DearBella

Don’t get your hopes up, kiddo. —Bella Pomer

Almost twenty years ago, I had found a publisher for my first

book. My friend and neighbour Alberto Manguel told me that

now I needed to find an agent.

“Why do I need an agent?” I asked him, obviously knowing

nothing about publishing. “I already have a publisher.”

“Because I know you,” he said, “and you’re not going to

keep track of your royalties.” (This justification for an agent acquired an ironic

tinge over the years, as after three books and almost two decades, there has been

relatively little need to keep track of royalties.)

“And the best agent of all,” he continued, “is Bella Pomer.”

Well, he was right on that score. Bella accepted me and we lived happily ever

after, at least on my side. She has been, and continues to be, a tiny perfect dragon

when it comes to my interests. She can be briskly honest (telling me that an

exhaustingly thorough survey of mourning clothes, which I thought fascinating,

was NOT going to be the sample chapter when she went looking for publishers

for The Mourner’s Dance), reassuring (I always thought she coined the term “rave

rejections” especially for me, but I could be wrong) and tireless. She has also

mastered the Byzantine complexities of a publishing world that has undergone

tremendous change, and she does me the compliment of expecting that I too

understand it. I think she has almost given up on trying to get me to read to

the end of each page of a contract, but I still love it when she urges me to “look

carefully at 27g. I am very unhappy about 27g.”

As well, Bella has been a great friend and companion. We have walked Forest

Hill together, gone to many movies and to dinner afterward at Jacques Bistro du

Parc on Cumberland Street, and shared many stories.

I especially love Bella’s stories of her bookworm childhood. One I’ll never

forget features her telling Lillian Smith, the legendary children’s librarian and

now namesake of the children’s library on College Street, that she wanted to be

a librarian when she grew up. Lillian Smith responded by telling Bella she would

probably have to move to New York City to fulfill that dream, as Jews were not

really accepted as librarian material in Toronto. That’s a whole story in itself, but

let me just say here that the librarians’ loss has been a wonderful gain for writers.

Thank you, Bella, for your brilliant work on my behalf and that of many of

Canada’s finest writers! And now we need to make a date to see a movie...

Katherine Ashenburg

I met Bella on a long-ago day when I’d scheduled meetings with three

agents in Toronto. By the time I was riding up the elevator to her

penthouse, I was almost resigned to settling for a businesslike but

not necessarily compatible relationship with one or another of the

strangers who’d be holding my life, or at least my writing career, in their

hands. And then Bella opened her door. Geez, she was little. I’m not big

myself, but I loomed.

We talked for quite a while. By then I’d published two novels without thought

of wanting an intermediary between me and a publisher, but I was coming to

realize that was both burdensome and naïve.

When I left her that first day—and I don’t know how she viewed the

proceedings—I’d decided a couple of things: that we seemed to comprehend

what each other was talking about, and not only about books and publishing;

and that this was someone who could be what (I’m slightly ashamed of this) I

thought of then as a “literary mum,” as well as something along the lines of an

enforcer—a bit of a knee-capper towards anyone who wasn’t contributing to my

best interests.

An agent-writer relationship isn’t quite like a marriage —obviously certain

potentially delicious aspects are missing —but it requires a similar sort of trust,

and a similar sort of loyalty.

Since that day, literary-mum-wise, Bella has been my first reader. Often enough

what has followed has been a kindly-voiced but perfectly blunt assessment of the

work and its chances.

As a knee-capper—well, it’s been fun to watch her occasional flights of ferocity.

I haven’t always agreed with her judgments (as no doubt she has not always

agreed with mine) but the thing is, she’s always truthful. And she’s been thoroughly

loyal, like the best kind of mum.

We must come of similarly dubious, if otherwise quite different stock. I bet

others have heard these words from her, and maybe some have been distressed

or discouraged, but the Bella line I’ve loved best is, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

People with rock-hard Scots Presbyterian ancestors do not, ever, get our hopes

up, but Bella seems to know, as I do, that this is an excellent outlook that leaves

plenty of room for happy surprises.

Of which, in nearly three decades together, there’ve been some. When they crop

up, there’s real pleasure in her loyal and generous voice. And on my part there’s

a careful, restrained, bending-down hug, because with Bella there remains, as

there was that first day, the awkward business of looming.

Joan Barfoot

Dear Bella,

After The Banff Publishing Workshop ignited a lifelong professional passion in

me, I was ecstatic to accept from Louise and Malcolm (to whom I owe eternal

thanks!) the position of Rights and Contracts Co-ordinator at Lester & Orpen

Dennys, may it rest in peace. Looking back on my very early days there, I confess

that I was proverbially flying by the seat of my pants, and learning on the job.

I remember being involved in a contract negotiation with you, who, instead of

condescending to a newbie or responding with irritability, said to me, “Marilyn,

dear, you are arguing for the wrong side regarding this indemnity clause.” At the

time I didn’t understand indemnity clauses any more than particle physics, but

I understood your kindness and generosity, and have never forgotten them. Be

well, dearest Bella!

