Westbound, Bloor and Christie
South Asian male, with short brown hair and labret piercing, wearing glasses, grey hoodie under black fleece, low black jeans, and black Converse sneakers.
He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. He lets his head fall, chin to his chest, book falling open limp on his knee. He shifts a bit and rights himself, squinting at an ad across the aisle. He nods, not because he agrees, but because he’s talking to someone, some past conversation, maybe from this morning, more likely from late the night before. He shakes his head now. His point wasn’t taken. He puts his glasses back on, and cocks his head to the side, taking in the contents under the seat adjacent to him: a Fairlee bottle emptied of its 100% Pure/Pur orange juice from concentrate. He reads everything. Posters. Logos. He swivels to look overhead. Call us at XXX-XXX-XXX. His lips never stop moving.
What was he reading? Click here.
Julie Wilson is a literary voyeur, the Gossip Girl of the Book World. She tracks readers in the wild at SeenReading.com. @seenreading
Swan Restaurant
East Indian woman, mid 20s, with long brown hair, and large silver hoops, wearing white tank top under open blue striped shirt under open blue cardigan.
She sits at the counter, perched on a stool close to the front window. She leans over her book, hand resting on the back of her neck. She sits back as the server slides a tallboy of Guinness in front of her with a glass. She starts to pour, slowly, and puts the can down at the halfway point. She’s worked in a bar. Out of habit, she’s leaving the beer to settle. She keeps hold of the can and glass and looks outside. An older man edges his car back and forth, rolling back a foot, then popping into drive and coasting forward. She turns back to her tallboy, pouring the rest of her beer in a slow stream, enough time to check in on the old man who’s still running his car back and forth, something to do while he waits for his passenger, she might think, something he does this so slowly that the young guy who steps off the curb to cross the street doesn’t feel the bumper until he’s sitting on the trunk gripping the window louvers. He slides off the back and throws his arms up, his tight dress shirt spilling from his tight dress pants to reveal a tattoo circling his navel. She pushes the can aside and takes a long drink from her beer, three swallows, before turning back to her book.
What was she reading? Click here.
Julie Wilson is a literary voyeur, the Gossip Girl of the Book World. She tracks readers in the wild at SeenReading.com. @seenreading
A new blog on reading, literature, and the book industry, by Julie Wilson, auhtor and novelist
An introduction.
On my way to work, I see people reading. In coffee shops, on transit. Standing at a stoplight, a reader will cross my path, book wide open. Because, by nature, I’m curious; because, by profession, I work in publishing; and, because, by compulsion, I want to understand the cult of readership — this card carrying, freak flag flying international membership that exists at once alone in bed, in groups, and in flourishing online communities — I watch you read.
8:45 a.m. on a weekday morning. There are no fewer than 20-30 reader sightings on my commute into downtown Toronto. As we inch our way aboard the Red Rocket, you sit beside me. You’re reading Summer of My Amazing Luck by Miriam Toews. You’re very close, so I know you’re on page 87. While we ride, I learn other things about you. Some are obvious. That you’re a man or woman is without question. But that ring is interesting, or the scar above your left eyebrow. You continue to read.
The intersection between reader and a precise piece of text fascinates me. This reader may have started the book the night before in one location, to pick it up again in another. In between, the world has changed a little, or a lot. So has she. What words, right then, I can’t help but wonder, are revealing themselves for the first time? (The tenth time?) How do they traverse the divide between constructed narrative and lived experience? I go to the bookstore, into the stacks, and pull the title from the shelves. (more…)
Jean Clotte’s Cave Art, out this month from the inimitable Phaidon Press, is the sort of book that convinces you to care about something you never have before. In this case it’s the titular cave art, which, despite the best efforts of a documentary on the Discovery Channel years ago, I was pretty sure was just scribbling. But no! It’s called art for a reason, and, as Clotte’s book meticulously explains, it’s essential to an understanding of both artistic and human history.
