July 9th, 2010

FYI (and FMI)

About me: I have a desk job during the day, and write short stories on my laptop at night. I am, ergo, always a stone’s throw from the interwebs, and take most of my breaks there. Thus, during an average day, I can keep reasonably on top of my Google-reader blog page, and most of the Facebook action among my friends, too (Twitter continues to thwart me, but I do try on that front, too). Even if I’m not commenting, or clicking on every link/video/possibly non-work-friendly image, rest assured, I’m usually paying attention. But–not the past two weeks. Every now and then I get an internet minute, but I am mainly using those for my own selfish purposes (ie, blog posts, photo uploads).

So, blogland, I don’t know what’s going on with you! I am sure you’ve been just fine without me, but I would like to mention anyway: if you’ve announced anything life-altering in a public forum, something like marriage, moving to Nunavut, new book out, bbq explosion, or something so incredible I can’t even imagine it–I don’t know this. To prevent awkwardness at parties, you can always drop me a little note and tell me…or let it be a big crazy surprise when I discover you’ve burned off your eyebrows. Totally your call.

June 23rd, 2010

Book clubbery

I know book clubs have a bad rap. The reason usual touted–that the clubsters like a certain sort of book and read in a certain way–doesn’t make tonnes of sense to me. Surely every reader has his or her quirks, and every banding together of readers is quirky in its own way. I have heard of men-only, women-only, and parents-only bookclub, bookclubs where only books about food or travel or by authors in translation or Canadians are read, bookclubs organized around preparation for a trip or understanding a polical movement, and bookclubs arranged so that old friends can keep in touch.

Of course, a cynical parry would be that such themes could lead to cutsyness, which would of course lead to making it more about the club than the book. Which is a danger with anything, I suppose, from a lit class to a bookstore section. But I like to think that most clubsters want–and maybe I’m biased because it’s what I want–good literary conversation.

I get lots of opportunities to talk books; I know tonnes of well-read people and almost everyone I ask, “So what are you reading?” has an interesting answer. The problem with those interesting answers is that often, they can’t go farther, because I haven’t read that book or sometimes even heard about it. My friend will talk eagerly (and usually, knowing my friends, articulately) about what s/he is reading, and all I’ll be able to respond with is, “I think I read a review of that” or “Another friend of mine liked that one, too.” I get lots of good recommendations this way, but it’s hardly a discussion.

What I want in a bookclub is a group of smart, articulate friends who have all read the *same* book, so we can engage both with the text and with each other, and hopefully come out of it knowing something more than just our own opinions. I also like the push to read outside of my usual choices–I do get lots of good recommendations, but unless there’s a pressing group engagement, I’ll often let the weirder (to me) stuff fall by the wayside.

I think that push to read widely, read quickly, or read at all, can be one big downside of a bookclub if that’s the major reason people join. I had a sad experience in a bookclub of what appeared to be non-readers. They were smart, funny, well-spoken, well-employed people who saw reading books as a sign of intellectual heavyweight status and wanted to achieve it. However, many of them didn’t actually enjoy reading, and were acutely embarrassed by this, so meetings turned into shame-filled stories about crazy work projects and moves across town. The last two books I read for the club, I was the only one to do so (I still like those people, but I am still a *teensy* bit annoyed that they shot down my choise as “too light” and then forced me to read Reading Lolita in Tehran when, as it turned out, no one else did. I don’t really regret it–Nafisi’s discussions of literature are lovely and insightful–but still…)

Anyway, my point (I do have one!) is that I am in a new book club and it is lovely and filled with nice people who read books for fun, even when there is no club around to make them, and brought lots of good food to our first meeting, last Saturday. The founder of the club is my friend Scott who was in my most successful bookclub in the past, which ended due to depression (a number of unfortunate book picks in a row made us too dispirited to continue–although I still recommend Disgrace by JM Coetzee [just brace yourself]).

This new club is the “250 pages or less” bookclub, so it’s a bit less pressure and also poses an interesting challenge to find books to meet the limit. So I get exposed to some new stuff, in addition to the interesting conversation, friendly people and steamed dumplings. Heartily recommend 20 Fragments of a Ravenous Youth by Xialu Guo, if you are looking for something short and fascinating.

