The thing is, neither of those accusations holds much water. It’s hard to really accuse NPR of being overly partisan when the two incidents fall on opposite sides of the political spectrum. And as for free speech, that is and always has been an issue of government censorship, not of whether a non-government organization is required to provide a platform for all types of speech.

No, in both cases, it comes down to a question of ethics. In particular, it’s a matter of conflicts of interest.

If you examine NPR’s ethics code, you’ll see that they go to great lengths to make sure that the organization’s journalistic integrity remains unblemished. Staff members, for example, are not allowed to donate to political campaigns, run for elected office, or participate in political events that might be covered by the network.

Journalists must recuse themselves from covering stories in which they might have a real or perceived conflict of interest. In short, no one who works for the news division should do anything that might call into question the organization’s ability to fairly and accurately report the news.

Now, on the face of it, that’s actually quite laudable. The business of news is an important one, and news organizations have a responsibility to do everything they can to ensure that the stories they disseminate are complete, correct, and as impartial as possible. Conflicts of interest are a big deal here — can you imagine how problematic it would be for a journalist to cover a story on, say, a company in which he was a major stakeholder, or an election in which he was a participant? It only makes sense to keep a reporter from reporting on events in which he has a vested interest in the outcome.

What do you do, though, with a story where everyone has a vested interest in the outcome? Who isn’t affected by the result of a presidential election, for example? Who has no stake at all in national security, global economics, or any number of other political topics? When no one is truly objective, who can be trusted to give an impartial analysis of current events?

And this is where policies like NPR’s ethics code become problematic. Really, such a code can’t deliver true impartiality; it can only deliver the appearance of impartiality. NPR can keep its employees from revealing their biases, but at the end of the day — as the Juan Williams incident proves so handily — those biases exist whether or not anyone in the audience knows about them.

I’m left to wonder: might it not be better to go the other way entirely? Instead of aiming for the appearance of neutrality, what if NPR went for a more transparent reality? What if, for example, they hadn’t fired Juan Williams? Williams would have presumably gone on to provide the same sort of news and analysis that he always did, only now listeners would have a greater insight into where that news and analysis were coming from. True, we might not see him the same way that we used to, but the question is whether we should have seen him that way in the first place.

By moving towards transparency, NPR might lose the appearance of impartiality. I can’t help thinking, though, that that might be just what we need.

Photo Credits

“Juan Wiliams”

“NPR Headquarters”

It was 1992. I was working at a local retail mall during the summer before my final university year. A friend of mine from high school was working at the Coles bookstore in the same mall and I asked her if she had any good books to recommend. She lent me her copy of Shampoo Planet. And thus, my introduction to the Canadian icon that is Douglas Coupland.

I picked up that book and read it cover to cover. I felt like I’d joined a secret club of cool. The book itself is said to epitomize Generation Y, the Generation that follows Generation X.

Having been born in 1971 and having parents who were decidedly un-hippy, I’ve never felt like a Generation Y or a Generation X. But, regardless, I felt an intense connection to the book. Coupland just had this way of wrapping a sentence in irony. Of pulling upon contemporary references, elevating and mocking them in the same breath. I really hadn’t read a book like his before.

So naturally, when I heard that Douglas Coupland was coming to my home town of Ottawa, I was keen to see him. See the god in flesh and blood, so to speak.

It did strike me as somewhat unusual that his reason for being in town was because of the Massey lecture series. Each year, a selected lecturer travels across Canada to share an essay on a political, cultural or philosophical topic. Considered a great honour, this series has been ongoing since 1961 and has included a number of Nobel laureates. And this year? Douglas Coupland.

Coupland has broken Massey tradition and tossed the essay format aside in favour of a novel (fiction!) in five parts. In each city, he reads one part of the five. And this past Monday in Ottawa, we listened to part four of his novel Player One: What is to Become of Us.

