Review: Geist magazine Fall 2009

I bought the Fall issue of Geist magazine a short while ago, forgot about it, then picked it up to read on the bus the other day. I am very impressed. In short, it's a brilliant collection of news, features, interesting tidbits, and short fiction, not unlike Harper's. Alberto Manguel has a good piece on Dante and torture, Robert Everett-Green of the Globe tries to transpose Iraqi deaths to Toronto, there's some excellent travel stories, and a look at Western Sahara that kind of blew my mind.

Did you know that there is a 2700km rock and sand wall that runs the length of Western Sahara, separating Saharawis from Moroccan occupiers? Here's a map to help you out:

That squiggly line is the wall, labeled "Berm" in this drawing.
The dotted lines are international boundaries.

Morocco invaded in 1975, and has occupied parts of Western Sahara since. The UN brokered a ceasefire in 1991, and peacekeepers are still there. Marcello di Cintio's Wall of Shame (for some reason there's no link on the Geist site) is a truly wonderful piece of journalism. My friend Rob also wrote about the situation in this unfortunately titled but otherwise excellent article for the Angus Reid Global Monitor, Thinking Outside the Box in Western Sahara.

Also included in this issue is a compelling and informative photo-essay on the history of the Fraser Valley, Memory and the Valley. It's always interesting to read about where you live from a new perspective, and this piece does it brilliantly:

In the mem­ory of those whose fam­i­lies have lived here through the ensu­ing 350 gen­er­a­tions, the story that begins with Simon Fraser is one of loss: first there was small­pox, then the land was taken and their chil­dren seized. For the mil­lions of us who moved here after Fraser, the story is one of gain: trees the cir­cum­fer­ence of ten men, rich black soil, ocean views. Throughout the val­ley, these oppos­ing nar­ra­tives are writ­ten in the rocks and flow­ing in the river.

Stave Lake, reaching north into the Coast Mountains from the Fraser just west
of Mission, was logged then dammed in 1911.

Finally, there's an opinion piece by Stephen Henighan (also no link on the Geist site) calling on Canadians to not support our troops in Afghanistan because politicians have squelched debate by using the Support Our Troops slogan. This sloganeering is a symptom of a larger issue, the general lack of reasoned debate in this country. It's an interesting and valuable position that the author undermines by asserting that we shouldn't be in Afghanistan anyway, as any rational, informed person would conclude.

Just to be clear: We need more debate about Afghanistan, but any debate is a foregone conclusion? Well done. The author goes on to make the case (or fails to, rather), that without debate, we should resort to counter-slogans. So, the debate is closed and let's chant slogans? That's an odd place to end up at given the original position of the author.

So it's not all brilliant and insightful, but for the most part, Geist has me hooked. I paid for a year's subscription (a mere four issues, unfortunately), and I'm eagerly anticipating the next issue. It's a local magazine, published right here in Vancouver, and I'm proud to support our Canadian magazines, thank you very much.

New books from Pulp Fiction - light genre, two kids and a theorist

Just a few blocks from my house is one of the best (and my favourite) used-book stores in the city, Pulp Fiction (2422 Main St, between 8th and Broadway; there's a second store in Kits). They carry a great selection of used books, and now a great selection of new (and reduced price) books as well. Too often I end up walking out with two or three more books than I intended on buying. The staff are extremely knowledgeable, friendly and helpful. Their contemporary political commentary section could be better, but other than that it's pretty perfect. If they don't have what you are looking for right then they'll let you know when it comes in. And despite the huge number of books in store, they usually know if a book is in.

Today I went to browse (always a dangerous idea for me), starting with the discount ($1.00 plus GST) bin outside, which only rarely has something I want. Today I found Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson. The edition is "Prepared for use in the Schools of BC by the Dept. of Education" probably in 1961, printed by Evergreen Press Limited on SE Marine, a publisher of books on British Columbia (latest reference is 1973). For $1.05, I'll take it. I haven't read it before, but I loved Treasure Island as a kid.

Next I grabbed Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card off the window display. My friend recommended it to me last year, and I've been looking for a used copy. It won both the Hugo and Nebula awards for best sci-fi/fantasy novel of the year in 1986. I'm not sure what it's about, but my friend assures me that it's both very interesting and a good read.

UPDATE: It's excellent. Watch for a review soon.


Ian Rankin's Let It Bleed was next, #7 in the Inspector Rebus series. I'm a pretty big fan of long series, and this one has staying power. It's dark, gritty, clever, and realistic (I won't go so far as to say hard-boiled). Rebus is a fairly typical anti-hero police officer: divorced, slightly pathetic, a bit of a loose cannon, and not anywhere near promotion, but he's a damn good homicide detective. Ian Rankin's use of the city as backdrop for Rebus' casework is a strong feature of the series, as is his ability to keep readers interested in Rebus as a character.

(Ever since reading Michael Chabon's Maps and Legends I've been reading more "genre fiction", and finding it very enjoyable.)

I've been re-reading the books from my childhood over the last year and a half, with mixed results. Books four and five I found in the small children's section (small but jam-packed with classics). I grew up reading a series by Enid Blyton (the fifth most translated author ever, ahead of Lenin but behind Shakespeare) but I forget which series. Thinking it might be The Secret Seven I picked up their first two adventures in one book: The Secret Seven and Secret Seven Adventure. I'm interested to see if it has stood the test of time.

A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle was book five. I remember my mom and brother reading it when I was a kid but I don't think I ever read it myself, which is odd because we usually all read the same books, especially fantasy.

I'm in the middle of reading Alberto Manguel's A History of Reading (and here) and quite enjoying it, so I looked for and found The Library At Night, his examination of the role that libraries play in our civilization. I aspire to home library ownership (that is, I would love to have an entire room in my home dedicated to books), and I'm looking forward to exploring this book.

