies involving men in tights and I’m not talking about ballet or Shakespeare. I wanted to see Captain America: First Avenger.

Len frowned. “Captain America,” he said, “I could never get into him. He seems so jingoistic.”

We settled for supper instead. But his disdain of Cap, Steve Rogers, that 1940s creation of Jack Kirby and Joe Simon, in the patriotic, Nazi-busting fervour, bothered me.

Of course, the hero’s outdated reputation arises from his origin and raison d’etre. Steve Rogers was the 98 lb weakling, stamped 4-F, and prevented from joining the army in the months just prior to America’s direct involvement in the war. He was a creation of two young Jewish men who wanted nothing better than to battle the agents of the Master Race bent on exterminating Jews.

When the war ended, when the horrors of the Holocaust came to full light, the earnestness of the star-spangled shield-slinger, the ability to knock-out evil with one right cross, seemed outlandish. Any how readers were tired of the war and therefore, they were tired of Captain America.

The superhero comic went through the lull of the 1950s. When the genre regained popularity in the Silver Age, 1960s to you non-geeks, spurned on by titles such as the Fantastic Four and Spiderman, many of the characters from the 40s were able to find new relevance in popular culture.

Unlike DC characters, the Marvel roster of characters developed in the 1940s didn’t take hold. DC’s Superman had George Reeve, Christopher Reeves and Smallville to help it maintain the character’s status as a household name the declining generations of comic readers. among non-comic book readers. Batman too has had compelling recent interpretations from Bruce Timm’s amazing animated series to Christopher Nolan’s epic gritty films to cement the caped crusader in our imagination. DC big three heroes (which includes Wonder Woman) had a lasting foothold in post-war media.

Marvel’s characters did not take hold. OG heroes like Cap, Bucky, Human Torch, and Namor, The Sub-Mariner predate Marvel Comics (Timely became Atlas which became Marvel) but disappeared once the war ended.

Yet Captain America is one of the earliest super hero creations and stands beside Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman as a true original.

And yet, at the dawn of the MCU, and despite the success of the new Cap film and The Avengers, the character, at least in 2010, felt decisively second-tier next to Iron Man and Spider-Man as a cinema star. Iron Man is hip. Spider-Man is sassy and flip as ever. Cap is simply square-jawed and square. A man out of his time.

Batman, Spider-Man, even Superman—despite his red and blue cheesiness—are acceptable, fully contemporary heroes. Somehow, they’ve entered the post-modern imagination without being two-dimensional, hokey, dated, dated, irrelevant as Captain America. Somehow they’ve lifted off the newsprint page and found a legitimate, critical place in our culture, appearing on television and cinemas. Archetypes in skin tight Underoos.

On screen, Batman had both Tim Burton AND Christoper Nolan. Spider-Man benefited from Sam Raimi AND Michael Chabon AND Kirsten Dunst.

In the comic book world, Cap remained spangle-marred until the mid-70s when social relevance entered mainstream comics.

Spider-Man had issues dedicated to combating drug use. Green Arrow and Green Lantern put aside their bow and cosmic powered ring aside and hitched a ride across America that questioned who were the real villains: super powered thieves or slum lords, racist sheriffs, and false messianic cult leaders.

Captain America did not lag behind. I started reading issues that came wrapped in a blue box and tissue paper. The storyline involved the Captain rejecting his stars and stripes and adopting the neutral blue uniform of Nomad, the man without a country. The cause: Steve Rogers discovered he was being manipulated by shadow government conspirators with a trail leading directly to the White House.

Considering that the Watergate scandal as a backdrop, the arc was mind blowing material. But that’s not what sealed the deal for me. It was how Private Rogers became Captain America again.

Those two pages were the most rousing in comic books outside of when Mar-Vell chose to leave behind the life of a Kree warrior and become a protector of peace. Those two pages have most likely defined for me the best idea of patriotism, which is about love of country and the desire to be better.

[j-j-lee]

Here are some of the wonderful contributors to the latest anthology of true Christmas stories, UPON A MIDNIGHT CLEAR: MORE CHRISTMAS EPIPHANIES.

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In Conversation with JJ Lee: The Art and Business of Memoir Editing

Read in West Coast Editor.

In this candid interview, JJ Lee guides us through the tricky waters of memoir editing. From the mentoring skills needed to do the job to identifying an author’s narrative springboard, JJ’s insights can help enhance any editor’s toolkit.

