Summering Out...

It is almost over. 
I mean the summer and all that implies.  I live in Montréal and people know what it means when this season is over.  There will be darker and shorter days; there will be less skin exposed to the elements; there will be fewer festivals that everyone will want to take part in; and there will be cold.  Almost hard to believe today.  We are in the middle of what I think will be our last heat wave and I am typing this in shorts, sandals and a golf shirt at the library, surrounded by others just as dressed down as myself.  We are all waiting for it.

It is not all bad.  I have my teaching contracts up and running now.  I have also written the rough draft of a play that I am going to put into shape and try to put on.  There are other stories, poems and articles that I would also like to get done, preferably at home with a new laptop (looking forward to that first pay cheque from all this teaching).   There is a last street festival on what we call The Main, a film festival with free showings at an outdoor screen (saw "The Shining" on Friday, surrounded by les Montréalais), and I can still head out to open markets to buy vegetables and fruit for the week. 

But I know what's coming...

The List (Part Seven)

So that was just one example of my suggestions.  What it may reveal about my biases and beliefs, I have no interest in exploring.  But they do exist.  How could they not?  The thing about suggesting books is that it is not really like suggesting music, food, clothing or movies.  Those things do not involve investing a great deal of time in a narrative and then arriving at a conclusion about whether the time used was spent well.  This may be why newspapers are more confident suggesting the above than in suggesting literature.  And that is a valid fear.


Books speak to us beyond trends and fads that are assumed to be special, hip and everlasting.  No one wants to be clinging to something that will not matter the next day or year.  It is important to look for the work that will last beyond us.

Finally, do not ask me what you should be reading.  Ask yourself what you want to read and enjoy.  Such biases can only belong to you.

The List (Part Six)

And now, The Catcher in the Rye.  I wonder about this choice.  Too many of its readers have become, or already were, a little out-of-centre (eg. Mark David Chapman, Winona Ryder).  My nephew now has my copy, but only because of a visit by my family and a half-serious request for books to read (again, it never ends).  I kept in mind how long it has remained a go-to book for teenage angst; how certain writers praised it ("Best thing I read in ages" - Samuel Beckett); and how it spoke to me.  I had to include one example of teenage life that I recognized on this list and there has never been a better example than Salinger's work.

The List (Part Five)

Yes, Kitchen Confidential made the list.  Anthony Bourdain was the head chef of a French restaurant in New York City.  He now hosts a food show - No Reservations - where he travels from country to country, city to city, village to metropolis, sampling food, culture and life.  And he can still find time to write books about his life in the kitchens of the world and the occasional mystery/thriller.  I confess that I have not yet entertained myself with his fiction (cf. Bone in the Throat).  K.C. got to me first with its advice, wit and incredible story of dumb luck and hubris.  That friend who requested the list is also a talented cook.  He should be reading Mr Bourdain's gastronomical opus.

Vital News!

I am going to forget about "The List" for this one entry and put up a link on the latest from Lucasfilm: a lost bit of "Star Wars" material that you need to see.
Click here and scroll down!

The List (Part Four)

Siddhartha I chose because I enjoyed the way that Hesse presented the material of a life devoted to pleasure, pain and eventual growth.  As well, whomever I lent the book to has enjoyed it (a friend rewarded me with a kiss and very real tears after reading it).  That was a safe choice.

White Teeth was not so safe.  Reviews praised the book so highly that there had to be a backlash.  An online article complained that Smith's book debut was "too confident".  This seems very odd as a complaint.  Did this critic want her to lack confidence in what she was writing?  Was she too young for such talent (the book was completed when she was 25)?  I discovered the book just after my 26th birthday and have since read it about half-a-dozen times.  At one point, I used to carry it around with me wherever I went so that I could dip into certain passages and get my fix.  If you do find a book like that, it is your responsibility - your happy duty - to pass it on to any interested party.  The copy I now have is the second one I have owned.  The first one is in a friend's collection.

The List (Part Three)

I once recommended the following books:
Siddhartha - Herman Hesse
White Teeth - Zadie Smith
Kitchen Confidential - Anthony Bourdain
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger (R.I.P.)

The person who asked me for this short list was a roommate studying for a degree in Microelectronics (or Microeconomics - I have had his work explained to me only often enough to forget what it is actually about).  He was already a casual reader, so he did not need my help.  But I was intrigued.  He had never read any of the above books (not even Salinger's opus).  His background is Chinese, straight from his native land's verdant countryside, which explains why he would not be aware of the trials of Mr Caulfield.  But I wonder about this lack of knowledge.  I wonder how my choices impressed him.

The List (Part Two)

Now, a reader suggesting books to someone is one thing (not usually a dangerous thing).  A writer suggesting books is a very different creature, one that should be avoided or tranquilized as is necessary.  Writers hate other writers.  Unlike in sports or politics, there is no sort of polite respect or even love for the other team.  A list of literary rivals, tyrants and feuds will be briefly listed here:

Ben Jonson, England's first poet laureate, admired his drinking buddy Will.  He also claimed that Old Shakes had "little Latine and less Greeke" (i.e. he did not go to a proper university to truly learn the classics of these cultures).

Lord Byron dismissed John Keats as a mere Cockney poet.

Henry James hated Middlemarch.

H.L. Mencken had no time for Ernest Hemingway.