Last came William Gibson's Pattern Recognition, a book about which The Washington Post wrote "One of the first authentic and vital novels of the twenty-first century." It is extremely well reviewed (Neil Gaiman is quoted on the cover, and the Economist named it a Best Book of the Year), and I enjoyed his last offering, Spook Country (though it wasn't amazing). He will always enjoy some popularity for his masterful cyberpunk classic, Neuromancer, which, when read a few years ago for the second time, proved to still be relevant, interesting and gripping.


After purchasing these treasures, I remembered that I had meant to look for Walter Benjamin's Illuminations (that's him above, hard at work) after reading a mention of it in A History of Reading. So I asked, and they had just received a copy, which the clerk immediately retrieved from the shelf and handed to me. It's dense cultural theory, but I needed something to balance the sci-fi and kids' books. And it's a collection of essays, so won't be too daunting.

Phewf. Eight new books in one day. Thanks, Pulp Fiction.

Regulating page size: A History of Reading pt. 2

"In France, in 1527, Francois I decreed standard paper sizes throughout his kingdom; anyone breaking the rule was thrown in prison."

And I thought transit fines were stupid. I almost turned this into a post on silly or outrageous laws in history or even still on the books, but I'm sure that's been done to death.

What is interesting about laws such as the one above is the desire to control that which can't be controlled. I paid $40,000 for the following piece of insight, so please pay attention: the sanctioning of an activity does not necessarily mean that the state then controls said activity. In fact, it may be the exact opposite. Laws against illegal immigration don't stop it, and may only serve to indicate just how big the problem is. Continual passing of new legislation addressing the problem only reinforces (figuratively speaking, that is) the sad state of affairs a country (read: the US) is in regarding illegal immigration.

So, what was Francois thinking? Why did he feel the need to regulate the size of paper? Not the ownership or trade (though he may have tried that too), but the size. To control the trade? The publishing industry, which was taking off at the time? The latter, I assume. Regulate and tax.

Was he successful? Alberto Manguel doesn't say, nor does his note explain anything. The comment is made in the midst of an exposition on the development of books from painstakingly produced works of art to mass-produced flimsy pulp editions. Manguel touches on so many aspects of reading, and at times it's merely interesting. I've been a little disappointed in the last few chapters of A History of Reading. Were the 20 pages on reading in bed really necessary?

Right now (in my life) he's exploring metaphors for reading, and it is far more interesting than knowing that Romans read scrolls while relaxing on pseudo-beds. Nature is a book, Walt Whitman, and all that. I always find Walt Whitman far more interesting in books other than his. I fell in love with his poetry while reading quotes in a long piece in a National Geographic, but then couldn't bother to read Leaves of Grass after buying it. Reading bits in this Manguel book has me remembering why I love his poetry but I probably won't go searching for my copy of Leaves of Grass anytime soon.

Reading, Memory and Review: A History of Reading by Alberto Manguel pt. 1

I just started A History of Reading by Alberto Manguel, a favourite author of mine after reading and listening to his 2007 Massey Lectures, The City of Words. Already there are so many things I find interesting, not sure where to start. Did you know that books were mostly read aloud until (not sure when and the book is not close at hand, but I think around 1000 CE)? This means that libraries were not quiet places of study, but noisy, bustling places of learning.


Manguel touches upon the power of books and writing to scare those in power, to scare them enough to censor, ban or even burn books. In Ray Bradbury's brilliant Fahrenheit 451 (which I'm going to go re-read now), people are left to memorize books after they are burned.

He then goes on to explore this phenomenon of people memorizing books, intertwined with ideas of re-reading for pleasure, recalling favourite passages and such. I found it challenging to recall even the author he had written about in the previous chapter, and I generally have an excellent memory. It reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend in a movie store (bear with me). The friend never watches movies twice, while I often watch favourite movies over and over. I do the same with books: I've read some maybe 20 times. Most of these, though, are not difficult or complex works, they are enjoyable fiction, and often fantasy. The friend was surprised to have me compare movies to paintings or music, art that you would never consider experiencing only once if you enjoyed it. For me it's the same with books.

But books are a different art-form than movies, paintings or music. While I would never claim that they are passively enjoyed, they are generally less... engaging? than books. However, my memory of books is far less How often does my enjoyment stem from being able to lose myself in a book that I don't remember that well? I've noticed that often I can't tell you the names of the principle characters in any work of fiction I'm reading. I rarely notice chapter names. Since I've become aware of this I now actively try to remember these and other details, and I've noticed an improvement, albeit a small one.

And just to take this post as far away from medieval reading practices as possible... I don't remember phone numbers anymore now that they're stored in my cell phone. Or rather I remember a select few. Books replaced our memory of stories, now computers (and Google and Wikipedia in particular) have replaced our memory of nearly everything else.



The other night I wanted to watch a movie but didn't have enough time to start a new one that I would want to finish, so I started Casablanca, my favourite movie ever. It is beautiful, clever, romantic, hard-boiled, almost every adjective. I've seen it probably 10-15 times. Every scene is familiar, no line is a surprise, but I couldn't tell you the names of more than a couple of characters. Is is because we don't see the names, we only hear them?

I would say that I have a very good memory; at times it feels photographic or eidetic. That extends to sounds on occasion: I will imagine exactly what I heard and let the sounds replay until they are clear. If it's not that, then, is it the mind skipping details that it doesn't find compelling or necessary to a narrative? Am I reading for plot more than character?

And finally (and I think more interestingly), what does this imply about our ability to comprehend and assimilate anything non-fiction that we read? What does it imply about societal memory?

PS: more to say on this book later.