Don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas (or whatever the latest politically correct designation might be). I just don’t appreciate that it gets in the way. Difficult to put in 16-hour days with people waving bottles of fine wine, single malt, and five-star cognac under your nose. Even more difficult to keep up the jollity when you’re slipping further and further into the quagmire known as “the deadline” or “the pit of postmodern time.”

Take, for instance, the time it is taking me to write this piece. Here I am, complaining about quagmire slippage, when I’m putting aside a string of overdue tasks in order to wax negative about one of Christianity’s (and Walmart’s) most cherished festivals. It’s a bit like interrupting the earning of wages in order to attack the wage-earning system. But, being humans (rather than Rumi’s fish), we can’t seem to help it.

In truth, I have always looked upon the season as an interruption. At one time, in that surreal period called childhood, it was a pleasant interruption – from school tasks, family obligations, the day-to-day routine that sat on the edge of boredom. It also meant escape from the ongoing slashing and clashing that filtered down from the adult games going on around us.

Of course, being oblivious helped: amid the shouting and laughter, amid the hints and glimpses of paradise, all we were aware of was the flow of dishes to and from the table, the endless bottles of homemade wine, the once-a-year melt-in-your-mouth treats. What we didn’t realize was that, like all notions of paradise, Christmas was flawed at its very heart by an uneven division of labour: some were having the fun; others sweating to produce it.

Perhaps the redeeming factor — redeeming; now, there’s an interesting word — was that, as children, we still believed. Wefelt the tug of the mystery. We ran towards the light without assuming it was an oncoming train known as mortality. Perhaps that’s what made Christmas a pleasant interruption.

Today, however, there is little that is pleasant about the intrusion. We talk about shutting things down for a few days (as if we were automatons) in order to celebrate. Or we talk about moving at half-speed (as if that is going to regenerate us; or allow us to tack the other half-speed onto the end of the track of life). Or we decide we’re not going to answer those text messages … with potentially disastrous results.

But … family … you say … surely, if nothing else, that is worth the interruption. Well, let me see: although living in the same house, Jane hasn’t seen John (aside possibly from some path-crossing at breakfast) for more than a few minutes throughout the year. So now, they are going to gather around the Christmas dinner table to … ah, yes, share some memories … exchange gifts (mine was two days’ work while I see yours is only one day’s) … and be merry.

When it comes to family, unless we take the time to make each day of the year as warm and memorable as we pretend Christmas is, it’s not worth the effort. Cleaning out the Augean stables once a year of the neglect, inattention, relational sloppiness and general laxness built up for 364 days makes little sense. And, if someone were to tell me that they are respectful, attentive, cherishing and nurturing all year long, then what’s the point of interrupting that with Christmas?

So, now that I’ve finished writing this piece and pissing some people off, can I get back to my 16-hour day? Unless, that is, someone is willing to pass an uncorked bottle of Lagavulin under my nose. That interrupts me every time – Christmas or not.

Michael Mirolla’s novels, BERLIN, a Bressani Prize winner, and THE FACILITY are available from Leapfrog Press at http://www.amazon.com/Berlin-Michael-Mirolla/dp/0981514812 and http://www.leapfrogpress.com/available-books/fiction/Facility.htm. A short story collection, THE FORMAL LOGIC OF EMOTION, can be found at http://www.signature-editions.com. E-book versions of selected stories are online at http://www.fictionwise.com/.

The creation of imagined worlds requires one key attribute: the kind of imagination that works sideways and most definitely outside the realist-naturalist box. The Door to Lost Pages re-inforces what was already very evident in Objects of Worship: Claude Lalumière has this attribute in spades.

At the same time, Lalumière shares with the graphic novelists the sense of an absolute division between good and evil, combined with the ability to jump into epic tales and make them human. The result is an intriguing mix of mythology, fantasy and the frailty of daily existence.

Lost Pages is the story (or rather a series of loosely connected stories) of Aydee who, at 10, runs away from home and takes her chances on the harsh streets. There, she is drawn into the world of the Lost Pages bookstore. The bookstore turns out to be a portal or entry point for an alternate universe where gods (Green Blue and Brown God) and demons/nightmares (Yamesh-Lot) fight each other with Earth as the prize. And Aydee finds herself right in the middle of the battle.

As Paul De Filippo says in his exuberant intro, Lalumière “is intent on showing us that access to one’s own heart and soul – and to the coterminous joys of the universe – involves putting down preconceptions and prejudices inherited and inculcated as we age, and returning to the primal source of all wisdom.” In this case, as represented by the Lost Pages bookstore.

Many of the elements of the story have been accessed by fantasy writers before, in particular, the idea of a musty rundown bookstore holding tomes upon which the continued safety (nay, the existence) of the Earth depends. Or that it is up to the children to save hidebound adults from themselves. But Lalumière has the ability to make it all new and fresh again and to put his own spin on it.

Part of that ability has to do with his obvious empathy for the characters he creates. Fantastical though they may be, Lalumière spares no effort to make them “real,” to give them as many dimensions as possible. Thus, in a world of absolutes, the characters have all the flaws of humanity. This strange dichotomy is one of the charms of the book. More simply, Lalumière is a strong storyteller and that sets the table for all his flights of fantasy.

