Reproduction wins the 2019 Scotiabank Giller Prize!
that I need to update this site.
But I would prefer if we could catch up while uncoiling a Cinnabun into our mouths.
Sure, I can hope. I can hope as much as I want.
But who’s to determine whether my hope gets satisfied over someone else’s.
Do I dare hope?
Read in The Walrus
Read on CBC
Read in Toronto Star
As I’ve mentioned before, my agent occasionally sends me Google alerts of what I and other Ian Williamses are up to.
|Ian Williams Daily update ⋅ March 15, 2019|
|Ian Williams thrives on stylistic daring in debut novel Reproduction Straight.com Reproduction, the debut novel by acclaimed poet Ian Williams, looks at how love, ambition, and sorrow recur in the families we both inherit and …Flag as irrelevant|
|Man arrested for allegedly hitting a child with a leather belt WKRG News 5 The boy told her he was punished by 30-year-old Ian Williams for his actions at school. The arrest report states the alleged abuse happened on …Flag as irrelevant|
I should add that David blurbed my book.
Does the influx of money mean his opinion is literally worth more now?
David Chariandy won the Windham-Campbell prize for Brother.
He’s won, or been close to winning, a lot of prizes. Definitely, the book has made him over a quarter million dollars in prize money alone. For part of an afternoon, a few of my writer friends and I fantasized about what we’d do with the money.
I had just come back from playing tennis so I was thinking I might spend more of my time doing that. In the short term, I might get a new racket (I dislike that spelling but, alas, I’m giving in). That would leave $218 600 to spend on tennis balls.
A colleague at the Peter Wall Institute, younger than me, said she sometimes takes a day off and pretends that she’s retired. She informed me that one needs 1.3 million dollars to retire comfortably off the interest.
Anyway, Twitter showered David with love, although he’s not on it.
Here are some highlights from Feel Free, via my Twitter self.
Have you seen this yet? I strut in slow motion down Queen West in Toronto. I look pretty tough. I appear to be thinking, I run these streets out here, y’all.
Then I write some poetry into a yellow notebook.
My favourite sentence is the last one, starting at 1:16, where I lean in and get all serious. That’s about as intense as I get, believe it or not.
(Thanks for the photos, Aaron.)