Anyway, bookclubs–not for everyone, but lots of fun if that is what you are into, and I am, so yay! Off to read John Steinbeck’s The Pearl.

May 19th, 2010

Pivot Farewell

Tonight is a Pivot at the Press Club reading with Jeff Latosik, Sachiko Murakami and Souvankham Thammavongsa.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010
8 p.m. at the Press Club
850 Dundas Street West
Hosted by Carey Toane
PWYC ($5 suggested)

Obviously, the readers, venue, and fab Pivot crowd would make this a worthwhile evening, but I also wanted to mention that this is mistress of ceremonies Carey Toane’s last night at the mic. She is off to thrilling new horizons and I am sure there is an exciting sucession plan in place (perhaps we will learn of this tonight??) but I am still sad.

For a year and two-thirds, Carey has booked, advertised, organized and hosted Pivot every other Wednesday and she has done a just incredible job–especially when you consider her own poetry, her Toronto Poetry Vendors project, and a day job, too! If you’ve never had the joy of attending a reading, I can tell you that all ran smoothly and joyfully, and Carey was always funny and warm onstage (and off, for that matter). I can speak from experience to say she made the readers and the audience both feel a part of something special, and she gave some good hugs.

In August 2008, when Alex Boyd, the wonderful host of IV Lounge, announced that that series would end, and that something new would replace it, I was similarly sad. These series have a way of changing and growing in wonderful ways–but things are pretty wonderful the way have been, too!

Thanks for all you’ve done, Carey–we’ll miss you!

March 4th, 2010

City of My Youth

I moved to Toronto on March 4, 2002. I moved to take a barely paid full-time job, and only-slightly-better-paid evenings and weekends job, as well as to go to school the nights I wasn’t working. I had two friends in town, an apartment where you could see the fridge from the bed, a fear of the subway system (steel wheels–so noisy!) and two goldfish named Demetrius and Lysander.

The first thing I did when I moved was go to the Spadina Road library (shout out!) and get a UTPL card. I did this yes, partially because of my love of literature but mainly because I had neither an internet connection nor a phonebook, and I needed to find a locksmith to install the lock I had bought and installed in Montreal after the Terrible Millennial Break-In, then had de-installed at great expense when I moved.

I eventually got Jason from Spadina Security. I think locksmiths, like bartenders and nurses, often deal with people who are freaking out or about to do so, and they have to have the people skills to match their technical skills. Jason was extremely nice and comforting about my move to Toronto (he told me I had an excellent lock!) Spadina Security was the first Toronto address I added to my book after I moved, and probably the nicest conversation I had that day.

You’d think that I would have been using all my scant free time to sleep, but as I remember it now, with little in the way of friends and money to entertain me, it stretched out. I wasn’t writing much in those days, and even then my tv was only sort of functional. My principal hobby was free-trial periods at gyms. It was a form of entertainment (expecially since I found that Toronto gyms often had tvs you could watch) as well as fitness, plus the trainers who showed you around were usually really friendly. Policies were looser in those days, and I got in at least a couple workouts at almost every gym in the downtown core and some beyond, including one in Rosedale that had an in-house kitten.

I walked everywhere, continuing to be both afraid of the TTC and cheap about the $2.50 fare (ah, those were the days!) “It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you time is of no value,” I told a work superior in the elevator one day, when he opined that me walking 30 blocks to a store I wanted to try was not an excellent plan. There was little he could say to that, I suppose.

I went to so many libraries to do my homework, so many flowershops just to sniff things, I knew the cost of every brand of everything in the supermarket. My brother (one of the two TO friends) snuck me into his film classes to watch movies about prison breaks. Someone told me not to walk through any parks alone at night and I was SO happy when I finally made a friend in one of my night classes so that together we could cut through Queen’s Park on the way home. I was distraught (though he was more so) when he had to drop the class because misdirected arsonists had burnt down his house. I don’t know what ever happened to him–I hope he’s ok. But then I made another friend and walked home with her.

I finally got a real job, one that paid decently and was only 8 hours a day. It was a shocking amount of free time, and a shocking amount of money (if I told you, you would laugh in pity). I remember buying a pair of pretty ballet flats, utterly flimsy, made out of cardboard and vinyl, for $15, and being thrilled that, a) I could afford to waste money on something I didn’t need, and b) that I no longer needed to stand for hours at a time (ah retail) so it didn’t even matter that the shoes were cheap.

