Trick or Treat!

Off with her head!



A little case of the swine flu...



Happy Hallowe'en everyone!

Last Night With John Irving

I was fourth in line to see one of my favourite writers, John Irving, last night at the IFOA. It was a wonderful event, so I’ll give you a fairly detailed recap. And video should be available soon--I’ll post a link once I have it.



Irving begins by talking a little about his writing process (he’s written every one of his novels backwards--he can only start writing once he has the final sentence) before reading from his new book, Last Night in Twisted River (I’m expecting my copy in the mail any day, and I can’t wait!) After the brief reading, in conversation with Seamus O’Regan Irving discusses the self-referential elements of the book, and the ubiquitous questions about autobiographical content. He explains that he doesn’t write about events from his life, but rather the things he fears the most, and these fears repeat themselves (severed limbs anyone? For more recurring themes, check out the handy chart at Wikipedia.) In the case of his newest protagonist, Danny, all of his worst fears come true. Like several of his previous books, the protagonist is a writer. Like Irving, Danny was mentored by Kurt Vonnegut, and everything Vonnegut says in the novel is a direct quote! For example, on writing, Danny’s told by Vonnegut, “if you think you’re capable of living without writing, do not write.” Irving agrees; he says being a writer “is not a career choice…it’s a terribly stupid career choice, a compulsion, like an eating disorder.” I’m glad he suffers from this disorder.

A master storyteller, Irving goes on to amuse us with anecdotes. He tells us about meeting Charleton Heston at a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood (during the release of the film adaptation of The Cider House Rules). Unable to reconcile the gun-toting, right-wing Republican with an abortion rights activist, no one at the event would speak to him. Not Irving: “c’mon, it’s Moses!” He sat himself down and they chatted guns (Heston had many more guns than Irving). His point is, you just can’t categorize people.

Next, Irving takes questions from the audience. A high-school teacher asks how he feels about his books being taught. He responds that he’s grateful his novels are being introduced to kids in school, but feels bad for the kid who hates him, because he’s been that kid. Faulkner was forced on him when he was too young, and he still can’t read Faulkner (by the way, his strongest influences are Hardy, Melville and Dickens). An audience member asks when his children first read his books (Irving has three sons). He tells us his eldest read The World According to Garp when he was just twelve(!) Irving was nervous about it, but “didn’t want to blow his liberal reputation.” His son was moved and affected, but not disturbed, and recognized immediately that the book was about his father’s fears.

I could go on and on, but I can’t do this maestro justice, so come back and check out the video. And of course, read the new book!

Any other big John Irving fans reading? What is your favourite book?

It Takes a Village

I remember how lonely I was when I had Cakes four years ago. I didn’t know many other parents, and didn’t have many friends in the city (we’d recently moved). I sure didn’t know any neighbours. I remember going to drop-ins, desperate for conversation, making forced, boring, repetitive small talk with women I had nothing in common with besides having given birth.

This time couldn’t be more different. Thanks to the blogosphere, I have my tribe of fabulous women who are just a tweet or an email away. I can even *gasp* phone them if I want to. We’ve moved to a far friendlier neighbourhood where I actually want to talk to a lot of the parents I meet at the park. We have a few fellow parent friends on our block who take Cakes for play dates with their kids. And I have the loveliest next-door neighbour. He and Cakes went for brunch last weekend. And the other night, after a very, very long solo day with both kids, Cakes spied him outside on our communal garden bench. “Alan!” she shouts out the window. “Wait there, we’re coming out after mommy goes pee!” (thanks for sharing, Cakes). When we straggle outside, me with my spit-up stained shirt and dark circled eyes, there’s a crisp, cold glass of white wine waiting for me, and he stretches out his hands to take Sherwood from my tired arms.

Good friends; good neighbours. They’re making all the difference.

The Last Woman by John Bemrose

I’ve finished John Bemrose’s The Last Woman and now I have another book to complain about not being on the Giller longlist. This was my first time reading Bemrose, and now I’m dying to read The Island Walkers.

