Several days ago I referred to Richard Ford's latest novel Canada which I had only just started at the time. Marja-Leena asked to what extent it was about Canada. This afternoon I finished it; and because it was so gripping, after a longer than usual reading session. To answer her question, the last half is set in Canada. It Saskatchewan to be precise. It has quite a lot to say about the country and Canadians though in a somewhat oblique way. It is a novel which I recommend without hesitation and will gladly confirm that its memorable opening sentence will not lead to disappointment: "First I'll tell you about the robbery our parents committed. Then about the murders, which happened later."
A traffic warden is hanging around a car parked on a double yellow line and half way across the pavement too. He eyes me as though I could be its owner. Why is it that I feel guilty as though it might belong to me? It isn't mine and I haven't owned a car for 10 years. I never liked authority. Perhaps the guilt erupts from within from time to time.