This novel marks Coupland’s twelfth piece of fiction. His first, Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture, was widely hailed internationally as well as here at home in Canada. Since then, his novels have continued to provide a commentary of sorts on a particular generation or cultural slice of time. In Player One, the reader is introduced to five people trapped in an airport bar as a global disaster hits.

I’d actually already bought the novel and had it nesting in what is becoming a decidedly dangerously tipping mound of books on my bedside table. But I had not been able to even crack it open before the evening of the lecture. Regardless, my husband and I were keen to go.

We arrived to the National Arts Centre and walked in to join the general seating. There were lots of turtlenecks in the vicinity, but there were also people of all sorts, young and not-to-young — gathered and waiting in anticipation. Just as I was.

Since CBC Radio has been a sponsor of the lecture series since 1965, Alan Neal opened the evening up for us. He bounced onto the stage wearing a suit with a CBC Radio t-shirt on underneath. His responsibility, it seemed, was to introduce the audience to the Massey lecture series itself.  If you’ve never heard him or met him, suffice it to say, he is terribly likable. And engaging, and a touch self-deprecating.

So it was an abrupt transition to then be presented with Allan Rock, a former politician and current president of the University of Ottawa. It’s not that Rock isn’t likable, it’s just that he was far more formal that Neal. Rock gave an eloquent introduction to Coupland and his work, gliding back and forth in beautiful French and English, with pronounced emphatic pauses.

He then went on to introduce Player One itself, and how it explored the eternal human questions of time, human identity, society, religion and the afterlife. His speech was likely representative for these events, where one pays tribute to the honoured lecturer in question.

After Rock’s opening, which highlighted the intellectual depth of Coupland’s work, the author himself took the stage. He looked casual, if not slightly rumpled, in black jeans and a simple button-down shirt.

“Wow,” he says, as he brushes his hand over his balding head and looks back towards Rock, with his full-head of hair and polished suit, “I mean this in the nicest possible way … you look exactly like a game-show host.”

After all these years, I find my beloved author to be as irreverent as ever. I don’t know if I would even enjoy Shampoo Planet if I read it now, as opposed to reading it as a 19-year-old, but somehow it is comforting to know that some things just don’t change.

Coupland may not be a typical Massey lecturer, but he’s still in his own club of cool.

If you’re like me and have yet to read the novel, don’t fret! The complete series will be broadcast on CBC Radio’s IDEAS from Monday, November 8 to Friday, November 12.

Image Credits

Main image www.coupland.com

Catchphrases from TV sitcoms have become such common currency that British English is in danger of becoming a totally separate language from Canadian English. If anyone in Britain asks you,

The Mclean catchphrase “A Cunning Plan” came from the Blackadder series, with Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry as incompetent officers and Tony Richardson as the simple soldier Baldrick, who always had a cunning plan to rescue the army in 1914. A “Cunning Plan” is always destined to fail but only after tremendous effort and time have been lavished on it by the incompetents who conceived it.

One of Ted’s colleagues had bet him that grouse couldn’t be raised in Normandy. Why not? People were starting to raise quail and wild boar and salmon. It was time for a “Cunning Plan”. Another of life’s challenges! Pourquoi pas?

We found out that a British government environmental research project, studying life styles of capercaillie and grouse, conditions for reproduction and possible combination feeds of grit and grains, was being conducted up near Aberdeen. We contacted the boffins. They offered to reserve us some fertilized grouse eggs, telling us to bring a big Thermos lined with peat to transport them. We had to prop this up in the car in such a way that we could turn the eggs every few hours.

Before speeding off to Scotland in the company Mercedes, Ted spent hours planning and building a bird cage/hen house, more of a Lord Snowden type aviary really, attached to our garden shed. On the instructions of various hen-raising locals, he completed the interior with little triangular hatching huts which just fit neatly over broody hens and eggs.

We drove all the way up to Aberdeen and all the way back to Normandy in great haste and excitement. Ted had to rush back to work while I negotiated with a neighbour, Mr Capon, to lend me a couple of broody hens. I transferred the little eggs carefully into the hatching huts, plopped the hens over the eggs and left them to it. They could just get their heads out to the little feed bowls nailed on the front. I failed to notice ominous cracking sounds as I backed away.

