Leslie Jamison wins Writers' Trust award for international non-fiction author
The prize, presented by the Writers' Trust of Canada, recognizes the career achievement of a non-fiction writer from outside of Canada.
Jurors praise Jamison's 'mastery of language' and say she brings rigorous scholarship to writing about her most intimate thoughts.
Jamison's non-fiction work includes the essay collections 'The Empathy Exams' and 'Make It Scream, Make It Burn' and the memoirs 'The Recovering' and 'Splinters.'
She also teaches at Columbia University, where she directs the non-fiction Masters of Fine Arts program.
The Writers' Trust plans to host an on-stage interview with Jamison at the Royal Ontario Museum in September.
This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 18, 2025.
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Los Angeles Times
15 minutes ago
- Los Angeles Times
Singer Cleo Laine, regarded by many as Britain's greatest jazz voice, dies at 97
LONDON — Cleo Laine, whose husky contralto was one of the most distinctive voices in jazz and who was regarded by many as Britain's greatest contribution to the quintessentially American music, has died. She was 97. The Stables, a charity and venue Laine founded with her late jazz musician husband John Dankworth, said Friday that it was 'greatly saddened' by the news that 'one of its founders and Life President, Dame Cleo Laine has passed away.' Monica Ferguson, artistic director of the Stables, said Laine 'will be greatly missed, but her unique talent will always be remembered.' Laine's career spanned the Atlantic Ocean and crossed genres: She sang the songs of Kurt Weill, Arnold Schoenberg and Robert Schumann; she acted on stage and on film, and even played God in a production of Benjamin Britten's opera 'Noye's Fludde.' Laine's life and art were intimately bound up with band leader Dankworth, who gave her a job and her stage name in 1951 and married her seven years later. Both were still performing after their 80th birthdays. Dankworth died in 2010 at 82. In 1997, Laine became the first British jazz artist to be made a dame, the female equivalent of a knight. 'It is British jazz that should have received the accolade for its service to me,' she said when the honor was announced. 'It has given me a wonderful life, a successful career and an opportunity to travel the globe doing what I love to do.' Laine was born Clementina Dinah Campbell in 1927. Her father, Alexander Campbell, was a Jamaican who loved opera and earned money during the Great Depression as a street singer. Despite hard times, her British mother, Minnie, made sure that her daughter had piano, voice and dance lessons. She began performing at local events at age 3, and at age 12 she got a role as an extra in the 1940 movie 'The Thief of Bagdad.' Leaving school at 14, Laine went to work as a hairdresser and faced repeated rejection in her efforts to get a job as a singer. A decade later, in 1951, she tried out for the Johnny Dankworth Seven, and succeeded. 'Clementina Campbell' was judged too long for a marquee, so she became Cleo Laine. 'John said that when he heard me, I didn't sound like anyone else who was singing at the time,' Laine once said. 'I guess the reason I didn't get the other jobs is that they were looking for a singer who did sound like somebody else.' Laine had a remarkable range, from tenor to contralto, and a sound often described as 'smoky.' Dankworth, in an interview with the Irish Independent, recalled Laine's audition. 'They were all sitting there with stony faces, so I asked the Scottish trumpet player Jimmy Deuchar, who was looking very glum and was the hardest nut of all, whether he thought she had something. 'Something?' he said, 'She's got everything!'' Offered 6 pounds a week, Laine demanded — and got — 7 pounds. 'They used to call me 'Scruff', although I don't think I was scruffy. It was just that having come from the sticks, I didn't know how to put things together as well as the other singers of the day,' she told the Irish Independent. 'And anyway, I didn't have the money, because they weren't paying me enough.' Recognition came swiftly. Laine was runner-up in Melody Maker's 'girl singer' category in 1952 and topped the list in 1956 and 1957. She married Dankworth — and quit his band — in 1958, a year after her divorce from her first husband, George Langridge. As Dankworth's band prospered, Laine began to feel underused. 