[adrotate banner="16"]
[feather_share show="twitter, google_plus, facebook, reddit, tumblr" hide="pinterest, linkedin, mail"]
By: Steven Chen/News Reporter
On Thursday Nov. 5, the Hamilton Public Library closed the Waterdown and Milgrove branches in anticipation of the opening of the new facility located on Dundas St. E.
The decision to close doors permanently at the Waterdown and Milgrove locations was made by the Hamilton Public Library Board in accordance with the facilities’ master plan. “Setting the direction for how the facilities are occupied and renewed is a lengthy task,” said Karen Anderson, Director of Public Services at HPL. “The three main factors for the closing of the branches are building size and condition, changes in the demographics and evolving libraries.”
With the Milgrove branch having been deemed unsustainable for quite some time and the substantial population growth in the Waterdown area, the move to the new library facility seemed evident.
The opening of the $6.8 million building has been fraught with a number of unfortunate setbacks. With initial plans to open in Oct. 2014, many construction delays surfaced as a result of bitter weather, pushing the ribbon-cutting day to later this month. Despite the trouble, Anderson remains hopeful. “Although it was extremely frustrating, the important thing is that we are pretty confident that the end product will be a huge asset to the community,” said Anderson.
The 23,500-square-foot facility will be used for the new Waterdown branch, but also serves the joint purpose of housing the Flamborough Town Archives, the Flamborough Information and Community Services, a senior recreation centre, and the city of Hamilton’s Service Centre.
“One of the most exciting things for us is that we are bringing a number of partners under one roof. ‘Community Destination’ is a model that the HPL board strongly supports where possible. We try to locate in a multi-use facility because we know that there are advantages to that for the community,” she expresses.
In particular, the Flamborough Town Archives will form a partnership with the library, since the actual archive space is embedded within the library. These resources on local history are expected to appeal to a number of researchers, who may plan to access the collection. “The parallel is that we wish to offer a wide range of services to customers of all ages, so not only library services, but community services as well,” said Anderson.
The long-awaited opening due in a few weeks’ time will be followed by several innovative changes for the HPL. “We are opening a new makers’ space and digital media lab in the central library,” she mentions, “We have an ambitious program of building and renovation coming up in the next two to three years.”
The architectural design of the new Waterdown branch is distinctly contemporary — it offers generous amounts of fresh space and an innovative atmosphere fostering community engagement. “While at one time it may have been appropriate to have a very small location and collection,” noted Anderson, “we now know that we can better serve the community with large spaces by offering a wider range of services and programs.”
“We like to think of it as community building — the library is not only a destination by way of our services and programs — we aspire to be actually building community as well.”
Photo Credit: Rounthwaite Dick & Hadley Architects Inc.
[thesil_related_posts_sc]Related Posts[/thesil_related_posts_sc]
[adrotate banner="16"]
[feather_share show="twitter, google_plus, facebook, reddit, tumblr" hide="pinterest, linkedin, mail"]
Joey Comeau’s newest book, Overqualifieder, is the second collection of cover letters Comeau has put out, following in the footsteps of similarly titled, Overqualified. I picked it as a fan of the Canadian author’s other work, namely a web series called “A Softer World.” Despite my high hopes, I ended up disappointed.
When I opened up this little collection of cover letters, I was met immediately with the “Dear Reader,” where Comeau notes that every letter was sent to a real employer. I’ll admit that’s an interesting concept. Once I started reading the stories, however, I found myself bored, confused and annoyed. The entire project was rather juvenile. I didn’t find it to be funny or cute, but rather simply self-indulgent. Even the title is contrived. “Overqualifieder” is a neologism, meant to be a smart attempt to dub this as a follow-up to his first piece.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy tacking suffixes onto every word I can but this one is not enticing in the least. Despite this fallacy, I think that it does exactly what a title is supposed to do: summarize what is inside for the casual bookstore browser. Be assured that the content of this book is just as trite as the title.
A lot of the content aims at jolting the reader. I have read Comeau’s other works, and I can distinctly recall another short story about the rape of a ghost. He did what he intended to do: he wrote a story that was scandalous enough to stick with the reader. I wouldn’t necessarily say that it stuck with me for good reason, though. A common theme for Comeau is to write uninteresting stories, with attempts at shock-value to intrigue the audience. He has an affinity for producing perverted postulations in the form of stories as a sort of catharsis. This would be intriguing if he were to be pioneering this sort of thing. Yet, he isn’t doing that at all — we’ve all read Guts by Chuck Palahniuk. We get it.