Lalumière’s writing style fits almost perfectly the stories being told: simple, unintrusive, unadorned narrative, swiftly propelling the action forward without drawing attention to the writer. Interestingly enough, Lalumière continues this style even in the last chapter (“Coda”) where he turns meta-fictional and throws himself into the story. I think this is what saves this chapter from becoming overly precious and self-referential.

Lost Pages isn’t without its flaws. But stepping into its world has so many rewards that these glitches are soon forgotten. Lalumière is the kind of writer who pulls you in seemingly without trying. I’m sure we are going to witness many more adventures featuring the Lost Pages bookstore and its “younger than that now” inhabitants.

Michael Mirolla’s latest novel, The Facility, features unicorns and cloned Mussolinis.

In Zero History, William Gibson creates a by-now-familiar elegant, sharply-etched, technologically-innovative piece of writing. Not a surprise for someone renowned for riding the avant-garde wave to its limits, pulling together disparate elements of our postmodern world. At the same time, the novel displays the fast pacing, coolness and plot buildup of a slick screenplay. This almost makes up for what it lacks: a heart at the centre of it all.

Gibson is the type of writer who dazzles with both his intelligence and his research. He uses his novels to propel new ideas and synergies. Witness the likes of Neuromancer and Mona Lisa Overdrive. He’s at his best when he marries this unique vision of where our technologies are taking us to an all-too-human story that pulls us in and makes us feel part of it. In that way, he sheds new light on both.

The failure of that marriage, however, leads to disappointment and a brittleness that can’t be hidden. In Zero History, we have the story of seemingly all-powerful men fighting over control of what Gibson calls a “secret” brand (basically, military-inspired fashion-wear that people come to desire without any advertising). The battle is fought mostly on the streets of London through the eyes and POVs of ex-rock star Hollis Henry and Milgrim, rescued from drug addiction by the mysterious Hubertus Bigend, a marketing magnate with incredible resources at his disposal.

Bigend finds himself betrayed by his own IT man and, when the competition takes a potentially deadly turn, must rely on Hollis’ extreme-sport boyfriend, Garreth, for help. From his wheelchair, the result of a leap from a skyscraper, Garreth directs an operation that involves spy cameras in the shape of flying penguins and cloaks that make the wearer “invisible.” Imagine a yoking of Mission Impossible and MacGyver – and you get the gist of what is going on.

All good, clean fun, featuring some of Gibson’s trademark writing: “Beyond the desk’s agreeably archaic mulch of paperwork twined a symmetrically opposed pair of marble stairways, leading to the floor above; that floor being bisected, as was everything above this foyer, into twin realms of presumed philanthropic mystery and Cabinet.” You can tell that Gibson enjoys the flow of his own prose, and brevity is definitely not his forte.

However, keeping that up for 400 pages is quite a challenge and you get the feeling Gibson realized this as well. In the midst of all the technological glitz and minute descriptions of architecture and fashion, he introduces that human element mentioned above. It is at this juncture that the story seems to lose its focus and direction. The relationship between Hollis and Garreth just doesn’t cut it. Rather than being the central point around which the plot congeals, it becomes simply one more skimming-the-surface factor on a par with the flying penguins.

This, in turn, leads to a lack of suspense as to the outcome of the battle and a sense that Gibson is simply being facetious, riding the wave without giving us the feeling of danger and excitement involved in such an enterprise. In the end, the reader puts the book down with a double-edged sigh: of some amusement and much bemusement.

Michael Mirolla, recent winner of the Bressani prize for his novel Berlin, has a new novel, The Facility, scheduled for December.

Gay vampires. Blues-playing vampires. Taboo-breaking vampires. Bureaucratic vampires. Family-oriented vampires. Oedipal vampires. Sick vampires. Vampires who appear on Oprah. Friendly. Vicious. Helpful. Hurtful. Nancy Kilpatrick has gathered them all in Evolve, a collection featuring twenty-four 100% red-blooded Canadian writers determined to stretch the vampiric envelope.

The premise behind Evolve is a simple one: just as humans have undergone a social evolution from the time a caveperson picked up that thigh bone and smashed his/her neighbour over the head, so vampires have evolved from the somewhat crude lurkers of the 18^th and 19^th century. One of the results of such evolution is that the evolved ones bear only a slight resemblance to the original. Evolve is an excellent example of this, demonstrating changes that would have made these vampires unrecognizable to Ur-vampire Dracula.

Once the aristocrats of the horror genre, today’s vampires often resemble the disaffected and weary outsider whose most common haunt is the dingy, low-lit bar. The vampire reflects a post-modern lack of centrality, of clearly defined lines between good and evil. In story after story, vampires come across as uncertain, ambivalent, questioning themselves and their destiny. There is a fatalism here that the Count would not have tolerated.

Not matter at what evolutionary stage, however, a good vampire story should make the reader feel somewhat icky while at the same time envious (which is why teens are so attracted to these types of tales). As Kilpatrick says: “Vampires still have the same struggle … they are torn between wanting to love and be loved by us and wanting to rip out our throats to get to our blood.”

