Apostrophes’ format was not complicated. Before a live audience, six authors gathered to chat. The themes they were asked to explore were not infrequently saucy: “Sexy, les Seins,” “Pudeur, Impudeur,” “Ça va saigner.” I might have overlooked this fact were it not for the cover of Lire that week, which displayed a nude woman reading in bed, its main feature erotic lit. Laurence Kaufmann, Antenne 2’s PR person, assured me rather sternly that, whatever I was suggesting, it was mere coincidence, but I had stopped listening by then, my mind on fire: I was picturing Robertson Davies in a pose that recalled Burt Reynolds, a typewriter, hot from recent use, strategically placed.

Anyway, it might have been the jet lag, but having taken our seats in the studio for Pivot and company’s round table on the secrets of the Romanovs’ cuisine or some such arcana, my wife fell asleep on my shoulder – and this was her first appearance on French national television. Unimpeachably intelligent as the show may have been, Apostrophes did not always deliver the jolt-a-minute quotient that I felt would be crucial to success on Canadian TV. I started to suspect that some of Apostrophes’ reputation around the world rested un peu trop on one notorious episode from some eight years earlier in the middle of which Charles Bukowski, drunk and bellicose, had been hauled off the set.

At the post-taping cocktail party I asked M. Pivot if in his estimation an Apostrophes-like show could be reproduced elsewhere. Modestly he replied, "Oh mais oui. Anyone could do it." Then he thought about his own remark and added, "You know, Sweden tried and failed – they’re such a cold people, I suppose that’s why. And Belgium tried, but went nowhere. They’re so … plain, it was inevitable. And the Italians, alors, on every show within fifteen minutes they’re at each others’ throats, so they took it off the air. So, no – no, I would say it is not so possible."

I thought about North America, a continent with more guns than books in her subways and school libraries; where teachers prioritize conflict resolution over spelling; where mail goes undelivered while disgruntled postal workers roam the inner cities. Given the viciousness of literary criticism in our neck of the woods, I’d want a weapons search before each interview.