Antibiotics made modern farming possible. But as “societal drugs,” their use by any individual affects us all.
The Nazis stole his family’s paintings, but Max Stern escaped and became one of Canada’s leading art dealers. Now, 20 after his death, he is changing the rules of restitution.
The story of a naïve fisherman, a boat headed for Spain and 1.5 tons of cocaine.
Growing up in a Toronto suburb while a serial rapist is on the loose.
On disability, adolescence and friendship after a paralyzing accident.
On disposing of a dead sea lion, and the pitfalls of memory.
A mother struggles to cope when a child is born with albinism.
The history of Kraft Dinner, Canada’s “de facto national dish.”
Colonialism, the convertible peso, and the strange dance between the cheap beach tourist and the tour guide tout.
A son chronicles his father’s death:
My father's mortician was a careless barber. Stepping up to the open casket, I realized too much had been taken off the beard. The sides were trimmed tidy, the bottom cut flat across. It was a disconcerting sight, because in his last years, especially, my father had worn his beard wild, equal parts loony chemist and liquor store Santa. The mortician ought to have known this, I thought, because he knew the man in life. My father — himself the grandson of a funeral home director — would drop by Davey-Linklater in Kincardine, Ontario, now and then for a friendly chat. How's business? Steady as she goes? Death was his favourite joke.