I have returned from my forays into the wilds of Ottawa and Montreal and have several posts to write about them. Today, I'm going to begin with the most recent past, during which Bookphilia crept about on the Montreal Métro peering over people's shoulders in French. I assure you, creepiness is a universal language. As, thank goodness, is reading.
Montreal is probably my favourite city in Canada and I'd pack up and go if I could. I found great bookstores there, one in particular, but more of that later this week. I would be well-read and fat as hell if I lived there - the veg food is also outstanding.
I want my spying to yield the kind of diverse, obscure, and fascinating results that a deep browse in a super-fantastic secondhand bookshop yields. Selfish of me, perhaps, but there you are.
In spite of my chagrin about this one (and the next!), I am inordinately pleased with this cover. Why is Christina Ricci as Tuesday Addams sporting a lovely necklace of severed heads gracing the cover? Is there something about this book I don't know? Whas she was the inspiration for the main character? Yes? Why, thank you, Thing!
The lady on the Métro had the English version in hand; it's so new that I doubt it's been released in other languages yet. Anyhow, she was deeply absorbed in it and was thus oblivious, but I noted that I wasn't the only one spying on her. Her book, with its clear display of the Precious on its cover, was eliciting a great deal of interest and perhaps some hissing and rubbing of bony hands. I could also feel the icy stare of Sauron on my back. *Shudder*
AGAIN, with the reading what everyone and their dog is reading, but in French. The Gospel According to Albom is, like most religious texts, translated into many languages and distributed amongst the heathens for their instruction and delight. You may also find it in the drawer next to your hotel bed, along with the Gideon Bible.
I'm curious though: does the book reveal how his revelations came to him? What is the mystical significance of the number five? Will this book teach me how to attain salvation without my having to do anything uncomfortable, like get up early at weekends, be nice to people, or give homeless people spare change? Are there non-fat lattés in heaven? What about Wholefoods?
Such mystical queries are likely unanswerable. However, I'm glad to know that at least two of the five people to be met in heaven will be dressed stylishly in bowler hats and well-cut coats, not to mention wielding posh walking sticks. That sounds like my kind of social club.
I like the cover of this novel. It looks like it might both Deep and True, as well as feature gigantic ninja sharks that silently dive out of the water to grab you and munch your bones. You know, the kind of book that can sit comfortably on both HIS and HERS bookshelves.
Guillaume Musso is another French from France writer. He is also one year older than I am and has published 7 books. Somebody should talk to him about reigning it in a little; he's making me feel like a useless bump on a log. If I felt like a useful bump on a log, I suppose it wouldn't be so bad, but...
Zadie Smith used to make me feel bad for the same reason but I hear nothing she's written since has lived up to her first novel, White Teeth, so I probably won't have to send the ninja sharks to get her after all.
I'm disappointed that I didn't see anyone reading any French-Canadian lit. Gaetan Soucy, Marie-Claire Blais - they need to be better represented by the tired 9 to 5ers of the beautiful city. Yes, that's a challenge. But no, I won't be reciprocating with the Toronto writers; they win the big prizes no matter what schlock they barf into their publishers' hands and so don't need my help. (Dear B. Gowdy: I loved Mister Sandman and We So Seldom Look on Love and The White Bone, but I will never forgive you for that pile of shit you titled The Romantic.)
Next, a little tour of my favourite bookshop in Ottawa, because I'm all post-modern in my messing with the chronology of my trip. That's just the way I roll.