This collection features plenty of stories that get this reaction from the reader. In Michael Skeet’s “Red Blues,” a night club jazz musician/vampire uses his riffs to captivate audience members who are looking for a thrill. If that thrill turns out to have a fatal ending, well … Kevin Cockle’s “Sleepless in Calgary” has a disillusioned office worker become involved with a vampire who promises to help him cross over – with unexpected results. Rhea Rose brings together street children, a mysterious disease and an injured vampire in “Alia’s Angel.” In Natasha Beaulieu’s “Evolving,” a wannabe is desperate to become a vampire and then learns that his ideas of who is and isn’t a vampire are outmoded.

Obviously, in a collection featuring this many writers, there are bound to be some that the reader may not fancy, or will find lacking in the type of innovation that fictional evolution calls for. However, there are also some stories that will stand out and sparkle, that come across as an exceptionally new take on what some think is rapidly becoming an over-plowed field.

Among these is Claude Lalumière’s “All You Can Eat, All The Time,” his female-narrated first-person take on vampirism as an extension of the hyperactive, quick-to-burn, fear-of-growing-old generation being spawned at this very moment. In “An Ember Amongst The Fallen,” Colleen Anderson gives the reader an all-too-visual/tactile glimpse at a world where humans are used as cattle for food and blood – and the results when the metaphoric apartheid barriers are crossed.

One of the most fascinating stories is Jennifer Greylyn’s “Mother of Miscreants.” Here, she turns the mythology inside out, introducing us to Lilith Adams, the mother of all vampires. Lilith is confronted by one of her angry children after she decides to come clean by writing a book on the myths and misconceptions that have accumulated over the millennia. It is meta-fiction at its best and puts it all into delightful focus. Not to mention adding a goddess element.

Now that’s what I call some truly creative evolution.

Michael Mirolla’s latest novel The Facility is due out in the Fall of 2010.

At a time of life when most are contemplating retirement, I went out and bought a publishing house. Not just any publishing house, mind you, but Guernica Editions, which has been in existence for more than three decades, and has produced almost 500 books.

So what possessed me (along with my partner Connie McParland, who is in the same situation) to plunk down a hefty chunk of money in what many believe is a dying industry? The not-quite-facetious response: “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Like most decisions in life, the real answer is more complex.

For one thing, I had always wanted to own my own publishing house. In the early 1980s, a group of us started a satire magazine called Uranus. It lasted six issues before sinking into the abyss known as “distribution blockage” (“Sir, would you come and retrieve your magazines from our warehouse as we need to make room for double-ply toilet paper?”). Aside from the bitter taste, it left a feeling of a task not completed.

So, when rumours started to fly that Guernica’s Antonio D’Alfonso was ready to throw in the towel, my partner and I stepped into the breach. We signed the papers, forked over some money, and began our excellent adventure in publishing.

We’re now three months in. During that time we have undergone, among other things, a Flying Squad consultancy. That’s where the Canada Council pays handsomely to have someone go through the entrails of an enterprise in the hope of divining ways to make it more profitable. We’ve also managed to produce our first book, The Young Maria Callas, and are well on our way to several more, due out at the end of May –just in time for our Guernica coming out party.

We’ve learned that the first year or so still runs on the previous owner’s clock, as books are commissioned that far in advance. So writers we’ve signed up will only have books come to fruition sometime in 2011. We’ve also learned that the amount of work involved is staggering and never-ending: from running an office to invoicing and order fulfillment, from processing incoming manuscripts to editing and proofreading outgoing galleys, from carrying on correspondence to dealing with printers, graphic artists and distributors, from organizing launches and readings to sending out books for reviews and contests, and press releases and other eye-catching come-ons to the media. Oh, I almost forgot: spending huge chunks of time filling out grant application forms. (You had better do this if you want to survive in the world of Canadian publishing.)

The other question I am often asked: So, is it fun yet? I don’t know, I say. Was it supposed to be? I tell myself as often as possible that running Guernica means being at the helm of a significant purveyor of a Canadian culture segment that is all too often marginalized, that we try to give a voice to those who wouldn’t otherwise have one, and that we are making a difference, especially when it comes to producing translations of Quebec writers so they can be heard outside the confines of the French language in Canada.

Is it true? Well, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Besides, as George Bernard Shaw said: “What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day.”

I found mine — thank goodness. Otherwise, I might have had to actually contemplate retirement!

Guernica Editions is taking part in two events at this year’s Blue Metropolis. Today at 7:30 p.m., five Quebec poets will read their own poems in French, and Michael Mirolla and others will read the English translations: TRADUCTION ET POÉSIE : LA PAROLE AUX ÉDITIONS GUERNICA. As well, Michael Mirolla will take part in the launch of the anthology of the Association of Italian-Canadian Writers: REFLECTIONS ON CULTURE: AN ANTHOLOGY OF CREATIVE AND CRITICAL WRITING, Saturday, April 24, at 1:30 p.m.