A couple of days later, I went out to see if any progress was being made. The broody hens were definitely looking defeated. I picked up the hutches and the broody hens staggered forth, feet covered with raw grouse egg omelette. Apparently, I should have used Bantam hens that, as every boxing fan knows, are considerably smaller and lighter than the Rocky Balboas I had landed on the eggs.

I managed to rescue some of the eggs which had simply been buried under the earth by the weight of the hens. I raced over to return the heavy-weight hens to the Capons. Mrs.Capon, covered her mouth and giggled and Mr Capon, controlling his spittled mirth, just shrugged his solid shoulders at the waywardness of nature and the stupidity of townies everywhere.

He suggested I buy an electrically controlled hatching box which turns the eggs every so often and controls the level of humidity. I rang around farm supply shops.

“Yes, Ma’am, we have one of those. How many hundreds of eggs do you have to hatch?” When I admitted I only had a dozen or so the salesman stifled a laugh and recommended another shop. It all got set up eventually and I waited hopefully. After week or so, I realized our “Cunning Plan” had come unstuck. I finally broke open the eggs which were black and stinking inside, having never ever been fertilized.

Brambles branch up and over the coop, weeds invade the inside and the hatching huts fall apart and I just haven’t the heart to start again. Well, as Robbie Burns said, ‘The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley.”

Obviously, this time next year we are not going to be millionaires! Time for another “Cunning Plan”!

Photo Credits

All photos by Julia McLean

At 79 years old, Spock’s real-life human host Leonard Nimoy is tucking in his pointed ears. After 60 years in the biz, he’s earned his right to embrace other aspects of life. Fortunately, Star Trek fans got to spend time with Spock in last year’s J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek film remake.

Spock (Starfleet service number S179-276) was the child of Sarek, a Vulcan diplomat, and Amanda Grayson, a human schoolteacher. Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, in his TV show pitch for Star Trek, first described Spock as “probably half Martian” with a “slightly reddish complexion and semi-pointed ears”.

Apparently, writer Samuel Anthony Peeples told Roddenberry that Spock seemed too alien. He recommended making him half-human so he could reflect more believably upon the human condition.

Over the years, Spock has been a favourite of Trekkies everywhere. There is even an online church devoted to Spock, The Church of Spock of Latter Day Science Officers.

But some of his most devoted fans are in the town of Vulcan, Alberta in Canada (pop.2000). Today, Spock finally visited Vulcan.

“I have been a Vulcan for 44 years — I figured it was time I came home,” he told the cheering crowd. As a farewell to Vulcan fans, he gave the Vulcan salute and said, “May each and every one of you live long and prosper.”

In honour of Mr. Spock, here are some of my fave Spock quotes:

“It is curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want.”

“After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true.”

“Judging by the pollution content of the atmosphere, I believe we have arrived at the late twentieth century.”

“If I were human, I believe my response would be: ‘go to hell’. If I were human.”

Photo Credits

“Spock” and “Spock and McCoy” courtesy of CBC Studios

And she weaves it all together, seamlessly, or so it appears. Where does she get her energy? It’s all about making time for the things we love according to Shannon. “It hurts me if I don’t do it,” she says. That’s why she gets up every single day, for the past 18 years, and paints.

Even when she would rather do something else? “I don’t allow that to happen,” says the San Jose native. “Rain or shine, grief or joy, I have picked up the brush almost daily…My creative time is really sacred. I might miss five times a year. I find I’m not healthy if I’m not painting.”

And she should know. She didn’t begin painting until she was 32. In fact, for the first part of her career, Shannon followed the path of a more traditional business path.

“I thought that’s what I needed to be immersed in,” she says. “I thought I was going to be a traffic analyst!”

