No hip replacements?
Where have all the hip young writers gone, wonders Ryan Bigge in the National Post. Bigge implies that once-revolutionary authors like Michael Turner, Lynn Coady, and Annabel Lyon have settled down in the suburbs of CanLit: “They [have] learned how to emulate Responsible Fiction.” Just how, say, Turner has done this is left unexplained — his last novel, The Pornographer’s Poem, gets characterized as some sort of artistic retreat simply because it was published in hardcover. Still, one can’t but agree with Bigge’s argument that “we need a few more authors doing everything possible to avoid earning a Responsible Fiction Award.” (That fictitous prize, as he explains, is the invention of Russell Smith.)
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