Michael Mirolla calls himself a Montreal-Toronto corridor writer. He’s a novelist, short story writer, poet and playwright. Publications include the novel Berlin (a finalist for the 2009 Indie Book and National Best Books Awards), and two short story collections—The Formal Logic of Emotion and Hothouse Loves & Other Tales. A collection of poetry, Light and Time, was published in 2008, with an English-Italian bilingual collection of poetry, Interstellar Distances/Distanze Interstellari released in early 2010. A second novel, The Facility, is scheduled for publication in the fall of 2010. His short story, “A Theory of Discontinuous Existence,” was selected for The Journey Prize Anthology, while another short story, “The Sand Flea,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

Picture by Poetry Quebec

“A poet friend told me an artist is independent when no one is able to make money off of him. There is no way someone will ever make money with Bruco.” Those are the words of Antonio D’Alfonso, writer, editor, publisher, filmmaker and general all-around gadfly whose first feature-length movie, shown last fall at the New York International Independent Film & Video Festival, will be screened this Sunday at Cinémathèque québécoise.

Fluently trilingual (Italian being language #3), D’Alfonso has blazed a trail through both Montreal and Toronto with his 32-year stint as the publisher of Guernica Editions. If that weren’t enough, he has written numerous books of poetry, fiction and essays — in all three languages. Yet film has always been his first love. In fact, he is about to complete his doctoral thesis in film at the University of Toronto. At the same time, he fully understands how difficult it is to break into the movie industry.

“Politically, film is confined by its nationalistic tradition,” he says, warming up to his subject. “Financially, it’s imprisoned by the bank’s directors. Artistically, it’s controlled by television and popcorn. Attempting to work in film without these parameters is quasi-impossible. Yet we can do it.

“Film is the fastest of the media. That pleasure one senses when seeing the image rise in between two verses of poetry lasts ninety minutes in film. Your mind is constantly grasping images and savouring the pleasure of catching the fleeting moment.”

The genesis for Bruco, which D’Alfonso describes as “being about difference,” came from a multi-voiced poem he wrote – and which he intended as a film. That was back in 1989 and it took another 16 years before the idea came to fruition, thanks in part to friends, including actors Jennifer Dale, Nick Mancuso and Lazar, who agreed to help.

“Bruco is a totally independent film,” D’Alfonso says. “Everyone worked for free, for a meal and a glass of wine. The original script was about twenty-five pages which I gradually reworked. Nothing is improvised. A writer wants to become a butterfly. A man wants to change his life. He is at the peak of his career, then something breaks. He meets the Minotaur. Roland Barthes wrote somewhere that if you were to analyze all works of art they would contain one hidden meaning: ‘I love you’.”

Unlike many who spend their lives in seclusion with the written word and who often scoff at the flamboyance of film people, D’Alfonso has nothing but respect for the actors with whom he has worked. In fact, he didn’t even have to go calling to get people to take part in Bruco.

“They knocked at my door,” he says. “They heard about this weird film project and they wanted to participate. Actors are some of the nicest people in the world of arts. I have always been able to have sittings with major film people discussing a film idea of mine.

“I am preparing another feature film, produced in a similar way. A few weeks ago ten people sat in my dining room reading the lines of the dialogue I had written. It was an absolutely breath-taking experience for me. Actors were there, knowing they were not being paid, but that they wanted to participate in something they never would have a chance to work in.”

D’Alfonso finds that one of the major problems for independent filmmakers – and this relates to Bruco – lies in finding a way to get their product to the marketplace.

“There is no place to show your film,” he says. “Even independent film festivals are often conducted like major film festivals, only showing miniature copycat films screaming to be bigger than they really are. I’m not worried.” Whether it be a film or a book, he believes (a work of art) will eventually find a home. “It might not be today, or en masse, but it will find its resting place.”

Despite all the problems faced by independent filmmakers, D’Alfonso is keen to get started on a new project: “I want to direct a comedy. After having delved in the dire side of things, I can’t wait to direct a good physical comedy. I’m looking for a story to direct, and as soon as I find it … I’ll do it.”

With friends like his around, the project seems a good bet.

Bruco , a multi-lingual film (English, Serbian, French, Italian), is being shown this coming Sunday, January 17th, at 1:30 pm at the Cinémathèque québécoise. Salle Claude-Jutra. 335 boul. De Maisonneuve est.

Hudson’s Lorne Elliott has toiled most of his adult life trying to make people laugh – and succeeding splendidly. Stand-up comic, writer/performer of satiric and impious songs, creator of landmark Quebec plays such as Culture Shock, producer of TV variety shows, and long-time host of CBC radio’s sadly missed Madly Off In All Directions, Elliott has decided to try his hand at the serious stuff of novella writing.

So why would the iconic and instantly recognizable comic musician who once spoofed Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne” with “tea and oranges that come all the way from Steinberg’s” want to dip his comedic pen in such untested waters? Why would the consummate joker who produced an Elvis persona, lacking a nose from coke use, nasally mouthing “Love Me Tender,” not be content to sit on his laurels rather than take a chance on The Fixer-Upper?

“The publisher asked me if I had something for them,” Elliott says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I had the play (Tourist Trap) … and I thought it was going to be fairly easy. I thought: ‘Okay, I can do that.’ Changing a play I’d already written into a novel seemed to me possible to do. You’ve got the form, the plot, the characters. You’ve got lots already done for you.”

The genesis for Tourist Trap originally and The Fixer-Upper novella adaptation springs from Elliott’s passion for Canada’s East Coast. Not only did he attend Memorial University in Newfoundland (where he met his wife/agent/manager/driver/general factotum Françoise) but he also performs annually in Charlottetown, P.E.I., and maintains a home there.

