The Cherrys Books: Family, Adventure, and Imagination

William Matthew Scott, better known by his pen name Will Scott, was a British writer born in 1893 in Leeds, Yorkshire, and active as a novelist, playwright, short-story writer, and children’s author until his death in 1964 in Herne Bay, Kent. In his earlier career he wrote detective novels and plays including The Limping Man, and is said to have contributed around 2,000 short stories to magazines and newspapers, which was considered a record in the United Kingdom during his lifetime. His shift into children’s fiction came relatively late and was inspired by his own grandchildren, for whom he began inventing stories that eventually became The Cherrys series.  

Published between 1952 and 1965The Cherrys consists of 14 books aimed at children around ten years old. These books are set in a series of fictional English villages and bays, often around the Kentish coast, and centre on a single extended family: Captain and Mrs Cherry and their four children, Jimmy, Jane, Roy, and Pam. The family’s unusual animal companions, a monkey named Mr Watson and a parrot called Joseph, add to the charm of the stories.  

At the heart of The Cherrys is a simple but powerful idea: childhood is an adventure to be nurtured by imagination and shared experience. Rather than portraying children operating independently of adults, as was common in much children’s fiction of the era, these books emphasize active parental involvement, especially through the father figure, Captain Cherry. A retired explorer, he delights in creating games, puzzles, treasure hunts, mystery trails, and “happenings” that turn ordinary days into extraordinary quests. These events span coastlines, forests, gardens, and even indoor spaces transformed by imagination into jungles, deserts, or deserted islands.  

The recurring concept of a “happening” – a structured, imaginative adventure, is one of the defining features of the series. Whether decoding maps, tracking mysterious figures, solving puzzles, or embarking on seaside explorations, each book presents a series of linked episodes that encourage curiosity, teamwork, problem-solving, and play. Scott’s approach reflects a belief in the value of learning through play, where the boundaries between fantasy and reality are fluid but always grounded in cooperative activity with family and friends.  

Another important theme in The Cherrys is engagement with the natural and built environment. Scott often provided maps of the stories’ fictional settings , such as Market Cray or St Denis Bay, and used them as stages for the characters’ activities. This emphasis on place encourages readers to see their own landscapes as rich with potential for discovery. The stories also reflect a positive view of the mid-century British countryside and coast, celebrating local topography and community life.  

Because Scott was writing at a time when much of children’s literature featured independent adventures without adults, The Cherrys stood out in its portrayal of grown-ups as co-adventurers rather than obstacles. This inclusive structure bridges the generational gap, showing children and adults working together, learning from one another, and finding joy in shared challenges.  

Despite their popularity in their day, these books are no longer in print, making them a somewhat forgotten gem of 1950s and 1960s British children’s literature. Yet for those who discover them today, the series offers a window into a world where imagination, family bonds, adventure, and everyday wonder are woven seamlessly into the narrative fabric. 

Five Things We Have Learned This Week

🗞️ Five Things: Jan 24–30, 2026

Date: January 31, 2026
Range: Saturday to Friday


1️⃣ 🌐 UN Financial Crisis & Global Governance Strain

The United Nations warned it could face a serious financial shortfall by mid-2026 due to unpaid member dues and outdated funding structures. Secretary-General António Guterres called for urgent reforms and renewed commitments to sustain multilateral institutions.

2️⃣ 🇺🇸 U.S. Nationwide General Strike & Immigration Protests

Large-scale protests and coordinated labor actions took place across the United States following controversial immigration enforcement actions. Unions and advocacy groups framed the events as a response to broader concerns about civil rights, policing, and federal authority.

3️⃣ 🧠 China Accelerates AI & Technology Strategy

China moved to ease constraints on artificial intelligence development by approving imports of advanced AI chips, while senior leadership emphasized AI as a defining technology of the era. The moves signal intensified competition in global AI and semiconductor ecosystems.

4️⃣ 🤝 Gulf Support for Lebanon & Regional Recovery

Qatar announced hundreds of millions of dollars in reconstruction and infrastructure support for Lebanon, alongside humanitarian initiatives tied to refugee resettlement and regional stability. The commitments reflect renewed Gulf engagement in Levant recovery efforts.