Love, Marilyn Biderman

Dear Bella,

Where to start? I have such wonderful memories of the many years we worked

together.

We first met in 1974. I was Marketing Director of Sphere Paperbacks in London,

and visited you in Toronto where you were Rights Manager for a publisher whose

name I have quite forgotten. I bought British rights from you for a book by a

doctor about sleep. I paid very little for it, but it became quite a big seller, and we

sent over lots of royalties to you.

Then when we were both running our own agencies, you sold my rights in

Canada and I sold yours in Britain. It was a great partnership. The loveliest

memories of the deals we did together of course being the sales of all the Carol

Shields novels to Fourth Estate. So satisfying, after all the years of rejections, to

see those marvellous books soar onto the bestseller charts, the prize lists—the

Orange Prize, the Booker—and we were eventually able to have quite a few ‘I told

you so’ moments together.

But the best of all was that we became, and remain, good friends. And knowing

you, and working with you, meant that Carol became a friend too. Magical

memories, dear friend, conjured up afresh every time I see her books on my

shelves.

Much love to you Bella, with many thanks for the friendship and the books.

Love, Carole Blake

I don’t know who was the first to call Bella Pomer “the tiny perfect

agent,” but that person was right on the mark. Like all Bella’s writers, I

have a hundred Bella stories, but one of my favourites is about how she

became involved in the book business.

I’ll set the scene. Bella was a young wife and mother staying home,

caring for her husband Harold and their daughters Reva and Janice. On

the day that changed so many lives, Harold was at work and Reva and Janice were

at school. Bella was at home facing a task she did not relish. Over the dining room

table in the Pomer home in Forest Hill was an elaborate chandelier that needed

dusting. Bella had not wanted the chandelier, but Harold felt his beautiful young

wife deserved the best. As we all know, Bella never shrinks from a challenge;

as we all also know, Bella is petite enough to stand on a dining room table and

polish a chandelier.

And so she climbed on the table and began. The number of crystal prisms

was daunting, but Bella polished dutifully. And then, in one of those moments

of blinding insight that transform lives, she asked herself what she was doing

standing on a table polishing the crystal prisms of a chandelier she’d always

loathed.

She climbed down from the table, looked up the telephone number of

Macmillan Publishing, called and asked if they had a place in their company for

a bright young person who loved books. Macmillan did indeed have such a place,

and the rest is history.

Since Bella climbed off the dining room table and called Macmillan, the book

world has changed dramatically. Throughout all the radical changes, Bella has

kept pace and, unlike many in our business, Bella has kept her head. No one

understands the publishing industry as thoroughly as Bella. No one can read the

fine print of a contract more thoroughly than she. No one can defend her clients

more ferociously (but always with immense grace) than Bella.

So let us all give thanks to that chandelier. Those dusty prisms of crystal gave

us the tiny perfect gem that has enriched all our lives.

Gail Bowen

When I think of Bella Pomer, I think of her natural

elegance and her consistently good taste in

everything, writerly and otherwise. One of my

favourite moments with her was the launch party

she gave when she moved into the beautifully

decorated rooftop condo on Shallmar Boulevard.

Bella was in her element that night, surrounded by her authors and publishing

friends in her splendid new rooftop home. I also recall our mutual excitement

when Diane Schoemperlen won the Governor General’s Award (my first GG

win under my imprint) and Bella and I travelled to Ottawa together in a state of

euphoria.

I didn’t always publish what she sent me and we sometimes disagreed,

as agents and editors do, but I never saw a proposal from Bella that was not

meticulously presented. She is a true professional. Her love of good books is

legendary and her loyalty to her writers, heartfelt. Her authors often speak of her

as family.

Of course, Bella will never retire—we all know that, and we admire her

tremendously for her continuing dedication to our writers. And for adding a

touch of grace to our industry.

Phyllis Bruce

Dear Bella,

I remember being struck by two words someone once used to describe Nadine

Gordimer, a Nobel prize winner of enormous integrity and ferocious intellect who

is actually a little taller than you, lovely Bella: they called her a “steel sparrow.”

Those words also suit you extremely well, deliverer of fierce hugs (with me

you’ve always had to reach a fair ways up) and equally fierce responses to offers

on behalf of your authors. I should not confess this, but when it came to contracts

for our wonderful Carol Shields, there were terms we gave that were Bella and

Bella only terms, because you were so adamant in your arguments. You still are.

I’ve always loved dealing with you, because you love your writers. Love them

to the point of being hurt if someone like me didn’t love them as much. Delighted

by their words, as well, which is a totally infectious emotion. And, of course,

eternally vigilant on their behalf.

To me, still a relative newcomer after 16 years or so in my job, you have always

been generous, welcoming, a lovely haven in a crowd, someone I have always

been glad to see. And always so elegant! Even after a flight to Frankfurt, you’d

arrive on the other end looking like a million bucks.

A steel sparrow whose feathers never seem to ruffle!