The Fixer-Upper tells the tale of one Bruno MacIntyre, who decides to take advantage of P.E.I.’s new “in” place cachet and metamorphose his dilapidated cottage into a money-making rental-with-a-view-of-the-bay for tourists. When he turns to his caustic and acerbic Aunt Tillie for help in securing tenants, things don’t quite turn out the way Bruno intended.

While Elliott has headed into new territory, genre-wise, with the publication of this novella, he doesn’t feel that what he was trying to achieve is all that much different than what he has been doing all along in his plays.

“My type of reader is like the guy who comes to my shows,” he says. “Somebody who doesn’t usually come to theatre because it just doesn’t speak to them. A bunch of actors on stage doing something academic. If I can sell it to my brother, if I can give it to him and he can pass it on, then I’ll have something with legs.

“Chesterton said of Dickens: ‘He didn’t write what the public wanted – he wanted what the public wanted.’ My art, for want of a better word, is more informed by the public than maybe I’d like to admit. I’m always reading stuff for an audience, for a real bunch of people who paid to see me that night. That’s got to affect how I see things and what I allow myself.”

Elliott isn’t making any promises but the idea of turning plays into novels or novellas is something that he would definitely consider doing again.

“To make a seamless story like that with no feeling that anything is being crow-barred into place,” he says, “and that would stand up on its own – on the stage and on the page … yeah, there’s a little corner there that hasn’t been fully explored yet.”

Join Lorne Elliott for the Quebec launch of his book The Fixer-Upper Saturday, Dec. 12, between 3 and 5 pm at the A temps perdu bookstore in Hudson, 76 Cameron. Tel: 450-458-1458 c/o Camille. Or check their site. There will a reading and some time to socialize with the guests. For further info, contact: Françoise Doliveux at 450-458-2480. Or e-mail: fran@lorne-elliott.com.

For a taste of Elliott’s stand up, check out this YouTube appearance.

Gods. Sea monsters. Symbiotes. Superheroes. Angels. Zombies. Shapeshifters. Claude Lalumière parades them all before the reader in this extremely enjoyable and thought-provoking first short story collection from Montreal’s own master of fantastic fiction.

But throughout, I get the strong feeling he’s actually talking about good, old-fashioned human relationships and the difficulty (sometimes the impossibility) of maintaining them at the level we’d like.

Lalumière takes these relationships — lesbian love, gay marriage, blended families, ultra-modern multi-shaped households – and inserts gods (“The Object of Worship”), the reincarnation of an avenging elephant (“Njàbò”), or quantum effects (“This Is the Ice Age”) in their midst. In several cases, he sets the relationship itself  in a dominant zombie society (“The Ethical Treatment of Meat” and “A Visit to the Optometrist”). In another instance, he has an individual hoping to establish “normal” relationships somehow altered thanks to an encounter with a force or creature that leaves the person unable to continue as before (“The Sea, at Bari”).

It is in this light that we get to see the central relationships in this book. In many ways, I was reminded of some of the better Twilight Zone and Outer Limits offerings, with the emphasis on human interaction (even if those “humans” are gay zombies) rather than futuristic gadgets or the ever-popular trips through cyberspace. If I were forced to compare Lalumière to one particular speculative fiction writer, it would be Samuel R. Delany – at least in the expansiveness of his relationship circles.

At his best, Lalumière shows us new and unique ways of looking at these relationships and on these ways of existing. He exposes the ironic self-consciousness of our species and the communications problems we experience in trying to get through to others. In stories such as “The Object of Worship,” “Hochelaga and Sons,” “Njàbò,” “Spiderkid,” and “A Place Where Nothing Ever Happens,” we are treated to an almost delicious combination of expectation and inevitability, with the added savour of a dry wit (especially in his two zombie stories).

Lalumière has an assured, easy-going writing style that fits in very well with his outlandish imagination. This helps to make even the craziest notions seem as if they’re the most natural thing in the world. The opening sequence to “A Visit to the Optometrist,” featuring husband-and-wife zombies, goes like this:

When a pigeon chewed out Basil Fesper’s right eye while he was taking a nap in his lawn chair, he finally admitted that it was time to make an appointment with the optometrist. The previous week, his left eye had rotted so much that it had fallen out of its socket. He’d tried to put it back in but there was almost nothing left of it except a shapeless splotch, and he really couldn’t see anything out if it anymore. (p. 179)

Similarly, in the opening story (“The Object of Worship”), he writes: “The god settles on the table. Rose tears a piece from her toast, slathers a heap of cream cheese on the ear-sized morsel, and lays it next to the god. It consumes the tribute.” As simple as that, we are introduced to a world where gods lie around waiting to be coddled and worshipped. Only later do we discover it is also a world with just women in it. But that doesn’t prevent the same old emotions of frustrated love, shifting allegiances and jealousy.

A couple of the stories seemed a little too distant for me: “The Darkness at the Heart of the World” and “Roman Predator’s Chimeric Odyssey” come to mind as being a little too “anthemic” and pushing too hard to make a point. Curiously enough, neither dealt with individual relationships. But these are very slight blemishes in what is a powerful and creative first foray.

Michael Mirolla’s latest novel The Facility is due out in 2010.