'I thought, no, I'm not going to just sit on the band and be a singer of songs every now and again when he fancied it. So it was then that I decided I wasn't going to stay with the band and I was going to go off and try to do something solo-wise,' she said in a BBC documentary. 'When I said I was leaving, he said, 'Will you marry me?' That was a good ploy, wasn't it, huh?' They were married on March 18, 1958. A son, Alec, was born in 1960, and daughter Jacqueline followed in 1963. Despite her happy marriage, Laine forged a career independent of Dankworth. 'Whenever anybody starts putting a label on me, I say, 'Oh, no you don't,' and I go and do something different,' Laine told the Associated Press in 1985 when she was appearing on stage in New York in 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood.' Her stage career began in 1958 when she was invited to join the cast of a West Indian play, 'Flesh to a Tiger,' at the Royal Court Theatre, and was surprised to find herself in the lead role. She won a Moscow Arts Theatre Award for her performance. 'Valmouth' followed in 1959, 'The Seven Deadly Sins' in 1961, 'The Trojan Women' in 1966 and 'Hedda Gabler' in 1970. The role of Julie in Jerome Kern's 'Show Boat' in 1971 provided Laine with a show-stopping song, 'Bill.' Laine began winning a following in the United States in 1972 with a concert at the Alice Tully Hall in New York. It wasn't well-attended, but the New York Times gave her a glowing review. The following year, she and Dankworth drew a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, launching a series of popular appearances. 'Cleo at Carnegie' won a Grammy Award in 1986, the same year she was a Tony nominee for 'The Mystery of Edwin Drood.' A reviewer for Variety in 2002 found her voice going strong: 'a dark, creamy voice, remarkable range and control from bottomless contralto to a sweet clear soprano. Her perfect pitch and phrasing is always framed with musical imagination and good taste.' Perhaps Laine's most difficult performance of all was on Feb. 6, 2010, at a concert celebrating the 40th anniversary of the concert venue she and Dankworth had founded at their home, during which Laine and both of her children performed. 'I'm terribly sorry that Sir John can't be here today,' Laine told the crowd at the end of the show. 'But earlier on my husband died in hospital.' Laine said in an interview with the Boston Globe in 2003 that the secret of her longevity was that 'I was never a complete belter.' 'There was always a protective side in me, and an inner voice always said, 'Don't do that — it's not good for you and your voice.'' Laine is survived by her son and daughter. Associated Press journalist Robert Barr, the principal writer of the obituary, died in 2018. AP writer Jill Lawless contributed to this report.
San Francisco Chronicle
15 minutes ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Singer Cleo Laine, regarded as Britain's greatest jazz voice, dies at 97
LONDON (AP) — Cleo Laine, whose husky contralto was one of the most distinctive voices in jazz and who was regarded by many as Britain's greatest contribution to the quintessentially American music, has died. She was 97. The Stables, a charity and venue Laine founded with her late jazz musician husband John Dankworth, said Friday it was 'greatly saddened' by the news that 'one of its founders and Life President, Dame Cleo Laine has passed away." Monica Ferguson, artistic director of The Stables, said Laine "will be greatly missed, but her unique talent will always be remembered.' Laine's career spanned the Atlantic and crossed genres: She sang the songs of Kurt Weill, Arnold Schoenberg and Robert Schumann; she acted on stage and on film, and even played God in a production of Benjamin Britten's "Noye's Fludde." Laine's life and art were intimately bound up with band leader Dankworth, who gave her a job and her stage name in 1951, and married her seven years later. Both were still performing after their 80th birthdays. Dankworth died in 2010 at 82. In 1997, Laine became the first British jazz artist to be made a dame, the female equivalent of a knight. "It is British jazz that should have received the accolade for its service to me," she said when the honor was announced. "It has given me a wonderful life, a successful career and an opportunity to travel the globe doing what I love