common ground

when i was young, i believed in my blood. and then somebody told me about the portuguese legacy of conquest, that they decided to sail across the sea and take by force lands they found on the other side. and my pride and belief in my heritage fell away.

when i was a bit older, i believed in my citizenship. i was proud to be a canadian. and then i learned things about the canadian legacy that made me shudder, about what they'd done to indigenous people in the past, what they were doing to all of us now. that if i chose to serve my country, i would not longer have any choice. i shucked those thoughts and began to consider myself a citizen of the world whether or not i had a passport to give it provenance.

when i was older than that, i still believed in political parties. i voted one way, and i believed if you ascribed to a party politics, you were all united in doing what was best for everyone, within that party and without. but then i saw that lines blur and alliances are made in what might seem the unlikeliest of places, that leadership changes and parties collide. and i dreamed of a different kind of vote.

now i am older still, and find i can only believe in those individuals who do what they say they're going to do, and act in good faith toward other people, regardless of their politics, their nation and their blood. i believe that most would like the right to believe in what we want, to do what we want to do, and to take the path that makes the most sense to us without having to impact the choices of our neighbours or have them affect us in our turn. i choose to believe in people when i see the proof of their actions, appreciating those actions are always filtered by their own life experience, who want to be free to choose but not have others hurt, who honour the rights of the individual and the world. i wish we could all discover some way to do that. on that, i wish we could all agree.

from the myspace archive: men of mexican mystery (b. traven, arthur cravan, ambrose bierce, and boston corbett) - jan. 20, 2007

men of mexican mystery (b. traven, arthur cravan, ambrose bierce, and boston corbett)

Current mood:pensive

i'm in a bit of a reading rut right now because my focus is so off, so i went scanning the shelves for something familiar and quick to try to ease myself back in and i happened to notice my copy of the treasure of sierra madre. when i first got and enjoyed the book, i did a quick web search to get more info on "b. traven" the mysterious author but found nothing. today, i tried again. and it seems that b. traven was a (maybe?german) writer who didn't want to be found. b. traven was most likely a pseudonym, and there have been guesses at his true identity, but nothing concrete. wiki mentions a graphic novel i'm going to have to pick up that speculated b. traven was actually the prevaricator arthur cravan (who was a character originally named fabian avenarius lloyd -- nephew-in-law of oscar wilde) also last seen in mexico. then of course, my mind flitted to bierce, also never to be heard from again once he crossed over into that country. and then finally, one last hop to my new favourite historical figure, the man who probably shot john wilkes booth, boston corbett. now i don't know about you all, but i'd never heard of boston corbett until recently, though jack ruby is famous enough. so, for those of you in the same boat here's a brief synopsis of the guy's life:

born in england in 1832, he immigrated to the US with his family at seven. he became a hatter (mercury was used in the trade - remember that, it has bearing later on). then he got married. then lost his wife (and i presume child) in childbirth. then he moved to boston and became a born again evangelical christian, and rechristened himself in honour of the town. then he joined the Union army, was taken captive, escaped, was taken captive, was exchanged. oh wait! before he joined the army, and after he became a religious nut, he castrated himself with a pair of scissors in order to resist the temptation of prostitutes. apparently after the impromptu surgery, he managed to go to a prayer meeting, have a large dinner, and then took a leisurely stroll, before he ended up at the hospital for treatment. in the course of time, he ended up being one of the contingent picked to pursue booth after the assassination, who really didn't do an adequate job of escaping, since he got himself trapped in a barn which his pursuers promptly set fire to. though the fire could have done the job for him, corbett managed to shoot booth through a crack in the barn. initially he was arrested for this act, but then the charges were dropped, and he was hailed a hero, and received a reward. then he went back to being a hatter, was exposed to more mercury, (and now all of a sudden i understand the expression "mad as a hatter" outside of alice in wonderland -- we now know that mercury poisoning often spelled psychotic break in the haberdashery trade) alternately sermonizing, and shooting off guns, until they carted him away to an asylum. eventually he escaped, and made for -- where else? mexico...

