A very, very rare thing happened to me this Saturday morning as I sifted through the big fat newspaper that arrives in my mailbox on weekends. I read a review of a book I was nearly finished reading.
The import of such a discovery is huge because my usual way of acquiring a novel goes something like: read a review, fall in love with the book, write down the name of the book, stuff it into my wallet or daytimer (remember paper? Yes, I'm the one who still uses it), promptly forget about it, or shuffle it about until the pencil has worn off and it's nearly unintelligible, (remember pencils? Yes, I'm the one who still uses them) then finally put the title and author's name on my 'book list' at Christmas, and wonder what the heck my gift-giver was thinking when they wrapped up this particular tome.
This Saturday, though, the Globe had a bang-on review of the book I was nearly finished: The Imperfectionists, a fine first novel by Vancouver-based journalist Tom Rachman. I picked it up on a whim after hearing an interview with the author and deciding I simply could not finish the day without owning it. The novel is composed of a series of character sketches inserted between short histories of a European-based English-language daily newspaper. The characters are generally very flawed, if that's a polite way to put it, and yet compelling and knowable.
As a lover of newspapers and of journalists and of the dying art of the finely written word, I highly recommend it, especially for fellow journalists who, like me, are very flawed.
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