Steve Galluccio will forgive just about anything – except being bored. Ex-stand-up comic, fringe theatre actor-director-producer, TV and film script writer, and the man behind the mega-hit play and movie Mambo Italiano, Galluccio won’t put up with ennui. In fact, the writer whose In Piazza San Domenico is set to open at Centaur has been known to walk out if something on stage triggers his yawn reflex.

“When I go to the theatre, I don’t like to be bored,” the born-and-bred Montrealer says. “I don’t like plays where the scenes are too long and people get into these conversations and they don’t speak like people do in real life. And it’s just like you know … cut my veins open.

“I went to see a play in New York which won the Pulitzer Prize Off-Broadway and I actually left at intermission because I thought I was going to kill myself. I couldn’t believe that this thing had won a Pulitzer. It was just so fucking boring and it was all political and it was all about … serious … very serious things … When you go to the theatre and you start thinking, that’s not a good thing … you should just be looking at what’s going on on stage. Maybe thinking later but not during. That’s a bad sign.”

That philosophy is reflected quite clearly in his own writing in general and in his latest play in particular. In Piazza San Domenico, which takes place in 1952 in Naples’ most famous city square, has been described as having its roots in Feydeau, Goldoni and the commedia dell’arte, with a touch of French bedroom farce thrown in for good measure. It also has its roots in Galluccio’s own love of the city.

“My parents are from that area,” he says. “From Campania, not too far from Naples. I know the area, the city, the mentality. I also loved all those old movies with Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida, Marcello Mastroianni. It happens in Naples and everybody is fiery and passionate.

“Everything that was postwar Italy fascinated me because that’s when my parents left. It was also a fascinating time cinematographically. You had neo-realism and you had wonderful comedies, and you had all this sudden Hollywood interest in Italy. I’d just done Funkytown, which was a movie with an edge and quite dark. So I wanted to do a comedy and I’ve always wanted to write for Loren when she was young and for Mastroianni.”

Although not quite admitting that this type of writing is a form of therapy, Galluccio does say that he was going through a difficult time while writing it.

“That was kind of my exit, my escape,” he says. “So I wanted it to be as light as possible and it’s very quick-paced. People coming in and out and in and out because I wanted to get myself away from what I was going through.

“It just happened that, when I re-read it, I said: ‘This is very Feydeau. Very Goldoni.’ When we were doing the auditions, we had to audition the actors for two or three scenes because no scene was long enough to really get a feel for what the actor was about.”

Following the writing/production of In Piazza, Galluccio is taking a break from other projects, at least until the play has its Centaur run. But that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping busy. In Piazza is already set for a French run next year in a Michel Tremblay translation and Galluccio’s Funkytown movie is due for release in the summer of 2010. As well, there’s the possibility Mambo might be done as an Off-Broadway musical, and a TV series about an Italian family is in development.

In Piazza San Domenico opens the Centaur Theatre’s 2009-2010 season, October 6. See Centaur for details. At the same time, catch paparazzi Ron Galella’s Viva L’Italia exhibit of photographs featuring Italian and Italian-American stars taken over a period of 50 years – at the Centaur from Oct 6–Dec. 6.

Hey, Lenny … may I call you “Lenny”? Did you hear your hometown is putting together several events, including a gala evening, to honour your 75th year on this earth? And launching a book in which 75 top-notch poets (including Margaret Atwood) tell us poetically how you’ve affected them? While celebrating your three-quarter-century mark is exciting, the events also serve as fundraisers for a Poet-In-Residence position at your old alma mater. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could be there?

Pulled together by J.J. Locke, president of the Foundation for Public Poetry, the various tributes to Leonard Cohen start with a book launch/reading tomorrow evening at Westmount High and culminate in a gala evening at the Atwater Library Auditorium on – you guessed it – your birthday. September 21st. Designed to highlight a native son’s contributions as a poet, balladeer and songwriter, the gala evening will feature a series of fundraising events including launch and sales of the book, a silent auction and poetry recitals, all in the effort to create a Leonard Cohen Poet-In-Residence position at Westmount High.

“The Foundation For Public Poetry is honouring Leonard Cohen’s work on his 75th birthday because he is deserving of a little recognition for his 50-year contribution to poetry,” says Locke. “Moreover, the poets who have composed works based upon Cohen’s inspiration are also deserving of recognition. Cohen’s birthday is a wonderful opportunity to promote poetry and poets.”

The book, Leonard Cohen – You’re Our Man, features poetic responses to your poetry and songs. The Foundation received more than 200 submissions which it then whittled down to 75. And yes, Peg Atwood has submitted a poem called “Setting Leonard To Music”. A first printing of 800 copies has been ordered. Of course, your copy would be free but others can order the book at www.publicpoetry.wordpress.com. Or they can come down for the readings tomorrow and Sept. 21.

Not only did Atwood submit a poem for your anthology, she also signed the original and it will be part of the gala evening’s silent auction. Yes, Lenny, you will be there in spirit, thanks to your contribution to the silent auction which, I’m sure, everyone will be anxious to bid on. Still, the sight of you standing beside your limited edition print “Back in Montreal” would send bids skyrocketing.

