Tag: Regina

My copies of Walking the Bypass: Notes on Place From the Side of the Road have arrived!

I posted on social media last week about this milestone in my writing career, but one photograph and a couple of lines of text didn’t manage to convey my excitement about getting my copies of my forthcoming book, Walking the Bypass: Notes On Place From the Side of the Road.

When I got home from work last Wednesday, I immediately saw the box on the kitchen table. The contents were obvious even without looking at my publisher’s return address on the shipping label: copies of my book. Ten of them, to be specific–tangible evidence of years of writing and editing. And, of course, walking.

It took an hour or so before I summoned the courage to open the box. This is my first book. I never expected to write, never mind publish, one. Ten years ago, I played a dull-witted university dean in Brian Stockton’s feature-length comedy, The Sabbatical. My character, Dean Vernon, tells the film’s protagonist, James Pittman, a burned-out photography professor who’s afraid he’ll perish if he doesn’t publish, that publishing a book is a big deal, because it means someone thinks so highly of your work that they’re willing to kill trees for it. And here, in this box, is evidence that someone was willing to do that for mine. Walking the Bypass, as my character tells James, has weight and heft. It’s unique and ambitious, too. I hope it finds an audience and has a long life. I’ll do everything I can to help, but as my writer friend Kim Fahner tells me, it’ll find its own way. I trust her, because she knows about writing and publishing: she’s published several books of poetry and a novel, and she’s working on a creative-nonfiction manuscript. Her new book of poems, The Pollination Field, arrived two weeks ago, and now that the summer course I’ve been teaching is finished, I’m looking forward to reading it.

The striking cover design is by Duncan Campbell, one of the last ones he did before he retired from University of Regina Press. I took the photograph: it’s what you see if you’re walking north on the Regina Bypass as it approaches the Highway 1/Ring Road interchange. What the photograph doesn’t convey is the sound of pigeons roosting beneath the overpasses and the loud, hollow banging of trucks hitting the expansion joints of the highway above. For those kinds of details, you’ll need to read the book.

Alex McPhee drew the map that graces the first pages of Walking the Bypass. When my copy of his full-colour map of Saskatchewan arrived, I knew that if I ever needed a map for a publication, I would ask him. His work is beautiful. If you’re not from Regina, and you need a visual guide to where I’m taking you, Alex’s map will help. There are photographs inside the book as well. One of my goals in writing this book was to give its readers a vivid sense of what it’s like to circumnavigate Regina by walking on the shoulder of the new highway that goes around it. I sometimes joke that I walked the Bypass so that you don’t have to–although after you read Walking the Bypass, you might be inspired to follow my example. Like other journeys I’ve made on foot, the one I write about in this book was transformative. It changed the way I think about this place.

Two writers I admire immensely wrote blurbs for the cover. Candace Savage calls Walking the Bypass “original, unsettling, and provocative,” and Louise B. Halfe-Skydancer says that the book “reminds settlers of the need to remember intergenerational responsibility, atonement, and decolonization–words that might describe a path forward.” To have writers of their calibre say such things about something I’ve written–well, it’s overwhelming.

Walking the Bypass: Notes On Place From the Side of the Road will be officially released on October 14. There will be launches in Regina and possibly elsewhere, and I’m looking forward to reading from it in Ontario later this fall. In the meantime, you can preorder it from University of Regina Press, from online retailers, or from your favourite independent bookseller.

3. Annabel Townsend, Books and the City: Psychogeographical Wanderings Around Toronto’s Independent Bookstores

Before Christmas, Annabel Townsend asked me to act as a beta reader for her new book, Books and the City: Psychogeographical Wanderings Around Toronto’s Independent Bookstores. I know Annabel as the proprietor of the late, lamented Penny University Bookstore on 13th Avenue here in Regina, as well as Tuppenny Coffee and Books on Hamilton Street in the Warehouse District, which Google tells me continues on under new ownership. From her social media posts, I also know she’s an avid walker and cyclist. Her use of the word “psychogeographical” in the subtitle hooked me immediately, and of course I said yes. The next day, an advance review copy was in our mailbox. It took a while for the aftereffects of the fall semester to die down before I was able to turn to Books and the City, but I’m so happy I did.

