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From Eden Robinson's The Sasquatch at Home (University of Alberta Press, 2011).
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I've had a thing for Eden Robinson's writing ever since I read her Monkey Beach back in 2002 or 3. It was dark Aboriginal fantasy, and like nothing I'd ever read. Similar to Neil Gaiman, that I was also reading at the time, but Canadian and somehow completely fresh (and bleak and sad) compared to Gaiman's retelling of European myths.
In late 2005, I managed to snag her third book, Blood Sports, from the Winnipeg Free Press' pile of review copies. It was dark, again, but completely different from Monkey Beach...
I've been waiting for another Robinson novel for a few years now, but when I saw that U of A Press had published her Henry Kreisel Lecture, The Sasquatch at Home: Traditional Protocols and Modern Storytelling, I had to have it.
At 50 pages, it's a slim volume. But it has french flaps. And the most awesome cover image ever. The Sasquatch at Home indeed!
So while I usually spore poems, and poems by people I know, I made an exception for this text. Because it's knocking around my head. And because I saw three magnificent boulevard mushrooms one day when I was walking to pick up the girl from daycare.
(I also spored for a few other texts, which I'll post in the coming weeks...)