People will say that Canada, unlike America, was not birthed from violence. But I want to say, "What are you talking about?" It's just not true.

Canada and America are very, very different. It's true that we share a language and many customs. But Americans have a very different view of the world.

When I die, nieces, I want to be cremated, my ashes taken up in a bush plane and sprinkled onto the people in town below. Let them think my body is snowflakes, sticking in their hair and on their shoulders like dandruff.

The world is a different place in this new century, [...]. And we are a different people. My visions still come but no one listens any longer to what they tell us, what they warn us. I knew even as a young woman that destruction bred on the horizon. [...] War touches everyone, and windigos spring from the earth.

As a fiction writer, of course, you need to take some leeway with certain aspects of history to make the story work.

I'm intrigued by the classic Greek tragedies, as well as by the idea of the Greek chorus.

America seems to celebrate its more violent past, but Canada doesn't like to recognize those things. The willingness to accept the existence of violence separates our two countries.