The Only Café: A Novel by Linden MacintyreThe Only Café: A Novel by Linden Macintyre

The Only Café: A Novel

byLinden Macintyre

Hardcover | August 8, 2017

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Scotiabank Giller prize-winner Linden MacIntyre is back with a timely and gripping novel in which a son tries to solve the mystery of his father's death--a man who tried but could not forget a troubled past in his native Lebanon.

Pierre Cormier had secrets. Though he married twice, became a high-flying lawyer and a father, he didn't let anyone really know him. And he was especially silent about what had happened to him in Lebanon, the country he fled during civil war to come to Canada as a refugee. When, in the midst of a corporate scandal, he went missing after his boat exploded, his teenaged son Cyril didn't know how to mourn him. But five years later, a single bone and a distinctive gold chain are recovered, and Pierre is at last declared dead. Which changes everything.
     At the reading of the will, it turns out that instead of a funeral, Pierre wanted a "roast" at a bar no one knew he frequented--The Only Café in Toronto's east end. He'd even left a guest list that included one mysterious name: Ari. Cyril, now working as an intern for a major national newsroom and assisting on reporting a story on homegrown terrorism, tracks down Ari at the bar, and finds out that he is an Israeli who knew his father in Lebanon in the '80s. Who is Ari? What can he reveal about what happened to Pierre in Lebanon? Is Pierre really dead? Can Ari even be trusted? Soon Cyril's personal investigation is entangled in the larger news story, all of it twining into a fabric of lies and deception that stretches from contemporary Toronto back to the massacre at the Sabra and Shatila camps in Lebanon in September 1982.
     The Only Café is both a moving mystery and an illuminating exploration of how the traumatic past, if left unexamined, shadows every moment of the present.
LINDEN MacINTYRE's bestselling first novel, The Long Stretch, was nominated for a CBA Libris Award and his boyhood memoir, Causeway: A Passage from Innocence, won both the Edna Staebler Award for Creative Nonfiction and the Evelyn Richardson Award. His second novel, The Bishop's Man, was a #1 national bestseller, won the Scotiabank Gil...
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Title:The Only Café: A NovelFormat:HardcoverDimensions:432 pages, 9.27 × 6.53 × 1.41 inPublished:August 8, 2017Publisher:Random House of CanadaLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0345812069

ISBN - 13:9780345812063

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Reviews

Rated 3 out of 5 by from ok reading this gave me a different perspective
Date published: 2017-11-08
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Good read I haven't read any other books by this author YET. I really enjoyed the read and couldn't wait to see what happened next but I admit I am feeling a bit let down by the ending. I was expecting more after all the build up.
Date published: 2017-10-23
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Enjoyable Very happy to have read the book
Date published: 2017-10-18
Rated 4 out of 5 by from I enjoyed this book This was my first Linden MacIntyre book and I was pleasantly surprised. I enjoyed it but did find it a bit confusing at time, hence why I'm only giving it 4 stars. But I'd definitely recommend it.
Date published: 2017-09-05
Rated 5 out of 5 by from yes! This is a very intense read, based on truths buried in rhetoric in a Middle East westerners cannot know nor understand. Linden MacIntyre comes very close to making it real for us. This is a book I would read again after a period of digestion, and would share with my loved ones.
Date published: 2017-09-03
Rated 2 out of 5 by from Linden struck out this time I am struggling through The Only Cafe, the most disjointed story I believe I have ever read. \ I will finish it as I always finish what I start, boks included. But it is a struggle.
Date published: 2017-08-18
Rated 4 out of 5 by from thrilling had me on the edge of my seat
Date published: 2017-07-27