Don’t get me wrong — I love visceral descriptions and writings that discuss taboo ideas. The perverted descriptions of sexually exploiting people and killing yourself with electric radios in bathtubs aren’t what make this collection of writing awful. I’m the first one to talk about masturbation loudly in a public setting, but Comeau simply seems to lack any subtlety.
Comeau’s earlier work on the “A Softer World” comic series was reminiscent of this collection, but his style worked much better in a short format of only a few lines. Over the years, I found that the ASW comics were hit or miss – but mostly hit, which is what kept me reading for so long. It’s unfortunate to watch an artist do something different, but not succeed in the same way.
I’ve been thinking that maybe Overqualifieder is the type of piece that is more of a formative work like Catcher in the Rye. I mean, if you don’t read that shit before the age of 19, you’ll end up hating Holden’s whiney, bad fuckin’ attitude. But, then again, if that is the case, wouldn’t now be the right time to read Comeau’s book? I mean, I’m out here in my fourth year of university, mere months away from trying to find some mediocre job with my English degree, and yet this book still doesn’t strike a cord with me.
I found myself asking the same question throughout the entire collection: why did he actually send these letters? He’s just wasting the company’s time with these pieces, giving himself fuel, and content for his books.
Comeau’s Overqualifieder is the type of book I would see at Chapters, pick up off the shelf simply for the aesthetic of the cover and for the name printed on it, flip through a few pages, and then put back.
[adrotate banner="16"]
[feather_share show="twitter, google_plus, facebook, reddit, tumblr" hide="pinterest, linkedin, mail"]
There are few people in the world who can liken their 12-year-old selves to “a middle school Hare Krishna,” and make you go, “yeah, sure, I could see that.”
Mindy Kaling is one of these people. On the first page of her sophomore novel, Why Not Me?, Kaling begins to tell the story of her early life by describing her childhood attempts to please everyone around her (“I brought a family-size bag of Skittles to homeroom”) — a trait that has followed her into her adult career. The book of essays by the actress, writer and your dream best friend, is a fun, informative and hilarious tell-all about her personal life, the world of celebrity and Kaling’s early adventures manoeuvring through Hollywood.
Although styled similar to her first novel, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns), the book is still a unique treasure trove of stories told with her iconic blunt and self-deprecating humour.
The book jumps into her stories head-on with details about her relationships (both high and low-profile), lists chronicling double standards in Hollywood, and even includes a detailed collection of imagined emails that would exist if she didn’t go into television and instead became a high school Latin teacher.
With Kaling’s removal of the self-censorship that causes many celebrities to hold back details in their autobiographies, the novel is full of relatable anecdotes and honest experiences that address the question so many of us ask ourselves in terms of careers and relationships, “Why not me?”
After The Mindy Project was cancelled by FOX and received some mixed feedback from fans, I thought Why Not Me? May have been Kaling’s comedic swansong. Lucky for us, the show got picked up by Hulu (with hilarious new cast members and uncut Internet humour) and the book is far from the last we’ll be hearing from this talented actress. Kaling has already signed a $7.5 million deal for a third book that she will be writing alongside former The Office co-star and ex-boyfriend, B.J. Novak. The book will detail their failed romantic relationship, once again asking “Why not me” in the most lucrative way possible.
Overall the book is an entertaining read that can get most readers laughing. Kaling’s trials and tribulations make for good feminist fun and capture real-life emotions and challenges with a light-heartedness that she pulls off perfectly.
[feather_share show="twitter, google_plus, facebook, reddit, tumblr" hide="pinterest, linkedin, mail"]
This January marked the release of CBC’s six-part mini-series adaptation of Lawrence Hill’s The Book of Negroes. Fans of the book will attest that the novel set a high bar, and the show does an admirable job of striving towards it. When Hill, who lives in Hamilton, released the novel in 2007, it caused a ripple of shock. With a bold and well-researched take on the slave trade, Hill brought to life a part of the past that is not often talked about. While in no way an easy watch, the show captures Hill’s tale onscreen.
