In Canada, Nobody Is Ever Overthrown Because

If You're Writing A Novel, You're In A Room For Three Or Four Years. There's Not Much Coming In From The Outside.

Fundamentally, All Writing Is About The Same Thing; It's About Dying, About The Brief Flicker Of Time We Have Here, And The Frustration That It Creates.

Fiorito Has All The Right Stuff. His Splendid Memoir About His Relationship With His Dying Father Belongs On That Small Shelf With Philip Roth's Patrimony And Frank Mccourt's Angela's Ashes.

I Must Speak The Truth, Even At The Risk Of Being Ostracized By My Fellow Scribblers. In Fact, Anticipating Their Rage, I Have Already Applied For A Place In The Canada Council's Witness-protection Program. This Because, Much As It Pains Me To Turn On My Kind, I Fear The Time Has Come To Admit That Far Too Many Celebrated Writers Were Outrageous Liars, Philanderers, Drunks, Druggies, Unsuitable Babysitters, Plagiarists, Psychopaths, Parasites, Cowards, Indifferent Dads Or Moms And Bad Credit Risks.

Beauty, Like Male Ballet Dancers, Makes Some Men Afraid.