5️⃣ 🏛️ UAE Expands Role as Global Convening Hub

The United Arab Emirates confirmed it will host six major international summits in February, covering global governance, digital trade, health innovation, and tolerance. The move reinforces the UAE’s positioning as a central platform for international dialogue.


📌 Notable Context From the Week

  • 🚢 Global ports issued updated operational guidance amid ongoing supply-chain congestion and weather disruptions.
  • 🔥 International health agencies continued campaigns against neglected tropical diseases despite funding pressures.
  • 🪙 Debate intensified around the influence of major AI leaders and the concentration of power in the tech sector.

Does Rosemary Barton Know Where the Line Is? Journalism, Punditry, and the Authority Problem at CBC

In recent weeks, two moments involving Rosemary Barton have sharpened a long-simmering concern about the state of Canadian political journalism. Taken together, they invite a serious question about boundary discipline, not at the margins of commentary, but at the very centre of institutional authority. When the senior political correspondent at a public broadcaster appears uncertain about where journalism ends and punditry begins, the issue is no longer personal style. It is structural.

The most telling example came during Barton’s criticism of Mark Carney for publicly pushing back against Donald Trump. Carney’s assertion that Canadians are strong was met not with a question about strategy or consequences, but with a rebuke. Barton suggested that he should not “talk like that” while negotiations with the United States were ongoing. This was not interrogation. It was correction. The distinction matters. Journalism tests claims and identifies risks. Punditry adjudicates what ought to be said and enforces preferred norms of behaviour. In this case, the journalist stepped into the role of strategic adviser.

That intervention rested on an unstated, but powerful assumption. It treated rhetorical restraint toward the United States as the only responsible posture and framed public assertiveness as diplomatically naïve or reckless. Yet this is not a settled fact. It is a contested theory of power. For many Canadians, public expressions of confidence and sovereignty are not obstacles to negotiation, but instruments of democratic legitimacy. By presenting elite caution as self-evident realism, Barton transformed a debatable worldview into an implied journalistic standard.

This moment did not stand alone. It echoed a broader pattern in which certain political choices are framed as inherently reasonable while others are treated as violations of an unwritten rulebook. Barton’s interviews frequently embed normative assumptions inside ostensibly neutral questions. The effect is subtle, but cumulative. Political actors who align with institutional orthodoxy are invited to explain. Those who depart from it are warned, corrected, or disciplined. Over time, skepticism becomes asymmetrical, and audiences begin to sense that the field of legitimate debate is being quietly narrowed.

The problem is compounded by Barton’s position. A senior political correspondent does not merely report events. The role carries symbolic weight. It signals what seriousness looks like, what competence sounds like, and which instincts are deemed responsible. When that authority is used to police tone or enforce elite etiquette, it reads not as opinion, but as instruction. Viewers are not encountering a commentator among many. They are encountering the voice of the institution.

This is particularly consequential at a public broadcaster. CBC’s democratic legitimacy depends on its ability to distinguish clearly between explanation and advocacy. When journalists appear more concerned with managing political risk on behalf of elites than with illuminating choices for the public, trust erodes. Citizens do not feel informed. They feel managed. That erosion rarely arrives as a scandal. It accumulates through moments that feel small, instinctive, even well intentioned, yet consistently tilt in the same direction.

The Carney episode also revealed a deeper misalignment of priorities. Carney’s remarks were aimed at Canadians, not at Trump. They functioned as reassurance and civic affirmation in a moment of external pressure. Barton’s response implicitly subordinated domestic democratic speech to foreign sensibilities. That is a value judgment about whose audience matters most. It may be a defensible argument in a column. It is not a neutral premise for an interview.

None of this requires imputing bad faith or crude partisanship. The issue is not ideology so much as role confusion. Contemporary political media increasingly collapses reporting, analysis, and commentary into a single on-air persona. The incentives reward strong takes and strategic framing. Over time, journalists can begin to experience elite consensus as common sense and dissent as irresponsibility. The line does not disappear all at once. It fades.