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Writing tip for memoirists: make emotion, don't say emotion. Let me explain how to elicit strong feelings in the reader in memoir.

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Overshoot: one of my best tips on writing scenes for memoir

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Untitled, optical print on Fujitrans, c 2005-2024

PARADE

Photographs by JJ Lee

ARTS NEW WEST: THE GALLERY AT QUEEN’S PARK

Centennial Lodge, New Westminster, BC

April 10 to May 5, 2024

Gallery Hours: Wednesday to Sunday – 10am – 2pm

For over a decade, JJ Lee has taken ad hoc portraits of participants preparing to march in New Westminster’s Hyack Day Parade.

I grabbed what film camera I felt good about at the time and headed out to the marshalling area just around the corner from where I lived. I'd catch folks in full regalia but totally relaxed and waiting. So I asked to take their picture. And unlike when they're on parade, I asked them to dial it down and just relax in front of the camera. And this is what I got.

The portraits seem to straddle both the casual and the formal and attempt to delve into identity, photographic vision, ethnography, and the idea of evolving communities. There is attention paid to dress and how performance manifests in social rituals. The individuals portrayed here are both "on" and "off" in a way rarely captured in parades. The images are all full-crop. The whole photo-emulsive area of each photograph make up each image. No pronounced manipulation or editing has been applied to the portraits.

In truth, I am uncomfortable putting too fine a point on these images. They have to speak for themselves on some level. But I guess each carry their own surprising meaning however problematic and to find out what that meaning is I feel compelled to take the image.

Here are a list of FREE community events organized alongside PARADE:

• On Sunday, April 14, 1:00 PM at the Gallery in Queen’s Park, there will be a launch and artist talk. • On Sunday, April 21, 1:00 PM, JJ Lee will lead a Street Photography Walkabout. Meeting at New Westminster Skytrain Station (in front of the Safeway), Lee will lead a street photography walk along Columbia Street and the Quay. He's happy to facilitate a discussion on street photography techniques. • On Sunday, April 28, 1:00 PM at the Gallery in Queen’s Park, JJ Lee presents SNAP SHOT & SWAP. In an informal meetup, participants share the story and camera behind their all-time favourite photograph. Attendees are encouraged to discuss content, form, technique and technology by walking everyone through the image and the quirks and qualities of their camera. Also, everyone will be welcomed to bring a small amount of photographic gear to swap or sell after the presentation. Please note, no projection will be provided for the talk so please bring a print of your image AND no table will be provided or camera sales. For more info contact: The Gallery at Queen’s Park Centennial Lodge New Westminster, BC V3M 6W6 info@artsnewwest.ca (604) 525-3244

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[j-j-lee]

WHY DID I CREATE AN ANTHOLOGY COLLECTING TRUE HORRIBLE CHRISTMASES

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BETTER NEXT YEAR: available now, live events... EVERYWHERE!!!

The anthology is out. Better Next Year is...

". . . horrible and beautiful . . . Over the winter holidays, every plan we make, action we take, and outcome that falls upon us is magnified. Possibly by then the year is so long and old that we enter those final weeks with our nerves raw and frayed, so we feel it all.”

It's a collection of true-life Christmas memories that are heartbreaking, hilarious, and always poignant.

I've wanted to bring these stories together for a LONG time. And I'm so happy to share the season’s most miserable moments in surprising ways.

It features incredible stories by First Nation Communities Read winner Joseph Kakwinokanasum, Edna Staebler Non-Fiction Award winner Sonja Larsen, Griffin Prize and Governor General’s Award winner Tolu Oloruntoba, alongside new and emerging authors.

Better Next Year illuminates the best and worst of Christmas while never losing sight of the star of hope.

To hear stories LIVE and IN-PERSON, come to one of our FREE events by reserving your spot:

Thursday, Nov. 16, 6 PM - Massy Arts in Vancouver

Sunday, Nov. 26, 2 PM - Semiahmoo Branch, Surrey Public Libraries

Friday, Dec. 1, 6 PM - Caffe Fanstastico w Munro's Books, Victoria

Saturday, Dec. 9, 2 PM - Central Branch, Vancouver Public Library

Sunday, Dec. 10, 3 PM - West Vancouver Memorial Public Library

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JJ’s Coffee & Memoir: How to take life experiences & turn them into narrative...

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I finally have gotten around to sharing an audio version of my "How To Play Catch" story.

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“Shadows”

This nonfiction story was originally commissioned for CBC Radio’s IDEAS’ Bloodlines Project. It was a series of works to go along with Lawrence Hill’s 2013 Massey Lectures, BLOOD:The Stuff of Life.

