We are marking Black History Month by highlighting a collection of books by Black writers and about Black history, including poetry collections by celebrated writers Claire Harris, Kwame Dawes, and George Elliott Clarke, who in addition to writing works of genius, mentored a generation of poets and writers; the paintings and constructions of Mickalene Thomas, whose most recent exhibition opened simultaneously on three continents; and Mark V. Campbell’s deep dive into the photographic archives of Toronto’s Hip Hop Culture, to name but a few.

For twenty years, Jan Wong had been one of the Globe and Mail's best-known reporters. Then one day she turned in a story that set off a firestorm of controversy, including death threats, a unanimous denunciation by Parliament, and a rebuke by her own newspaper. For the first time in her professional life, Wong fell into a severe clinical depression. Yet she resisted the diagnosis, refusing to believe she had a mental illness. As it turned out, so did her company and insurer. Jan Wong wrote about her experience in Out of the Blue.

1944-2022

“Alexa led, not only by blazing her own trail as a female politician, but also by her ongoing efforts to encourage others — women, people of colour, those without privilege — to take their own rightful place in politics and the world. She made room for them.” (Alexa McDonough, Obituary)

Hike Nova Scotia — a non-profit organization that encourages and promotes a growing hiking culture throughout the province — and 18 host organizations are offering the 2022 Winter Guided Walk Series, with walks across Nova Scotia starting as early as this January and continuing through March.

By Andrew Hunter, author of the forthcoming It Was Dark There All the Time: Sophia Burthen and the Legacy of Slavery in Canada

Mom and I, we both wear old rings; hers graces her right ring finger, mine grips my left index finger. Both of our hands are aged, marked by years of labour and making. My mom’s thin, eighty-eight-year-old skin reveals thick blue veins still pumping beneath, thanks to her pacemaker. My scarred hands reveal annotations in blue/black ink: a wounded coyote, a trap, black walnut “skull,” a wasp, a raven with a branch of Jacob’s Ladder, and a snake articulated by a raven. Mom’s ring has a diamond set in ornately decorated white gold (it was her grandmother’s wedding ring). Mine has a purple amethyst ovoid set in pink gold. Mom calls my ring a “man’s ring,” only ever worn by its maker; she gave it to me years ago, but I’ve only recently started wearing it (it was in bad need of repair). The purple stone now covers the snake’s head. ...