In this morning's Globe and Mail, James Adams provides readers with a solid workmanlike report on the Toronto International Festival of Authors. (I can almost see him kinda wondering when he'll hit his word limit or necessary column inches on this one, poor guy. Sorry.)
Anyway, FWIW (or those who plan to attend), there's a thoroughly lovely wrap-up involving events, authors, and promotions that shall be on display.
Pulitzer and Man Booker Prize winners (Junot Diaz, Anne Enright) will be hanging with French intellectuals (Stéphane Audeguy) and South African novelists (Damon Galgut, Gillian Slovo), while U.S. heavyweights (Dennis Lehane, Richard Price, Chip Kidd) mingle with poets from Fredericton, Toronto, Halifax, and Vancouver Island (Herménégilde Chiasson, Christopher Dewdney, Don Domanski, Lorna Crozier), and scribes from the Indian subcontinent (Amitav Ghosh, Nadeem Aslam, Mohammed Hanif).
p.s. The comments, all two of them, are kinda cute (oh, Lard, I'm reaching :))
p.p.s. Bert Archer, in The Toronto Star, offers another view on the affair, a read-worthy one involving its Irish flair
"I'll be accused of stereotyping to say it, but everyone not only answered in full sentences, but those sentences almost inevitably turned into paragraphs, and those paragraphs had structure, plot, characters, jokes, well-constructed self-deprecations and not a single `um,' `er' or `like.'"
ReplyDeleteYes, yes, yes to that observation from Bert Archer's piece in the Toronto Star. I'm recently back from a trip to Ireland, where no one ever missed the chance to turn the most ordinary, quotidian interaction into a story or a little play:
"Is that a Belfast train?"
"Do you want it to be a Belfast train?"
"Yes."
"It's a Belfast train."
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Detectives Beyond Borders
"Because Murder Is More Fun Away From Home"
http://detectivesbeyondborders.blogspot.com/