The Last Woman is set in the eighties, in Northern Ontario cottage country, bordering on a native reservation. Ann and Richard are couple who, married more than a decade, have settled into a comfortable domesticity with their young son. Ann is a painter who wrestles with her work while Richard, a lawyer, plots to launch a career in politics. Their copacetic existence starts to unravel with the reappearance of Billy, the former band leader who has been absent since he and Richard lost an arduous legal battle to claim the land of Billy’s ancestors ten years earlier. But long before that, Billy was Ann’s first love, and his re-entry into their lives opens wounds that had never healed, but festered with the passage of time. I won’t give any more away.

With brilliant characterization, searing depiction of landscape, and multi-layered themes of colonization--of an individual, of a group, of the earth--The Last Woman is a rich, textured, enormously satisfying read.

'Tis the Season to be Reading

I’m so behind with my book reviews. It’s been wonderful having hours to read each day, but with no time to write I’m hopelessly behind. The other problem is that there are many great books from my house coming out now, but I read them months ago on an e-reader (and of course I didn’t write down my thoughts at the time). So in lieu of the individual posts they deserve, here’s some quick thoughts on my favourites for fall:

The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood
If you loved Oryx and Crake, you’ll love this even more. And I love how Atwood's dove into social media! Check out her website for the book here and follow her on Twitter here (she's tweeting her tour). I just managed to snag a ticket to the T.O. event tomorrow night. Recap to come!

Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro
How many times do I have to tell you to read Alice Munro? Too Much Happiness is Alice in top form (my favourite collection is still Runaway though). If you still haven't read Alice Munro, get thee to your local independent bookstore!

Great Expectations by Dede Crane and Lisa Moore
This is a wonderful collection of original essays about childbirth from twenty-four celebrated writers including (to name just a few) Lynn Coady, Lisa Moore and Joseph Boyden. It’s great reading (and a perfect gift for a new mother). You can listen to excerpts here.

8 X 10 by Michael Turner. This is an inventive, challenging book. As you may have guessed from the title, the author borrows from the visual arts to portray today’s global society. This is one I will read again.

Generation A by Douglas Coupland
A bookend to Generation X, it doesn’t disappoint. I’d also comp it to Girlfriend in a Coma. Plus, this is my favourite cover of the season. Check out a fun video with Coupland here.

Undiscovered Gyrl by Allison Burnett
Heart-rending, original coming-of-age tale chronicled in a blog. This one really stuck with me.

The Wife’s Tale by Lori Lansens
If you haven’t read Lori Lansens yet, go get Rush Home Road, or The Girls. Then read this too.

Waiting for Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk
This novel is wonderfully imaginative; a surprise treat for me. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him, but I hear the author is lovely. You can find him on Twitter here.

And what are you reading this fall. Has anyone read anything on the Giller longlist? I have the Baile and Mootoo on hold at the library. It’s an interesting list, no? Why isn't Lisa Moore on the list?

Blink and It's Gone

I still don’t have time to write much of anything here. Sherwood is sleeping fabulously at night, for which I am deeply, deeply grateful. The only downside is that his only naps during the day are when I’m walking him in his stroller, or when he dozes on my chest. I can read for hours while he nurses, but I’m not talented enough to type well with one hand. Right now he’s dozing on McHotty’s chest, so I’ll steal a few minutes here.

I’m not going to complain that I don’t have time to do anything. Because I know Sherwood is my last baby I am so very, very conscious of not wishing this time away. You know, already I can barely remember Cakes’ babyhood. I didn’t make the conscious effort to treasure it as I know now that I should, and I want to do better this time. These days are indescribably precious, yet so fleeting: the warmth of him nuzzled into my neck for a snooze; the trusting, vulnerable stare as he nurses; the heart-exploding first smiles and coos. It brings me to tears to think that in five years I won’t be able to remember this exactly as it was. The best I can do is relax, try to fix the sensations in my mind, and attempt to record them permanently this time, even if it’s only hasty sketches here and lots and lots of photos.

Speaking of photos, doesn’t this one make you smile?