If you think you don’t like poetry, Simina Banu’s Pop will surprise you. Having just stumbled through a reading of W.B. Yeats’ 1919 The Tower, I approached Pop with that swelling sense of inadequacy that haunted me as a student, that I do not understand poetry. But what a
Another reader’s passion can be contagious. Unhook your mask and breathe in deeply. Naomi’s dedication to reading writers from Atlantic Canada ignited my curiosity. (Check out her project here, along with pages dedicated to the Halifax Explosion and regional literary awards on Consumed by Ink.) When I checked my
Every morning for more than a week, I had breakfast with Anishinaabe-Métis poet, David Groulx; with cups of cinnamon tea and fruitbread, I read his poems to begin my days. I read his Under God’s Pale Bones in 2012, after having seen him read at an International Festival
In which I read, while sitting in a café, in a library and in various TTC stations. While longer volumes, like Charles Palliser’s The Quincunx and Andrew Miller’s Now We Shall Be Entirely Free, stay at home. Charles Quimper’s In Every Wave (2017; Trans. Guil Lefebvre, 2018) Narrated by
Event hosted by Kaggsy's Ramblings Stuck in a Book #1977Club So much good women's fiction from 1977, from Margaret Atwood's Dancing Girls to Marilyn French's The Women's Room. But I reread Carol Shields' Unless last year and I wanted to reread another of hers. Enter, The
