The numbers who have joined the Facebook group, Canadians Against Proroguing Parliament, is growing at an amazing rate and I am, however cynically, riveted to the debate that surrounds the issue on all fronts. If I can’t concentrate any better on my work, I’m going to turn the radio off for awhile and glue my nose to the grindstone. I have deadlines that won’t wait.

Here things are otherwise very quiet. On Tuesday evening, with our friend Peter in tow, we went to see the Coen brothers newest film, A Serious Man, courtesy of the Lunenburg County Film Series. It seems that their work is always good for a spirited debate  which is exactly what broke out as soon as we got out of the theatre. Peter and I were generally very positive and even enjoyed the film for the most part, but my better half absolutely hated it on the grounds that, as film makers, the Coens are inordinately obsessed with violence. I don’t think he’s ever recovered from No Country for Old Men which I also disliked intensely. But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever met a single soul who didn’t love The Big Lebowski and that was done by the Coen brothers too.

Despite the likelihood that they will probably not be kept, New Years Resolutions, at least a few of them, get made around here too. I will watch what I eat, stick with a regular gym schedule,  take a yoga class, join a book club, plant a garden. He will write every day, spend more time in contemplation, keep up with the fencing, do some careful exercise for his bad knee. As a unit, we will entertain more often, see more movies, drive into Halifax more regularly, and get back into the habit of making our own wine. And so on.

In a joint effort to spend less time consuming mindless re-runs and other forms of junk television, we have recently committed to at least an hour each evening of quiet reading in front of the fire. For me this comes complete with a lap throw and at least one cat sitting like a tea cozy on the arm of the couch, near enough that I can just make out the sound of her purr. It’s a Norman Rockwell picture that may or may not last until spring.

My large holiday novel, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by the late Steig Larsson, is drawing to a close and I’m still not quite sure what to make of it. A posthumous international sensation, according to the reviews, it was the first in a trilogy of thrillers written by the Swedish novelist before his sudden death at the age of 50 in 2004. I chose it after reading about Larsson’s career as a journalist, his lifelong fight against racism and right wing extremism, and his creation of a female protagonist, Lisbeth Salander (the girl with the tattoo) who cut very much across the usual grain. She’s a very angry, very punk computer hacker, for one thing.

The book is intellectually complex, tightly plotted and violent in the extreme. The investigative partnership that eventually forms between the male protagonist, Mikael Blomquist, a journalist, and Lisbeth Salander is like none other in the genre. The glimpses into Swedish life and Swedish law are fascinating, but there are so many gruesome crimes perpetrated against women and sometimes animals that the reader literally gets a chill, despite the correct political agenda.

Will I read the second volume, The Girl Who Played with Fire? Probably. But not until I’ve put something else in between. This might be a good time to return to the Picasso biographies or the Susan Sontag journals, where any ‘violences’ are not nearly so overt and the subject matter is somewhat closer to home. Sometimes a thriller can get too "thrilling" even for me.