But the artistic sense was always there for her, beneath the surface. Her mother, a music major, provided some of the inspiration. And once the spark was lit, Shannon moved to blend her musical talent with her love of the visual. She began oil painting, getting up early every day to paint. Within five years, she was able to leave her business career and move into an artistic career full time

Today, Shannon is the host of the award-winning television show “Give Your Walls Some Soul” which teaches tips and techniques for painting with soul and airs to millions of viewers in cities across the United States. Shannon is also in the pre-production phase of a new reality series.

Her children’s book, Monkey Made of Sockies, which she wrote and illustrated, celebrates the age-old favorite children’s comfort buddy — the sock monkey.

Why a sock monkey? When Shannon’s mother passed away, her sock monkey was passed on to Shannon. One day, while Shannon was painting, the sock monkey magically came to life on canvas. Then came the idea for the book, which has received the Parent-to-Parent Wisdom Award, honored by Disney.

Along with the book, Shannon has done a series of sock monkey paintings and has licensed the image to Daphne’s Headcovers to market sock monkey golf club headcovers with the help of LPGA Pro Leta Lindley. In tribute to Shannon’s mother, who was a special education teacher, a percentage of the profits are being donated to help kids with Prader-Willi Syndrome, a rare genetic disorder.

“So mom’s life came full circle,” says Shannon. “She’s still helping the kids.”

Like her mother, Shannon loves passing on knowledge to others. Through Intuitive Muse, she leads groups and retreats for people who want to “light a fire” under their creativity because, as Shannon says, her mission is to give people joy.

She recalls an older fellow who saw her TV show and contacted her. “He said, ‘I’m 80 and it’s my birthday and I want to know what kind of paint to get.’

He started painting. That was four years ago and he’s still painting.”

And then there’s Shannon’s music (her CD Hot Coffee Red Lipstick was recently released) and the novel she’s working on, which is inspired by her paintings.

By Shannon’s own admission, life is good. “I worked really hard to be this lucky’” she laughs, paraphrasing the famous quote by Lucille Ball.

“I’m driven to make this thing work. I don’t want to go back to the life I had before.”

Her advice to anyone who wonders if they too can pursue a life of creativity? “Make time for things you love. Don’t be afraid of what other people have to say.”

“Dreams don’t die,” says Shannon. ‘People do.”

Here are a few Videos by Shannon Grissom for your enjoyment!

Give Your Walls Some Soul: This Child Has Soul pt. 1

href='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GsteaqPF0c

Give Your Walls Some Soul: This Child Has Soul pt. 2

href='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoisH34PAiE

Photo Credits

All photos © Shannon Grissom

But tonight on the news…I saw him. He had surfaced in Haiti of all places, and a video camera caught him shaking the hand of an earthquake survivor and appearing … yes, definitely appearing … to wipe his hand afterwards on Bill Clinton’s shirt.

Take a look at the footage…

href='http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DtwkTS9mq8

What do you think? Did he wipe or didn’t he?

Suddenly, it’s like George W. has never been gone at all. The hand wipe is all over the news and so are rumours that Bush apparently makes a habit of this.

He reportedly wiped his glasses on the shirt of David Letterman’s assistant during the 2000 campaign. According to the New York Times review of Barack Obama’s book The Audacity of Hope, Obama “recalls a meet-and-greet encounter at the White House with George W. Bush, who warmly shook his hand, then ‘turned to an aide nearby, who squirted a big dollop of hand sanitizer in the president’s hand.’ (‘Good stuff,’ he quotes the president as saying, as he offered his guest some. ‘Keeps you from getting colds.’)”

It was strange seeing George W. again. Kind of like a bad flashback. Remember back when he said, “I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace.” Or…wait…remember when he said, “”You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test.”

The Bush bungle in Haiti even tops Vice-President Joe Biden’s gaffe when he apparently turned to President Obama after the announcement of the successful passage of Health Care reform and said, “This is a big f-ing deal.”

Yes, dammit, it is. And George W. should be very happy about the passage of this bill because when he gets back home from Haiti more Americans will have paid healthcare to deal with all of those germs he’s trying to wipe off.