When the police entered my father's ground floor apartment, they heard the crying first. I'm sure they also detected, as I did later on, the smell of urine.

I've always imagined the scene with the boy, five years old, sitting on the bathroom floor beside my father. My father's body sprawls, his arms akimbo, his arms like the crooks of a swastika, or a running man, like the victim’s taped outline on the cover of a murder mystery. The boy cries and the police constable picks him up. Though he is kindergarten age, I can't shake the idea that he wears a soaked diaper. There was that smell. Maybe he pissed himself. Maybe it was from when he was a toddler and he wet a mattress. Maybe this is what had become of the smell of my father.

My father, when he was young, smelled of vanilla, cigarettes and sweat, but maybe it had simply come down to piss.

The boy attended the funeral with his two half-sisters. They were 23 and 15 at the time. The boy’s mother did not. I suppose she knew we didn’t like her. Not her fault. Not really. But there was anger. How could she let herself become entangled in our misery? Did she not see the bottles and the rages? I suppose she made us feel ashamed. Our family lived in Montreal, and when my mother divorced my father in 1991, he moved out West and met the boy’s mother. And we knew that my father had brought all his demons to the new relationship. He drank. He shouted, he pushed, he shoved, and worse. History repeating itself. And we were responsible. We made it happen again. We cut our father out from our family and in doing so we inflicted him on another. Our private misery now would be shared.

Then there was the boy. After the chapel service we went to a local restaurant and ate wings and drank beer. I drank lustily. Not out of deep sorrow. Not then. Not yet. I drank from relief. We all did. I’m sure we did. My father, who could promise to kill you as easily as he could promise to take you out for an ice cream, could promise no more.

I watched my father’s boy. He originally sat between his sisters but got up and began to walk around the table, visiting his momentarily enlarged family. I saw his face. It had a softness and a fineness that must have belonged to his mother. My father did have a slender look when he was young, but I always saw my father’s face as full and heavy-featured. Greasy and meaty flesh. A pitbull head.

I was 27 years old and he was 46 when my father told me he was going to have another child. “You’re going to have a little brother.”

I said, “A half-brother.”

The boy sat beside my father in the last hours. A neighbour said he heard the crying. When the morning had passed into a hot August afternoon and the crying hadn’t stopped, the man called the police. The boy spent hours with my father, helpless to do anything. The coroner called weeks later to tell me of lesions on my father's legs. His blood, weakened by years of alcohol abuse, infected by bacteria, had become poison and made his heart stop beating.

I have not seen the boy since. He must be 17 years old. I sometimes wonder if he looks like me or my father. Sometimes I fantasize about sweeping back into his life when he’s ready. I’ll show him how to smoke cigars, knot a tie, and other ridiculous shit one picks up from the movies, like how to whittle a stick. Overcompensating, lavish promises, and foolish, presumptuous plans. Come over for dinner. See a movie. Look at our family pictures. Let me see yours. The boy whittles a stick and thinks, “Where the hell have you been?”

I have been afraid. That I will feel a pang of jealousy. He was there when my father died. For some reason that matters.

I am afraid to see the shadow of my father in the boy as I am afraid to see the shadow in myself. I am afraid he will see my father in me.

That he will look like me when I was young. Lanky with greasy hair. A nervous smile and a painful awkwardness. If I pulled him to me and breathed him in. Would I know the scent? Blood is secret. Blood is beneath. Blood never lies.

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I’m often asked how long it took to write The Measure of a Man which was published in 2011.

Answer: As I was preparing to talk about the memoir writing tonight in Coquitlam, BC at Place des Arts, I came across the first piece I scribbled about life with my father. It dates back to October 2001. I’ll read it tonight at the event.

Flying on a plane, with my father’s ashes by my leg, I began to write this letter, on an air sickness bag, to the CBC radio program, Richardson’s Roundup. It’s addressed to the Sad Goat (1-888-SAD-GOAT) which was the mascot of the show.

It’s about autumn, baseball and a rekindled love for it, and missing a father who was kind of like the Cubs. He could break your heart.

Bill Richardson read the letter on air. Probably while my family and I made arrangements to buy a burial plot on Mont Royal in Montreal.

Then the show played a request, Wilco’s “Another Man’s Done Gone” from Mermaid Avenue.

So ten years is the answer.

And, Bill. Thanks.

[j-j-lee]

Memoir as time travel