Chronicling the evolution of cave art over time, Clottes structures his book around three central periods, each explored by a detailed account of a representative cave: the Chauvet Cave begins a discussion of the period of 35,000 to 22,000 years ago, the Lascaux cave for 22,000 to 17,000 years ago, and the Niaux Cave for 17,000 to 11,000 years ago. It’s a clever approach, and as a result the book’s structure is one of its real strengths. By associating these eras with strong examples that are considered in tremendous detail, Cave Art gives one a sense not only of the broad strokes of a period’s development, but the finer details that make each unique. (more…)
Last Saturday, Toronto was enveloped in muggy greyness. I was riding my bicycle along Bloor Street West, after being doused in unspectacular rain in High Park, and the street was less appealing than usual. Two women were yelling at each other outside a store with sad appliances in the window, the kind of appliances that break when you get them home; the police were cordoning some building off; and the whole street—which occasionally vibrates with a kind of transglobal charm—was entirely charmless.
“Amazing knowledge!” a man called from the sidewalk as I rode past. I laughed, and kept on down the block to the Salvation Army, where all the summer dresses were polyester testaments to humanity’s ability to create dreadful fashion; the kind of fashion that evokes a physical response, a shiver or a cringe. Stepping back out into the humidity, I followed my curiosity, and walked my bike up the block.
“What kind of amazing knowledge?” I asked the man.
“No, a maze of knowledge. Entry five cents.” There was a table on the sidewalk with a smiling woman and a yellow piggy bank. They were positioned in front of a door with black curtains. I rummaged through my pocket for a nickel and the man waived me along. “It’s free for people with purple shoes today.” (more…)
Featuring: Glenn Gould, Robert Downey Jr., Christopher Shulgan, Arthur Conan Doyle (again), Barack Obama, Katie Hafner.
1. Taking the Cure I’ve been meaning to write about Christopher Shulgan’s new book, The Soviet Ambassador, but unfortunately other work has gotten in the way of me reading it first. But since we published a feature by Chris in June about his book’s subject, Aleksandr Yakovlev, and Yakovlev’s visit to British Columbia’s Doukhobors, I feel very confident in recommending the new volume to any and all. Chris’s piece one of my favourites of the year, and it shows off his charming prose and extensive research in such a manner that you’ll probably proceed directly to your local bookstore and collect a copy of his book. For actual evaluation, you could see Amy Knight’s review in the Globe. Watch that section this weekend for further discussion of the The Soviet Ambassador, and, if you’re in Toronto, tune into CBC Radio One at 9am on Sunday to hear Chris on The House.
2. Iron Man in a Tweed Jacket I’m really trying to stop talking about the upcoming Sherlock Holmes movies, which have been frequent topics of discussion here. But news continue to arrive, most lately this week’s revelation that Robert Downey Jr. is in talks to star as Holmes in Guy Ritchie’s ill-conceived action version. Now obviously the inclusion of Robert Downey Jr. makes anything better, but I don’t think even he can save this movie. It’ll still be terrible, but at least the lead will be charming.
3. Literary Biography I’m a big believer in the school of thought that says you can learn a lot about a person by what he or she reads. Al Purdy, for instance, read a lot of campy genre novels, some of which you can see pictured on this very blog, and I believe that type of reading was important to the sort of man he was. (I should say, though, that Purdy also read broadly and deeply across literary history; I would imagine he read more great books most of us could ever dream of finishing.) So I liked Laura Miller’s piece in Salon this week wherein she performs a bit of literary criticism on the idea of Barack Obama’s reading history, exploring his predilection for, among others, Melville, Roth, Nieburh, and, of course, Lincoln. (On a semi-related note, I’ll also recommend Gary Wills’s piece on Lincoln and Obama’s speeches on race from the NYRB a few months back.) And while it isn’t as nuanced as Miller’s argument, this now semi-famous photograph doubtless inspires the same sort of heart fluttering among those of us unaccustomed to seeing our leaders even holding a book.
4. The Steinway Variations McClelland & Stewart just published Katie Hafner’s excellent new book, A Romance on Three Legs: Glenn Gould’s Obsessive Quest for the Perfect Piano. It’s the first major work of Gould scholarship since Kevin Bazzana’s fine biography, Wondrous Strange, and one of the loveliest books yet written about the pianist. Hafner, who writes for Wired and the New York Times, delivers an impeccably researched take on Gould’s decades-long relationship with CD 318, a junky old Steinway piano with which he had a serious infatuation. The book also features Verne Edquist, Gould’s piano tuner, whose story hadn’t been explored in full until this volume. Alternating between the two men, Hafner explores the complexities of Gould’s relationship with his instrument.