At the senior level, however, that line must be actively maintained. Journalism asks why choices are made and what consequences follow. Punditry advises, corrects, and enforces norms. When a journalist tells a political actor what should or should not be said, the boundary has been crossed. When that crossing becomes habitual, it reshapes the institution’s relationship with the public.

The question, then, is not whether Rosemary Barton is tough enough or fair enough in any single exchange. It is whether she still recognizes the limits of her authority. A senior political correspondent is not a shadow negotiator, a risk manager, or a guardian of elite comfort. The role is to clarify politics, not to perform it.

If that distinction is lost at the top, the consequences cascade downward. Journalism becomes strategy. Explanation becomes correction. And the public broadcaster, slowly and without declaration, ceases to act as a referee and begins to play the game itself.

Five Hundred Posts

This is the 500th post on Rowanwood Chronicles, and I want to pause for a moment rather than rush past the number.

Five hundred posts means months of thinking in public. It means essays written early in the morning with coffee going cold, notes drafted in train stations and kitchens, arguments refined and re-refined, and ideas that only became clear because I was willing to write them out imperfectly first. It means following threads of geopolitics, technology, culture, relationships, power, science fiction, and lived experience wherever they led, even when they led somewhere uncomfortable or unfashionable.

This blog was never intended to be a brand or a platform. It has always been a workshop. A place to test ideas, to connect dots, to push back against lazy thinking, and to explore what it means to live ethically and deliberately in a complicated world. Some posts have aged well. Others mark exactly where my thinking was at the time, and I am content to leave them there as signposts rather than monuments.

What has surprised me most over these five hundred posts is not how much I have written, but how much I have learned from the responses, private messages, disagreements, and quiet readers who later surfaced to say, “That piece helped me name something.” Writing in public creates a strange kind of community, one built less on agreement than on shared curiosity.

To those who have been reading since the early days, thank you for staying. To those who arrived last week, welcome. To those who argue with me in good faith, you have sharpened my thinking more than you know. And to those who read quietly without ever commenting, you are still part of this.

I have no intention of slowing down. There are still too many systems to interrogate, futures to imagine, and human stories worth telling. Five hundred posts in, Rowanwood Chronicles remains what it has always been: a place to think carefully, write honestly, and refuse simple answers.

Onward.

Beyond Raylan and Boyd: The Quiet Revolution of Justified’s Women

It is almost impossible to talk about Justified without the gravitational pull of Raylan Givens and Boyd Crowder. The lawman and the outlaw. The hat and the sermon. Their dynamic is electric, their scenes mesmerizing. But if we stop there, we miss something quieter, yet no less vital: the women of Harlan County. They are not background ornaments. They are architects, operators, and sometimes arbiters of the county’s power.

Justified is, at its core, a show about negotiation: of power, of survival, of legacy, and its women navigate that negotiation with courage, intelligence, and persistence. They do not always receive accolades for their choices. They are rarely celebrated in tidy narrative terms. But they endure. They plan. They adapt. And through them, the show demonstrates that influence in Harlan County is rarely a matter of brute force alone.

From the first season, Ava Crowder (Joelle Carter) establishes the stakes for women in this world. Killing Bowman Crowder, her husband’s brother, is an act of necessity, not spectacle. What follows is not freedom but responsibility. Ava spends the rest of the series managing consequences, trying to carve stability in a world that punishes female assertiveness. By the time she runs the bar, she is no longer reacting to Boyd’s schemes—she is shaping outcomes herself. Her story is not about redemption. It is about agency and the cost of holding it.

Winona Hawkins (Natalie Zea) embodies a different but equally compelling form of strength. She does not wield influence through violence. She wields it through clarity and boundaries. Winona sees Raylan for who he is and refuses to shrink herself to accommodate him. She plans for herself and her child, navigating danger without illusion. In a genre where women are often defined by attachment to men, Winona functions as a moral and strategic measure, someone whose decisions ripple outward, shaping the male protagonist as much as he shapes hers.

Mags Bennett (Margo Martindale) is the series’ most commanding female presence. Mags is authority incarnate, her power flowing from land, legacy, and an encyclopedic understanding of loyalty and leverage. She manipulates, protects, and threatens with equal grace. Her final act is not defeat but authorship. Through Mags, Justified demonstrates that women can embody menace and sophistication simultaneously, and that female power does not need narrative apology.