But seriously.

Photo Credits

George Bush on the Ranch, White House Photo, by Eric Draper

Feature Photo, Creative Commons, Wikimedia

When I expose myself to a certain kind of media for extended periods of time, I start to think in that form. For example, if I read graphic novels I see my life in panels of images, and everyone has thought bubbles over their heads.

Novels will have me narrating my every action in the protagonist’s voice: She walked down the stairs, contemplating the day ahead. Now that she had the magic talisman in her possession, her travels were bound to get more…interesting. But first! — her morning coffee and toast.

And you probably don’t want to be around me when I’m reading Dostoevsky. One hundred pages into Crime and Punishment and suddenly I’m sulking about town, glaring at everyone and muttering like a crazy person, a disturbing inner monologue running through my head.

My sister is like this too. I remember a few years ago she told me she’d been feeling depressed. Sad, melancholic, nostalgic for something…but she didn’t know what. She felt lost. Being the loving sister that I am, I banned her from listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtracks (which she played pretty much constantly). A few days later I asked how she felt.

Fantastic! she said. And less like I just got separated from the only eight people in the world I can trust!

Funny, that.

So, I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts lately. Mostly the previously mentioned and wondrously funny Hamish & Andy show. If you haven’t checked it out yet, Hamish and Andy are two young Australian fellas who just sit around and be silly. Totally my kind of guys!

Should I be surprised, then, when I noticed that my internal monologue has shifted so that I’m constantly being interviewed? By two guys who joke around a lot? No, no, I shouldn’t.

I should, however, be slightly concerned that in this internal narration I have an Australian accent. And everything I do is so fabulous and interesting — I’m on all the time. It’s like a reality show for the radio.

Hamish: So, Sarah, tell us what you did today!

Andy: Yes, we can’t wait to hear the details.

Me: Well, I went to the gym…

Andy: No, you didn’t! NO, YOU DIDN’T!

Me: Yes, and I ate some sushi…

Hamish: STOP! STOP! I can’t BREATHE!

Voice Over: P-P-P-PLATINUM SARAH!

I’m not alone in this. Right? Other people narrate their lives?

Right?

Photo Credits

How to prepare the skull for surgery, brain exposed, c. 16th century © Brain Blogger – Flickr

Feature Photo, Optimal Brain Function, by Tonystl

When I became a creative writing student at the University of Victoria, I thought I should give the lofty CBC another try because so many of the writers I admired swore by it. I tried for years. My dislike was sealed again when a CBC commentator (maybe Peter Gzowski) visited a chicken barn on the prairies and recorded the sounds of chickens being slaughtered so we city folks could appreciate where our meat comes from. I abandoned CBC for years after that.

My business partner Maggie looooves CBC. On a car trip up the coast of Vancouver Island she convinced me to give it another try. “It’s got better. Really it has,” she told me. I found CBC on the radio and tuned in to someone playing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on a teacup somewhere in the Maritimes.

I turned and gave Maggie a dead stare. “Oh, dear,” she said and pursed her lips.

But last year, something changed for me. As my mom was dying of cancer, I spent many hours on the road in my car, driving from the Tsawwassen ferry terminal to the ironically named town of Hope, often in the dark and the pouring rain. Listening to most music just made me cry, so I turned to CBC.

The voices were comforting as I drove, week after week, through the winter rain to the hospice, counting telephone poles jutting out of the farming landscape like monstrous crosses. I listened to Barbara Budd and Mary Lou Finlay. Their voices felt like the voices of friends, very smart friends.

I began to appreciate radio documentaries and how sound is so powerful to story — someone clearing their throat, rainfall, heels on the pavement, a barking dog, a breath. Depending on the time of day I would often tune into The Current with Anna Maria Tremonti (I can’t live without it now!), Quirks & Quarks with Bob McDonald and, well, almost everything. I hate to admit it, but I even listen at work. When some old guy is on the radio banging on a heritage fiddle, I listen.

