It's Monday. Here's Charles Bukowski talking about one of his worst hangovers, ever. Of course, there's no sense in trusting his memory, or any memory, unless you'd rather put your faith in emotional verisimilitude over factual truths. That's the whole deal with fiction, right? (And, as this excellent Rumpus piece from last year demonstrates, maybe that's kinda the deal with memoir, too.)
Mark Medley, in his ongoing series on a year at House of Anansi Press for the Post, divests the Scotiabank Giller of some of its mystique. Here's how Anansi chooses which books to submit for the jury's consideration. Looking at this year's longlist, it would seem that the jury chose a whole slew of new names.
Just last week I picked up a vintage LP of Glenn Gould's Bach: The Goldberg Variations and it just so happens that there was an excellent Riff on it in the NYT Magazine this weekend. I liked the album a lot more after reading the piece.