Loretta McCready (Kaitlyn Dever) represents the adaptive, forward-looking dimension of female agency. Starting as a teenager growing weed to survive in a county that offers her nothing, she inherits Mags’ fortune and invests it strategically, buying land and positioning herself for the future. Loretta anticipates change, particularly legalization, and adapts faster than the men around her. She is clever, deliberate, and allowed to grow without punishment, one of the quietest, but most revolutionary arcs on the show.

Ava and Loretta represent two sides of the same coin: inherited constraint and adaptive ambition. One negotiates consequences, the other seizes opportunity. Both highlight Justified’s commitment to showing women who act deliberately within systems that seek to contain them.

Rachel Brooks (Erica Tazel) offers another vision of female authority. Beginning as a competent U.S. Marshal and rising to lead the office, Rachel reins in Raylan not through theatrics, but through competence and moral authority. Her power is quiet, principled, and unassailable, demonstrating that leadership is not measured in gunfights or legend alone.

Even secondary figures contribute meaningfully. Ellen May survives through stubborn presence rather than dominance. Wendy Crowe navigates family chaos with foresight disguised as meekness. Katherine Hale exercises influence without violence, through strategy and capital. And Helen Givens, Raylan’s stepmother, though less visible on-screen, represents moral grounding and continuity. She shapes Raylan’s choices not through confrontation, but through the quiet weight of family and conscience, reminding viewers that influence in Justified often comes from wisdom, care, and endurance, not only action or ambition.

Taken together, these women redefine what it means to hold space in a crime drama. They are not there to soften male narratives. They are not props for mythology or morality. They negotiate survival, power, and legacy in ways subtle, sometimes morally ambiguous, and always consequential. Strength in Justified is not always loud or victorious. Sometimes it is simply the refusal to disappear.

Raylan and Boyd carry the mythic frame of the series. They give us the Western, the duel, the rhetoric. But the women carry its realism. They see clearly, act deliberately, and influence the county, the protagonists, and the story itself in ways that make Harlan feel lived-in, generational, and real. They are not secondary. They are operators, planners, and survivors. And in a show obsessed with consequence, that is nothing short of revolutionary.

Five Things We Learned This Week

🗞️ Five Things: Jan 10–16, 2026

Date: January 17, 2026
Range: Saturday to Friday


1️⃣ 🌍 Global Geopolitics & Conflict

Tensions in the Middle East continued as protests and clashes persisted, particularly around Iran and Gaza, while diplomatic efforts focused on preventing wider regional escalation. Elsewhere, global diplomacy saw deepening EU–India ties alongside renewed debates on trade and migration policy.

2️⃣ 📈 Trade & Economic Shifts

Canada and China reached a significant trade agreement involving reduced tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles and improved market access for Canadian exports. U.S. markets closed the week modestly higher ahead of the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday, with energy prices and earnings shaping investor sentiment.

3️⃣ 🏆 Major Sports & Championships

International sport dominated headlines with the World Athletics Cross Country Championships underway in Florida, the European Men’s Handball Championship launching across Scandinavia, and the World Indoor Bowls Championship beginning in England. The Masters snooker tournament also continued in London.

4️⃣ 📉 Tech, Digital & Social Disruption

Social media instability returned as X experienced a second widespread outage in days, prompting renewed scrutiny of platform resilience. Governments in Europe and Asia continued advancing digital safety and platform accountability regulations.

5️⃣ 🌡️ Climate & Science Alerts

Climate monitoring agencies confirmed that 2025 ranked among the three hottest years on record, reinforcing warnings about accelerating ice loss and extreme weather patterns. Scientists also highlighted upcoming late-January astronomical alignment opportunities for interstellar research.


📌 Notable Briefs from the Week

  • 🌋 Minor seismic swarms near Kilauea’s Halema‘uma‘u crater drew increased scientific monitoring in Hawaii.
  • 🌏 ASEAN regional developments reflected political, social, and environmental shifts across Southeast Asia.
  • 🎾 The 2026 Australian Open was set to begin on January 18, opening the year’s first Grand Slam.

