A writer friend just asked me if I were going to the ceremony for journalist and novelist Gil Courtemanche who died two days before Jack Layton did and whose farewell is this evening.
"Did you know him? Do you want to say good bye?"
No, I replied, I only met him once. To go would probably be presumptuous, although I greatly admire his work. His novel A Sunday in Kigali is probably the best evocation of love and ethnic war that I've ever read. And up until his daeth the day after his 68th birthday Courtemanche pointed his finger at evil and spoke out strongly. He will be missed.
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