Because Gould’s a difficult figure to wrestle with intellectually, we’ve developed a cultural fixation on his bizarreness that’s reduced his particularities as a performer and man to a set of clichés: sandwiches at Fran’s diner, summer-time top coats, his audible humming while playing. What Hafner finds, though, goes deeper, to a level that we can all understand. In his obsession with CD 318 Gould wasn’t demonstrating some strange personal tic that puts him at a remove from most people. Instead, it was among the more normal enterprises in which he engaged. More than anything, he was in love with the beauty of the instrument as it sounded to him, and it’s a lot easier for the average person to identify with finding something captivating than, say, an overwhelming need to phone people long distance in the middle of the night. In focusing on the piano, Hafner elevates the pianist to a place where I, at least, understand him in a way I never have.
Last weekend, as I was shuffling around BookExpo Canada, searching for catalogs and in need of fresh air, I came across the booth of Ten Speed Press, who really are a top-notch operation. I was drawn by what appeared to be a finished copy of Grant Achatz’s new Alinea cookbook. It turned out to be a dummy copy, though one that in its size and beautiful dust jacketry gave an idea of how impressive this book will be. The Ten Speed rep had a black and white galley of the book, though, and I can report that the recipes are aesthetically stunning and practically impossible for the average home chef. (Apparently by buying the book you’ll have access to a website that will let you learn from Grant & Co., which sounds to me like another way to feel inadequate. To learn more about Achatz, you should read D.T. Max’s very good New Yorker profile from a few weeks ago.) (more…)
Lincoln Hall’s new book, Dead Lucky: Life After Death on Mount Everest, is pretty much what it sounds like: an account of how Hall, who had nearly reached the summit of Everest in 1984, suffered a cerebral edema and was left high on the mountain during his second attempt in May 2006. Presumed dead after hours of immobility and non-responsiveness, he was found alive the next morning having miraculously survived the night with no shelter, oxygen, water, or warmth. As far as things to have done go, that’s pretty impressive.
Almost as impressive is the book itself. Hall, an Australian magazine editor by trade who has been climbing for decades, recounts his story in elegant prose and with a generosity of spirit that comes not only from his very nature, but also his dedication to Tibetan Buddhism, a spiritual orientation that infuses the narrative with calmness, kindness, and a thoughtful precision. The end result is a sort of existential account of a near tragedy, vastly more meditative than the typical climbing yarn, and ultimately more rewarding.
I met with Lincoln Hall earlier this week.
Jared Bland: Toward the end of the book, you ask yourself how it is that you could still be alive, but realize that you don’t think you’ll know until you’ve recovered properly and had time to explore it. It’s been just over two years since these events. Do you have a better idea of what happened? (more…)
I’ve been meaning for some time to write some posts about short stories. Not so much the idea of the short story, but reviews of individual stories themselves, considered as stand-alone works of art instead of as a part of a collection or larger body of work. With tomorrow’s tonight’s launch of Pasha Malla’s first collection, The Withdrawal Method, now seemed like the right time to start. I didn’t know which story to choose, so I emailed Malla, and he suggested “Big City Girls,” which is the piece that he says has been most on his mind since completing the book.
“Big City Girls” is the story of Alex, age seven, who stays home from school on a snow day with his fifth-grader sister and a few of her friends. They’re bored kids, and without much to do after building a snow fort, they retire to the living room to play Clue and have a conversation that eventually turns to sex. Or at least sex in the unknowing way that kids of that age talk about it—“Maybe Miss Scarlet and Professor Plum were having fun with the candlestick, said Shayna…In the Secret Passageway! screamed Heather”—which is to say with imprecision and anxiety. (more…)
CBC Radio Ideas producer Richard Handler summarizes Dr. Leonard Sax’s book, Boys Adrift: The Five Factors Driving the Growing Epidemic of Unmotivated Boys and Underachieving Young Men:
But then he bucks up and gives us five reasons for this epidemic. Many are familiar but Sax puts them all together like a brick thrown through your window:
- Video games. These addictive activities disengage boys from the world. Some young men even seem to prefer online porno to the prospect of sex with another human being.
- Teaching methods. Girls develop intellectually up to two years ahead of boys. Boys in grade school are naturally rambunctious. They need ways to express their native energy. They are being taught to read and write too early. Their mostly female teachers prefer compliant, dutiful girls.