On Grown Men and Their Troubling Aversion to Female Heroes

Welcome to the 21st century, where on one hand we have space travel, near-instant communication across the globe, and AI that can write essays about gladiators (I think, based on context). On the other hand, there exists an astonishing subset of adult human males who loudly complain whenever a TV show or movie gives a sword, a spotlight, or even a gladiator’s loincloth to a woman. Yes women leading stories – how utterly terrifying.

Let’s be clear: The House of Ashur is thriving with critics praising its storytelling and performances. Yet its fan numbers are being dragged down by vote-bombing campaigns from folks who apparently believe that Achilla (a fierce female gladiator protagonist) is too much to handle. That reaction isn’t just silly, it’s fish-slapping-ridiculous. These are people who, given a choice between a well-written lead and…..well, literally nothing else, somehow pick nothing elsejust because they don’t want it to be a woman. Really.

You might remember a certain Captain Marvel movie that suffered a similar fate before it was even in theaters. Hundreds of thousands of online ratings were dumped on the film before anyone had seen it, not because the plot was bad, but because the lead was female and some men (yes, mostly male) just couldn’t abide the idea that a woman could be “the big one” for a change. Review bombing became so bad that Rotten Tomatoes had to change their rating rules to stop it.  

Now, it’s easy to laugh – and we should – because the idea of voting against something simply because a woman is at the center is like refusing to eat soup because the spoon is pink. It’s arbitrary. If the story’s good, the gender of the lead doesn’t matter for most people. Ask yourself: would you care if Indiana Jones were a woman if the script were fire? What about James Bond? Samus Aran? Sarah Connor? The answer for most fans is no – those characters are beloved precisely because they’re compelling, not because they fit some old “male lead only” checklist.

When critics sneer at female leads in genre stories, they often don’t realize how absurd it looks from the outside. Complaining that female heroes “ruin” a franchise is like saying new toppings on pizza ruin Italian cuisine. Spoiler alert: there’s pizza with pineapple and it still exists. And it sells! Some people love it, some hate it, and the world keeps spinning.

Part of the “backlash” is rooted in fandom tradition resisting change – a legacy of decades when the default hero was male, yet media evolves. Women commanding the screen is not a threat to masculinity any more than men playing with dolls was a threat to toy sales. And when the backlash is so loud it drowns out the actual audience? That’s not fandom, it’s performance art disguised as insecurity.

Here’s the real kicker: many stories with female protagonists already succeedwithout complaint. Wonder Woman kicked ass at the box office, Xena ruled the ’90s, and modern audiences adore characters like Buffy, Rey, and Furiosa. They weren’t treated like novelty, they were embraced for what they were: interesting heroes with stories worth telling.  

So to the gentlemen (and keyboard gladiators) who can’t stomach a woman front and center: relax. Pop some popcorn, enjoy the spectacle, and if it’s not your cup of tea, fine. But don’t pretend that a female lead is a threat, it’s just a story, not an invasion force. Unless she actually is an invasion force, in which case….. alright, fair. That would be awesome.

In the end, if a story is good, its hero – male, female, gladiator, intergalactic space slug – deserves to be celebrated. Voting against something because of its protagonist’s gender isn’t just outdated, it’s downright comedic. And frankly, Achilla deserves better.

🗓️ Five Things We Learned This Week

Week of December 20–26, 2025

Each week, we step back from the churn of daily headlines and look at five developments that help frame what is actually happening in the world. Even in the quiet stretch between holidays, global events continue to unfold across security, economics, climate, and sport.

✈️ 🇺🇸 1. U.S. conducts airstrikes against Islamic State targets in Nigeria

The United States carried out coordinated airstrikes against Islamic State-linked militants in northwest Nigeria on December 25, working alongside Nigerian forces to target insurgent camps. Officials described the operation as part of broader counterterrorism cooperation in West Africa.

Why it matters: The strikes mark a notable escalation of U.S. involvement in regional security efforts and reflect growing concern over extremist expansion in the Sahel and surrounding regions.

