a collection of short literary or philosophical extracts
Not all ideas fit neatly into the pages of a book. When I see, hear or read something that moves me—a news story, a snippet of conversation, a musical phrase, a storyline or cityscape—I capture the thoughts it provokes by jotting them down. From art and sports—whether Wimbledon or the World Cup—to politics, love and war, all topics have the potential to spark my imagination.
“Son,” she said. “Stop dreaming of becoming a writer. Be an accountant. You’ll always have a job and pay your bills.” At the tender age of 60, I decided to rebel. Now I’m miserable and broke. Why?...
Joel died today of a drug overdose. Or, to be politically correct, from “substance abuse”. How can you remain “politically correct” over the death of a twenty-six-year-old due to horrendous choices?...
As a child in England, every Sunday afternoon, I was sat at a table by my foster mum to pen a letter to my divorced dad in Africa. “Dear Father, I hope this letter finds you in good health.” In...
As a teenager, I once accompanied a family friend on a dhow to Zanzibar. We stayed with locals at their home in Stone Town. The town was built by Omani Arabs on their conquest of the island,...
A restaurant review led me to The Indian Tearoom in Calgary, enticing me with “the best East Indian snacks and tea in town.” To my surprise, the food wasn’t East Indian but East African, from...
My most memorable ending of a book is from The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje: While recuperating in Italy, on the aftermath of World War II, a couple meet and fall in love. The man returns to...
On a sunny afternoon in early October 1973, my BOAC plane landed gently on to the tarmac of Beirut Airport. I had just turned 18, finished grammar school and was about to spend the next three months...
The Galeries Lafayette in Paris is one of the most beautiful women’s fashion houses in the city. A seven-storey building, it’s a layer cake of open galleries, one placed upon the other, topped with...
It was past 11 p.m. and I was attempting to meet an accounting deadline for the following morning. Christopher, my student son came storming into the room, “Pops, get to bed. You never stay up past...
My parents named me Emil Kassamali Salehmohamed Remtulla. In our small Muslim town, my middle names were that of my father and that of my grandfather, so everyone within my community knew which...
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Emil Rem, an eccentric accountant becomes a writer of eccentric characters, in exotic locales—each chapter taking us on a trip into his fascinating twisted world. Born to a close knit, middle class Muslim East Indian family in Dar-es-Salam, Africa in the 50’s, he is then moved to Maidenhead England at the age of five. The next twenty years are spent shuttling between England and East Africa, wearing a St. Christopher’s cross one minute and attending church, to wearing a green armband and attending Muslim religious classes in Africa the next. Moving to Canada, marrying a woman from the Philippines and having two boys only adds further texture to his stories.
We would love to send you the complete chapter from our upcoming book The Vanished Gardens of Cordova. Sign up and I will send you the chapter entitled Cathedral in the Dark along with its beautiful illustrations.