The show picks up where the book begins, with an aged Aminata Diallo recounting her life story in front of the English Parliament. She starts with her childhood in Bayo, Africa. As she speaks, the scene switches, matching her words. Her relationship with her parents is laid out beautifully, only for it to be torn at the seams moments later. Sold into slavery at 11 years old, Aminata is tied to a coffle of other village members, loaded onto a ship and made to endure a horrific crossing into what would become her new life as a slave. From this point on, the show is trademarked by heartbreak. While fans of the book may be surprised that the most graphic of details have been subdued, it is inevitable that many scenes will still make viewers cringe. The epitome of human cruelty is not an easy sight to witness, even more so when the recipient is an unsuspecting child.
The show jumps into the middle of the action without hesitation. The resulting momentum might leave the most faint of watchers with whiplash. Cinematically, choppy segmentation and brief scenes characterize the beginning of the show but it becomes more seamless with time as it settles into a more comfortable rhythm.
Central to the story is setting, and the show’s cinematography does it justice. Scenes of fog rising from the jungle floor and stretches of pale sand on blue sky are breathtaking, juxtaposing the horrid scenes that characterize the plot.
The opposite of lighthearted, The Book of Negroes is bound to turn stomachs and weigh down hearts. Even harder to swallow is the acknowledgment that the tales of human enslavement are not fiction, but a part of the past. In one particular scene, Aminata describes the moment when the people in her village began to “slip away like the moon behind the clouds. Only unlike the moon, the villagers didn’t come back.” The Book of Negroes allows viewers to follow Aminata as she too slips behind the clouds, and into the open arms of the slave trade.
[feather_share show="twitter, google_plus, facebook, reddit, tumblr" hide="pinterest, linkedin, mail"]
By: Michelle Yeung
"We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life.”
The Opposite of Loneliness is a posthumous collection of stories and essays written by the late Yale University graduate Marina Keegan. Through her work, Keegan showed that there are few things in life more incredible than being young and hopeful and endlessly frustrated.
“We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time,” she said. Perhaps that’s why her words resonate with me so deeply – like her, the possibility of youth baffles me.
These are stories about falling in love and falling out of love, late-night drinking and early morning hangovers. They are stories about balancing the recklessness of youth with the responsibilities of adulthood, about the moments we realize the mortality of our parents, about the late nights spent wondering whether we love what we do enough to be poor. She perfectly captures what it’s like to be at the cusp of adulthood. This is what makes her work so powerful – it’s incredibly relatable.
But her collection of stories do not stay in the confines of university; it spans the world, from a submarine stuck undersea to a military base in Baghdad to her 1990 Toyota Camry in her driveway back home. In Against the Grain, she discusses living with celiac disease. In Reading Aloud, she dives into the relationship between a blind man and a naked woman. In Why We Care About Whales, she wonders why people are so strange about animals, especially large ones. Each story is about something entirely different, but all are entertaining as they are thought-provoking. It isn’t Keegan’s death that captivates people – it is her charm and raw, indisputable talent. She is young, but not naive. She is ingenious. She is a wordsmith. She can craft a beautiful, poetic sentence just to hit you in the face with a blunt and evocative statement.
The Opposite of Loneliness is an ode to youthful exuberance, a symphony for those who are equal parts fearless and afraid. It is a collection of ballads and rap remixes and alternative rock medleys; there’s something for everyone. Pick it up when you’re feeling a little lonely and you’ll know that there is someone else in this vast, unforgiving world who feels the same. You will be reminded of all that’s out there just waiting for you to grab hold of. Marina Keegan has left behind an anthem of salvaged hope, one that I will put on repeat for a very long time.
Drago Jančar’s The Tree With No Name was published in his native Slovenia in 2008 and only managed to enjoy a release in English this year. It’s a shame that it wasn’t translated sooner.
Always a controversial figure in his homeland, Jančar turns his eyes to the grim past that haunts all former Yugoslav nations, but looks further than most. Instead of dealing with Slovenia’s hand in the dissolution of the Yugoslavian republic, The Tree With No Name splits most of its time between modern Ljubljana and the tail end of the Second World War.
Known for his penchant for modernist techniques, Jančar opens the novel from the middle of the story, with the first chapter readers see being 87. It is there we meet Janez Lipnik, an archivist and possessor of the most quintessential Slovenian name one could think of. Like the reader, Janez is befuddled to find himself on a country road after climbing a tree that bears close resemblance to one in a Slovenian fable that his mother told him as a child.
