If you’re going to put out a mag that publishes only work by authors who live in a relatively small area of the world (in this case the areas in Toronto known as the Annex, Seaton Village, Christie-Ossington, Little Italy, Palmerston, Mirvish Village, Sussex-Ulster, Yorkville and U of T) you’re going to have to publish just about every writer in that area, regardless of literary inclination. So Taddle Creek is a real mish-mash of styles and genres. A silly, meaningless story about a guy who finds a head in his microwave oven. A carefully crafted poem by John Degen: “I imagine them returning/from New York or Leningrad –/being kissed at the airport by schoolgirls/bribed with oranges and a fast ride/in sleek, black Dacias –/damning themselves through the streets/behind darkened glass…” I’ll leave you with a quote from Kerri Huffman’s article about the Atwood biography The Red Shoes: “…the question of Canadian identity began to mould Atwood’s way of thinking and writing.” I always suspected Atwood of mouldy thinking. (KS)
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