⚖️ 📉 2. U.S. stock markets remain resilient through holiday trading

Despite shortened trading weeks around Christmas, U.S. markets remained near record highs between December 24 and 26. Investors continued to focus on artificial intelligence investment, corporate earnings outlooks, and expectations of future interest-rate cuts.

Why it matters: Sustained market confidence during thin holiday trading suggests investors are looking past short-term uncertainty and positioning for longer-term structural growth themes.

🌨️ ❄️ 3. Major winter storm disrupts travel and power across North America

A powerful winter storm swept across eastern Canada and the northeastern United States over Christmas weekend, bringing heavy snow, freezing rain, flight cancellations, and widespread power outages. Several regions declared states of emergency as infrastructure strained under extreme conditions.

Why it matters: Severe winter weather continues to test transportation systems, energy grids, and emergency preparedness, reinforcing concerns about infrastructure resilience in a changing climate.

🏆 🏅 4. Women’s Handball World Championship concludes in Europe

The 2025 Women’s Handball World Championship wrapped up during the holiday week, following weeks of competition hosted jointly by Germany and the Netherlands. Thirty-two national teams participated, drawing growing international attention to the sport.

Why it matters: The tournament highlights the continued rise of women’s international sport and the expanding audience for competitions beyond the traditional global sports calendar.

🏟️ 🎯 5. World Darts Championship advances through holiday rounds

The 2025–26 World Darts Championship continued through its early rounds between December 20 and 26, featuring a 128-player field and a multi-million-pound prize fund. The event remains one of the most watched and commercially successful competitions in the sport.

Why it matters: Darts illustrates how so-called niche sports can build massive global followings, blending entertainment, professionalism, and evolving athlete careers.

Closing thought:
From counterterrorism operations and market confidence to winter storms and international sport, this week reminds us that the world does not slow down for the holidays. The forces shaping 2026 are already in motion — sometimes quietly, sometimes dramatically — even as the calendar turns.

Five Things is a weekly Rowanwood Chronicles feature tracking global developments from Saturday to Friday.

Fantasy as Memory: The Historical Imagination of Guy Gavriel Kay

One of my favourite fiction authors, Guy Gavriel Kay has shaped my reading life from his debut series “The Fionavar Tapestry”, published in the mid-1980s, to his most recent novel “Written on the Dark”, released earlier this year.

Kay does not write fantasy as spectacle or escape, but as remembrance. His work is concerned less with heroes than with consequence, asking what endures after ambition, love, and loss. That focus, and his habit of listening closely to history rather than reshaping it for comfort, is what sets his writing apart from others in the genre.

Guy Gavriel Kay’s writing style is often described as lyrical, restrained, and morally attentive, and that combination is very Canadian in the best sense of the word. His prose is elegant without being ornamental, emotionally resonant without tipping into melodrama, and deeply concerned with how history presses on individual lives.

Lyrical clarity rather than baroque fantasy
Kay’s sentences are musical, but they are rarely flashy. He favours cadence, balance, and carefully chosen imagery over density or excess. Unlike much epic fantasy, he does not bury the reader in invented terminology or ornate description. The beauty of the prose comes from rhythm and precision, not spectacle. This gives his work a reflective, almost classical feel, closer to historical fiction than to high fantasy in the Tolkienian tradition.

History refracted, not replicated
One of Kay’s defining stylistic traits is his use of “quarter-turn” history. His worlds are clearly inspired by specific historical periods and places, Byzantium, medieval Iberia, Tang-era China, Renaissance Italy, but they are never direct analogues. Stylistically, this allows him to write with the emotional authority of history without being constrained by factual retelling. The prose carries a sense of inevitability, consequence, and loss that feels historical, even when the setting is invented.

Melancholy as a narrative tone
Kay’s work is suffused with a quiet melancholy. Triumphs are provisional. Victories are costly. Even moments of joy are shadowed by what will be lost. Stylistically, this appears in his frequent use of memory, foreknowledge, and reflective distance. Characters often understand, sometimes too late, what a moment meant. This gives the writing a sense of adult seriousness and emotional depth that distinguishes him from more action-driven fantasy authors.

