In the Skin of a Lion

Every now and then I think, I should read more Canadian literature. And then I realize how few Canadian authors I like. Margaret Atwood, Robertson Davies, Pierre Berton...all the giants of CanLit failed to float my boat. Maybe they weren't contemporary enough either! I was familiar with Michael Ondaatje's poetry, so when a co-worker suggested I read In the Skin of a Lion, I thought it would be very enjoyable. In some ways it's very good, but in other ways it was very boring. One of its strengths is the mysterious, dreamy, poetic quality of the language, but it's also a weakness because every little action takes on a mysterious, dreamy, poetic quality. There really needed to be a balance between the historical truths of the book (Toronto in the 1920s and 1930s), the characters and the mysterious, dreamy, poetic qualities. I liked that the lives of so many characters interwined, it reminded me of John Steinbeck's The Pastures of Heaven but there really wasn't that same authenticity for the time and place, however.

Losing things

I'm doing a bang up job of losing things lately. The pile of receipts and bank statements that were coming in for taxes has mysteriously moved from the kitchen table, and somehow this morning I lost Moxie's wooden ladder after I washed it. He keeps jumping out and letting me know it's not there. At least I found my key card which has been missing since Thursday :-P

And ah, I have either lost a filling or part of a tooth, so I'll be calling Dr. O tomorrow!

EDIT: Moxie's ladder was on top of the microwave. How'd it get there?