There aren’t many books about walking in Canada that think about psychogeography, or at least that use the term in their titles. The exception is Shawn Micallef’s Stroll: Psychogeographic Walking Tours of Toronto. I have copies of both editions of that book, of course, although I have yet to read them. Maybe this year I’ll crack the new one, which just came out last year. Books and the City recalls a search, on foot and bicycle, for a copy of the first edition of Micallef’s book during several trips to Toronto, mostly to meet with publishers and other booksellers, in 2024. I admire the oddness of Townsend’s quest; I acquired my own copy of the first edition online, through Abebooks. I wish I’d had Townsend’s gumption. I rarely visit Toronto these days, though, and when I do I never have time for an extended exploration of that city. Maybe I’ll make a point of spending some quality pedestrian time there soon.

I lived in Toronto in the 1990s, and part of the pleasure of reading Books and the City for me was the palimpsest it laid over my memories of that place. Some of the bookstores Townsend visited existed back then: Book City, although Townsend only visits one location, which might be all that’s left; Caversham Booksellers on Harbord; A Different Booklist on Bathurst. At least, I think I recall A Different Booklist from 30 years ago. A quick look at Google Maps tells me it’s in a new building now, and it might not be the bookstore I remember at all. It’s part of a cultural centre, so it may in fact be an entirely different concern. On a brief trip to Toronto before the pandemic, though, I did buy something (I can’t remember what) at Ben McNally Books on Bay Street, and it was a beautiful space. It’s sad, but not surprising, that business has had to relocate twice in the past five years, given Toronto’s real-estate market. What is surprising, as Townsend notes, is that Ben McNally Books continues to exist at all.

Many of Townsend’s Toronto explorations took place during the winter, and the way climate change has affected that city is another shock. Instead of snow, Townsend cycled through pouring rain. That was not common three decades ago. Now, apparently, it’s Toronto’s default mode of winter precipitation. Toronto’s future, she tells us, is wet; climate modeling suggests its annual precipitation will double in the next 30 years. Despite the discomfort of getting soaked, and the long distances she walked and cycled, though, Townsend remains mostly upbeat—even though she struggles to find the copy of Stroll she’s looking for. (Spoiler alert: she does buy one, eventually, but the story of how she does is worth getting a copy of Books and the City and reading it for yourselves.)

Well, she does find a copy of Micallef’s book, relatively early in her travels, at A Different Booklist, but she doesn’t buy it; instead, she purchases a book entitled Welcome to Blackhurst—An Iconic Toronto Neighbourhood, published by A Different Publisher, part of the cultural centre that also operates A Different Bookstore. That decision isn’t surprising; Books and the City is published by Townsend’s own micropublisher, Pete’s Press. Of course she would support a publisher that’s connected to a bookstore. Before Penny University ceased operations, a delayed victim of the Covid-19 pandemic that had been kept going by a Canadian Emergency Business Account loan that proved impossible to pay back except by taking on a line of credit that was also impossible to repay, Townsend started Pete’s Press. I’m happy that small publisher carries on despite the demise of its retail parent. 

Books and the City tells two stories: Penny University’s financial troubles and Townsend’s search for a copy of Stroll. As it does, she muses on the difficulties involved in running a bookstore these days, which are daunting. That massive online retailer—you know the one; I don’t want to type its name here, in case it brings me bad luck—has crushed so many independent bookstores. Her pilgrimage to Toronto’s bookstores gives us an opportunity to consider how miraculous it is that any independent bookstores exist at all. And, as Townsend acknowledges, Penny University didn’t have a chance; she opened it just days before the Covid-19 pandemic shut everything down. It wasn’t the only victim of the pandemic, and it might not be the last.

As I read Townsend’s book, I had just one quibble: psychogeography tends to be about walking that has no goal, and looking for a copy of Stroll isn’t quite an activity informed by chance—not a dérive or a drift, in other words. But she acknowledges that’s the case towards the end of the book: “My walk was not entirely aimless as I was following my list of bookstores, but it was at least spontaneous,” she writes, disarming my minor criticism. Moreover, Books and the City reflects not only on Toronto’s flux, its constant change, but also what it’s like to be a woman walking in a city. “I often equate the female experience of existing in public spaces to cycling on main roads,” she writes. “Like cyclists, we have every right to be there, but like cyclists we must be constantly vigilant and acutely aware of our surroundings at all times.” It’s a thoughtful analogy. While not everyone is “actively hostile” towards cyclists, or women, some are. And women end up being either too visible, attracting unwanted attention, or else invisible, not considered by urban planners. That’s true. But it’s also true, particularly in Regina, that pedestrians of any gender are at best an afterthought when it comes to the design of our city. That’s something that needs to change if we’re going to find a way to get out of our climate-destroying automobiles and navigate our surroundings in a different manner.

Buy this book when it appears. Townsend guides us through her psychogeographical pilgrimage in a thoughtful, engaging way.