by Michael Bryson
Toronto in the twenty-first century: At night, a beacon on a lonely ancient lake, a drainage pond from the last ice age. In the daytime, a bulwark of glass, glinting in the radiant sun. Joe, Mary, and her cat, Sam, sit in a lakeside condo, trapped by a crazed, mysterious sniper. What has become of their lives? What has become of their city? What has become of their century? As the situation begins to unravel, Mary finds herself wondering, “What would Margaret Atwood do?”
AFTER THE CONDO WAS built they moved in: Joe, Mary, and her cat, Sam. They had been together seven years (Joe and Mary) and twelve years (Mary and Sam), respectively and respectfully. Seven years. Were they committed now or what? Seven years and neither of them had ever thought of being with anyone else. At least Mary hadn’t (Sam neither). They’d met in the final year of university in a poetry workshop, and now they were property owners. Members of the petty bourgeois. Politically compromised. Or they would have been, if they still thought that way. Which they didn’t.
The condo tower (sixty-five storeys) was made of glass. So it seemed from the sidewalk out front, rear, or side, looking up. So it seemed as one drove past it at a hundred kilometres an hour (or faster) on the Gardiner Expressway, hugging the curve of Lake Ontario, swerving past the SkyDome (Rogers Centre) and the CN Tower.
Lo. Behold. A building made of glass.
But it wasn’t, of course. The base architecture was concrete, driven deep, seven storeys of underground parking, then a spine of iron, a dozen, two dozen, three, four, five dozen storeys tall. The rest of the guts fitted out with drywall, wood trim, copper wire, plastic plumbing, synthetic carpet, a hundred carcinogenic chemicals—you name it. Dog hair, dust, and fluff.
But the outside, it gleamed like titanium. A phallic mirror reflecting all light that reached it. The scorching sun. The weak, luminous moon. The LED street lamps reflecting off the rain-drenched motorway. Toronto in the twenty-first century: at night, a beacon on a lonely ancient lake, drainage pond from the last ice age. To the north, the crust of the city, the suburbs, malls, and highways, fields fallen fallow, children in basements, plugged into electronic devices. Explosions echoing. Raccoons digging. Commuter trains rumbling.
Joe sat by the window, his laptop on a thin aluminum table, his fingers placed gently, stationary, on the keys, and gazed across the light-filled landscape, shards of brightness competing for dominance, slicing and defining the sky, the corridors between buildings, the entire space and shape of all that Joe could see.
about the author
MICHAEL BRYSON has been writing short stories, book reviews, and essays since the early 1990s. He grew up in Toronto’s east end, wandered the earth, then returned to live within blocks of the Danforth with his wife and stepchildren. He founded the online literary magazine The Danforth Review in 1999, interviewed dozens of authors, and published four collections of short fiction. He blogs at The Underground Book Club and sometimes tweets. Visit his website at www.michaelbryson.com.
from the library
by Kirsty Logan
The anarchic relationships holding together a group of teen girls - whose lines between love and hate, jealousy and loyalty, are not so much drawn as they are furiously scribbled - are put to the test at an unforgettable birthday party. This story captures all the angst and uncertainty of adolescence, with prose as sharp and jarring as a smashed kaleidoscope.
“Rarely an author comes along whose work hits you with the impact of a slap. I have had this experience with the work of Jayne Anne Phillips, with Lorrie Moore and Mary Gaitskill; most recently I have felt this on discovering the writing of Kirsty Logan. Her work is elegant, minimal, and innovative, but underlying it all is a great passion. If the world is a place where talent is recognised—in time, I believe, we may come to say her name alongside the aforementioned.”
— Ewan Morrison, author of Swung
by Richard Rosenbaum
Polly knows what she wants: to be in the greatest band in the world. Oliver knows what he wants: Polly. Together they are The Oughts, a duo trying to attain the unattainable, one basic chord at a time.
