Well, it's almost the end of the end of Round Two of the Stanley Cup Playoffs and I have only finished one of the two books that I had set out to evaluate. I polished off Culture Jam: How to Reverse America's Sucidal Consumer Binge - And Why We Must in a couple of hockey games. I scarfed it down like a Big Mac from a styroform clamshell. I mindlessly and quickly devoured it because the taste was predictable and familiar (at least to myself who have been reading to Karle Lassen's Adbuster for years now) and because Lassen did not take the opportunity to use language worth savouring.

Disheartened by the book (and by the hockey too, I'm sad to say), I haven't been able to bring myself to read about Toxic Sludge. Instead I've been reading something much more mysterious, life-affirming and damn-well revolutionary to boot: a book about A Boy Who Would Be A Helicopter.

Did you know that over the last three years, I've become obsessed with narrative? Not 'narrative' as confined to fiction. No, I mean historical narrative, personal narrative, psychological narrative, cultural narrative... I mean, The Triumph of Narrative.

Tomorrow we will see if there will be a Stanley Cup Round Three Books for my beloved buds.