Love, Anne Collins

While Bella and I did not do a lot of business over

the years, there was one book she sold me that in

many ways is a metaphor for how I think about

her. The book was entitled The Woman Who

Walked to Russia by the noted Australian writer

Cassandra Pybus. The book described the true

story of a mystical and eccentric woman who actually did walk all the way across

the USA, up to Alaska and into Russia. It was a gripping tale of human endurance.

The book was about an independent and strong-willed woman with an

irresistible free spirit. The author also embodied those qualities.

And to this day, I think of Bella through this lens. She too is independently

minded, strong-willed, and graced with a wonderfully kind and gentle free

spirit. Bella has made such a difference in tone to our community of publishing

professionals. We need more Bellas. Her publishing presence will be missed and

not easily replaced. Bless you Bella.

Patrick Crean

Iwas fortunate to travel for pleasure with Bella on at least 10 vacations,

many after the grueling Book Fairs in London and Frankfurt. There

are many memorable moments of course: wandering the canals of

Venice (and tracking down Brunetti’s police station), viewing Mt.

Etna, hearing a lovely choir in Devon) but for some reason the one

that stays with both of us comes from Greece. We were in Crete and

decided to take a short boat cruise to an island that used to care for lepers. We

were surprised to be the only guests on the boat. And it was pure magic when

the boatman suddenly presented us with wine and olives. What made that day

so sweet? The gorgeous blue of the Mediterranean, the salty delight of the olives,

the tang of the wine, the soft waves, the fascinating history revealed to us in a

lovely accent. But of course, the best of all was that the experience was shared by

two loving friends, comfortable together and open to one more grand adventure.

Cynthia Good

Dear Bella,

Having been asked to consider what you’ve meant to me over the years, I believed

that the task would be delightfully easy. In your position as my agent you’ve been

efficient, honest, painstakingly tactful with me, and a persistent pitbull on my

behalf when dealing with sub-agents and publishers. In other words, the most

exemplary moral principles have always guided you in your professional life. But

by far the greater number of my memories have nothing to do with either my

business as writer or yours as agent. They are imbued with your innate kindness

and generosity of spirit.

Some stand out vividly. Several times you invited me to stay with you and

Harold in “the stone house.” In the course of one conversation I remember

mentioning how often persimmons turned up in ancient Arabic tales and other

fairy stories, and wondering what they really tasted like. I had no idea they were

available, but the following evening there they were, a bowlful of glowing orange

fruit on your dining table just for me. You took care of me when I was full of flu and

struggling to get through yet another hateful tour. You gave me tickets to the Tut

exhibition when it came to Toronto. When I came east you always took me to eat

at the Jerusalem restaurant because I loved the fried eggplant. A plain statement

of fact, but I can recall those meals with each of my senses, even now. You and

I toured Egypt together. Do you remember the incredibly pompous Jordanian

doctor on the boat who insisted that Egypt has never been a Christian nation?

By then we knew better than to argue such matters with the local population but

you argued with him anyway—a tiny regal woman facing a large and definitely

opinionated man almost twice her height. You were, and are, a brave and loyal

friend.

I have told you this before, Bella, and I can’t repeat it enough. Without your hard

work the lives of my children, and my parents, would have been very different.

We, all of us, owe you an irredeemable debt. As for me, what can I say? Over thirty

years ago I stood at the reception desk of the Chelsea Hotel, tired, scared, and

bewildered, completely unaware that the petite and beautiful woman coming

smiling towards me would be inextricably woven into my future from then on.

And what a roller coaster ride that future turned out to be! Thank you, thank you,

thank you.

Love, Pauline Gedge xo

It was Bella who made me feel like a writer.

Merilyn and I were at a party at Matt Cohen’s and Patsy Aldana’s

house in Toronto. It was the mid 90s, we had both published a book or

two, but neither of us had an agent. An agent was something real writers

had, and I was still floating around in that netherworld of journalism,

anthologizing, translating and writing books on assignment.

Bella came up to us, took each of us by an arm, and said, “I have two spots left

on my client list, and I want you two to fill them.”

Suddenly the world felt different. I looked around the room, the room filled

with real writers like Matt, and I thought, Now I belong here. Now I’m a writer.

Wayne Grady

On behalf of my late sister, Lyn Hamilton, and me.

First, for Lyn. She started writing crime novels when she was fifty. She did not

quit her day job. My role was to read the emerging draft and say “keep going.”

When the first book was done, I asked my good friend Joan Barfoot if she might

put in a word with her big-league literary agent. Bella, at the time, was not taking

on new clients. But because it was Joan asking, Bella agreed to take a look —just

10 pages. As Joan tells it, Bella called later to thank her for the referral! And a long

and successful partnership between Lyn and Bella began.

Now, for me. When Lyn died in 2009, I was not only heartbroken, I didn’t know

what to do with her literary legacy. Even though Bella was trying to withdraw

from active service, she took me under her tiny wing and has been my guide

and advisor on all things book-related. From how to fill out those damned IRS

forms to how to get e-books published (with her friend and now mine, Beverley

Slopen).

When we went together last year to a Crime Writers of Canada event that

honoured Lyn, Bella assured me that nobody would know either of us. Well.