“Richard Rosenbaum’s The Oughts jabs its sticky little fingers right into your heart and swirls them around in there for a long, long time. Its characters unfold in pitch-perfect awkwardness and tender apathy, and readers will be struck by the surreal hinges and twitching imagery that Rosenbaum flawlessly weaves in. Writers in the audience should take note: Rosenbaum has created a writhing work of fiction that any scribe would aspire to be capable of pulling off.”
— Liz Worth, author of Treat Me Like Dirt: An Oral History of Punk in Toronto and Beyond and Eleven: Eleven
by Cynthia Flood
New wife and mother Julie is a woman struggling to find her place. Her dilemmas, while modest, feel harsh, and reflect the ways in which women were once denied control over their own bodies. Her first steps toward independence bring great pain—and not only to herself. With sparing, incisive prose, Cynthia Flood unravels what it meant to be a married woman in post-war era Vancouver, creating an evocative and even unsettling experience for the reader.
“With a precision of language that startles and delights, Cynthia Flood offers glimpses of those moments in which the essence of an entire life is revealed.”
— Nancy Richler, author of The Imposter Bride
“What a great story! Told in terse, restrained sentences, yet opening to a lush and radiant heart, Addresses captures the anguish of a marriage gone off the rails, and the moments of redemption that arrive from unexpected places. Flood’s use of language is uniquely her own–staccato, clean as a knife, and brilliant. Cynthia Flood has done it again.”
— Shaena Lambert, author of Radiance
“The abruptness of the title tells so much about this exquisitely drawn story by Cynthia Flood. ‘Tell the truth but tell it slant,’ Emily Dickinson advised, and that’s always been the approach Flood has preferred for her bone-china fictions, edging into them sideways. Once escorted into the story’s arrhythmic heart, we readers have no choice but to immerse ourselves in a world long gone but still very much with us, to emerge both shaken and stirred.”
— Dave Margoshes, author of A Book of Great Worth
by Andrew Forbes
An electrical engineer who has lost almost everything - his marriage, his job, his father - retreats to his garage to re-evaluate and reorganize the various loose ends of his life, and ends up assembling a thermonuclear device instead.
by Kelsey Robbins Lauder
A small-time internet scammer is shaken from her somewhat safe new life when an investigator arrives with questions to do with her erstwhile "period of moral decline" — specifically, the whereabouts of a young woman whose brief, bright friendship nearly steered her from the stability she now craves.
by Nancy Branch
In the rugged Nepisiguit River region of northern New Brunswick, two hunters face off. One is local sports lodge employee Danny Knockwood, a Mi’gmaw guide with a withered hand. The other is Mui’n, a one-eared black bear battling his inexorable hunger. When Danny is charged by the lodge owner to hunt down the bear that is frightening guests at the salmon pools, his personal values come into sharp conflict with his commitment to the task. The resulting confrontation tests both his physical strength and his beliefs, as Danny begins to recognize a kindred spirit within the fiercely determined bear.
Deep Breaths Underwater
by Meghan Rose Allen
June's mother is getting married and there's nothing June can do about it. Counting down the days to the wedding while trapped with a sort-of friend and unwanted family-to-be at their lakeside cottage in the Kawarthas, June searches desperately for a way to make the world - and her life - stand still.
Mike Mike Mike Mike
by Grace O'Connell
After twenty years of running, Betty quietly returns to her hometown of Arbford, thinking it a solid place to finally put down some roots. But the adage 'you can't go home again' proves true, as Betty finds that her mere presence is more than enough to disrupt the stagnant lives of everyone around her.
“In this cautionary suburban fairy tale, a big-city refugee searching for home finds herself in a nest of multiple Mikes and Pyrex-wielding vipers. With enchanting style and snort-causing wit, Grace O’Connell does casserole-studded claustrophobia like nobody’s business.”
— Jessica Westhead, author of And Also Sharks and Pulpy & Midge