Philip Marchand, a cranky guy that I've always liked, got through a whole article in the Toronto Star today on the oft-explored question of what a great Toronto novel might look like without mentioning, to my mind, one of the highlights of the season.
Said Marchand,
"Our city awaits its great novelist. We sense the lack, even in the midst of Giller Prize hoopla."
I wonder if there would be more Giller hoopla if Michael Redhill's Consolation would have made the list. This deftly plotted novel of Toronto past and present is a beauty.
Alas, not even on the longlist.
Sigh.
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