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Margaret Sweatman
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Margaret Sweatman is a playwright, performer, and the author of six award-winning novels, including The Gunsmith’s Daughter. She lives in Winnipeg.
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This is a gallery of work specially created for #ThinAir2022. Spend time with writers you love, and discover some new favourites! Ceci est une galerie de travaux spécialement créée pour #ThinAir2022. Passez du temps avec des écrivains que vous aimez et découvrez de nouveaux favoris!

Margaret Sweatman is a playwright, performer, and the author of six award-winning novels. Praised for writing that “flows as smoothly as a muscular northern river, with a stunning control of voice” (Globe and Mail). Her novels consistently braid the political with the personal, and reflect her obsession with the unequal power between men and women, and between the rich and the poor. Prior to The Gunsmith’s Daughter, Margaret Sweatman has published five novels: Fox, Sam and Angie, When Alice Lay Down with Peter, The Players, and Mr. Jones. A singer and harmonica player, she has performed with orchestras, new music and jazz ensembles, as well as her own Broken Songs Band. Her plays have been produced by Prairie Theatre Exchange, Popular Theatre Alliance, and the Guelph Spring Festival. She lives in Winnipeg.

Interview / Entrevue

My siblings and I didn’t have to hide books from our parents. We could read anything we wanted to. They did grow alarmed when I read Portnoy’s Complaint while babysitting for their friends. And they didn’t fathom the influence that Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels would have on my teenaged aesthetic, political, and sexual inclinations. I’ll never forget the passage where the male protagonist compares the taste of the two women whom he beds in one night: One tastes of Colgate, the other, Dom Perignon. This revolted and frightened me, but it provided terrific insight into misogyny and class.

“Everything had gone right with me since he had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry.” This is the last sentence of Graham Greene’s masterpiece, The Quiet American.

It’s not cluttered, it’s archeological.

Death. In its infinite manifestations.

Well, it wouldn’t be a secret then.

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