And let’s not forget the poetry recitals, brought together through the hard work of Jan Jorgensen (she of the lawn chair soiree poetry readings), and featuring readers selected through previously-held auditions to determine who had the necessary chops. You should’ve been there, Lenny, on that sultry Saturday night in late August. From your former high school classmates to the newest acolytes looking for their master, the audition evening (at a cute little bistro on Park Avenue) ran the gamut: fun tributes, fawning invocations, rap renditions, and musical panegyrics.

Yes, you should’ve been there. But, not to despair. You can still catch the act when you surprise us all with your appearance at the gala evening. Relax. Have a glass of wine or two. Nibble on some cheese. Mingle with your adoring fans. And listen to how fellow poets have been inspired, uplifted by words and music from our very own Troubadour to a Troubled World. Lenny, may we hope to see you there?

The first Leonard Cohen: You’re Our Man book launch kicks off tomorrow evening, 7:30 pm, at Westmount High School Auditorium, while the gala evening takes place Sept. 21, 7 pm, at the Atwater Library Auditorium (1200 Atwater Ave.) Similar events are scheduled for Toronto, Calgary and Edmonton. For ticket information and other details, visit The Foundation for Public Poetry site.

Ex-McGill Professor Norman Cornett is not a person to stand still. The man behind the Creative Boost concept, which encompasses a whole range of exhibitions, artists’ residencies, and arts and language courses, has put in motion his most ambitious project yet: the “Streams of Consciousness” literature, music and visual arts series designed to help stimulate creativity.

With the likes of writers Rawi Hage, Erín Moure, George Elliott Clarke, and Pierre Nepveu, and musicians Hans Tutschku and Charles Ellison onboard, creativity seems set to get a significant boost.

In keeping with the stream of consciousness idea in literature, featuring open dialogue and unbridled explorations of the creative process, the new series promises workshops, field trips and one-on-one sitdowns with guest artists. If the series mission is to be believed, participants will not only benefit from the knowledge and experience from well-known, contemporary writers, visual artists and musicians but will also have the opportunity to talk about their own creative concerns and development.

Scheduled to run twice a week from September 8 to December 12th, Streams of Consciousness will feature guest artists at scheduled intervals throughout the series. For example, International Impac Dublin Literary Award Winner Rawi Hage will offer his insights during the class of Sept. 22nd while Governor-General winning poet George Elliott Clarke makes his appearance on Nov. 7th and jazz musician Charles Ellison the following week.

Streams of Consciousness, coming on the heels of the Body & Soul music and visual arts program that ran from June 30th to July 12th, builds on a series of other initiatives started by Dr. Cornett at Creative Boost. The art school, for instance, provides courses in everything from photography and painting to ceramics and video, while intensive language training programs reach levels of 100 hours in a four-week period. The school even has a series of corporate workshops designed to bring out the imaginative and creative qualities in employees by bringing them in contact with artists.

However, Dr. Cornett’s methods of teaching are not without controversy. In fact, his unorthodox approach led in 2007 to a well-publicized dismissal as a religious studies professor at McGill, much to the dismay of students and members of the arts community. This has become the subject of a National Film Board documentary by Alanis Obomsawin, which premiered at the recent Hot Docs Festival in Toronto. But, despite being devastated after his dismissal following 15 years at McGill, Dr. Cornett decided to keep on teaching. His way.

“Nothing is cut and dried,” he said at the time, continuing to defend his teaching methods. “We don’t learn from exams. We learn from life.”

In fact, what Dr. Cornett has done is simply take the teaching methods he was using at McGill and adapt them for the Creative Boost project in general and the Streams of Consciousness series in particular. This includes the use of journals to record reactions to art, literature and music; trips to museums, art galleries and other cultural hotbeds; one-on-one sessions; and the bringing in a special guests such as filmmakers, musicians, writers and even politicians. And he can do it now without worrying about exams and term papers.

It is all very impressive, including the physical space occupied by the Creative Boost studios: an open loft; artists’ workspaces; an art gallery available for students to exhibit their works; and state-of-the-art equipment. Naturally, there is a cost for all this but, at $195 plus tax for the Streams of Consciousness series, it is not prohibitive.

For further information on Creative Boost and the Streams of Consciousness series, including application forms and specific dates, visit www.creativeboost.ca.

The Settimana Italiana has been a tradition in Montreal for the last 16 years with activities ranging from folklore groups, orchestras, operas, sports events, comedians, automotive exhibits, photography and art exhibitions, a circus, and guided tours of Little Italy. For the second year running, the Settimana will also feature prose and poetry readings in three languages – and even a Saturday afternoon in the park reserved for Italian dialects: from Neapolitan and Roman to Calabrese and Molisano.

Sponsored by the National Congress of Italian-Canadians, in collaboration with the Association of Italian-Canadian Writers and the local committee for the Montreal Literary Salon, this year’s edition of literary encounters at the Settimana takes place August 14th through 16th in Montreal’s Little Italy area (St-Laurent between St-Zotique and Jean-Talon). Aside from the trilingual and dialect readings, the events include a round table discussion, book and CD sales, and a drop-in area beneath Il Tendone (The Big Tent at the corner of St-Laurent and Mozart) for those interested in literary conversation.

