The literary world offers no such easy explanations for a sudden blossoming, although borrowing from the NHL might help us understand Chris Robinson's latest success, Stole This From a Hockey Card.
With three previous books split topically between animation and Ottawa Senators history, Robinson has now given us a much more personal story, albeit with a strange approach: by hiding himself in a biography of the great but tragic Montreal Canadiens defenceman Doug Harvey.
It's an odd combination, especially in the world of hockey non-fiction, which is generally a staid and comfortable field for the somnambulist in all of us. And even while reading, the same question just keeps coming up: What does the life of Harvey, the enigmatic and troubled superstar, have to do with the story of a young precocious kid with family problems in Ottawa?
Well, it starts out with a hockey card, and a fascination with the game that seems to cover up the emptiness of going through life with a distracted mother and an absent father. Along with the booze he started drinking as a teen, hockey was Robinson's way of not facing his personal demons.
But the attraction to Harvey's card in particular comes down to attitude, or authenticity.
Robinson explains that Harvey was unlike the polite and boring superstar personalities of Wayne
So his dual biography of sorts boils down to two themes. The first, of course, is alcohol, which both characters struggle with but eventually seem to conquer (though Harvey died of cirrhosis of the liver in 1989). The second is the inconclusiveness of a person's character. Even after detailing Harvey's life, Robinson claims he still knows nothing of how the hockey legend actually felt. Moralizing becomes impossible, which is very refreshing.
Before you get the idea that Robinson's impressions of Harvey form the basis of this "auto"-biography, know that a lot of research went into this book. Robinson talked to the people who were part of Harvey's turbulent life, like famed Montreal Gazette columnist Red Fisher, who says Harvey always lived near the edge. "He was stubborn, aggravating, unselfish, hard drinking, fun loving and the best defenceman, by far, in Canadiens history," Fisher recounts in Robinson's book.
But the link between Harvey and Robinson is initially threadbare. Most of the time you want Robinson to either continue on with himself or with the hockey player. And by the time he hits that soft spot where their two stories intermingle, you feel a little let down that it's all finished. This is the book's major flaw, not Robinson's style, which is clear and unaffected (he likes words like "piss," "shit" and "puke" quite a bit). Once you make it to the end, however, you'll have nothing but good things to say about this Ottawa writer who seems to have hit his breakout season.
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