One after another, people emerged from the crowd to greet Bella. And she was

recognized from the podium as—I hate the word, but it fits—an icon of Canada’s

book industry.

Thank you, Bella. Well done.

Cheryl Hamilton

First, there was your voice. It must have been in 1999 when

we spoke on the phone for the first time and your voice—

warm, confident, beautifully alive—reminded me of Pauline

Kael’s description of Jean Simmons’s “humor-filled face” in

Spartacus. Here was a woman, I thought, whose phone calls

would be welcomed by anybody anywhere.

Then I met you and understood that the irresistible voice came from a stylish

human wren. You reminded me then of Theresa Stratas, another tiny woman

from Toronto with an enchanting set of pipes.

You always seemed to understand what I was about. I recall your quiet aside,

after reading an early draft of what became Late Nights on Air, that you understood

how Harry might fall in love with a voice on the radio because you had fallen in

love with a voice once yourself. And you also seemed to understand when I went

too far. Do you remember telling me that whenever Gwen was referred to as “the

shy one,” it gave you great pleasure to take your pencil and stroke it out!

I still get a lot of mileage and many laughs out of that line whenever I repeat it.

I’ve stolen a few things from you over the years and given them to my

characters: the way Connie Flood dresses, for instance, towards the end of Alone

in the Classroom. I don’t always recall what I steal, but that I clearly remember.

You had taken me for lunch to that pretty French restaurant in Yorkville and what

you were wearing that day became what Connie wore when she saw Anne in

Vancouver.

I’ve stolen certain thoughtful, regretful remarks you’ve made about life, too. It

seems to me that Harriet in Garbo Laughs was the one to benefit.

As an agent you manage something very adroit. You don’t hover, you don’t

over-control, yet you make your thoughts plainly understood and welcome.

I’ve just checked my dog-eared 5001 Nights at the Movies and here is the

quotation from Pauline’s review: “Jean Simmons has never been more beautiful,

and the emotions that appear on her humor-filled face are blessedly sane.”

That is you, dear Bella. Blessedly sane, lovely to look at, and every inch a talent.

The Jean Simmons of agents.

Elizabeth Hay

In 1976 when my first book was published by Macmillan of Canada I

was invited to Toronto to meet my editor and publisher for the first

time. Before sending me out into the rush of city traffic for a series of

radio and newspaper interviews, my editor Douglas Gibson took me

from office to office introducing me to the various people who worked

on some aspect of the book’s publication. I was in what I remember as

a central sort of foyer when a diminutive woman came out of the mystery of her

office to be introduced. This was Bella Pomer. Gracious. Welcoming. Beautifully

dressed. To my small-town West Coast eyes, she seemed the epitome of Eastern

Big City sophistication.

I do not recall our conversation—but this may be because I was immediately

sent out into the city for radio and newspaper interviews, at the mercy of a

publicist whose driving was so terrifying that I did not expect to return alive to

the Macmillan office. Drivers shook their fists at us. Cars squealed to a halt only

inches from my door. Horns blared. My driver not only didn’t notice red traffic

lights but snapped at me when the word “Red!” slipped from my terrified lips.

“I hate being told how to drive.”

I recalled this terrifying ride many years later when Bella —who in the

meantime had become an agent, my agent—picked me up at my hotel and drove

me to a restaurant for dinner. Amazingly, the Toronto traffic appeared to have

no issue with us. No horns blared. No drivers cursed us. We proceeded calmly

down the busy street as though someone had sent out instructions demanding

civilized behaviour. My life was as safe in Bella’s car as my writing career had

been in Bella’s care. It was as though Bella had a calming effect on the city.

Naturally, most of my business with Bella was a long-distance affair—e-mail,

letters, phone calls.

I may not have fully realized how essential it was that I have an agent like Bella

Pomer until she began closing down her business. Both she and I discovered how

thoroughly I’d counted on her to keep my affairs in order. “Really, Jack. You should

have kept a record of that.” Well, I had kept a record of that —but where was it?

I knew how to “keep” records but I’d never fully learned how to keep records in

order and all in one place, easily found.

In my small country high school I’d taken “typing” by a provincial

correspondence course because I wanted to become a writer, but I quit the

course once the “how to type” lessons moved on to “record keeping.” I could

not imagine why I would ever need to know how to keep records. I must have

figured that if I just never threw anything away I’d probably be able to find it later

if absolutely necessary. I must not have realized how much later, “later” could

eventually be.

Thank you, Bella Pomer! Jack Hodgins

Here we are—not very good, but well-meant!

“Ring the bells in celebration,

For our Bella, Super-Agent!

She’s the Top and Best Creation—

Straight from Heaven sent!”

Chris and Connie Beresford-Howe

My Bella, you won my heart the moment we met.

Elegant, chic and entirely welcoming is what you were

and I adored you. You were so generous, so gracious.

It was love at first sight. Little did I know I was joining

a cult of admiration and would have to share you all

these years. You are the kindest, bestest person ever.

Regal, tender, tall—maybe not tall —thoughtful, delightful, loving, and kind of

cute. I miss you more than I can say and remain your favourite. Certainly you are

mine, ever and always.