As it turns out, those cardboard shoes were wonderful and I had them for 6 years. And I learned to take the TTC to get to my new job, and then to take the TTC efficiently, and then to love the TTC with all my heart. I got an apartment with two rooms and spent days doing figure-eights between them. I made more Toronto friends! I started having people to borrow books from and bake cookies for and hug when I hadn’t seen them in a while. That was, and has never stopped being, amazing.

With my friends and also alone (because I had in fact learned to enjoy my own company) I went everywhere and talked to everyone and petted everyone’s dogs. Never forgets:

–that time Jaime, Lara and I went to the Santa Claus parade in a blizzard and got amazing spots in the crowd because of the snow. And the parade was so silly and happy and the kids didn’t care about the weather at all. And these sad free-sample distributers gave us tonnes of free tubes of pudding because they just wanted to get rid of them and I wound up with dozens only to discover I don’t like sucking pudding from a tube. And when I got home my hands were so numb I couldn’t turn my key in the lock for a few minutes.
–that time Penny and I went to see Chad’s band play and then Ron Hawkins jumped on the stage and played a song
–the night I was walking on Sunnyside Beach with Jay and then fireworks started
–the big 2004 blackout, when I was not inconvenienced one iota, but everyone was in such good moods, plus I got a day off work
–finally having my scary crazy operation at North York General and being absolutely convinced that I would die under anesthetic just like my parents’ kitten…and then I didn’t, and I spent that whole spring being thrilled just to get out of bed
–climbing 22 flights of stairs with Mark J. while carrying the Penguin anthology
–the well-dressed corpulent middle-aged man who approached me on the street late one night to say he’d just been to a fashion industry event, and did I want the samples of cosmetics that were in his goodie bag? (yes!)
–when Ben and I were on our way to sushi when we ran into a naked man…and then another…and then we realized it was Pride weekend.
–when Brandon and I were walking down the street during (a different) Pride and I said, “Hey, that women wasn’t wearing a shirt.” and Brandon hadn’t noticed.
–the untoward flirtation Kerry and I discovered at Starbucks
–when Maya made me run around and around at Circle Thai because she was bored sitting at the table (she’s three).
–the day Mark and I took the ferry to Ward’s Island for Katie’s birthday, but we went to the wrong island and had to walk all the way around and then we ran into everyone and had a big delicious picnic on the beach in the freezing cold
–the night I was reading at Strong Words and brought a bunch of friends to hear me, but the Art Bar was flooded so they gave us a different room at the Gladstone, but the room was locked, so my friends and I just stood on the stairs, with me saying, “I really do have a reading tonight, I swear.” (eventually someone came and unlocked the room and it was an amazing night)
–the first time I saw Harriet (who is currently a baby) roll over
–when a man who thought he was flirting with told me that the problem with the publishing industry is “too many Jews”

And the crazy thing is that I’ve already forgotten so much, no doubt–a hundred idle kindnesses at the grocery store and on the bus, birthday cards, snowstorms, fashion faux pas, and free cheese. But that’s, I suppose, what real life in a real place is–not having to keep perfect account of every amazing moment because, while they aren’t constant, there will be more to come.

I know a lot of my most-loved Toronto memories are not Toronto-centric–they could have happened anywhere, but they didn’t. Toronto is where I’ve lived the last 8 years, and where amazing and banal things have happened to me, and I’m so grateful. Here’s to another 8!

RR

February 27th, 2010

Oscar Derby!!

You are playing this year, aren’t you? Go over to A Place and enter your picks before you forget. I’ve even seen some of the movies this year, which makes me more of a shoe-in to win than usual. Go right now! It’s fun and it reminds you of the movies you’ve been meaning to see–what more could you ask for?

RR

February 23rd, 2010

Groups and Challenges

In Writer Guy’s review of Century as part of Canada Reads Independently, he wonders if he’s right in calling CRI a “challenge.” I’m sure it’s fine to call it whatever one likes, but I much prefer a term I’ve learned from my bookfriends on GoodReads–a “group read.” To me, that implies better what I think these projects intend: to get people agreeing to read something as a group so they can then talk about it. So fun and friendly.

