He had the voice of God (if God trained at the Old Vic) and enough of the look to pass muster. That magnificent Canadian Robertson Davies was born on this date in 1913. His novels were big, erudite, slightly old-fashioned (but with postmodern sensibility informing Dickensian narratives), and usually published in threes. The Deptford Trilogy was probably his most well-known, but I prefer, if only slightly, The Cornish Trilogy, and especially What’s Bred in the Bone, which some of you will recall having inflicted on you in my classes. No apologies. He was two-thirds of the way through his fourth trilogy when he died. That’s eleven big, meaty novels, not bad for a guy who came to fiction writing in middle age after careers in the theater and journalism.