so here's the thing: i don't think i want to die. maybe i just want to disappear into mexico, and have people wonder where i went. it certainly sounds romantic. i like to imagine bierce, traven and/or/= cravan, and corbett all chilling in some kind of mexican valhalla. i bet bierce and corbett would have some heated debates about religion and maybe some rounds would get squeezed off. and i could pass the drinks around and say alternatively, "mebbe", and "I don't have to show you any stinking badges, you goddamned cabron andching tu madre!"

here's a great quote from bierce in one of his last letters: "Good-bye — if you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease, or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a Gringo in Mexico — ah, that is euthanasia."

the raid: a review

while i have been neglecting this blog for some time, i have somehow found some time to write something for martyn's film blog again, about the indonesian martial arts film, the raid.
http://cinemart-online.co.uk/2012/05/20/the-fight-stuff-gareth-evans-the-raid/

you know sometimes i come here and start to write things, but i never publish them anymore. i'm spread pretty thin, and things are a little frantic. hopefully i'll be back again soon mo xo

Fundraisers and Polls

Hi folks:

First a message from my beloved Patty:

"A world without books? Unimaginable!

And yet there are kids out there in the world who live in exactly that world. You can help! My book club is raising funds for Room to Read, an organization that builds libraries and classrooms, publishes childrens books by local authors in local languages, and even provides support to kids who would otherwise not get to go to school at all. Please consider a small donation, or if you can't donate, consider sharing this link..."

Fiction Files fundraiser!


And now about polls! Don't you want to vote in the Goodreads polls for best books and best "enter genre name here" for 2011? I submitted write-in votes for Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day by Ben Loory in two of the polls below because I obviously adore that book. Feel free to write-in vote for it yourself because IT IS THE BEST. But I suppose you could also write-in vote for some other book you read in 2011. Like Jonathan Evison's West of Here, if that suits you better... I voted for him in Best Author of 2011 for all his great work and tireless and unstinting support of other writers (for some reason i couldn't post the link to that poll though) or Subversia, which I voted "Best Non-Fiction" by Duke Haney. I see that Subversia it was actually published in October 2010 but the copyright year should be 2011... and I voted for him anyway. What's that you say? You want to vote for something else? One of the already listed options? One of the categories I haven't linked to? Well, there's no accounting for taste... :P

2011 Goodreads Choice Awards: Favorite Book of 2011 Vote now for your favorite books!

2011 Goodreads Choice Awards: Best Fiction Vote now for your favorite books!

2011 Goodreads Choice Awards: Best Nonfiction Vote now for your favorite books!

i wrote about black christmas 1974...

but not here. on Cinemart!

here's a link: Black Christmas: Home for the Holidays. There's puns and alliterations and word play.

i don't expect any more people will read it here than they did over there, but at least i gave it that old college try. :)

my life is complete suckage. i just keep thinking: stop this train: i want to get off. only if i got off everybody would get mad because somebody else just got off and wrecked a lot.

i know that probably makes no sense to anyone. i'm sorry. i'm really tired, and really stressed.
and really frustrated. and really lost. it's like i'm in a scary movie without any psychos chasing me. hurray!

the intimacy of voice and characterization: d.r. haney's banned for life

Banned for Life by D.R. Haney

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


duke haney's writing voice is completely intimate, and mesmerizing, and this is a remarkable debut novel. banned for life moves along at a good clip, keeps you guessing, and pushes you deeper into the lives of his wonderfully wrought characters until you are completely immersed in the world of his book. i talked a lot to this book while reading it: arguing with the characters, who felt like friends of mine, nodding with satisfaction when they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, cringing when they made decisions i thought they’d realize were mistakes.

