Results tagged “jonathansafranfoer”

Nicole Krauss weaves a tangled yet breathtakingly beautiful web in the History of Love. Her second novel tells the story of precocious 14-year old Alma Singer, busily trying to cope with the loss of her father and her mother's depression. Across town there's Leo Gursky, a Holocaust survivor, writer and man desperately afraid to die alone. Their lives are brought together by a book that miraculously survived war and genocide. The end product is a moving exploration of loss and the heavy toll it has on our hearts and souls.

If film buffs get the TIFF, art buffs get the Queen West Art Crawl, and hockey buffs get the NHL playoffs, then literary types get the IFOA. This year's fest packs in dozens of authors and into 10 days worth of readings, panel discussions, interviews and parties. Yes, once in a while literary types put down their books and drink.

...only a ridiculously adorable little puggle. On a frigid Friday morning like this, we like to sit around in our sweatpants browsing through our referral logs. And this morning our referral logs tell us that an inordinate number of people have been coming here lately looking for genitalia, severed limbs, and puggles (these numbers are matched only by instances of Torontoist contributers Googling themselves, and people wondering about the heights of obscure celebs - they would be better off here). Other unlikely searches that we're afraid we just can't help you with:

Girl: Oh...um, yes, well you see, no, what I do is...no, I don't wear the same ones.

On Tuesday night we took in Marsha Lederman's interview with the hilarious David Rakoff (we just finished his latest, and you should too) and Jonathan Safran Foer. Both fellows were witty and articulate, deftly turning Lederman's occasionally awkward questions around into well-spoken, thoughtful answers. Rakoff discussed his recent acquisition of American citizenship, but explained that he feels less like an American and more like a New Yorker, especially now that America is over its brief sympathy for New York and back to thinking of it as a "nest of pervs." Foer stopped the proceedings at one point to charmingly announce that he had just noticed that he'd stepped in dog poo and felt it best to draw it to everyone's attention so that no one thought he'd let out a nasty. We were especially taken by his stripey socks, until we noticed that he was wearing an identical pair the next day. Perhaps he should pay a visit to Chocky's before the festival is over.