In The Skin of Our Teeth, Sabina says sometimes, when the world just gets to be too much of a mess, you just have to go to the movies. Well, sometimes, under the same conditions, you just have to go to Canada, so we did. Nova Scotia, for the curious, which, it turns out, is shamingly clean and shockingly well groomed, stunningly free of signage, and addictively cool. In the weather sense. In the hip sense it is probably one of the least cool places on the hemisphere. Which was fine with us, as we find that hip fatigue sets in earlier and earlier with the passing of years. We used the Canadian week to tackle War and Peace, the splendid new translation of which we had downloaded to the Wolfekindle, happily paying the ten bucks even though earlier translations could be had for next to nothing on the mothersite. The way we see it is that we want to keep translators alive and translating so that we can continue to read old foreign stuff as it were hot off the press. And this did. It was the perfect read at the perfect latitude. We had picked it because of the important Tolstoy/Dostoevsky sessions coming up at the ML for which if you have not signed up, you are out of luck, but we would have been just as glad to read it for no credit since it is very much in the Trollope-Balzac universe where we have been pretty happy, and it is not at all too long. There is a lot of blather about historiography in the epilogue which you can skip without getting yelled at by Tony Covatta who will lead the discussions here.
We also snatched Philip Hoare’s The Whale off the new arrivals shelf on our way to CVG because Norm said it was good and we trust him, and he still has a job, so it wasn’t a cruel joke. Non-fiction, don’t you know, but none the worse for it.
We stuck to Canadian whisky while we were over the border and found it surprisingly agreeable.