Friday, November 11, 2005

A bookclub near Eglinton

She said her son used to be fair
and now he's got dark hair and
hair on his chest and he's big.
When he was small he was worried
he'd be short. She promised him
he'd be five foot ten. Now he's
five eleven. It's not like my
daughters. Perhaps, I said, you
werent banking on having another
big jeezly man in the house.
I'm eating cake after talking
about my book. I'm at a bookclub.
It's northwest of Eglinton. I
got there by subway and then
bus. It's on a street with big
independent stone houses with
a sidewalk only on the south
side. There are twenty chairs
crowding around the piano. And
I talk about The Big Why. Sometimes
I'm talking and I think, Michael
you are insane. You are completely
mad. I can sense my mouth opening
and closing and noise coming out.
There's a good question about how
the book is told in a modern voice
yet it's events that have happened
ninety years ago. And a woman says
Shakespeare did that. He wrote about
King Lear but Lear wasnt living
in the late 1500s. So I have good
company. But I'm not convinced
that they dont think a lunatic has
been set loose in the living room.
I eat the cake. And a woman
comes up to me, to sign her
book. You were great, she said.
We all liked you. I believe her.
I have to.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think it's good to have an alternative voice in the orderly living room of a stone house. And whose self-perception doesn't waver sometimes? This world requires it.

8:18 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Re: the above - what I should have said is, I admire you for saying that. I waver, too.

4:25 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It’s good (and funny) to be honest, and a bit dangerous too.

Life is not a napkin?

9:39 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Do insane people care whether people like them? Do insane people wave? or just body surf? GG

3:55 PM  

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