On Saturday I
was in the middle of song practice when Nick Cushing called. He’d come into
town from Hamilton the night before and meeting me had been one of the many
birds he wanted to kill with the stone of his visit. He had invited me to go
out for breakfast but I hadn’t expected him to call that early. He explained
that he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep so he wanted to head home earlier
than planned. I can’t remember the last time I went out for breakfast that
early. We got in his car and drove over to Pete’s at Sorauren and Queen. I
noticed the sign says “Parkdales Pete’s Restaurant”, so either there’s more
than one Parkdale or they could only afford one apostrophe.
This was actually the first time
that Nick and I have sat down just the two of us at a table. I had three poached eggs with bacon,
homefries and brown toast. The food was okay and the conversation was pleasant
but the coffee tasted like the condensation from a rusty air conditioner.
The main reason for out meeting was
to discuss some voice over work and ad-libbing Nick wanted me to do for an
animation project that Nick is working on, and to give me a microphone so I
could make audio files of my voice.
I got home at around 9:30 and made
myself a real coffee right away to get the taste of the Pete’s dishrag
squeezings out of my mouth.
I spent most of the rest of the day
reading M. T. Anderson’s “The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing: Volume 1”.
At almost 18:00 when I only had ten pages left, I decided I needed to take my
bike ride. The sky was filled with the ribs, spines and other skeletal parts o
the ghosts of whales. I rode through wood smoke and past a dead raccoon as well
as over a squashed squirrel and I think a flattened pigeon. By the time I got
to Yonge and St Clair it was almost dark, so it didn’t make sense to explore
any unknown streets that I couldn’t see, so I just headed down to Queen by way
of Yonge and hen went home.
I finished the Octavian Nothing book
upon my return. It’s an interesting and at many points, masterfully written
story. Around 1760, a beautiful and pregnant African princess was captured and
brought to New England where she was bought by an eccentric scientist. She and
her son are in many ways treated like royalty, but they, especially the boy,
are actually specimens being studied in an elaborate experiment to discern
whether an African child has the same capacity for education, as would a child
of European descent. Even the fine food he eats is weighed before he dines, as
well as the waste he expels afterwards. The house in which he is raised is full
of crazy scientists, one of whom is not sure if anything exists when he is not
looking and so sometimes he will suddenly rush to his room and charge in to see
if he can catch the matter of his chamber in a state of not being there.
All of these goings on in the house
are surrounded by the growing unrest leading up to the American Revolution.
This society of strange scientists is financially supported from across the
ocean by a lordly benefactor, who suddenly dies. His heir is a nephew who comes
to visit in order to see if he should be investing his money in these
experiments. He takes a liking to Octavian’s beautiful mother and she to him.
He offers to take her and her son back to England where he would pay for
Octavian’s education and set Cassiopeia up in an apartment to be his mistress.
When she demands nothing short of marriage he tries to sexually assault her and
she struggles with him. Octavian, who has been listening at the door, comes to
his mother’s defence. It is at this point that they learn that they are not
considered equals to the white occupants of the house. They are both severely
whipped and then thrown naked into the icehouse.
The society then comes under the
control of another benefactor and though still considered specimens, Octavian
and his mother begin to perform the functions of slaves.
There is a smallpox epidemic in the
colony and so the society organizes a pox party and to inject the guests with
the disease in order to develop an immunity. Octavian’s mother however dies and
so he escapes.
He finds freedom as a member of a
revolutionary militia until he is recaptured. He ultimately escapes again and
his further adventures are in a second volume that we aren’t required to read.
Though, as I said, it is in parts
very well written, I’m reminded of Alice Munro’s observation that she’s never
read a novel that couldn’t have been better as a short story. I don’t agree
with her about all novels but I think her assessment is right on the money in
the case of this book. It could have stood to lose at least a hundred pages.
I watched the Buster Keaton short
silent film, “The Goat”. “Goat”, in this case means, “scapegoat”. It begins
with Keaton stepping to the back of a breadline, not realizing that the two
people he is standing behind are actually mannequins in front of a men’s
clothing store. By the time he realizes his mistake there is no bread left. He
then looks through a window where a murderer named “Deadshot Dan” is getting
his mug shot taken. Dan tricks the photographer into taking Buster’s picture
and then escapes. Wanted posters are put up all over town with Keaton’s picture
on them and so most of the movie is a series of comical chases.
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