“Ah, Canadian heritage,” I think to myself, secretly wondering what the hell is happening to me. Sometimes I change the station for a while and check out Kings of Leon on The Zone just to prove it isn’t an “age thing”.

At first, I wouldn’t admit to anyone that I listened to CBC Radio. After all, I’d spent so many years dissing it. So I began to play a game. When all the CBC-lovers would gather to talk over the morning’s edition of The Current, I’d chime in with my secret knowledge.

“How did you know that?” they would ask.

“Oh, I just heard it somewhere,” I’d say with a grin. People thought my IQ had gone up. It was nice.

Finally, after many months of playing my secret game, I confessed my new love. It was liberating. I had joined an exclusive club of people who loved the opening music for the CBC newscast and The Current.

These days, I no longer make fun of radio freaks. I’ve stopped yawning when someone mentions CBC and I sometimes find myself saying, “Hey, did you hear…?” Oh, I still have my slag-CBC moments. Some things are just too hard to take, usually if they involve a didgeridoo or banjo. But all in all, I’m a convert.

I’m sure I make my friends gag when I now extol the virtues of CBC Radio One, but so far only one of them has said, “See, I told you so. You act like you discovered it!”

And it’s true, I do act like CBC Radio is my discovery. In a way, it is.

Photo Credit

“keep your eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel” Dawn Ashley @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

“Pole Perspective” etohaholic @ flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

“Editor’s Choice”, CBC.ca

Previously Published by www.blackdotdiary.com, September 30, 2009. With Permission.

There are these hilarious Australian DJs called Hamish & Andy. One day I will likely write a confession of my Hamish & Andy fantasies. For now all I will say is that they are knee-slappingly awesome, and that they celebrate “Pants Off Friday”. Yes, that’s right, on Fridays they wear no pants. (For any British readers, we’re talking trousers here, not underwear.)

In keeping with their timeless tradition, as it’s Friday I would like to share two stories involving my own pants.

The first happened 11 years ago.

I was 19, and driving across Canada in an ’81 Honda Civic station wagon. Usually I was sleeping in said car. No, this was not an intentional effort to drive my mother crazy with worry – although that was a pleasant side effect. She finally broke down and begged – BEGGED – me to get a motel for just one night. Please? I’ll pay?

Sold!

I roll into Sault Ste. Marie around 11pm and pull into the first motel I see. They have one room left, and don’t accept debit. So I walk half a block to an ATM, retrieve my cash, and walk back. I see a car pulling into the motel and a couple getting out. They’ll get the last room! NNNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

I start to run, and at this exact moment I learn how un-nutritious my road trip diet of instant coffee and bread burnt over the flames of my little propane burner has been. My pants decide to make a break for it. I’m free!!! They don’t slide down my hips so much as leap off them, diving for the ground. I trip, I stumble (I don’t fall, by some miracle), I yank them back up, and do a sort of gimpy two-step back to the motel, one hand holding the waistband so tight and high I give myself a painful wedgie.

A note on these pants. I think around grade 10 my best friend and I started hand-sewing squares of cloth over any rip or thin spot on our jeans. We thought these patches were super sweet. So these jeans – which should have been thrown out a good five years earlier – were now 5% denim and 95% godawful multi-coloured swatches. On my limpy dash to the motel I probably looked like a Rastafarian version of Igor.

Flash forward 11 years, to yesterday. I’ve been going all healthy lately. You know, not drinking (much), going to the gym, eating those things…you know…they grow with sun….vegetables! I guess my efforts have paid off, because as I’m sprinting for the bus this old, familiar feeling comes over me. Total deja-vue. What the…oh, ya! I remember! It feels like my jeans are falling down! Let me check…yep, confirmed, they are definitely falling down!

I think most women can agree that this is a very confusing place to be in. On one hand you’re all crap! And how embarassing!

