To prove my wolfishness, I shucked my skate shoes and went barefoot on the pine needles

It might be time to find a new cemetery

How do you have a good time in Warsaw? Sing Neil Diamond songs in a karaoke bar.

That is how one shows true love

I want to see what it means, on a deep level, to stay put

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It was a gruesome war, Santa added in Papyrus font, but the forces of Good eventually emerged victorious

Time to call a professional

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The large supply of nine-volt batteries suddenly made sense

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I traffic deep time in a great storm, guilty of ignorance and omission

The log jam is tall and wide and choosing wrong means we don’t make it home

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The fish is a suspended phantom, its magenta skeleton an exquisite, vibrant exhibit of what lies beneath

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A wildland fighter witnesses an old burn's second act

Memories sneak up, tiptoe quiet as a cat. Boom like a slapshot

The unmistakable buzz of an approaching aircraft is enough to send my family onto the lawn

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This invertebrate does not go looking for prey

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For the sake of the large romantic gesture

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Hit everything dead on, even if it’s big

The names we learn in childhood smell the sweetest to us

Maybe my doctor has two patients named Ian Roy, and I’ve been sent the other Ian’s file

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No Skylab buzz in East Germany.

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Nature’s sanctity is the only portal to the future.

A writer roams her sleepscape in search of the extraordinary subconscious

In search of a big picture at the end of the singular world

PRESS 1 IF YOU THINK YOU MAY HAVE HEARD THE BIG BANG.

Randy Fred thought that life after residential school would be drinking, watching TV and dying. Instead, he became the "greatest blind Indian publisher in the world."

It is racism, not race, that is a risk factor for dying of COVID-19.

World War I, Canada’s “war of independence,” marked a turning point for a young colony wanting to prove itself as a self-reliant nation, but at what cost.

After Paul Muldoon and Raymond Williams.

On the curve of the contagion and on the measure of Montreality.

Spiritual landscapes and unknowable people captured on film, used to convey a message.

It was as though a magic potion had brought him back to life.

The chain-link fence along boulevard de l’Acadie— two metres high, with “appropriate hedge”—separates one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in Montreal from one of the poorest.

A seance to contact a dead miner at Port Arthur, Ontario, in 1923—conducted by Conan Doyle himself.

Tom Thomson, godfather of the Group of Seven, drowned in an Ontario lake under mysterious circumstances, and ever since, his reputation has been the stuff of legend.

I am the only woman in the water. The rest of the swimmers are men or boys. One of them bobs his head near me, a surprising vision in green goggles, like an undocumented sea creature. I imagine us having sex, briefly, him rocking over me like a wave.

Stephen Smith investigates the hockey lives of Barthes, Faulkner, Hemingway, which were marked by dismissal, befuddlement and scorn.

I am sorry I caused you pain. But I thought it was okay.

When Geist first approached me with the idea of speaking here, I made it known that of all the things I ever wanted to be when I grew up, being an after-dinner speaker was very low on the list.

New bylaws for civic spaces.

On a rainy night in October 1970, I crossed paths with Canada's most elusive poet.

On the merry-go-round, you just shouted out a des­ti­na­tion and all the kids pushed until every­one agreed we’d arrived.

I always longed to be the falling woman—impelled by unruly passion, driven by beauty and desire, turned into stone, drowned in flowers.

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Compared to today's vile heros, Ned Kelly-the Australian outlaw who wrote the angry, articulate Jerilderie letter in 1879-seems as innocent as an ogre-slaughtering hero of fairy tales.

For four decades, Jay Powell and Vickie Jensen helped to revive forgotten languages for many Aboriginal groups along the coast of the Pacific Northwest. Read their story here.

The mother of the groom measures the distance between two weddings: twenty-six years, six thousand miles, and a donkey covered with flowers. It’s outtasight.

Somewhere in the sweat and ache and muscle I carved a new shape for myself that made more sense.

"If you are still alive, you must have had the experience of surrendering."

He has been called the greatest Bulgarian poet of his generation. Can one literary scandal bury his whole career?

Review of "Desolation Peak: Collected Writings" by Jack Kerouac

On "Snyder: Collected Poems" by Gary Snyder and "He, Leo" by Ewan Clark

Michael Hayward on "The Baudelaire Fractal" by Lisa Robertson.

