Government of New Brunswick

Portail des auteurs du Nouveau-Brunswick

Darlene Ryan
Catégories: Auteures (femmes) - Auteur.e.s anglophones - Auteur.e.s littérature jeunesse - CÔte de Fundy

photo of author
Source: Author

Biographie

Darlene Ryan est une auteure primée, une éditrice et une artiste spécialiste des techniques mixtes. Elle a fréquenté la Saint John High School et a obtenu un baccalauréat en sciences de l'Université du Nouveau-Brunswick, de même qu'un baccalauréat en éducation de St. Thomas University.

Elle vit dans le sud du Nouveau-Brunswick avec son mari et sa fille. Son premier livre, A Mother’s Adoption Journey, fait la chronique de l'adoption de sa fille qui est originaire de la Chine. Elle est l'auteure également de Kisses, Kisses, Kisses, un livre illustré pour enfants publié par le Early Childhood Centre de l'Université du Nouveau-Brunswick et le programme Born to Read.

Les romans jeunesse (pour adolescents) de Darlene comprennent Rules for Life (2004), Saving Grace (2008), Responsible (2007) et Five Minutes More (2009). Elle est également l’auteure de la série Magical Cats of Mayville Heights sous le pseudonyme de Sofie Kelly.

Quelle influence le Nouveau-Brunswick a-t-il eu sur votre œuvre?

La famille revient souvent dans mon écriture, et elle est aussi un élément central de la vie dans les Maritimes. Je pense que mes sentiments à propos de l'importance des liens familiaux et de la complexité des relations familiales viennent du fait de grandir dans cette partie du Canada.

Mes livres n'ont pas un endroit particulier du Nouveau-Brunswick comme cadre, mais ils sont parsemés d'allusions à mes endroits préférés. Plusieurs personnes, par exemple, remarquent une similarité entre l'école que D’Arcy fréquente dans Five Minutes More et la Saint John High School, que j'ai fréquentée. Il y a aussi des paysages dans Rules for Life qui évoquent Saint-Jean pour certains lecteurs.

Quel est votre livre néo-brunswickois préféré? Pour quelle(s) raison(s)?

Bread, Wine and Salt d'Alden Nowlan, un poète autodidacte extrêmement talentueux. Je découvre quelque chose de nouveau chaque fois que je lis sa poésie.

Selon vous, quel est le point culminant de votre carrière jusqu'à présent?

Le fait que Kisses, Kisses, Kisses fasse partie du programme Born to Read a été le point culminant pour moi. Je suis fière d'avoir joué un petit rôle à l'intérieur d'un programme qui encourage les parents à faire la lecture à leurs enfants. J'adore rencontrer les petits enfants qui me disent qu'ils ont mon livre dans leur trousse. J'ai déjà rencontré un petit garçon qui me regardait comme si j'étais une vedette du rock parce que j'avais écrit son livre préféré.

Prix littéraires
Subventions du Conseil des arts du Nouveau-Brunswick - 1991
YALSA Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers
Tayshas Reading List, Texas Library Association
Canadian Children’s Book Centre Our Choice (list)
ALA Best Books for Young Adults
Finaliste - YALSA’s Teens’ Top Ten
Finaliste - Ann Connor Brimer Award for Children’s Literature
Finaliste - Stellar Book Award
Prix pour l’alphabétisation de la petite enfance Dr. Marilyn Trenholme Counsell

Titre en vedette
Five Minutes More (2009)	Extrait: The top of the stairs opens into a big room and the whole space is full of coffins. Everywhere. My breath sticks in my chest. I hear myself make a sucking sound halfway between a gasp and a heave, but no one else seems to notice. There's nowhere to look and not see them. They’re hanging from the ceiling, mounted on the walls, displayed on stands in rows like some kind of death department in a store. There’s polished wood, metals that gleam like new change, velour and even some kind of white vinyl with studs that looks like it was recycled from an old car seat. I close my eyes, but the image of the room is printed on the inside of my eyelids in swirling colors, like some kind of psychedelic negative. I open them again and try to take a deep breath. Five minutes more, I tell myself. Five minutes was what my dad said when I didn’t want to get a needle, or go to the dentist. It’s what he said when I hid under my bed on the first day of kindergarten. "Five minutes. Then if you don’t want to stay we’ll go for french fries." And if I wanted to leave when the five minutes were up he’d say, "We’re already here. Let’s just stay for five more minutes and if you want to leave after that we’ll go get those fries." My dad could five-minutes-more me through almost anything. And after, we always ended up at Fern’s Diner sharing a big plate of fries with gravy on an over-sized yellow pressed-paper plate. "D'Arcy." My mother motions me over to her. "I think you'll be very satisfied with this," Mr. Rosborough says, as though we were going to take the...thing home with us. Up close he gives off the scent of flowers and something else that seems familiar, but that I can't identify. The smell is sticky. It makes my head throb. I start to breathe through my mouth and try not to think about what that smell could be. "What do you think?" Mom asks. The one they’re standing beside is storm cloud gray with some kind of space age polymer finish. The inside is lined with a shiny blue ruffled fabric, like a tacky tuxedo shirt. Little sparkles of light are dancing around the edges of my vision. Yesterday my dad drove his car into the river that runs beside the old highway. How am I supposed to answer? "It's nice," I tell her.

Titre en vedette

Five Minutes More
(2009)

Extrait:

The top of the stairs opens into a big room and the whole space is full of coffins.

Everywhere.

My breath sticks in my chest. I hear myself make a sucking sound halfway between a gasp and a heave, but no one else seems to notice. There's nowhere to look and not see them. They’re hanging from the ceiling, mounted on the walls, displayed on stands in rows like some kind of death department in a store. There’s polished wood, metals that gleam like new change, velour and even some kind of white vinyl with studs that looks like it was recycled from an old car seat.

I close my eyes, but the image of the room is printed on the inside of my eyelids in swirling colors, like some kind of psychedelic negative. I open them again and try to take a deep breath.

Five minutes more, I tell myself. Five minutes was what my dad said when I didn’t want to get a needle, or go to the dentist. It’s what he said when I hid under my bed on the first day of kindergarten.

"Five minutes. Then if you don’t want to stay we’ll go for french fries." And if I wanted to leave when the five minutes were up he’d say, "We’re already here. Let’s just stay for five more minutes and if you want to leave after that we’ll go get those fries."

My dad could five-minutes-more me through almost anything. And after, we always ended up at Fern’s Diner sharing a big plate of fries with gravy on an over-sized yellow pressed-paper plate.

"D'Arcy." My mother motions me over to her.

"I think you'll be very satisfied with this," Mr. Rosborough says, as though we were going to take the...thing home with us.

Up close he gives off the scent of flowers and something else that seems familiar, but that I can't identify. The smell is sticky. It makes my head throb. I start to breathe through my mouth and try not to think about what that smell could be.

"What do you think?" Mom asks. The one they’re standing beside is storm cloud gray with some kind of space age polymer finish. The inside is lined with a shiny blue ruffled fabric, like a tacky tuxedo shirt.

Little sparkles of light are dancing around the edges of my vision. Yesterday my dad drove his car into the river that runs beside the old highway. How am I supposed to answer?

"It's nice," I tell her.

Trouvez cet auteur dans le catalogue des bibliothèques publiques du Nouveau-Brunswick.

Source(s): Auteure

Portail des auteurs du Nouveau-Brunswick

Portail des auteurs du N.-B.