Sunday, December 05, 2004

Brunch at the King Eddy

The morning is bright and eggshell-new
and the taxi hurtles along the Gardiner,
the elevated ramps are a pale mauve and
faded denim. The roof of the Air Canada
Centre looks dead -- at night, there's a
rim of quiet black-light buzz.
I'm wearing three lengths of scarf
around my neck. Am deposited at the canopy
for the King Edward. Mission: talk
about the book at a brunch in the ballroom.
I meet Flora Fraser (Antonia's daughter)
and Wayson Choy, who I've been following
doggedly to all the prairie and westcoast
readings, and sitting at tables to sign
books, goofily sketching cartoons to the
three customers in my line, while Wayson's
fans stretch around the corner fourteen
blocks. They have come here to hear us, to
pour black coffee from silver carafes
and gobble up poached eggs on toasted
English muffins. I stare at Wayson so
long, as he talks, that the black piping
on the beige curtain behind him burns
my retinas, and when I blink I see the
bright white crown that adorns the
Statue of Liberty. Have I mentioned
it's early? And so I listen to this
man and think of him steering us all
into the new world, his world, a world
where there is no other world. This life
is reason enough.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You should have visited the abandoned ballroom on the top floor of the King Edward. It's everything that the rest of the hotel isn't.

- Teri V.

10:25 p.m.  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Michael, how on earth do you do it i.e. write so magically so effortlessly and so well? It's like you're re-inventing language itself as you go, to turn experience inside out and give it a good shake, a thorough airing...Too bad about the Winterset...nice recovery on the CBCLA...Congratulations
Michael...loved the blog...
Paul Rowe

9:46 a.m.  

Post a Comment

<< Home