prior to reading banned for life, i had read duke's essays so i already knew i could expect great writing and i was eager to see what he could do with a fictional landscape. i had some reservations about this idea of "punk novel". i worried that without in-depth knowledge of the punk scene i would be lost (i am pretty positive that i partied with DOA after i went to one of their shows in university but most of my memories of that period are understandably dim and i would not consider myself a punk aficionado otherwise) but as soon as i cracked this book open, that expressive voice began telling me a story, the story of a fella named jason (the narrator), a story where punk is the conduit jason's maturity: it instigates his interest in learning to think for himself, how to face life, how to embrace it, what to do with it, what he's willing to take, and how to stand up. through punk he becomes bonded to his best friend peewee and these two and their actions and reactions are the core of this book, they push and pull, they drive themselves and the story, in their search for an ethos.

jason is such a persuasive narrator that i sometimes wondered if he was duke in reality, and sometimes the novel seemed to confirm that suspicion and then a few pages later would make me disavow the idea entirely. pee wee is a perfectly conceived character, who slides off the page so filled with rage and angst, so snide, so smart, and so vulnerable that he could pass for holden caulfield's grandson. i loved him so much that when he and jason were at odds i was restive. i felt indulgent with peewee even when he was an ass. i can't say that's true for all of the characters that peopled this book. irina, jason's main love interest made me want to punch her in the eye, but again, that's a testament to duke's consummate skill with characterization because he drew such a convincing portrait of a beautiful woman who is self-involved and stubborn, one who doesn't own how her actions affect anybody else, who expects people in her life to sublimate their own desires unless they are in sync with her own, who expects to be indulged. she is one of those women that other women don't like. she is a woman i would not tolerate in life any more than i did in this novel. every time she appeared, i felt as i do when mr. collins makes his appearances in pride and prejudice. truly, i wanted to shake the bejesus out of that bitch. this is not to say that there aren't other sympathetic female characters here: for me, one of the most memorable is irina's polar opposite, monika. monika plays a small but pivotal role in the novel and i adore her. despite the fact that she appears on so few pages, my impression of her is still vivid: a woman who is committed to making things work, who is open and strong, who has a relationship that isn't traditional, but one that she is nonetheless committed to, and even if she can't just be with one person forever, she still loves them in the way she can love, and stays true to herself. in so few words, duke paints a portrait of a woman i could respect, with whom i entirely empathize: she's not a saint, she does some shifty things, but she does those things because she is devoted and honest. i was fascinated by the character of jim, who evokes jim morrison, and daniel johnston very strongly for me. i really responded to jason's desire to help jim, the man who had given him the music that had spawned his own awakening, and i felt his pain when he realized that jim might not be salvageable.

i admire the hell out of this book. i really enjoyed reading it, and the few problems i had with it largely have to do my inability to buy a major character shift as the novel resolves itself. it just didn’t ring true to me that a character that was so definitively delineated could drastically change that quickly, and completely -- perhaps duke did his job too well for me in this instance. but even with that reservation, this novel concludes in ideal circumstances, and setting, with the joy and fury of people who demand change, who are willing to admit protest and violence in order to make a life that they can believe in, echoing the self-realization through the punk ethos that threads itself through this novel.

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Give it to me straight: the unadulterated pleasure of pure story distilled, or my review of Ben Loory's Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day

Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day by Ben Loory

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Raymond Chandler once said that a "good story cannot be devised; it has to be distilled." When I first came to read Ben Loory's stories five years ago, I began to see just what Chandler meant. For me, these stories were, and are, a revelation: in some ways so modern, their brevity suited to our contemporary attention span, so easily consumed sitting on the subway, while wondering how a particular tale might end (I never could guess what would happen next), and yet so familiar: so like the fables, and myths, the sagas, and the dreams and the twilight zones that I have loved, that they feel they must have existed before Ben wrote them.

Stories for Nighttime and Some for the Day is pure distillate of story, boiled down to the essential words that unfurl inside and take up residence, and the disarming restraint of their sinewy form only serves to bring me in closer so that I'm collected inside them, as they are inside this book, as they collect inside my memory, as they make laugh (oh so hard), cower (equally hard), and smile (hardest there is). They make me feel, for those moments when I am in them, that I have a reprieve from this world, and have really lived these stories myself, that I was part of them and those sublimely surreal other worlds that we are still left to discover in this looryverse.