Love you madly, Juri Jurjevics

BELLA!

The wonderful thing about growing old is that exact details such as time and place

matter so much less when recalling the past, but in fact I do remember exactly

when I met you, Bella, so I must have known you were going to be important in

my life.

It was the early 90s, in that hotel on the waterfront where Knopf had arranged

for me to have a suite, so I would have been touring You Never Know and doing

a reading at Harbourfront (for which I wore a patterned Chinese silk blouse

with a long skirt from Laura Ashley —I recall clothes better than dates). I was

interviewing possible candidates to replace the agent who had replaced David

Colbert. I knew I had to get it right , so I tuned up my intuitive-response antennae

and saw three agents, all of them agreeably experienced and able to answer all

my questions.

And you stole my heart. You were so tiny and perfect by comparison with me

and I found that vastly appealing, and I am sure I correctly recall that you were

wearing a smart, tight black leather skirt, something I would never in a million

years dare to wear, so I was impressed. Your curly grey hair was a casual contrast

to the sharp, urban image your clothes presented, and your manner was direct,

and down-to-earth. You seemed to me everything an agent should be —tough,

smart, kind and warm—and I trusted you immediately. We discovered we both

had worked at Macmillan, although at different periods, and we knew some

people, and as we talked, I LIKED you. Our age difference wasn’t great enough

for you to really be my longed-for Jewish

Momma, but I felt that yes, I’d found

someone to take care of me.

And you have, all the way along.

You became my friend —in many ways

more that than agent because I have

not produced as much as we both

thought I would (lots of good reasons

for that), and thus you’ve not hugely

benefitted from our association. I’m not apologizing so much as stating a fact:

lots of agents would drop a writer who wasn’t producing sellable work, and you

didn’t. Indeed, you have been my support, my confidante, year after year on my

return visits from the Philippines or France. Our long talks on Shallmar—with

Chester in attendance—and often dinners in one of your favorite restaurants, or

a glass of wine at the Park Hyatt where I’d be spending a week for the Humber

writing workshop. We formed a relationship that has been richly sustaining for

me, and I’ve as often asked for personal advice as professional. We’ve discussed

motherhood and widowhood, love and loss and writer’s block, and occasionally

touched on writing itself—current books, the publishing industry—as well as

mutual writer-friends. But mainly it has been life itself that has been our topic,

and this is a place for me to say how grateful I am that you have been part of

mine. I love you dearly, Bella, and am so happy to celebrate you with these many

others who love you too.

Isabel Huggan

Bella Pomer could drive me crazy. I loved her—and wildly

underestimated her—from the moment we met (she was also

my lawyer’s first cousin, but that’s another story...).

I also loved (at least, back in those days) that here was one

literary agent that I could actually lift with one arm, which I

had hoped would be advantageous in negotiations.

Uh-uh. Nope.

She is just so damn smart!

Every time I thought I found an advantage, a loophole in some small contractual

detail, Bella not only found it first, she trumped it by adding another...in her

favour.

Every time.

Bella should have been a professional poker player: this tiny, utterly charming

and sweet lady. When we’d be at the airport, flying to London or Frankfurt, I’d

watch her go through security, anticipating that a pair of brass knuckles would be

discovered on her person, disguised as jewelry.

There probably was, but it was her charm that would disarm...they never laid

a hand on her. But then, nobody could.

She had my admiration, she had my trust—and she will always have my love.

David Kent

Bella—you were always one of my favourite visits when I was

“doing the rounds” in Toronto during my tenure with the

Vancouver International Writers Festival. You were always

so hospitable and I loved walking across the bridge to your

apartment to have tea and talk about books and writers.

You are and have been a wonderful asset to writers and the

literary community in Canada and I will always have very pleasant thoughts of

our relationship.

Alma Lee

When I started working at Knopf Canada in 1994,

Bella was among the first agents I contacted,

eager to ask about becoming Joan Barfoot’s editor.

I’d read and appreciated her for years and knew

that Bella represented her.

When I met Bella, I was struck, as many must

be, by how tiny and perfect she looked. With beautiful grey hair and elegant suits,

she made me think that this is what Helena Bonham Carter will look like in a

decade or two.

She always impressed me as an excellent agent. In spite of the truly horrendous

need to clomp around the concrete halls of London and Frankfurt to attend

international book fairs, which she often did with fellow agent Beverley Slopen,

she would emerge triumphant (and then go on holiday).

It took a while, but I was finally able to publish Joan Barfoot, but for only two

books when health forced me to retire early, at the beginning of 2011.

At some publishing party, I forget the occasion, I remember the dress I wore

(and soon after retired). I must have been slouching because Bella asked me the

one question that should almost never be asked: “Hi Diane, Are you pregnant?”

Menopausal me must have looked a little stunned so she realized her mistake and

began to apologize. I told her, “No, Bella, but thank you very much for thinking I

could be!”

I do still think of her on occasion, here in rural Newfoundland, where books

continue to feed me, but I will always miss my life in publishing and relationships

with people as sparkling as Bella.

