It’s the last night of our stay in Toronto and we’ve elected to stay in the Gladstone Hotel, a former-flophouse, now-boutique hotel in the hipstery, artsy West Queen West district whose rooms are individually designed by artists. Ours is pink and baby blue. It has a pewter ceiling and a giant purple mirror, stencilled ferns […]Read More Lighting the neon
So this year’s Clarke award short list has caused a bit of a stooshie. It always does, it’s that kind of an award although, in the past, it used be complaints about books from non-genre publishers sneaking into the ghetto party; now it seems to be the other way around. I’ve no intention of going near […]Read More They shoot talking horses, don’t they?