Lost Toronto Book Summary

1350 Words6 Pages
Duration: 352 pages
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Date: 2007

Inspired by a collection of photographs in a book by William Dendy called 'Lost Toronto ' (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1993).
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Inwardly, I particularly admire authorship (s) who gravitates to a core of a bygone era; I find deep-rooted factual analogies comforting, on par to wearing old slippers. Ye-s, I was seeking consolation in Redhill 's book - although, in this case 'Consolation ' sufficed for a millisecond; a large part of the millisecond was curiosity... thankfully, I 'm no feline. The term: consolation implies warmth, comfort - ideal, after a hard day 's graft; from the off, I cradled my stomach in anguish as I struggled through Redhill 's digressions,
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as being beyond obsolete.


A novel for pain, family skirmishes, illness and observing a young diseased city; the only smear of relief is within the deplorable descriptives, peeping at the polluted hell holes of Toronto. Jem Hallam 's mirrored David Hollis, while Hollis reflected Hallam... the two lives entwined in a paradigm. As a reader, I lost touch with what time frame I was reading... let alone care. Redhill 's narrative layers are a masquerade of pointless, odious converse, he 'll say as an author it 's his playwright background that creates this drama. I 'll retort.. 'what drama! ' I distinctly smelt the funk of utterance via poetic license - it 's a shambolic use of utterance. The misery continued... and somehow reached a zenith of innate, when I read a dumbfounding stream of thought in homage to the words: 'key ' and 'horse, ' two entities allowed to roam freely from the stable of logic - Redhill blurts out: "Metallic keynes and huge, hard, nostril clouded horseness went clanging and galloping through his mind like a magic lantern show, where someone had pulled the slide through too fast." Eadweard Muybridge 's first motion pictures of equine via magic lantern maybe... thus, I suspect my prose which naturally searches for plausible affiliations is giving Redhill 's playwright too much credit, for he neither comprehends photographic in the creative sense or experimental. In retrospect, no being could ever relive the painstaking methods Muybridge engineered, or any photographer who practiced their art in the 1850s - only the 'fictional ' genre tag
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