Charles Wilkins (1) (1948–)

I thoroughly enjoyed this entertaining look behind the curtain of an industry none of us really know that much about. The author, Charles Wilkins, worked as a general labourer at one of Toronto's bigger graveyards during the summer of 1969.

I had the good fortune to hear the author speak at a Writers' Community of Durham Region breakfast last year and bought a couple of his books based on how well he entertained me for forty-five minutes.

But I didn't expect this book to be as good as it was. It's gross, it's heartwarming, it's sad, it's hilarious, it's shallow and it's deep as hell.

But it was this line that really stood out for me: "The problem," says Luccio as we rattle up Millwood Road, "is that most people would rather sell their time, or kill it, than nail it to the fucking wall."

This is a book that does make you appreciate the opportunity to nail it to the fucking wall.

Highly recommended.… (mere)

This is the memoir of a middle-aged man who walked from Thunder Bay, Ontario to New York City in the spring and summer of 2002, a journey that took about 10 weeks and that started with snowstorms and illness. I liked this book but I would have liked more about the walking itself, including the kind of thinking that went on during the walks. In fact, I think the book could have been somewhat longer and not have seemed to ramble on. After all, it was a very long journey. Most of the book is about the places traveled to, the landmarks, the places to see along the way which, though interesting and appropriate, could just as easily be included in a road trip memoir of the driving kind.

One irony is that for all the observations on walking and how it's a car's world, Charles was accompanied by a van and driver throughout.

I know this was an amazing feat, but I'm not left feeling it was a great feat. After Charles gets over his initial illness, and his body becomes attuned to the long, long walks, all the walking becomes matter of fact. And perhaps that's how it is. I would also have appreciated an epilogue dated perhaps a few months later, with a bit of an idea of how the author "recovered" from the walking journey.… (mere)