Vladimir Nabokov dismissed Zola, Balzac, Stendhal, Pasternak, Camus and Thomas Mann.

And V.S. Naipaul was disappointed with Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, William Golding...and Nabokov.

You see.  The festival of hate is eternal and ongoing.

The List (Part One)

There is one thing that I do not like to do as a teacher/writer/reader, and that is recommend books to read.  This usually happens at the end of one of my teaching contracts, or when a roommate finds that she has too much time available to do more than just watch TV.  They - students, staff, people stealing my food - know that I read.  They see the paperbacks that I flip through on breaks, on commutes; when I pretend to be listening to the same questions about a grammar point.  They think that I have taste because what I enjoy reading does not involve werewolves, teenage vampires, or wizards.  They want my advice.

So what should I give them?  I have made many mistakes, so I think that I am allowed to suggest certain ideas.  If your enquirer is a roommate, play things safe and keep that person happy with a paperback that they can keep in a pocket of their knapsack or handbag.  A friend once took one of my suggestions for reading and ended up lugging around a very heavy hardback copy of a book that had been available in paperback for over a year.  I did not tell him that he could have had a lighter copy.  I was too impressed with his devotion to the work.  A roommate will always be around and may not forgive you (see some of my other blogs on dealing with roommates).  A student may not forgive you, but the power is all on your side, so who cares (see my entry on being sick and dealing with students)?

The Silver Lining

I am still getting over that head cold, and there is still the possibility that I will spend another summer on my own (most friends are on vacation, planning a move, only visible over Facebook, or just gone).  The roommates still linger and I still do my best to avoid them, but I only have so much strength.  I have just finished the last session with my students at a college and now I have a large pile of papers to mark, with one absentee exam nowhere to be found (not even my fault this time).

But all is not bleak.  I woke up on the Friday and picked up the guitar.  It was just like reaching for a life preserver that I never knew I had.  I really don't know why I went back to it.  I was reading a large monograph on the Velvet Underground and thought back to when I was fanatical about their music (still a fan; just not fanatical).  I admired Lou Reed and company's attitude about music and what it can do for you.  And to be honest, the only time that I have felt up over the last week (year?) was when I had that guitar in my hands (I even wrote some lyrics for something called "A Ghost in the Record Store" - stay tuned).

And work: exam was easy enough to administer, even with the student who kept looking at other papers (he will be receiving a special mark on his paper).  There was also the class that I covered for a teacher on vacation.  Her notes were inaccurate and I had to be fast with my improvising.  At least the students were great (a sense of humour on both our parts really helped).  And then home, rest, more song lyrics and notes to do, and a plan for this blog.

So, not so bad...

A Difficult Time

I am now recovering from a bad head cold in one of the warmest heatwaves this city has ever seen.  Add to that the fact that I am marking exams, giving exams, and covering a class for a teacher on vacation and you can see where my head is at.  There will also be two more courses to teach in the coming months and I have to plan my lessons without regular texts.  A lot of fun...

And now, another lesson to teach...

A Poem about My Father ("What The Story Was")

Forgive me: it is a Monday; it is August; I am back at the office picking up material for a teacher who will not be here to teach on Friday and asked me to pick up the class for her.  I have been reading over her notes and I think I can follow what she wants me to do, but I still have questions.  My mind is not really on being that creative with this blog.  But I do have something brewing that I have put off for too long.

This may be the start of a whole series of poems about my father and his death.  I have a lot of rough work in a lot of different notebooks which I have filled up over the years and I think now is the right time to share them, starting with this sonnet.  I will try to publish them (I have self-published one collection of poetry), but I would like some feedback here.  Be honest and be fair...

What the Story Was







Maybe I was dreaming before the service, the earlier sitting


for a wake still in my mind. All of the guests (very Catholic)


would not weep from their seats. They were just “Amen”-ing


under their breaths, undulating with their fans, and sick


with the urge to leave the room, with a quick


gesture of hands on hearts, chests held tight.


And the mass became a mystery, a magic trick


of disappearing words (the priest spoke Latin), light


in multicolored ecstasy, and the red flight


of hibiscus (satin in my hands). I should have written


it all down from that very moment; the bitterness and bite


of knowing so little about where the body was burdened


with the quick neatness of a plaque, cement and lime.


There was more than this end of the rhyme.

The Naked City (from New York to Montréal)

Just found an article online (NY Times) about the growth of nudity in public in the Big Pomme.  There had been some talk about this over the last week with the rise in heat and humidity and most of the commentary has been tempered with compassion (less clothes = less discomfort).  But I wonder about the idea of nudity in the U.S.  And would such an idea even matter in my hometown?

Montréal just went through a very painful heatwave and we appear to be heading back to the same temperatures over the next week into the rest of August.  I saw people sleeping on their balconies behind bamboo screens while smothering themselves with ice packs (okay, that last act was my own, but it worked).  There has been no public nudity...yet.  I did not go to Osheaga this year (tried to sneak in last night during Arcade Fire's set - a very bad idea), so I cannot say that during rock concerts their body is still being flashed.  Divers/Cité is another issue (all male; not really worth my attention).  But the dresses are skimpy.  Age and body type do not seem to matter in la Belle Ville.  The tease is key.

So, New York, I salute you.  Just don't be so obvious about your willingness to go bare...