Moral complexity without cynicism
Kay is interested in moral ambiguity, but he is not cynical. His style allows multiple perspectives to coexist without collapsing into relativism. Characters act from loyalty, love, fear, faith, and ambition, often all at once. The prose is careful to see people rather than judge them. Even antagonists are given interiority and dignity. This ethical attentiveness is part of what makes his work feel humane and grounded.

Dialogue as character and culture
His dialogue is formal without being stiff, shaped by the social worlds his characters inhabit. People speak with restraint, implication, and subtext. Emotion is often conveyed by what is not said. This stylistic choice reinforces themes of honour, obligation, and social constraint, particularly in courtly or religious settings.

A Canadian sensibility
Although Kay’s settings are global and historical, his sensibility feels distinctly Canadian. There is a preference for understatement, for listening rather than declaring, for complexity over absolutes. Power is treated warily. Empire is examined with sadness rather than nostalgia. The writing resists grand national mythmaking and instead focuses on human cost, compromise, and quiet endurance.

Guy Gavriel Kay writes fantasy for readers who care about language, history, and moral weight. His style is not about escape so much as reflection. He invites the reader to slow down, to attend to memory and consequence, and to sit with beauty that is inseparable from loss. That combination, lyrical restraint, historical gravity, and ethical seriousness, is what makes his voice unmistakable and enduring.

When Interview Styles Collide: Why Some Political Conversations Feel Like Car Crashes

Every few years, Canadian audiences rediscover the same irritation: a high-profile interview that feels less like an exchange of ideas and more like a verbal wrestling match. The questions may be legitimate, even necessary, but the delivery leaves viewers tense, unsatisfied, and oddly unenlightened. The repeated clashes between Rosemary Barton and Mark Carney are a useful case study, not because either is acting in bad faith, but because they embody two very different traditions of public communication that were never designed to coexist comfortably.

The first tradition is the parliamentary press-gallery style that dominates Canadian political journalism. It is adversarial by design. It emerged in an era when access was limited, answers were evasive, and power was something to be pried open rather than invited to speak. In this model, interruption is not rudeness; it is a tool. The journalist asserts control of the frame, resists narrative-setting by the interviewee, and signals independence to both the audience and their peers. Toughness must be visible. Silence or patience can be misread as deference.

The second tradition is technocratic communication, exemplified by figures like Carney. This style evolved in central banks, international institutions, and policy forums where precision matters more than punch. Answers are layered, contextual, and carefully sequenced. The speaker often builds a framework before arriving at a conclusion, because conclusions without context are seen as irresponsible. This approach assumes the listener is willing to follow a longer arc in exchange for accuracy.

When these two traditions meet on live television, friction is inevitable. The journalist hears preamble and assumes evasion. The interviewee hears interruption and assumes misunderstanding. Each responds rationally within their own professional culture, and the conversation degrades anyway.

What makes this especially grating for audiences is that modern broadcast incentives amplify the worst aspects of the collision. Political interviews are no longer just about extracting information. They are performances of accountability. The interviewer must appear relentless, particularly when questioning elite figures who are widely discussed as potential leaders. Interruptions become proof of vigilance, even if they interrupt substance as much as spin.

At the same time, viewers are more sophisticated than broadcasters often assume. Many can tell the difference between a non-answer and a complex answer. When an interviewee remains calm and methodical while being repeatedly cut off, the aggression reads less like accountability and more like impatience. The audience senses that something useful is being lost, not exposed.

This is why these interviews linger unpleasantly after they end. It is not that hard questions are unwelcome. It is that hardness has been mistaken for haste. A genuinely rigorous interview would often benefit from letting a full answer land, then dissecting it carefully. Precision, not interruption, is what exposes weak arguments. Control of the conversation is not the same thing as control of the truth.

None of this requires villains. Barton is doing what her professional ecosystem rewards. Carney is speaking in the register his career trained him to use. The problem is structural, not personal.

If public broadcasting is meant to inform rather than merely provoke, it may be time to rethink whether visible combat is the best proxy for journalistic seriousness. Sometimes the most incisive move is not to interrupt, but to listen long enough to know exactly where to press next.

That, in the end, is why these moments grate. They remind us that we are watching two competent professionals speaking past one another, while the audience pays the price in lost clarity.