I recently had the pleasure of visiting Canada again. A stormy Sunday in Antigonish was enhanced by the reading of my first copy of Maclean’s (September), a most informative, and interesting publication. The character sketches of Pauline Julien and Adrienne Clarkson were fascinating; the article on OFY, enlightening with its (satirical?) behavioral renderings of official motives and the deeds of Canada’s youth.
Christmas and books. They’re concepts that run together in the mind like Liberals and arrogance or oka and pears. For me anyway one of the best times of the whole hokey season always comes around one o’clock on the eighteenth of December when I push my way into some narrow bookstore, crowded with shoppers on their lunch hours, crabby clerks distractedly answering requests for boxed editions of the Annotated Alice with “Well, who’s it by?" and the frenzied manager standing on a varnished three-step stool hunting for a book on Upper Canadian ironstone and shouting down to his assistant at the same time to bring up another box of Bertons from the basement.By CHRISTINA NEWMAN10 min
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