“So why aren’t you participating in any of these group reads, RR?” would be a reasonable question to ask, at least lately. It’s true–I love book conversations and though I’m not the fastest reader, I’m fast enough to read a book purely for the sake of participating in a conversation. I used to quite often. But I can’t quite get committed lately. Maybe it was the demanding, structured reading in grad school that’s put me off. Maybe it was a few book-club related incidents–a club-wide insistance on reading “challenging” books that weren’t “too easy” or “light”…which ended with me miserably hauling myself through a couple books that no one else liked, or indeed, bothered to read.

I think these sorts of group reads a project like Kerry’s, or in fact Canada Reads itself, seems very fun indeed–as warm an invitation to conversation as one could hope for. I love the idea of a group of people focusing their reading so they can share it. All I can say is I really hope to get it together for next year.

Meantime, I’m trying one of the less-structured options of group reads, one where participants don’t read the same book but engage in the same kind of reading and then share thoughts on that. One that appeals (because I was already sort of doing it privately) is a retro-reading challenge. Rereading has been a hot topic on The Literary Type lately, and now over at Free-range Reading, Mark suggests the Retro Reading Challenge. Ok, fine, it’s got the word “challenge” in it, but it still seems pretty fun and friendly to me:

“So here’s the idea, which I’m calling the Retro Reading Challenge, and I hope you all will play along. The idea is to pick a book that you read and adored years and years ago, then reread it now and write a review of it to capture your impressions. Did you still love it? Did you see flaws (or strengths) that you missed the first time? Did you have an “Oh God, what the hell was I thinking?” moment?”

I might not quite be able to comply with all the rules–the book needs to have been something I read only once, at least 15 years ago–but I *might* have Mostly Harmless only once, in my early teens–it wasn’t in the giant omnibus that I owned as a kid, since it didn’t come out until 1992. And it’s way darker than the others, so it’s conceivable it wasn’t on my reread list. And it fits in nicely with my don’t judge Eoin Kolfer too harshly project, which has been going on since fall (I’m halfway through *So Long and Thanks for All the Fish* right now, if you’re curious) and will end when I read *And Another Thing* and try not to hate it for not being written by Douglas Adams.

SO! Rambling aborted, I will read *Mostly Harmless* and review it as part of the Retro Reading project. Yes. This is my plan. Baby steps.

RR

January 30th, 2010

Talking Stories

Last night at dinner, my friend Scott explained to someone, “Becky writes short stories–short stories are to the point, but you don’t always know what the point *is*.” Such a good summation of the strengths and weaknesses of stories.

This morning I read Andrew Hood saying in Canadian Notes and Queries that “What the short story can do better than any form is romance the effects of life without having to belabour the causes.” He went on to quote Clark Blaise’s comment that, “[short story writers] are not in the business of establishing any of the whys… The story traces what lingers after the whirlwind, after the fracture. Or before it. We’re not in the business of establishing the reasons…why things happen. They’ve already happened.”

Today is, I feel, a good day for stories!
RR

January 29th, 2010

Lit Bits

1) JD Salinger, literary hero of many youths (including this one) has died. I haven’t read a lot of the coverage, but I have seen a few references to the fellow as the author of “just one novel,” and while I loved The Catcher in the Rye as much as anyone (so much!), I am a bit miffed for Franny and Zooey and Nine Stories (one of my lifetime fave short-story collections), and even Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenters and Seymour: an Intorduction, the first half of which I did truly enjoy (and the second…oh dear).

But I can’t feel quite as sad as I think I ought to about the passing of such a great author. Of course, I didn’t know him personally (though my cousin did meet him once in the library at Dartmouth, a fact I always try to seem unimpressed about, and fail). It’s more that I haven’t been reading straight along with him–he stopped publishing decades ago, and I haven’t read any Salinger for the first time since my teens. Unlike, say, Mr. Updike, we weren’t moving along together.

There is a bit of excitement going around that now all his output for the last many years will be revealed and published. I’m not sure that would happen, and anyway, though I greatly hope for something that can stun me like For Esme, with Love and Squalor, I fear a reprise of Hapworth 16, 1924, the last of his published work (in the New Yorker in 1965–that same cousin photocopied an old library copy). I hate that story, though in googling it just now I found some people like. Who knew? It is deeply boring to me. So I am worried that now lots of books will come out by Salinger and I will read them and not like them and be disappointed.