Diane Martin

Dear Bella,

It is common to pay tribute to people who retire after a long and successful

business life.

Well, nothing common about you. I cannot imagine that you will ever really

retire. And so it is more than appropriate that your friends and colleagues join in

honouring you because you are not retired.

Although we have been working together for over ten years, we haven’t met

very often. But I vividly remember the first time in London’s Olympia—it was my

first London bookfair for Liepman, and I was most impressed that someone who

looked so delicate could be such a fierce champion for her authors. Actually, the

name befits the person in your case: Bella, the beautiful, recalling the sensuous

sounds of the Italian—and Bella, the fighter, going back to the sterner Latin.

Over the years, this first impression never faded. For me, you are a paragon of

our profession: insistent and tireless when it comes to authors’ needs and rights

—yet such a gentle and warm friend. I’ll never forget the marvellous lunch we

had in Toronto at your home—your sister was visiting from NYC, and both of you

made me feel at home straight away. I had a lovely time on that August afternoon

in 2008.

And look at all the great authors and their books that you have trusted us with

for twenty years to find them homes in Germany —all among the very best that

Canada has to offer: Joan Barfoot, Elizabeth Hay, Carol Shields, Pauline Gedge,

Lyn Hamilton, Gail Bowen, to name just a few. All their books have one thing in

common: when you read them, they will make you a gift of time instead of taking

it away from you—the kind of time you wouldn’t have had otherwise. That is the

very best a book can do.

Dear Bella, thank you so much. For being the friend, colleague and role model

you are for me—in other words: for being Bella. I hope and I trust that you have

many good years ahead of you, and even if travelling may become too exhausting,

you can always travel the world on the pages of a book.

With much love, and all my best wishes, and those of the entire Liepman team.

Suzanne de Roche

Dear Bella,

We’ve been working together for twenty-five years now and, although I know

you’ll tell me it’s a cliché, I have to say that I couldn’t have done it without you.

Nor would I have wanted to.

Through the early years you guided me firmly as I found my footing in the

bewildering world of publishing. You never steered me wrong. I knew I could

always count on you to be my champion and to help me make the best decisions.

I remember how surprised I was when we met for the first time: I’d thought you

would be six feet tall!

By the middle years our relationship had grown well beyond the confines

of a standard business arrangement and I was so touched when you said you

thought of me as your “third daughter.” You have always been the first person to

read anything I’ve written and I’ve always held my breath while waiting for your

comments. You have never been one to deliver lavish praise indiscriminately

and I still count as one of the happiest moments in my life the day you said the

manuscript of my novel Our Lady of the Lost and Found was “gorgeous.” This

single word more than made up for all the times you’d said, “Don’t get your hopes

up, kiddo!”

Now here we are twenty-five years

later and I still can’t decipher either my

contracts or my royalty statements without

your help! I was only thirty-five years old

when we began working together and now

I’ve just turned sixty. For all those years I

knew you were with me even when we

didn’t have a chance to see each other for

months at a time. You were always there at

the other end of the phone line to share my elation, my despair, and everything

in between on this rollercoaster ride we call “the writing life.”

Looking back, I realize that not only have you shown me how to be

a better writer but you’ve also shown me how to grow up with style, wit, and

confidence.

Thanks always for everything.

Love from me, Diane Schoemperlen

When I came to Canada as a young editor and

picked up a publishing career that had begun

in New York, I remember meeting the agents.

Bella was among the first, and the best, and I,

the newcomer, was made to feel her interest and

acceptance and help, learning some of the ropes

of the Canadian marketplace. Over the years she has handled many of the writers

I publish.

When I got to know her socially, initially through my partner Jim Polk, I was

ever more delighted to add to my admiration for her professionalism and her

fierce caring for her authors. An elegance and verve and splendid and warm

hostessing style now became known. Plus we discovered that extra New York

connection, which was fun. I think we once even ended up on the same flight

there, which was particularly wonderful for me. I also remember so fondly that

incredibly jet-lagged dinner we had in London one year, the night before the fair

began.

And may I add: my god, Bella, in your quiet, persuasive way, you are one

tough agent (good for your authors), but also one whose deep loyalty is always

acknowledged. Your are grace personified.

So hats off to you, in celebration and affection—and in gratitude.

Love, Ellen Seligman

I wish I had a single iconic story to tell about Bella. Something funny

and smart and elegant.

But when I think of Bella, she isn’t in this place or the centre of that

anecdote. She is everywhere, like rock or air—essential.

From the first time she said, “I’ll always have a place for you,” she

has felt like my biggest fan, the person who has believed in me as a

writer and as a person, who always has time to talk, who never tires of explaining

what she is doing and why, who never gives up, not even after too many rejections

to count, who balances faith and optimism with a streetwise pragmatism.

“Don’t get your hopes up, kiddo,” she says with every book, even though it’s

clear as day her own hopes are soaring.

In the beginning I thought that to be a Bella Pomer author, you had to have

curly hair. Diane, Matt, Wayne, me: we all looked like we could have been her

offspring.