When he wanders upon a schoolhouse in the woods and somehow compels the pretty teacher there to open the door for him, we aren’t yet sure whether or not Janez is dreaming. When the woman’s lover comes home and is revealed to be Aleksij Grgurevič, a captain of the Slovenian Home Guard, we are further compelled to wonder what circumstances led Janez here.
After a partisan siege that Janez barely survives, the story shifts, and we are thrust into the Slovenian capital of Ljubljana in spring of 2000. A younger Janez is in a bustling shopping mall, a mecca of the post-socialist state. Janez is melancholic, and his thoughts soon shift to how his life and marriage have derailed in three weeks.
As an archivist, Janez has the mundane job of settling old land disputes and other trivial civic matters. His marriage to Marijana, a professor, might not be the most exciting, but memories of happier times exist. It is when Janez is confronted with these memories that he struggles to cope with his current challenges.
After finding the journal of a sex addict from the Second World War, Janez becomes obsessed with uncovering the writer’s identity. He spends weekends at the office to Marijana’s detriment, and increasingly becomes lost in the pages and consequently shoves aside all other work. For a long time, Janez romanticizes his trip with Marijana to an island right before the full onslaught of the Yugoslavian War, but he is crushed to hear that she may have taken the same trip with a sleazy co-worker of his.
Janez’s increasing obsession with the journal renders him a mess. Unable to confront Marijana with his accusation, Janez becomes increasingly passive-aggressive until she cannot bear it and moves back in with her parents. This abrupt change leads Janez to reminisce about his father who, in episodes similar to those that appeared in Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, suffered from PTSD and made Janez get up in the wee hours of the night to sing for his drunken war friends.
With a stunning conclusion that revolves around one of the most horrific war crimes committed in Slovenia at the end of the Second World War, The Tree With No Name is a brave, unflinching look at the past that scorns nationalistic sentimentality in favour of astute reflection.
By: Rachel Katz
Every November, thousands of writers from around the world participate in the CrossFit of writing challenges. National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, is an event where participants attempt to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. Writers can plan their stories months in advance, but they cannot begin their projects until Nov. 1.
This year will mark my third attempt at NaNoWriMo. While I’m far from an expert on how to achieve this somewhat ridiculous goal, I’ve learned some valuable tips about the event over the last two years.
NaNoWriMo is a challenge, not a contest. There are prizes for writers who hit at least
50,000 words by midnight on Nov. 30, but the point of NaNoWriMo is the process. Sometimes it really is infeasible to write 50,000 words, especially if you have a large number of commitments, but if you manage to squeeze in time to write 10,000 words between midterms, classes, and social events, then you deserve to call yourself a winner just as much as the person who wrote a 100,000 word tome.
Find a buddy, whether they be in Hamilton or Tokyo. Writing with a friend is a lot like training for a marathon with a partner; you feed off each other’s energy and success. Late-night writing delirium is always more fun with a friend. My roommate and I met doing NaNo, and we’re both planning on participating this year. Having someone to write with also means that you feel connected with the online community that is putting as much blood, sweat, tears, and caffeine into the endeavor as you are.
The first thing any NaNoWriMo veteran will tell you is to turn off your “inner editor” for the month of November. No idea is too stupid, no plot twist too cliché. Basically, pretend the backspace key does not exist. The point of NaNo is not to produce a beautiful piece of literature. I like to think of it as either a first draft or a way to put words to an idea I’ve had in mind for months. Explore different writing styles and genres, and don’t shy away from an additional challenge.
And of course, remember to have fun, albeit in an unusual way. Surround your writing space with whatever you need to stay motivated. If you can’t stop typing to go to bed, you’re doing something right.
Bookended by weeks of coma-inducing monotony in Hamilton, my trip to New York City in June was the clear highlight of my summer. It was my first time in the bustling metropolis and after a week of excitement I was glad that I was able to take in the splendours the city had to offer on my own terms.
Perusing the titles available at The Strand, wandering Columbia’s campus, seeking shelter from a storm in the New York Public Library, lusting after the #menswear that SoHo had to offer, and enjoying the amazing pizza at Grimaldi’s were terrific experiences. So was attending a gallery opening, and sitting down with Noah Callahan-Bever, editor-in-chief of Complex magazine, in his mid-town office to shoot the shit about rap and his relationship with Kanye. In talking to my writer friends there, I had never felt so stimulated and excited about what life had to offer after school.