to do." Laine was born Clementina Dinah Campbell in 1927. Her father, Alexander Campbell, was a Jamaican who loved opera and earned money during the Depression as a street singer. Despite hard times, her British mother, Minnie, made sure that her daughter had piano, voice and dance lessons. She began performing at local events at age 3, and at age 12 she got a role as a movie extra in "The Thief of Bagdad." Leaving school at 14, Laine went to work as a hairdresser and faced repeated rejection in her efforts to get a job as a singer. A decade later, in 1951, she tried out for the Johnny Dankworth Seven, and succeeded. "Clementina Campbell" was judged too long for a marquee, so she became Cleo Laine. "John said that when he heard me, I didn't sound like anyone else who was singing at the time," Laine once said. "I guess the reason I didn't get the other jobs is that they were looking for a singer who did sound like somebody else." Laine had a remarkable range, from tenor to contralto, and a sound often described as "smoky." Dankworth, in an interview with the Irish Independent, recalled Laine's audition. "They were all sitting there with stony faces, so I asked the Scottish trumpet player Jimmy Deuchar, who was looking very glum and was the hardest nut of all, whether he thought she had something. 'Something?' he said, 'She's got everything!'" Offered 6 pounds a week, Laine demanded — and got — 7 pounds. "They used to call me 'Scruff', although I don't think I was scruffy. It was just that having come from the sticks, I didn't know how to put things together as well as the other singers of the day," she told the Irish Independent. "And anyway, I didn't have the money, because they weren't paying me enough." Recognition came swiftly. Laine was runner-up in Melody Maker's "girl singer" category in 1952, and topped the list in 1956 and 1957. She married Dankworth — and quit his band — in 1958, a year after her divorce from her first husband, George Langridge. As Dankworth's band prospered, Laine began to feel underused. "I thought, no, I'm not going to just sit on the band and be a singer of songs every now and again when he fancied it. So it was then that I decided I wasn't going to stay with the band and I was going to go off and try to do something solo-wise," she said in a BBC documentary. "When I said I was leaving, he said, 'Will you marry me?' That was a good ploy, wasn't it, huh?" They were married on March 18, 1958. A son, Alec, was born in 1960, and daughter Jacqueline followed in 1963. Despite her happy marriage, Laine forged a career independent of Dankworth. "Whenever anybody starts putting a label on me, I say, 'Oh, no you don't,' and I go and do something different," Laine told The Associated Press in 1985 when she was appearing on stage in New York in "The Mystery of Edwin Drood." Her stage career began in 1958 when she was invited to join the cast of a West Indian play, "Flesh to a Tiger," at the Royal Court Theatre, and was surprised to find herself in the lead role. She won a Moscow Arts Theatre Award for her performance. "Valmouth" followed in 1959, "The Seven Deadly Sins" in 1961, "The Trojan Women" in 1966 and "Hedda Gabler" in 1970. The role of Julie in Jerome Kern's "Show Boat" in 1971 provided Laine with a show-stopping song, "Bill." Laine began winning a following in the United States in 1972 with a concert at the Alice Tully Hall in New York. It wasn't well-attended, but The New York Times gave her a glowing review. The following year, she and Dankworth drew a sold-out audience at Carnegie Hall, launching a series of popular appearances. "Cleo at Carnegie" won a Grammy award in 1986, the same year she was a Tony nominee for "The Mystery of Edwin Drood." A reviewer for Variety in 2002 found her voice going strong: "a dark, creamy voice, remarkable range and control from bottomless contralto to a sweet clear soprano. Her perfect pitch and phrasing is always framed with musical imagination and good taste." Perhaps Laine's most difficult performance of all was on Feb. 6, 2010, at a concert celebrating the 40th anniversary of the concert venue she and Dankworth had founded at their home, during which Laine and both of her children performed. "I'm terribly sorry that Sir John can't be here today," Laine told the crowd at the end of the show. 'But earlier on my husband died in hospital.' Laine is survived by her son and daughter.