Bella has spoiled us. She was the first agent in this country and the best. She

doesn’t only represent our work, she is our friend, our staunch supporter, our

loyal companion on the rocky path through the literary landscape.

If there were a prize for Best Agent in this Medium or any yet to be developed,

now or in the future, anywhere in the Universe, Bella Pomer would win it, hands

down.

With love! Merilyn Simonds

Travels with Bella:

The best part of annual book fairs in Frankfurt and London was

attending them with Bella. Having each other as companions

blunted ego-deflating rejections from publishers which they

dispensed at five-minute intervals. Even better, we could be

happy for each other’s triumphs.

The real fun, though, were the sightseeing trips that we

tacked on. Paris, Prague, Berlin, Dublin, Madrid, Barcelona were some of the

highlights. Our Edinburgh trip was especially memorable.

On our arrival, Bella’s troublesome knee became alarmingly swollen. The hotel

recommended a doctor who quickly sent her for tests at a nearby hospital.

While we did crossword puzzles waiting for various examining physicians,

and then waited days for the test results, I silently feared that Bella would not

be permitted to fly. It was before cloud computing and I was mentally trying to

figure out how to relocate my office to Edinburgh and to chart how I could avoid

a sea voyage home, with attendant seasickness.

Because Bella was not in pain, she insisted that we carry on sightseeing,

including our scheduled meeting with two staff members from Edinburgh’s

Canongate publishing house. They changed the venue to a pub next door to their

offices and drinking began at 10:30 am.

Bella explained about her swollen knee, and the wait for test results. The

puckish 24-year-old sales manager was fascinated. “Can I see it?” he asked, with

an engaging twinkle.

Bella stood up, lifted her skirt and showed him her knee. He bent down to

examine it and seemed satisfied. Bella was “game,” a good sport, and he was

delighted to meet his match.

Happily, the tests did not signify an embolism, and we were able to laugh

about our tour of the Scottish medical system and fly home without fear.

Beverley Slopen

Dear Bella,

For all these years, you have been there, offering instant advice, assistance and

encouragement, always responding to my enquiries and manuscripts as though

you were ready to spend all your time dealing with me alone. I am sure that

everyone you’ve acted for has enjoyed the same experience. An amazing trick!

Our work together has always given me great pleasure and reassurance, and

spurred me on to fresh efforts. Now that you’ve stepped back (somewhat) from

your labours, my only regret is that the clock can’t stand still.

With warmest memories and good wishes,

Denis Smith

I first met Bella on the way to attend my first Frankfurt Book Fair. Always

gracious and generous, Bella took me under her wing, making sure that

I met a few people at the Canada stand and had someone to go out with

for dinner on the first night. Two early memories stand out from those

years. In one memory, Bella and Jan Whitford and I made our way to the

huge department store just after the overnight flight to Frankfurt. For

some reason, it seemed imperative that we go directly to the lingerie department

where we spent what seemed like hours deciding between white cotton

camisoles. I can still remember Bella holding up one lace-trimmed camisole after

another, judging it inadequate and returning it to the pile. The image is blurry: the

three of us were exhausted and jet-lagged and were not seeing straight. On another

trip, we bought tickets to see the opera Orpheus, sung in German. Again, I can’t

imagine why we thought this was a good idea —going to see an opera after a long

day at the fair. Only Jan spoke German with any authority. Anyway, we all drifted

off during the opera, stumbled to the subway and started off for our hotels.

Unfortunately, the late hour caught up with us and we all drifted off again, only

to wake up at the end of the subway line in some remote suburb of Frankfurt. I

think we took a taxi back to the hotel and managed to laugh it off the next day.

Bella, I thank you for your great friendship and wisdom over the years. You

have always been an inspiration—so knowledgeable, so strong and so kind. And,

a fashion icon.

Love, Iris Tupholme

Dear Bella,

Your smile I remember well. Your warm and open face,

your consistent kindness, your fervent care for others.

I remember well your love of literature and how

you always extended a welcoming friendship in every

encounter. Even our different heights did not deter the

reach of your embrace!

Life seemed then for you a grace, and may it still be so.

With love and gratitude for knowing you,

Lucinda Vardey

Dearest Bella,

How often over these past decades, whenever we met at bookfairs, did I regret

that we live so far from each other! I do miss you.

Last year, you wrote about gradually winding down your agency with a view

to full retirement. And I very much hope that by now you really can enjoy a bit

of that new freedom—as I do—with more leisure according to your wishes and

strength. The truth is that agents will never stop caring for their authors in one

way or another.

I see you, delicate, elegant and smiling, making it always very clear with charm

and insistence that you expect highest attention for your authors. You loved them,

you paved the way for them, you did fight for them. I have the warmest memories

of our meetings and shall always be grateful that you did trust us at Liepman and

had us represent the German rights of your treasured authors.

Every work was a revelation, starting with Joan Barfoot’s Abra decades ago...till

recently Late Nights on Air by Elizabeth Hay. In between, we were taken to ancient

Egypt by Pauline Gedge or immersed in Carol Shields’ The Stone Diaries, which

I’ll never ever forget, not to mention all the other discoveries. Thank you for

presenting us with such haunting insights into the labyrinth and mysteries of life.