The most visceral moments in reading are the ones I wait for, so absorbing you can almost reach out and touch the taut atmosphere, and the tension of the tale resolves itself inside you. Ben’s book is full of these moments, told with a direct simplicity and metre; his words wash over you, delightful and unexpected, like a convenient sprinkler on an unbearably hot day. This writing is no inch of ivory but more a paint-with-water book, the paint inked on in defined lines, just enough, mind, and you simply add your own water to a world that becomes more vivid and real every moment, and then you wipe off the brush, or eye, if need be.

I don’t want to give too much away in this review about what you will read in these pages: I will not point out favourites because each of the stories has its own secrets at its core, and it’s how we reflect these stories on ourselves that we come to love one or another best. I will say that these pages are a pastiche of the paranormal mixed with some magic, deepened by dazzling darkness, populated with people, trees, ducks, tvs, the sea, and the breeze, so very many things and beings changing, and they morph before our eyes for good or ill.

If it’s not clear by now, this is an exhortation to people that might read this review: I recommend you get this book the minute it comes out. I’m hard on books, but I know what I like, and I love this … I knew at first reading that there was something very special in these stories. If I’ve intrigued you at all, I’d recommend you pre-order**, so the book is in your hot little hand as soon as possible – I know you will find charm, and enchantment, some anxiety, some sorrow, some sweetness, and occasionally hope here. This is a breathtakingly lovely collection of little stories, so full of nighttime and day, so spare and so fine, I cannot now imagine living my life without it, and can’t for the life of me, think why you should either.



** book arrives in stores on July 26, 2011.

in Canada to pre-order from amazon, click here
in the US to pre-order from amazon in book format (they also have kindle), click here






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winter sunset

the stories we tell ourselves

we all tell ourselves stories about ourselves; we invent our reality even as we live it. some of us tell more outlandish tales, but it is predominantly the mundane ones, the simple narratives that are the entirety of a human life story: the simplicity of boy meets girl and a house and some kids and a dog might be the whole thing, and any likely stray need venture past to find the story realized. and some with more discerning eyes, seem to detect that variation in how much people want us for ourselves, or simply to fill space in their own stories. and then what happens to the reality in which we cast ourselves? we can only choose to accept the role we have been offered, or bow out and follow our own invention, and see where it will lead. choosing not to collaborate, and recognizing a story you are telling yourself has no happy denouement does not seem to diminish its sway -- one can only hope for a late variation on the theme you have chosen, or a surprise ending.

RIP Captain Beefheart

farewell. i loved thee though i hardly knew ye, and i thank ye for all that ye have left us.

(how else does one say goodbye to one with such a pseudonym? :)

delia derbyshire

is the woman who composed the famous dr. who theme. i saw a documentary about her last year, and i think about her a lot. she was a genius. and crazy, of course. :)





from the album she collaborated on in 1969. she and two others comprised the band called white noise.

i dare you not to groove -- stefano torossi

many moons ago i got my hands on a collection from easy tempo (an italian label) that was brought together a bunch of great tracks from italian film in the sixties and seventies. most people think of ennio morricone when they think italian composers but there were some other really great ones. the one that really stood out for me in the collection i have is a guy by the name of stefano torossi. i love his stuff. the first two tracks are on my collection and come from an album called "feelings" that is very rare, and that i covet very badly. the third track is also from that album, while the fourth is a video i found on youtube from a score he did for
a horror film called, "omicidio per vocazione". if you don't feel like like wigglin' it just a little bit, then it is true that confusion and anarchy reigns.

can't wait until december 17th to see tron: legacy?

happily, one of my friends, mr. martyn conterio is a film critic based in england, and he's already seen it! he's posted this review at the filmshaft.com website. you should check it out -- he manages to give an in-depth review without giving anything major away, so it will whet the appetite, and also edify! hurray for martyn! hurray for tron: legacy!

tron-to by night (yes, i like to imagine the city in the mythos --
the streets are perfect for light-cycling :)

best love song for a horse i can think of...