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 Andrew Forbes
A recruiter for a Division I college basketball team travels to a town in hopes of finally convincing the year's prize high school prospect to play for his team. Over several days, he reflects on his love of the sport, his respect for the kids, and a job that forces him to sweep sentiment aside in order to get results.
“Andrew Forbes' The Gamechanger is a powerful work from a point-of-view — that of the scout, the talent evaluator — which is not often seen or done convincingly, as it is here. A story about fathers and sons, about fate, and about the implicit savageries that lurk at the heart of the sports we love and the teams we cheer for. This is wonderful, raw writing.”
— Craig Davidson, author of Rust and Bone and Cataract City
“A fascinating look at the relationships a recruiter has to manage, from the sacrifices of being away from their family, to dealing with rival recruiters, prospects and their friends and family ... a very nuanced and layered approach that goes beyond just a man with a job to do at a gym.”
— Alex Wong, stevenlebron.com
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
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 Nicole Chin
In a world terrorized by a mysterious criminal organization that recruits children as its foot soldiers, a boy reflects on the journey - steeped in a cocktail of friendship and fear - that has drawn his life past the point of no return.
by Star Spider
In the late 60s, the newest member of a group of all-female pearl divers — the ama — sees her life, and the lives of those dear to her, disrupted by an unlikely force: a James Bond film that sends American men to Japan in search of their own personal 'mermaids'.
by Curtis Snider
A woman wakes up in bed beside her ex-boyfriend and is at loss to explain how she got there. Inexplicably drawn to stay, she scours every square inch of the apartment they used to share, noting the traces of her presence that linger on, as well as the empty spots that conspicuously mark her absence. The deeper she digs, the more she understands how imperfect her relationship was – and the less willing she is to come up for air.
by Matt Cahill
Portraits of people marooned within themselves, trapped by their past experiences, by uncertainty and anxiety — individuals for whom each new situation is a grueling journey towards the present, a place where action and choice are possible. In Second World, Matt Cahill illustrates, with honesty and empathy, how the most important breakthroughs are not the life-altering revelations, but rather the minor miracles that get us through each day.