June 21, 2010

Another great book



You’re savvy to the social media scene, right?

You know how it goes, uh?

You come across someone online (in this case it’s goodreads.com).

You find out, guy’s written a book (yeah, who hasn’t?)

So, you check things out, you sniff the dog tags—suss out whether the dude’s gonna be worth the effort.

All this sound crass to you?

Well sorry, but, last time I checked, time still wasn’t a renewable resource.

So anyway…

I did all that.

And also found out—sample chapters are right there, on his website.

Waiting to be read.

So I do it. Read the first chapter.

Maybe it’s my imagination,

Maybe it’s not.

Maybe it’s the style, the language—the attitude.

Don’t know what it is,

But the chapter’s eerily evocative—not similar, mind you. Not identifiable, or anywhere near that.

It’s just…

The writing reminds me of something,

Like someone I read before.

Shit, look, I’ll come right out and say it.

That chapter—the way it’s written, reminds me, sort of, in a funny kinda way—of my writing.

Then again,

Like I said;

Probably my imagination.

Anyway, I buy the book—download it.

I’m hooked and read it in no time flat.

The thing’s well put together, it’s got it all,

Innovative plot.

Strong dialog.

Compelling characters.

Turns out, in case you’re skeptical, the reason I love this book is not because the writing’s similar to mine. Turns out, in fact, it’s not like mine at all—it was, really, just my imagination. Turns out, though, one of the  reasons I loved the book is that it’s got a hook that’ll snag a whale.  All of which, is to say that…

Hell, this guy’s pretty good.

His name’s Gregory Mose.

He’s cool too.

Runs gites in France (yeah, I know, I had to look it up too).

Listen, do me a favour.

Buy his book. Stunt Road.

You’ll find it on amazon.com

Or, do like me,

And get it at  smashwords

It’s only 4 bucks, for chrissake.

Ideas? Suggestions? Questions? Please leave a comment.

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April 4, 2010

Findependence Day – a review



There’s some curiosity about my one-word book review on Twitter.


“Why soulful?” people have asked.

Well, two reasons.

First, there’s music.

While Jonathan Chevreau, the financial reporter and National Post columnist who wrote Findependence Day, is known for his investment acumen, it was, to me, something of a surprise to learn of his affinity for music.

Music references abound—many of them serving as memory-jogs from the good old days of rock and roll. In fact, I burst out laughing—during one reading session—as I came across a reference to Uriah Heep’s Look at Yourself album—an LP I had once owned and had long since forgotten about.

But there’s something deeper, more reflective, about the book—something that didn’t, for me, come up often enough. Maybe it’s better to call it something of a contrast, some kind of push-pull disparity that I can’t quite put my finger on.

You see, to me, it felt as though Jonathan Chevreau wrote the book with two voices—one of them, logical, rational, and strictly by-the-numbers. The other, somewhat more thoughtful, absorbed—almost spiritual—as it mused about careers, retirement, and the meaning of it all.

And it’s that second voice that resonated with me—that led me to realize I was reading something soulful.

And yet, I couldn’t help but wish there was more of the latter (the reflective musing) and less of the former (the financial planning/investment stuff).

But, hey, that’s just me, and I recognize that other readers will take away an altogether different set of messages after reading Findependence Day.

And isn’t that what books are supposed to be about?

Ideas? Suggestions? Questions? Please leave a comment.


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January 28, 2010

Thank you, J.D. Salinger


I was fourteen when I read The Catcher in the Rye.

That book led me to his other works.

Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: an Introduction,

Nine Stories, and, my favourite, Franny and Zooey.

I believe it was the Glasses that did it.

Seymour, Buddy,  BooBoo and, of course, Franny and Zooey Glass.

The Glass family was New York chic and Hollywood hip.

They were intelligent, amusing, somewhat bohemian, and sometimes dangerous.

They were sophisticates, upper-crust-ish and as odd as a three-dollar bill.

I loved them all.

I remember, at that young age, wishing they were my family.

Successful and bizarre.

Entertaining and spooky.

And, even though, I haven’t heard from them in—I guess—decades, I’ll miss each of of them.

As well the brilliant author who unleashed them—to trample and wander, haphazard, through my imagination.

J.D. Salinger.

The first author I ever idolized,

Thank you and rest in peace.

Today, especially, is a perfect day for bananafish.


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December 29, 2009

When I nearly met Voyageur

Wallowing in this lazy, laid-back week that bisects Christmas and New Year’s

I’m reading one of the many books gifted to me just days ago

Written by Jowi Taylor, the book is Six String Nation.

And it’s put me in a strange sort of spirit—a somewhat-patriotic, partly-fingerpicking, moitié-melancholy vibe.

If you play music, you’ll understand the fingerpicking thing.

The book, after all, is about a guitar.

Not any guitar, mind.

More an object, forged from culture and history, that becomes something more than a guitar

That becomes an instrument of whimsical, identifiable, bare-bones, back-to-the-roots Canadian identity.

It is the essence of this book.

One guy (Taylor) getting another guy (George Rizsanyi) to build a definitive A-Mari-usque-ad-mare guitar, called Voyageur.

Six String Nation

Six String Nation

Little importance where you’re from—me? Montreal—it’s difficult not to connect with this guitar.

I mean, wafered gold from a Rocket Richard Stanley Cup ring adorns the 9th fret; a portion of a Montreal Forum seat  licks at the sound hole; a section of Pierre Trudeau’s canoe paddle controls tone and projects volume.

I could go on.

There’s wood from Lucy Maud Montgomery’s house—and Wayne Gretzky’s hockey stick; a section of floor beam from Jack London’s cabin; a swatch from Pierre Berton’s tie.

There’s the only wedge ever sectioned from the mystical Haida golden spruce; a segment of rafter from Pier 21; oak from Winnipeg’s oldest building; part of a frame that once belonged to a Toronto Group of Seven artist…

See what I mean?

The book—and the guitar—and the project—captures the imagination and restores the soul in a way that is resoundingly creative, uniquely innovative and downright inspirational.

The book touches my heart.

It truly does.

Does that, then, explain my melancholy?

Not at all.

It’s because Jowi Taylor was in town

Mere weeks ago

Speaking at a tedx event I didn’t attend.

But that’s not it either.

He was also, later in the evening, at a party, a celebration, a wrap

And he brought Voyageur with him—for all to experience.

I was there

In the room.

Only earlier.

I arrived too early and—damn my impatience—left too soon.

Why?

Because it was a shitty night; a Sunday, bad weather, crummy drive into town, lots to attend to the next morning, and—like I said—because of unrestrained impatience.

So I missed meeting Jowi Taylor, and strumming on Voyageur.

Hence my funk.

Resulting in

Another lesson learned…

Nothing to do now

But get back to the book.

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