2) From a literary end to a literary beginning: I went with blogger and friend Kerry Clare and her daughter Harriet to Mables Fables in celebration of Family Literacy Week (which is, as it turns out, is not real–it is only Family Literacy Day except on Kerry’s blog. But I am still going to most my family-literacy post today or possibly tomorrow, in solidariy!

*Anyway,* our fieldtrip was wonderful, prefaced by cake and punctuated by the stroller blowing down the sidewalk past the store window. Even if you aren’t particularly interested in seeing photos of a bookstore (er, but why *not*?) you should click on Kerry’s link to see pictures of Harriet, a very lovely baby with great, if over-literal, taste in books!

RR

January 25th, 2010

Mark Purvis, 1975-2009

When I was one, my family moved into a new house. The family moving out had lost their little boy to a car when he ran into the road. He was two.

When I was in grade five, a grade-six boy in my school died in what was either a bizarre accident or a suicide.

Someone in my highschool committed suicide when I was in grade 11, and we made a memorial page in the yearbook though I don’t think many people actually knew the deceased–I don’t even know what grade he was in–which might have been part of the problem.

About four years back, a boy who had been close to my family died under circumstances I never fully understood. He was two years younger than me.

Twice in past few years, I have come across “in memoriams” in my university alumni magazine of names I recognize–one a friend of friends, one a student politician. Both died in accidents in the mountains, years and continents apart.

Those above are, until now, all the people I know in my own age group who have died.

I met Mark Purvis when we were both involved in the short-lived Free Biscuit Theatre project (apparently no web-legacy remains) in 2007-2008. I joined despite not being an actor or theatre person because I thought writing words for someone to say as opposed to read would teach my something.

It did, but I also get pressed to perform, to serve shooters at a fundraiser, to do movement exercises and generally go way outside my comfort zone. I also got the great pleasure of shutting up and listening in presence of people who were educated and passionate about something I had only ever seen from the outside.

Mark was foremost in that regard–a dedicated actor who wasn’t serious about much else. He had endless energy to try *anything* anyone suggested–I never saw him perform as a clown, but he loved that as much as the “serious” parts I did see him in. He played Mathias in the play that’s linked there, *The Bells*, a massive and demanding and very bizarre role he did for Free Biscuit. He was wall-to-wall amazing and the production brought tremendous accolades (to be fair, all the Biscuits were outstanding, but Mark had the starring role).

Mark also had a fairly strong math and spreadsheet ability, gained in various dayjobs. He volunteered to use his not-much-loved gifts to do the Free Biscuit bookkeeping. He never complained about the extra work, and I’m pretty sure he used his control of our funds to make sure he was never paid at all for his performance in *The Bells*.

I didn’t really know Mark all that much–we hung out every few weeks for a year–but I always felt really amazed at how seriously he took me, and how much he wanted to help with my sad attempts at at performance. Once, he and his girlfriend took an entire evening to go through my 10-minute monologue over and over again with me until I no longer (quite) wanted to die at the thought of doing it in front of an audience, and I know they listened seriously and intently every single time.

Once, a bunch of us went out to the suburbs to see Mark perform in an outdoor Shakespearian festival. When the performance got rained out, we repaired to Crabby Joe’s in a not-ironic-enough urban gesture, where Mark regaled us with crazy, hilarious, filthy stories. I was so proud when we realized the couple at the next table had stopped speaking to each other entirely, the better to overhear.

Once, Mark and his girlfriend had a miniperformance at their place because they had built a *stage* in their living room (with lights!) Mark comforted me about my terror of performing by telling me the story of the time he met William Shatner.

This is a memorial to a person I didn’t know well–perhaps not even a friend but rather one of those wonderful acquaintances that make life joyful. I feel lucky to have met him, and shocked that he passed away. It is terrifying to me that someone could be my own age and no longer alive–I’m not nearly ready.

Of course, no one is ever ready. All we can do, I think, is as Mark did: everything we can for everyone we meet in the moment that we are.

RR

December 22nd, 2009

Rose-coloured and Mark review Milk Coffee Pocky