Brian Doyle obit

Brian Doyle, celebrated Ottawa author, dies at age 90

 

He was not on the list.

During one of the last interviews Brian Doyle gave to the Ottawa Citizen, the celebrated author was asked if he had learned to read early as a child.

“I think I did,” he told this reporter in 2018. “But probably what I was best at was listening. I listened to what (the adults) said, and narration was the basic way of communicating. I didn’t realize it at first, but you soak it up, the rhythm of the talk. Everything was a narration, even ordinary conversation.”

One example was asking his Uncle Paddy the time of day. “I remember him taking out his watch and saying, ‘This isn’t my watch, but it’s half past nine.’ So you don’t care about the time anymore. You wonder where the hell he got the watch.”

Doyle developed his own knack for spinning a tale, a talent that served him well during a long career as a writer and teacher. As a writer, he was best known for vivid, award-winning young-adult novels about growing up in Lowertown and adventuring along the Gatineau River.

A tribute written by Jeffrey Canton to mark Doyle’s 90th birthday in August 2025 quoted Doyle’s former publisher, Patsy Aldana at Groundwood Books. She described him as “one of the greatest writers of books for children that Canada has ever seen.”

Doyle died Jan. 1 at the age of 90. A message posted on social media said he was home for a New Year’s celebration after a short stay at the Wakefield Hospice/La Maison des Collines.

“We had a little party yesterday and after everyone left he fell asleep and didn’t wake up,” the post read. “He was very comfortable, pain free, and went out in style.”

Brian Doyle was born in Ottawa in 1935 and grew up during the Depression, mostly in the rough-and-tumble neighbourhood of Lowertown. Summers were spent at a family property on the Gatineau River near Low, Que., where the Doyles had deep roots.

It wasn’t until after university, marriage and two children that Doyle penned his first children’s book. Hey Dad! was published in 1978 in hopes of encouraging his daughter, Megan, to read. The second, You Can Pick Me Up at Peggy’s Cove, was written for his son, Ryan, in 1979.

Doyle’s first novel for young adults was 1982’s Up to Low, based on a tale his father used to tell about the old days on the Gatineau River and a time when a body needed to be transported down river for burial.

“That was quite the story,” Doyle recalled in 2018, when Janet Irwin’s stage adaptation of Up To Low was presented at the National Arts Centre. “The relatives rowed the coffin down to Low in a rowboat to get buried, and a lot of the play is based around that notion.”

Other popular books by Doyle included Angel Square, Easy Avenue, Uncle Ronald and Mary Ann Alice.

Doyle was a friend and mentor to former Citizen columnist Charles Gordon, who described him as not only a great writer, but also a “legend” of a teacher. As head of the English department at Glebe Collegiate Institute, Doyle established a writing program “where there had been none, and inspired many to become writers,” Gordon explained in an email to the Citizen.

Though aimed at young adults, Doyle’s work held meaning for all ages. “(His books) were wise, screamingly funny at times, poignant at others,” Gordon wrote. “He was always on the kids’ side, and his books never lectured at them. I’m sure he created thousands of readers.”

Gordon also pointed to Doyle’s modest, unassuming nature. “He didn’t hang around in literary circles. He was more at home with the guys at the Elmdale Tavern, back when it was a tavern,” he said.

Doyle detested public speaking, too, but would always kill at it, Gordon added.

“I remember an event in the ’90s at which he was one of several speakers,” Gordon said. “The ones who preceded all emoted, waved their arms and did their best to entertain. Brian just opened one of his books and began reading in almost a monotone. Within seconds, the room was filled with laughter.”

Indeed, Doyle’s sense of humour was never far off. In a 2008 Ottawa Citizen article, he was asked what he’d like to see on his epitaph.

“I’m going to make a plaque,”  Doyle said. “There’s a big rock up at our cabin where we always go … and I’ve always wanted to put there, ‘Brian Doyle lied here. Now here he lies.'”