I got out today to follow up on a desire to see Beyond Eden, a play by Bruce Ruddell. The desire was spawned by a write up that hailed the play as a good play to see, perhaps the play to see this season. This review was also backed up by my mother-in-law, whose opinion on such matters I respect a great deal. Being a musical, I wondered about how it would deal with the presentation of such a weighty matter of the removal of the totems of Haida Gwaii.
The cynic in me has long prevented me from getting too emotional regarding anything much associated with politics. That is not to say that I suffer from political apathy, I just funnel my energies into the smaller, more local advocacy and am trying to change the world with more subtle means than by loud, resounding gestures.
A couple of days ago The Tyee gave me an article that might start me thinking back the other way:
There was a time in the ’80s that I came home well before curfew so I could watch the entire episode of Miami Vice, the television show.
Last night, I stayed up well past my bedtime to feel justified to demand an apology from Michael Mann and Anthony Yerkovich for their terrible efforts at making this t.v. series into a movie.
With the help of Librivox, I finally got around to reading, or listening to, “The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka.
The concept of someone waking up transformed into a giant bug has long intrigued me, and I have been meaning to get a hold of it for some time. Searching Librivox’s archives I stumbled upon it, downloaded it and listened to in on my walk to work.
Medicine River is classic Thomas King. Set in Alberta, it focuses on the relationships established by the main character, Will. Will moves back to the community that lies just outside of the reserve, after education and working as a photographer in Toronto. As much as Will makes out to be stoic, not needing to involve himself in the relations of others, he pays attention his pal, Harlen, who is the centre of all the goings on and gossip on the reserve.
It has taken me a while to post on Paul Collins’ Sixpence House because I desperately want to avoid using the word ‘quaint’ as a descriptive word. Paul and his wife, Jenny, bring their baby boy, Morgan from San Francisco to Hay-on-Wye, England on a romantic idea that they can make a go of it in the town made famous by the number of booksellers per capita. The town of Hay is a book-lover’s paradise from Collins’ description, with a used bookstore on every corner, many holding the rare and antiquated finds that are the fantasy of any bibliophile.
Alright! Holidays are here and I am looking forward to having some time between the covers of Blood Sports, Eden Robinson’s new one. I loved Monkey Beach, so I am anxious to see what she can do with this one. Bit nervous about finding it in the discount bin already though.
Keeping with the indigenous authors theme, I have also got Richard Wagamese’s latest Dream Wheels. For a bit of escapism, the sequel to Dracula, by Stoker’s great-grand nephew Dacre titled Dracula: The Un-dead. I also have Eating Crow, the book mentioned in The Walrus article that kicked off this blog. From there, I will read whatever else I come across.
About a month ago I picked up The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I had come across a book review of it while writing a paper on another post-apocalyptic novel, Riddley Walker, a little over a year ago and noticed that the movie was coming out, the second adaptation of a McCarthy book in a very short period of time, the previous being No Country for Old Men. This movie ad, featuring Viggo Mortensen, brought this altogether and I figured that it was high time I explored what ol’ Cormac had to offer. It has been an awful long time since I experienced a darker novel that presented a bleaker interpretation of the nature of mankind.
So the 2010 Season of the CBC’s Canada Reads is upon us. The panelists are making a case for their favourite Canadian books over the next three months. It is through this literary event that I have been introduced to some incredible Canadian talent, that, perhaps eclipsed by the Margarets, may have gone unnoticed by me.
My apologies (heh) to all of my loyal followers for the space of time since my last post. Some personal and professional issues kept me away.
In that time I came across the CBC’s write up of Gerald Keddy’s apology. It seemed very relevant timing regarding article we looked at from The Walrus. Not that I want to change the theme of this blog to a rant about the shallowness of apologies, but I thought it was an interesting alternate view on the same topic.