This Summer is a Page Turner

As luck would have it, I've been supplanting my work-filled days with some captivating reading. A few new titles I'd recommend.

Let the Great World Spin
This magical novel from Irish-born Colum McCann, uses the real-life story of French funambulist Phille Petit's tightrope walk between the twin towers as a touchstone between ten intertwined stories. McCann is a poet, with a deft touch and the Irish's gift for story-telling. You will not be disappointed. The last time I can remember anyone doing multiple perspectives this well was Barbara Kingsolver in The Poisonwood Bible. A real page turner.

The Imperfectionists
Oh glorious, glorious first novel. Tom Rachman's The Imperfectionists is a juicy, beautiful novel that reads like a series of James Joyce short stories, detailing the goings-on at an English language daily in Rome. It is funny and heartbreaking and sad and thoughtful and all those things that make you wish it would never end. Rachman is really someone to watch out for. If you loved Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections, you'll love this novel. And speaking of Franzen, his first novel since The Corrections is due out on August 30th, just in time for Labour Day Weekend. Hold all my calls. Franzen is responsible for my not seeing half of Greece because I was engrossed in his brilliant, perfect novel.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
It's almost embarassing to admit that yes, I too read this book. Midway through I thought to myself, "Wow. This is probably all I'll ever know about Sweden." I'll be honest. This isn't my genre, at all, but I'm a little puzzled about why it's captivated the hearts and minds of people everywhere. It's a modestly good story -- a Da Vinci Code kind of thing -- but it's certainly not Moby Dick. Also, it's pretty dark. Anyway, if you're reading it on the subway, you might want to cover it up so you don't look like quite such a lemming.

One Day
Better to forego the above for this little summer reading gem from Brit David Nicolls. This is Bridget Jones meets When Harry Met Sally meets Same Time Next Year. It focuses on the relationship between two friends, Dexter and Emma. They hook up once, on July 15, 1988. Then the story revisits them on July 15th, every year. It's candy, but candy with some nutritional value.

The Baby Whisperer

Despite never having children of my own, people love leaving their children with me.

Maybe it's my trustworthy nature. Maybe it's my childbearing hips. More than likely, it's that the parents are so exhausted and desperate for a night out that they'd leave them with anyone who was available.

This is how I found myself caring for a two month old chubster on Saturday night.

Don't you just love babies whose thighs are so big that you could actually park a Smart Car in them?

Baby Max is the kind of baby that everyone wants -- cute, smiley and cuddlesome.

When he cries -- which is usually when he wants something concrete like a diaper change, another meal, or you to sing every verse you can remember of the Solid Gold theme song -- he's usually pretty easy to console.

But sometimes he just cries without reason. An incessant waa, waa waa that is heartbreaking. That's the thing that drives new Moms the craziest.

Here's something I discovered by accident, but which seems to work for Max and other babies his age.

It's Om. The Buddhist Om.

Chant it like the monks chant it. Nice and slow. Om from your diaphragm. Add "Om mani padme hum" if you're comfortable.

It tends to stop babies in their tracks. I think there must be something primordial about it.

When I chanted Om to Max, he stopped crying, looked at me....and smiled.

I know it sounds a little whacky, so I told his Mom.

And she emailed me this morning, "Oh my God, you really are the baby whisperer. The Om worked."

There you go.

My gift to you.

Jet Lag

You can see why sleep deprivation is a favourite among torturers.

A few day after my return from Vietnam, I find myself continuing to nod off at 6:30 p.m. and wide awake watching Oprah on PVR at 2:30 a.m.

I figure eventually -- like some time in 2011 -- I should return to a regular routine.

Any tips?

Lucky

I spent a good part of yesterday at an orphanage for children with disabilities in the town of Hoi An, in central Vietnam.

Nearly 1 in every 20 children born to Vietnamese parents has a disability. This disproportionately high percentage is attributed to a number of factors -- most of which are hotly contested by lawyers -- generally the only people anywhere to benefit from any kind of misfortune.