NBC News
17 minutes ago
- NBC News
Hulk Hogan's death resurfaces painful contradictions for Black wrestling fans
One of Kazeem Famuyide's earliest memories is sitting on his father's lap watching Hulk Hogan wrestle in the 1988 Survivor Series. His love of Hogan in the ring became inextricable from what would become a lifelong obsession with the sport — including a yearlong role touring the country and writing scripts for WWE's top talent. "He was a superhero to a lot of people, including myself," said Famuyide, who is Black and now co-hosts the WWE-themed podcast "The Ringer Wrestling Show." He remembers Hogan telling audiences to "train, say your prayers and eat your vitamins," often in front of giant American flags. But for the 38-year-old Famuyide and other Black wrestling fans and sports commentators, Hogan's death this week at 71 has resurfaced an irreconcilable contradiction in the iconic wrestler's legacy: Hogan's undeniable role in broadening wrestling's appeal to fans of all backgrounds versus his well-documented racism. "You never really got the feeling that Hulk Hogan truly felt remorse," Famuyide said. Reactions to Hogan's death reflect American divide on race "The Right Time" podcast host Bomani Jones noted there were two sharply different reactions to Hogan's death. Remembrances have split between those who see no need to harp on past controversies and those who struggle with his behavior that got once got him banned from the WWE. "This was never going to be one where people were going to mourn quietly," Jones said. Hogan's death drew remembrances from politicians, celebrities and fans alike, celebrating his accolades. Many applauded how he was able to parlay his wrestling persona into movie appearances, brand deals, a reality television show and notable political influence. On Friday, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, whose fame arguably rivals Hogan's acclaim, paid tribute. Johnson, the son of pioneering wrestler Rocky Johnson, one of the WWE's first Black champions, said Hogan was a hero "to millions of little kids." "You may have 'passed the torch' to me," Johnson wrote under a 2002 video showing him and Hogan facing off at Wrestlemania. "But you, my 'drew the house' meaning you sold out every arena and stadium across the country in your prime as Hulk Hogan, on your way of becoming the greatest of all time." Other notable Black professional wrestlers, from Booker T and Mark Henry, to Jacqueline Moore and Carlene "Jazz" Moore-Begnaud, have found success and fame in the WWE. But just as many people took Hogan's death as an opportunity to regale Hogan's more controversial behavior. In 2016, a Florida jury awarded Hogan over $115 million against Gawker Media, after Hogan sued them for posting a video of him having sex with his former best friend's wife. The litigation led to the discovery that Hogan had used racial slurs in 2007 to describe his daughter's Black ex-boyfriend. "I am a racist, to a point," Hogan said, before adding the slur against Black people, according to a transcript. Hogan apologized at the time and called the language "unacceptable." Around the same time, some outlets reported that Hogan used the same slur on a recorded phone call with his son. Hogan's enthusiastic endorsement of conservative political figures like longtime friend President Donald Trump made many people doubt the sincerity of that apology, Jones said. "It's one thing to get caught on tape saying these things in private. It's another thing for you to decide publicly to align yourself with a cause that many Black people find antagonistic toward us," Jones said. Professional wrestling has a history of reckoning on racist tropes For many Black wrestling enthusiasts, Hogan's death brings up familiar contradictions in how the sport deals with race. Lyric Swinton, 27, a freelance wrestling writer, first fell in love with the sport when she was 8. She describes wrestling as "the most nuanced and colorful" form of storytelling. Although she feels representation has improved, Swinton remembers WWE use racist tropes in Black wrestlers' plot lines. Swinton recalls Shelton Benjamin having a "mammy," played by Thea Vidale, invoking a racist caricature. Swinton considers Benjamin one of the most talented wrestlers at the time, but feels he never got the recognition that his contemporaries did, in part because he was scripted to those roles. "I kind of felt like I had to check my Blackness at the door," she said. Hogan hasn't tarnished sport for all Black fans For WWE enthusiast and sports journalist Master Tesfatsion, the mixed reactions to Hogan's death mirror fault lines that exist throughout the country, and highlight how central wrestling has become in pop culture. Growing up, Tesfatsion, who is Black, remembers watching Vince McMahon, the company's co-founder and former chairman, use a racial slur in a match with John Cena in 2005; or the storyline in 2004 when wrestler John Layfield chased Mexicans across the border. "In some strange way, the WWE always had a pulse on where America stood," Tesfatsion said. "You cannot tell the history of America without all these issues, just like you cannot tell the history of the WWE without these issues." Tesfatsion was in the audience at Hogan's last appearance at a professional match in January. He was one of the many who booed Hogan. After decades of fandom, it was his first time seeing Hogan live. "I never thought that I would see 'The Hulk' in person, and that I would resort to bullying him. But that's what his actions made me do." Still, Tesfatsion said he will never stop being a super fan.