And thank you for being a wonderful colleague and friend.

With lots of love and warmest wishes for well-being, less work, less pain, and

happy days with your family.

Yours, Ruth Weibel

“[A]ll photographs hang suspended in the present tense. As if in aging, a photograph changes

meaning according to how the viewer has aged and changed and yet remained the same...”

—Diane Schoemperlen, In the Language of Love

Dear Bella,When I look at this photo —which I keep in

a frame on my desk—it brings back so many

wonderful memories, most of which include

you. It doesn’t seem so long ago that we were

reviewing the terms of a deal or gossiping

over a meal.

I consider myself lucky that you contacted

me those many, many years ago… Where did

it begin? I guess it was with The Orange Fish,

although I can’t quite remember now….

I treasure our relationship, and am eternally grateful that our longstanding

(and happy) business association blossomed into a true friendship.

I miss your visits to NYC and our many lunches and talks!

Know that I think of you often and send you all my love and thanks for being

such a wonderful colleague and friend.

With deep admiration and love, Mindy Werner xo

Dearest Bella,

It has been far too long since we have been in touch, and though I will blame

the physical distance between you and me in far-off Vancouver (and the fact

that you don’t “do” lunch!), I so wish I’d managed to see more of you in these

past 13 years since my departure from Toronto. I remember with such pleasure

our dinners with Cynthia and Iris, and our times together in the frenzy of the

Frankfurt Book Fair. I will be forever grateful for your thoughtful and generous

guidance whenever it was needed (not to mention for introducing me to the

Textile Museum—how had I managed to miss it for all those years??). And I

remember with glee the startled expression of someone still new to our world

of Canadian book publishing, who simply couldn’t believe that you and I—

competitors, after all—were actually friends, first and foremost.

I cherish that friendship, Bella, despite the distance, and I am filled with

admiration for all that you have done for Canadian writers—and readers.

Without your good taste, and your tireless efforts on their behalf, our literary

landscape would have been much impoverished, and readers everywhere would

have missed out on some of their greatest reading pleasures.

Brava to you, with love, Jan Whitford

Nowadays when I read of the trouble new writers have in

getting an agent to represent them, I am reminded how

lucky I was to find Bella. I’ve told the story before but not

for a long time and it is a good story. The luck came about

like this:

Back in 1983 I had a novel I wanted to publish, The Night

the Gods Smiled, but no idea how to go about it. I knew only one published writer,

Kathy Govier, and I asked her. She suggested an agent in England (I have no idea

why now) so I called on the agent the next time I happened to be in England

and she kindly read it, said no thanks, and suggested that I ought to start with a

Canadian agent, and recommended Bella.

Bella had never heard of this agent, but accepting my word she opened the

door a crack and I slid the manuscript in to her. Actually she said that she was

moving house and did not have time to receive me and asked me to leave it in her

milk box by the front door. So I did.

Three months later I had not heard a word, so I called Bella. She checked

the mailbox just in case but it wasn’t there and asked me to bring another copy.

Bella, now filled with guilt, read the manuscript that night and called me in the

morning to say that she would represent me. A few weeks later, on a Saturday

morning, Bella called twice, to say that the book had been sold to Collins, both

here and in the U.K. and to Scribner’s in the U.S. (A month after that a neighbour

appeared at her door with the manuscript which had lain for four months in the

neighbour’s mailbox where I had left it.}

That was the beginning of my luck at having Bella as my agent. It continued

through twenty novels, and it is an enormous pleasure now to have the chance to

say at last how grateful I am for Bella, and her mailbox.

Eric Wright

It’s been said the British never compliment you to your face, though

they’ll insult you that way, but Canadians and Americans do the

opposite. One of the endearing things I slowly discovered about Bella

after she became my agent thirty years ago is that she can be quite

British when it comes to praise. During our meetings at her Toronto

penthouse, Bella would often tell me about the wonderful books her

other authors had just written. Yet, while she always had helpful and insightful

things to say about my latest effort, she kept her praise rather sparing. I took this

to mean she thought I “could do better,” as my schoolteachers used to say in their

reports.

I feared she might be right and, like Boxer the horse in Animal Farm, resolved

to work harder. Besides, in wiser moments I told myself that easy praise is a

currency of little worth. Publishers, for example, know how to lay it on with a

trowel—especially in rejection letters.

But still. As book followed book, I wondered how many I’d have to write before

Bella might utter the sort of words she did about others in her stable.

One day I was chatting in a pub with one such author, whose work I had

often heard our mutual agent and friend praise highly, as it well deserved. Over

a second or third drink, this stablemate remarked, “You know, Bella is always

telling me what great books you and her other writers are turning out, but she

never says those things about mine.”

“Snap!” I said. We had a good laugh, ordered more drinks, and basked in praise

that was all the sweeter for having reached us the long way round.

Thank you, Bella, for building not only careers but character.

Ron Wright

August 2014