The word on the street is Agent Orange.

This delightful little chemical weapon was sprayed all over this gorgeous country by the US military and, not surprisingly, the sprayers themselves have suffered a disporportionately high number of crazy cancers. And their children -- like the children I met yesterday -- are riddled with defects of one kind or another.

Cerebral palsy is endemic. So is downs syndrome. Children are born with atrophied limbs. There was a tiny baby born without eyes.

Yesterday the orphanage held a birthday party for all the children born in May.

Despite a million reasons for it not to be so -- the caregivers made this a happy birthday. There were little cakes. Some fresh cut watermelon. Juice in big containers. And a small present for each child.

With a little help, most of the children were able to blow out their candles. Those of us in attendance, helped feed the children who couldn't eat. We cradled and soothed the babies.

And then we left. Because we're lucky enough to be able to.

War is hell.

Who's the Boss?

My boss is leaving today, after ten years at our company.

Ten years in advertising is like eighty years anywhere else. Really...there should be a parade.

Her departure has me thinking about bosses I have known through the years.

Early in my career I had the good fortune of working for a true sociopath. His field of expertise was international development -- more specifically, complex emergencies.

He was a brilliant economist, a genius at logistics, a masterful historian and someone who should absolutely not have been trusted with the care and feeding of other human beings. We used to take bets about when, not if, he would actually have a heart attack or stroke in the office.

I worked under his leadership -- except for a few stints abroad -- for nearly eight years.

But here's the thing.

While he was a red-faced firecracker, he had the good sense to surround himself with people who had softer skills. People like my mentor, Nancy G.

Nancy honed her diplomatic skills literally at the feet of the creator of the Pearson Peacekeeping Centre.

She ran the marketing department at the aid agency with the perfect balance of control and autonomy. She didn't demand respect, she earned it. To this day, I seek her counsel. S

he's one of my "slipper" friends -- someone who I see a couple of times a year, and it's as comfortable as slipping into an old pair of shoes.

Because of her, I came to appreciate, respect and even like the executive director.

Who would have thought?

A Good House

This morning I reluctantly finished Bonnie Burnard's Giller-winning novel, A Good House. This is, by far, the best novel I've read this year. Perhaps one of the best of the last five years.

I feel like I've said goodbye to good friends.

I'm not ashamed to tell you that I had to close the novel and weep at several points -- not out of sadness necessarily, but because the author has such a painstaking facility with language that she is able to reach out from the novel's pages to touch our hearts.

It really is a work of the finest construction.

Burnard undertakes to tell the story of a large extended family from 1945 through to 1999. We visit them every five or seven years and learn what they've been up to. The characters who start the novel young and full of life grow old along the way, and new members of the family are born and grow up to take their place.

This is life, after all.

That Burnard manages to make us care about each of the characters -- and there are literally dozens of them -- is testament to her genius. It's probably the best use of author omniscient that I've encountered.

It's as moving and haunting as Our Town. Carol Shields calls it, "Perhaps the finest work of fiction produced in this country in some time." She's right.

Giving Back

I've spent a lot of years thinking about what motivates people to give to the causes they choose.

So let me ask you something.

When you prepare your income taxes, are you surprised by how much or how little you gave in the previous calendar year?

I have a theory. I think, for the most part, that there are plenty of people who think they give a lot more than they actually do.

Not so much Baby Boomers. More generation X and Y.

The latter group puts heavier emphasis on volunteerism and product purchase. And may swoop in with a sporadic contribution for a bright and shiny emergency or a pledge when a friend does a bike ride or a walk.

But regular, consistent monthly or several times per year donations to a single cause? Not so much.

I'd be interested to hear what you have to say about giving. What motivates you. What attracts you to it. Is there a moral imperative behind it. And, if you're willing, your age range.

Go ahead, give it to me.