In September, I made a promise to myself to read one novel a week. I scheduled library visits in my email calendar and got an Edmonton Public Library card. I had a date with myself and Stanley Milner Library every third Monday. Things started off very well. I devoured Roddy Doyle's The Snapper (after long ago loving The Woman Who Walked Into Doors and rediscovering this fantastic Irish novelist), licked my fingers with page-turning joy over Riding In Cars With Boys (I do love a book that is later made into a movie) and discovered prairie life in Miriam Toews' A Complicated Kindness. I became one of the many people who read on public transit. I became accustomed to people glancing at the cover and title of my novel as a way to gage some perspective on who I might be.
But I then tried to read a book about a man, the Oprah love-hate relationship, A Million Little Pieces, and it was all down hill from there. I winced in pain over the descriptions of drug addiction and withdrawal. I took time to contemplate the memoir and its basis in James Frey's real life. I failed to meet the week deadline. In fact, it took me a long time to read that book.
But I then tried to read a book about a man, the Oprah love-hate relationship, A Million Little Pieces, and it was all down hill from there. I winced in pain over the descriptions of drug addiction and withdrawal. I took time to contemplate the memoir and its basis in James Frey's real life. I failed to meet the week deadline. In fact, it took me a long time to read that book.
Fast forward to the holiday season when my friend Lesley gave me a Sophie Kinsella book - Can You Keep A Secret? In the past, I read all of Kinsella's Shopaholic books as soon as they hit store shelves. The sugary enjoyment of her books lead me to read Lauren Weisburger's The Devil Wears Prada and Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus' The Nanny Diaries (I told you I enjoy books that become screenplays). Like millions of twentysomethings everywhere, I spent a long time consuming chick lit. Can You Keep A Secret? was one of the few books in the popular genre I had yet to consume. Once back in Edmonton, I started to read the book on my daily commute. I was happy to once again have my red tassel book mark hanging out of my brown satchel each morning and afternoon as I climbed to the stairs to and from the trains. I became engrossed in the story of Emma Corrigan. So engrossed that I missed my stop on the subway one morning. I didn't miss it by one stop, but rather by two.
The Edmonton subway has a number of stops close to each other in the downtown core - my stop, Central, is in the middle of them. I passed Central without any notice and only saw Churchill station as a glimmer behind me. I rode all the way to Stadium before getting off: a ride that requires travelling above ground for a substantial period of time, stopping morning rush hour traffic to go across a major thoroughfare and heading well into North-East Edmonton. Needless to say, I recommend the book; it is a juicy, gossipy read. Here's a map of the subway to give you an indication of just how far off my path I travelled:
In searching for this map, I came across a chat room discussing the possibilities for further LRT expansion. As a lover of the light rail train, this map is my dream. Visitors to the city often incorrectly assume you can take the train to the city's largest tourist attraction, the West Edmonton Mall. I think moving people more efficiently from one corner of the city to another in the most environmentally-friendly way possible should be a goal for all Edmontonians. I'll be sure to pay attention to that issue during the next municipal election. 