The Big Tent will be open daily from 2 pm to 11 pm, from this afternoon through Sunday evening, with readings planned throughout the weekend – tonight and Saturday evening at 7 pm, and Sunday afternoon at 3 pm. Among the scheduled readers: beat poet and Bongo Beat Records owner Ralph Alfonso; poet and producer/host of The Yellow Door and Visual Arts Centre readings Ilona Martonfi; poet Emilio Francescucci; writer and Guernica publisher Antonio D’Alfonso; poet Albino Matano; writer/facilitator Maria R. Spina; Émile-Nelligan Award winner Carole David; poet, translator and essayist Francis Catalano; and writer and psychotherapist Isabella Colallilo-Katz.

Tomorrow afternoon at 3 pm, there will be a Reading in the Piazzetta (Little Italy Park, corner of St-Laurent and St-Zotique) featuring several of Italy’s better-known dialects. Among the readers: award-winning actor/writer Corrado Mastropasqua (Neapolitan); actress/radio TV star Lidia Russo (Roman); award-winning novelist Connie Guzzo McParland (Calabrese); and Ralph Alfonso (Molisano). The readers will attempt to put their dialectic words into context and provide explanations for those who would otherwise have problems following. Judging from the number of performers in the group, this promises to be an entertaining afternoon, weather permitting.

Visitors are invited to drop by the Big Tent throughout the day over the weekend. They can discuss their favourite authors, write a poem, recite a poem, enter a thought in the big black book, meet other lovers of language, writing and reading – and, if the urge takes them, buy a book or CD or two. Many of the books, from some of the best-known presses in Montreal, will be offered at a discount and, if one is lucky, might elicit the author’s signature.

Organizers for the events have stated that their intent is to help break down the barriers between the various cultures that co-inhabit in Montreal, to demonstrate how far Italian-Canadian writers have come over the last half-century, and to give something back to the community for their support and encouragement. The organizers also hope that, in future Settimana events, the literary component will grow to the point where authors will be clamouring for the opportunity to read.

For more information on other events taking place across the city during Settimana Italiana (2009), go to www.semaineitaliennedemontreal.com/

Partly in an effort to escape the genre “ghetto” and partly to reach out beyond the formula of the space opera, science fiction has reinvented itself to encompass more and more types of speculative writing — to the point where even “speculative fiction” is no longer able to act as a definitive umbrella. In Tesseracts Twelve, the latest in a venerable line of Canadian SF and fantasy anthologies, Montreal-based editor Claude Lalumière takes it one step further by calling the collection “fantastic fiction.”

In fact, in keeping with this expansion of the genre definition, of the seven novellas in the book, only one has anything in it that might be said to resemble science fiction, Heinlein “hard” or Lem “soft.” This is David Nickle’s “Wylde’s Kingdom”, a free-flowing dystopian tale that sports some imaginative technological wonders amid an end-of-the-world reality TV setting.

The rest of the stories definitely fantasize more than they speculate. This is especially true of Michael Skeet and Jill Snider Lum’s “Beneath The Skin,” about trickster spirit demons who try to fool a Japanese samurai lord into rebelling against the leadership of his brother. Or Randy McCharles’ transporting of Druid mythologies to the prairies in “Ringing the Changes in Okotoks, Alberta” as an allegory for small town politics, complete with childish meanness and pure love bursting forth. In “The Story of the Woman and Her Dog,” E.L. Chen evokes a strangely enchanted Toronto with elements of meta-fiction and a tale-within-the-tale structure. Here, there is a touch of Lem but also of Márquez as Natasha tries to hang onto her husband, first by turning him into a dog and then by telling him never-ending stories, a là Thousand and One Nights, including one “about a stubborn woman and her enchanted dog.”

Set in an unabashedly undisguised Montreal, Grace Seybold’s “Intersections” is an elemental tale that combines love and death — literally. The two heroines, Nadia and Wren, are cursed/blessed with the unwanted and uncontrollable ability to “tweak … the threads of fate.” They bring together total strangers and give them a psychic push towards love, but there is a price to pay. At the core of the story is the love between Nadia and Wren, with its own inevitable twisting of fate. A powerful and powerfully-written story.

Weakest of the novellas are Derryl Murphy’s “Ancients of the Earth” and Gord Sellar’s “Wonjjang and the Madman of Pyongyang.” The former starts with a fine concept: cave people make an appearance in late 19th-century Dawson City and stalk our hero Samuel. But it loses focus and flutters to an ending that uses the present tense in a story set in the past. As for Sellar, much of the story, a spoof of superheroes set in Korea, seems a little arbitrary and superficial, even if it is supposed to be an allegory for the region’s political intrigues. I just didn’t care about the characters all that much.

But five out of seven ain’t bad. Overall, Lalumière does a good job of presenting a set of stories that represent various aspects of what has come to be called “fantastic fiction.” Perhaps not to the taste of those who prefer a clearer strain of SF, but definitely a way to break open the ghetto.

Calling himself a Montreal-Toronto corridor writer, Michael Mirolla’ has published a novel Berlin, boasting more than a few elements of the fantastic.

Noah Richler opens his Rover account with an appropriate comparison between his adopted city of Toronto and Montreal, the city where he grew up. Noah’s column will make a regular appearance on Rover and we’re proud to call him one of our own. No matter where he happens to reside. So check out his first column front and centre.