But what makes me laugh fondly the most in retrospect is that I had three opportunities to see Karl Ove Knausgaard speak and missed them all through some cruel twist of fate. The renowned Norwegian writer had been in the city to promote the release of the newly translated third iteration of his six-volume autobiographical novel, entitled My Struggle.
Despite bearing a title reminiscent of Hitler’s own book of the same name, the autobiographical novel boasts much more appeal than one would think when moving past its immediate shock value.
What began as a free-flowing exercise of unchecked writing about his own life that Knausgaard hoped would help him out of a creative block in turn leveraged him to a level of superstardom that has forced him to abandon his life in Stockholm and move his family to the countryside. Knausgaard undertook the project unaware that it would displace him from his comfortable role as a well-respected figure in the Scandinavian literary scene, to a writer who would fiercely divide the press and public on the topic of how much of one’s private life is appropriate to expose.
Growing up in Norway in the 1970’s, Knausgaard recently told the Evening Standard that the order of the day was, “you don’t cry, and you don’t complain.” Knausgaard’s own father was adamant in enforcing this rigidness in his son, and it would psychologically scar the young Knausgaard to the point where he became afraid of his father. The struggle in the title is a reference to the weight that Knausgaard’s father would have on his shoulders even after his death, while he simultaneously tried to juggle his own ambitions and raise his children.
I had picked up the first volume of My Struggle in a Manhattan Barnes and Noble early on in my stay, and I became utterly engrossed in the dry prose, which somehow crackled with energy despite its barebones nature. It was only when browsing the New Yorker on my phone in JFK while waiting for my flight home that I noticed that the writer had made not just one, but three appearances in the city (notably, one with Zadie Smith moderating, which would have been a dream to witness) while I was blissfully unaware.
Refusing to remain dismayed, I ploughed through the other two volumes upon arriving home. Perhaps ploughed is not the right word, for it suggests physical exertion when I was really spellbound by the events of his life that Knausgaard so artfully composed into a palatable — and at times gut-wrenching — narrative.
The first volume concerns itself largely with Knausgaard’s adolescence and his relationship with his father as well as the rest of his immediate family and friends. As much as the book is made emotionally heavy by Knausgaard’s father’s iron-fisted presence, it is also made buoyant by the awkward accounts of attending parties he wasn’t invited to with alcohol that was obtained and hidden from parents at great expense.
Knausgaard has an astounding memory and unlike James Frey, proves himself to be a patron of accuracy rather than fabrication. The works are Proustian in their self-reflexive subject matter, but are much easier to digest than the French writer’s notoriously dense In Search of Lost Time. Knausgaard is unflinching in writing about his own life which has given rise to the detriment of his family members, some of whom who have publicly railed against his inclusion of their private matters in his work.
Even after finishing the third volume this July, not a week has gone by that I haven’t thought of Knausgaard’s intensely personal exposé. In writing a work that confronted the banality and suffering in his own life, Knausgaard opened the floodgates in his own and other generations’ consciousness to reveal similar painful memories.
Despite his frankly expressed distaste for doing press, I’m massively excited to see my luck come full circle and bestow me with the opportunity to see Knausgaard speak at Toronto’s Harbourfront Centre on Oct. 25 as part of the annual International Festival of Authors. I’m even more pleased that one of my favourite Torontonian writers, Sheila Heti, will be the one to interview Knausgaard.
The event is free for students, so you have no excuse not to humour your curiosity. Just don’t pick up any of the My Struggle books during this busy time in the school year or you will be forced to shove all other obligations to the side.
By: Nimra Khan
With Halloween just around the corner, it’s the perfect time to dive into a creepy murder-and-revenge story like Horns by Joe Hill. Horns tells the story of Ig, a man who wakes up the night after the one year anniversary of the rape and murder of his girlfriend to find horns poking out of his skull. These horns also have a strange effect on people: whenever he talks to someone, they are forced to spill their deepest, darkest secrets and sins to him. Needless to say, Ig is scared, but soon finds information about who might be the real killer of his girlfriend.
It’s hard to describe how this book made me feel. I loved it, but it was a painful read that made me feel a bit drained. I was thoroughly squeamish with some of the grotesque things that happened in this story, but I was still in a rush to know what happened next. Horns is a book that makes the read uncomfortable, and I loved it.