- Prescription drugs. Hyperactive, frustrated boys are increasingly being medicated. This we all know. What Sax claims is that these drugs shrink the motivational centres of the brain and that the effect of this lasts years, well after these kids stop taking their meds. I hadn’t heard this before but if it’s true, it is truly frightening.
- Endocrine disruptors. Chemicals from plastic bottles, canned food linings and some shampoos mimic natural estrogen, the female hormone. Boys’ testosterone levels are half of what they were in their grandfathers’ day. Also, their bones are significantly more brittle.
- The devaluation of masculinity. Boys don’t know how to become men. They no longer have appropriate rights of passage. Once Father Knows Best was the paternalistic model but now he has been replaced (and mocked) by a dopey Homer Simpson. Sax likes the old virtues of courage and temperance, with a good measure of intelligence.
Sounds familiar. Not sure whether I agree with all the elements of his diagnosis. Another book to add to the pile.
(Much like Damien Hirst, Bigfoot considers his work “No dark, just misunderstood and ahead of time.”)
This month marks the release of the third book in a series of collaborative memoirs by Bigfoot and Walrus contributing illustrator Graham Roumieu. Bigfoot: I Not Dead is a tender yet violent addition to Bigfoot’s ongoing self-exploration project, sure to please both fans of his previous work and those who aren’t yet familiar with him but enjoy furry creatures, mutilation, poetry, existential anxiety, and/or hard-learned life lessons.
Readers in Toronto should be sure to attend the book’s launch, which takes place Thursday night at the Gladstone Hotel as part of Pages Books’ “This Is Not a Reading Series.” Michael Winter, Nathan Whitlock, Douglas Bell, The Walrus’s own Jeremy Keehn, and others will speak about what Bigfoot means to them. Second floor, 7.30pm, free.
I reached Bigfoot last week at his home in the woods.
How has your life changed since your first book came out?
Bigfoot hang dirty laundry on line for all to see. Some things just needed be aired out on wind of disclosure. Others so heavy shit-encrusted that they fall off of line into mud and now scrutiny birds pick bits of corn out of it and neighbor steal and put on Ebay. Not totally regret writing books but wish sometime to go back to old technique of whisper secrets into hollow stump. (more…)
“To the man who loves art for its own sake, it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived.”
–Sherlock Holmes, “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches”
It is somewhat of a consensus around the Walrus office, or at least whichever part of that office Paul Isaacs and I happen to be in at a given time, that Sherlock Holmes is tops. This is one of those hyperbolic statements that sounds playful and ridiculous, but which is not. I believe some call this Birony.
The truth is that Sherlock Holmes is just about the best company a person could have. (He’s also a great instructor in the art of reasoning; were we all to study at his feet, the world would be a better, and slightly cooler, place.) But Holmes has had the misfortune of what we might call the public domain treatment. This phenomenon happens when a book is no one’s property and thus anyone can release it in basically any form at any time. This leads to two things: 1) a wider, often less-expensive dissemination of the texts, which in the case of Holmes is excellent, for people tend to enjoy the stories, but which in the case of Hard Times is certainly pernicious and potentially disastrous to the book’s public conception (average twenty-first century reader: not so much with the activist Dickens); and 2) a proliferation of ugly design (see: everything by Dover Thrift Editions) which is often so prevalent as to render the book forever hideous in the reading public’s mind. (I should note that it’s great that Dover makes very affordable books, and I don’t criticize their enterprise there. I’m not even asking them to make the books beautiful. Just less ugly.) (more…)
The Walrus HOOPP Pension Debate
Be It Resolved That Canadians Are Incapable
of Saving for Their Retirement Needs Alone
12 pm, Wednesday, May 30 at
Hart House Debate Room, Toronto
The Walrus Glenbow Debate
Calgary’s Cowboy Culture:
Living Legacy or Just History?
6:30 pm, Thursday, June 7 at
Epcor Centre: Max Bell Theatre, Calgary
Contact · Customer Care · Digital Edition · Tablet · E-Newsletter · Privacy Policy · RSS · Subscribe for $2.98 an issue · Subscriber FAQ · Support
The material on this website may not be cached, distributed, reproduced, transmitted, or otherwise used without the prior permission of The Walrus Foundation
© 2012 The Walrus Foundation. Walrusmagazine.com is published by a registered non-profit charity. Please disarm ad-blocking software on this website