Review of "Traveling: On the Path of Joni Mitchell" by Ann Powers

Review of "The Mayfair Bookshop" by Eliza Knight

Review of "Fleece and Fibre: Textile Producers of Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands" by Francine McCabe

Review of "The Land of Milk and Honey" by C. Pam Zhang

Review of "More Richly in Earth: A Poet’s Search for Mary MacLeod" by Marilyn Bowering

Review of "Rebel Girl: My Life as a Feminist Punk" by Kathleen Hanna

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Review of "No Jews Live Here" by John Lorinc

Michael Hayward on anticipating the arrival of Fitzcarraldo Editions

Randy Fred on the Indigenous Speakers Series at Vancouver Island University

Review of "How It Works Out" by Myriam Lacroix

Review of "The Cave" by José Saramago

Review of "Paris: A Poem" by Hope Mirrlees

A fast-paced seafaring adventure from my father’s bookshelf, in which a wealthy Londoner on a religious mission to Tasmania falls in with a crew of Manxmen smuggling tobacco, liquor and French porn.

Michael Hayward on three books that may make you a better writer.

Review of "Memories Look at Me" by Tomas Tranströmer

October 21, 2005, marked the 200th anniversary of the great naval battle of Trafalgar, an engagement in which Admiral Nelson and the British fleet ended Napoleon’s dream of invading England by crushing the French and Spanish fleets off the southwest

Michael Hayward reviews Anik See’s Saudade, a collection of essays to plunge you deep into the meanings of travel and place.

Michael Hayward reviews the sweater that Sarah Lund wears in every episode of Season 1 of The Killing, a serial crime drama.

Geoffrey Household’s 1939 novel Rogue Male—an old favourite of mine—follows a British sportsman as he returns from an unnamed central European country (read Germany), having failed in his attempt to assassinate the dictator who is that country’s head

The first time I saw Robinson Crusoe on Mars (Byron Haskin, Criterion DVD) was in the Cedar V Theatre, a Quonset-style, single-screen movie house on Lynn Valley Road in North Vancouver: 25 cents for a science-fiction double bill in 1965.

Road Novels, 1957—1960 is an omnibus volume dressed in the standard Library of America livery: a burgundy cloth binding; a black dust jacket discreetly trimmed in red, white and blue; a bound-in ribbon marker.

Revolutions need popular heroes, and unpopularvillains, and the Acadians of New Brunswick had both.

Stephen Henighan argues that audiences used to have different opinions on the news; now they cannot even agree on the terms of debate.

Begging the question of what can be defined as “form.”

To teach us how to read Don Quixote, a text so contrary to conventional literary tradition, the prologue itself needed to break from all traditions

"Cross-country skiing offered me the reassurance sought by the immigrant who is excluded from his locality’s history: a viable alternate route to belonging."

When you find yourself laid up in a sterile hospital room, which books do you want to have with you?

Despite hardships and dangerous slums, Nicaragua maintains a sense of hope that draws back to the democratic days of the Sandinistas.

In Hungary, goulash socialism becomes difficult to swallow

It all started with a zesty little book about getting old.

Kafka’s writing allows us intuitions and half-dreams but never total comprehension.

The woman who called herself Tatiana Aarons gave me an address that led to a vacant lot.

Romantic notions that equate Indigenous peoples with nature are not going to cut it.

Libraries are not only essential in educating the soul, but in forming the identity of a society.

Dogged dedication grants a reader vicarious immortality.

Our society is formed on the assumption of a healthy immune system.

Without air travel, family networks might have dissolved long ago.

Daniel Francis on John Franklin, John Rae and the Globe and Mail's enthusiasm for cannibalism.

There’s something not quite right about the grid on which the game is played.

The newspaper wars aren’t what they used to be.

Must artists declare their moral integrity?

In the sun-streaked barroom of the Irma Hotel on the main street of Cody, Wyoming, late one afternoon in June, I made a big mistake. “What’s on tap?” I asked.

European Jewish artisans on horseback in Argentina.

The craft of untruth has been perfected.

Dividing and conquering local populations confines them to manageable administrative units.