Much like The Lovely Bones, Horns explores the idea of a psychopathic killer that no one would expect; someone among us that you would overlook because of their kindness. Too often the character in this story made me want to run away and hide, and I often had to reassure myself that he wasn’t real. I silently send up a prayer that no one has to ever meet a person like that, proving just how compelling a read Horns was. With plenty of exploration into the bible, God, and the Devil (surprise, surprise), Horns explores the idea of a “devil” in all of us. It challenges what it means to be good or evil, and makes the reader wonder if we really have a choice in the matter. To quote Ig: “maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what man could think up.”
I found out about this book after seeing the trailer for the movie adaptation of Horns, starring Daniel Radcliffe as Ig. The movie had its premiere during the 2013 Toronto International Film Festival, but will be released in theatres for the public on Oct. 31. I’m always one for reading the book before seeing the movie, and after reading Horns I am definitely looking forward to it.
Kacper Niburski
Assistant News Editor
If somebody said that David Adams Richards, a prominent Canadian novelist from New Brunswick, would have stopped by the smoke stacks of Hamilton to discuss the finer things in life, the appropriate response would be to ask if the individual was taking any illicit materials.
Illicit materials or not, Richards found himself in Hamilton from Nov. 12 to the 14.
His appearance was part of an annual Distinguished Visitor Speaker Program, funded through the Harold and Lilojean Frid Endowment and sponsored by the Westdale United Church.
Richards spoke on a variety of issues regarding topics large and small, from a wine and cheese meet-and-greet to the existence of God.
In addition, there was a secondary event entitled, “Reading, Discussion, and Reception” at the University Club, sponsored by the McMaster Arts and Science Program, English and Cultural Studies, Labour Studies and Economics, and Religious Studies departments.
Known primarily for his novels, such as Mercy Among the Children, which was a co-winner of the Giller Award in 2000, Richards stands as a leading Canadian writer.
Currently, he is one of the only three to have ever won the Governor General’s Award in both fiction and non-fiction.
Richards has also been shortlisted for the Trillium Award, Thomas Raddell award, Canadian Booksellers Association author of the year, countless regional awards for his novels, and the prestigious Canada-Australia Literary Prize in 1992.
To say the least, this literary paragon’s list of accolades is long.
Yet, under the hum of an anxious audience, his eminence consistently preceded him.
At each event, the audience was left with lingering thoughts of ambiguity: could this really be David Adams Richards?
Where superior knowledge of the literary world should have been, there stood unbridled modesty. In place of splendor and extravagance were unkempt hair and a five-o’clock shadow. Instead of impatience and arrogance, there was a friendly smile.
It was such a characterization that, despite expectations otherwise, perhaps fueled Richards’ opening comment at the wine and cheese event.
“I almost never got into university because I almost never got out of high school. I got expelled four times.”
Such a comment began a brief outline of Richards’ early life as a truly gritty struggle.
From his birth in Newcastle, New Brunswick to his original aspirations of being a professor, because “it looked so grand, sitting in a chair all day and smoking a cigarette,” Richards claimed he had difficulty staying afloat.
But it is only because of difficulty that happiness has any meaning.
Richards, despite his overwhelmingly difficult start to his professional life, soon discovered a passion for writing, and more importantly, the happiness that his writing provided.
Richards attributes his success to a written tone that mixes a bitter realization of moral verisimilitude and indelible nostalgia neatly packaged into a Canadian setting.
Much of this comes from the fact that all of his novels centralize on the region of Miramichi, a familiar New Brunswick territory for the author.
It is in this region, one that Richards’ described as “leaving numerous unforgettable impressions,” where the sobering realities of life dominate.
Far away from the stereotypical enchantment of the East, where unforgiving waves lap across a jagged landscape, where quiet serenity is only interrupted by the roaring of the sea, where an ocean gives way to life and life gives way to an ocean, stands reality, and more conspicuously, the struggles life holds.
Such realties were highlighted during the wine and cheese event as Richards read two passages from his book The Friends of Meager Fortune.
Both of the excerpts were centred around the idea that “human greatness does not involve money, power or authority,” said Richards. “It involves character.”
It is this character, one of equality as opposed to superiority, that emanated from Richards as he read.
With an inviting tone, the room became a setting and the audience became characters in his books.
As he concluded the night with the second passage, one could not help but feel that perhaps art was imitating life, for his shaggy, soft-spoken, working-class sort of demeanor echoed the words that he himself had written, and he walked with an uneasy sway that mirrored the sea.
Or, maybe, it was the other way around.