And on the other hand you’re all YES! YESYESYESYESYES! SWEET! And you want to do a happy dance, which will only make them fall down again. But you don’t care!

Am I right?

Photo Credits

No Pants Dutchman © Wikicommons. Some rights reserved.

Mannequin with Jeans © Wikicommons. Some rights reserved.

Then, one day, it happened to me. But in my romantic comedy it’s not a guy I fall in love with. It’s the radio.

Yep, in this mad world of technological gadgetry and sci-fi wonderment, I found myself falling head over heels for that old, simple broadcasting device. I’d always known it existed, but never really paid it much mind. Until a few years ago. I can’t tell you specifically what happened. Something just … clicked, in my head, and there was no going back.

I could go on and on about the joys and marvels of the radio, and maybe I will one day. But not now. Today, gentle reader, I feel the need to wax poetic about one of my favouritest radio programs of all times.

It’s called Canada Reads. And it’s A.W.E.S.O.M.E.

First, for all you non-Canadians out there, this is not just a show for Canucks. And if your country has a similar program, let me know!

Every fall, the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) gets five prominent Canadians to pick a book they think all of Canada should read. If you’re a keener like me you can read them all over the course of the winter. Or you can wait and see what happens before committing your valuable reading time. In March, the five get together and battle it out on the radio. For five days they pick apart each other’s selections, trying to argue their own novel to the top of the list. Every day a book is voted off, until there is only one left standing.

It’s like Survivor, but for literature. How sweet is that?

The rules are simple. The books have to be written by Canadians, and they have to be fiction. After that they can be anything at all. Canada Reads has introduced me to all sorts of amazing novels from authors I would never had heard of otherwise. Books like Rockbound by Frank Parker Day, published in 1928. And King Leary, by Paul Quarrington, now easily on my list of top 10 favourite books.

Best of all, it’s hosted by Canada’s best radio personality – EVER – Jian Ghomeshi. And I’m not just saying that because I have a huge crush on his voice. (Secret note to Jian: if you’re ever looking for a side gig, I will pay you to read me to sleep every night. Call me.)

With five books on the table, there are 124 possibilities for the order the books will end up in. I think. I did that math on a napkin in a bar, so I wouldn’t bet money on its accuracy.

This article wouldn’t be complete without some injection of my own narcissistic views (I do like making everything about me). So, here is my opinion of how the 2010 selections should be ranked, with a brief summary of my all important thoughts on each novel.

CANADA READS 2010 PROJECTED RESULTS

1) Nikolski by Nicolas Dickner, translated by Lazer Lederhendler 
Defended by Michel Vézina
~ There is usually one book by a French author in the series, and they are always fantastic. Nikolski is no different. Never heard of Dickner before, but now I can’t wait to get my hands on more!

2) Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald 
Defended by Perdita Felicien
~ Wonderful novel. If I could I’d tie it with Nikolski. Read it. Now. Go!

3) The Jade Peony by Wayson Choy
Defended by Samantha Nutt
~ Vancouver’s Chinatown in the early 1900s. I love stories that take me away from the typical white person plight and into a world I’d normally never access.

4) Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture by Douglas Coupland
Defended by Roland Pemberton aka Cadence Weapon
~ I would have liked this a lot more if it were my first Coupland. But it was my seventh or eighth, and after a while they all start to sound the same. Coupland is a master of quippy one-liners that make you go Yes! Exactly! Sadly, he hides these in pages and pages of annoying characters.

5) Good to a Fault by Marina Endicott
Defended by Simi Sara
~ Boring. So, so boring. I’m interested to hear how Simi Sara can defend it. What am I missing here?

That’s what I think. What about you? The series starts Monday, March 8th and runs all week. You can listen to it on CBC’s Radio 1, or download the podcasts (previous seasons are also available) and enjoy at your leisure.

Join the party! And the ranks of those of us in love with our radios!

Photo Credits

Canada Reads 2010 © CBC

Jian Ghomeshi © Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

Feature photo, Robby Van Moore, Creative Commons