I have seen so many reviews of books which try to convince you to pick it up and read using a string of adjectives. This novel is inspiring, confident, delightful. The prose (it is always prose) is handsome, remarkable, elegant. The dialogue is crisp, witty, fit for the screen. I am always left unconvinced by this language. I want to read good books, books that could be called delightful or elegant or what have you. But what I really value in writing is its ability to engage me deeply.
“An autobiography is a book a person writes about his own life and it is usually full of all sorts of boring details,” wrote Roald Dahl in Boy: Tales of Childhood, in which he, rather ironically, describes his childhood and the experiences that influenced him into becoming an author. Autobiographies and memoirs have been present in literature for centuries.
“What are the colours of your body?” She asks me. As if she cannot see for herself what I am.
As if she cannot believe her eyes.
At the end of October, six authors gathered in Toronto’s Koerner Hall, having been shortlisted for this year’s Scotiabank Giller Prize, one of the most notable prizes in Canada. The event was dubbed “Between the Pages.” Shortlisted candidates travel from coast to coast to present excerpts of their nominated works and are offered a chance to discuss their work and creative lives.
Do you believe in life after love?
A child is born, swaddled in fur and kindness