Read from the Book

He’d driven his new toy, a vintage Mustang, north to Bloor. He might have then turned west, toward home. But he’d turned east instead, crossed the Don Valley and entered what he’d always thought of as the city’s European microcosm, Danforth Avenue. He drove past the teeming patios, the Greek restaurants, Greek street signs, Greek statuary, Mediterranean enthusiasm. He drove slowly, absorbing all the images of pleasure. Too much pleasure. Too many thoughtless people.He could feel a headache starting.   He drove until he entered another world. No more patios and pleasure-seeking throngs, no more shish kebab and booze. The signs were now in Urdu, the shops proclaiming halal meat. He drove until he saw the mosque, the unmistakable minaret, the silver crescent, the emerald domes.   He parked the Mustang, locked it, stepped back, admired his car, felt his spirits lift but only for a moment. The car was a reminder of why he endured days like that day, a day of bad news, double-talk and spin. The car was a reward, like the boat he kept in Nova Scotia. Car and boat, vehicles for fantasy, for flight. But now he needed distance from his car, distance from his day. He needed to escape even his escapes.   He started walking. And then he spotted the little bar with the peculiar name in this unlikely neighbourhood. He went in, ordered a beer. He sat trying to imagine what awaited him in the days to come. The patio was just outside and beyond it he could see the domes that made him feel at home.      - He’d spent maybe twenty minutes on the first beer, then he’d gone to the bar and fetched a second. Perhaps because he appeared to be out of place in his expensive suit and tie, a stranger came and gestured toward the empty seat across from him.   Pierre nodded toward the chair. The stranger sat.   “Have I seen you here before?”   The agitation of the day was undiminished and he didn’t answer right away. But there was something about the stranger’s accent. Agitation was replaced by curiosity. “I doubt it.”   The intruder said, “I’m Ari,” and held out a beefy hand. Pierre stared at it.   Perhaps it was the face. Or maybe it was something deeper, a voiceprint in the memory. Ormaybe it was just the similarity to another name that loomed large in memories Pierre had buried.    Ari started to rise. “Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.” Pierre quickly grasped the hand. “It’s okay . . . sit . . . Harry?”    “Ari. Short for Ariel.”   “Pierre Cormier. I’ve never been here before. A bit different.”   “Cormier? Yes. I find the atmosphere relaxing. Casual.”   “Ari. Interesting name. Ari what?”   “Roloff. An old Quebec name.”   “But you aren’t French.”   “True.” Ari shrugged, looked away briefly. “Nor are you,” he said. There was a trace of aggression in the look, the tone of voice.    Pierre could feel the agitation creeping back as he studied the face before him. It was broad and smooth, fleshy, friendly, open, the eyes interested but weary. What a bizarre coincidence. He felt a flutter in his stomach. Ariel. The same name. There was even a bodily resemblance. The man in front of him was short and overweight, borderline obese. The hair, the colour of ash, was thinning at the front but effectively combed over.   “You come here often?” he asked.   Ari smiled, shrugged. “Maybe more often than I should.”   “So how long have you been in this country?”   Ari laughed. “Where do you think I’m from?” The subtle thickness of his consonants.  “I know exactly where you’re from.”   The smile was cautious now. Ari nodded.   “You could say we were neighbours once,” Pierre said.   “Ah. Neighbours north? South? East?”   “North,” said Pierre.   “Yes. Pierre? Yimkin kenna as-hab. Perhaps we were even friends.”   “Perhaps. You speak like an Arab.”   “Maybe not so much. I’ve been here five years,” Ari said. “You?”   “Quite a bit longer.”   “You’re from Beirut,” Ari said.   “No. A bit south of there.”   Ari hesitated. “Damour?”   “You know Damour?”   Ari nodded. “I’ve been there.”   “I had family in Damour. But I was born in Saida.”   “Ah. Sidon. But you had family in Damour?”   “Yes.”   “I’m going to order a drink. Would you like another beer? Or something better.”   “I’ll have what you’re having.”      Ari returned with two glasses. Scotch.    “And you? I’m going to guess Haifa.”   “Why Haifa?”   “Just a feeling. You’ve lived with Arabs.”   “Yes. But not Haifa. A kibbutz near Hebron. You never heard of it.”   “Probably not. I suppose you hear this a lot, but you bear a remarkable resemblance to someone famous.”   Ari laughed. “I don’t hear it anymore so much. Someone no longer visible. Someone slowly being forgotten, yes?”    “Forgotten here, maybe. But not so much in other places.”   “When did you say you came?” asked Ari.   “I didn’t say.”   “And you’ve been back?”   “No.”   “Not once?”   “I have nobody left there.”   “You said you have family in Damour?”   Pierre shook his head. “Past tense. You know the history.”   “The important parts.” Ari reached across the table, clasped Pierre’s hand again, held it gently for a moment. “Such a tragedy, Damour. And all that followed.”   Pierre stood abruptly, light-headed. “I think I have to leave now.” He took a quick mouthful of the Scotch. It was strong. “Thanks for the drink,” he said, setting the empty glass back down.   Ari nodded and looked away.   And that was how it started. -   

Editorial Reviews

“The Only Café will transfix you with its disquieting and cautionary narrative. . . . [J]udicious and expertly timed. . . . The Only Café’s elegant prose attains a lyrical quality. . . . [A] testament to MacIntyre’s dexterity as a storyteller.” —The Globe and Mail“[S]pare, propulsive and rich in observational detail and dialogue. . . . MacIntyre’s journalism training and experience . . . allow him to explore Lebanon’s labyrinthine, multi-factional civil war with authority and compassion.” —James Grainger, author of Harmless, Toronto Star   “The Only Café is imbued with a feeling of lived authenticity.” —Quill and QuirePRAISE FOR NATIONAL BESTSELLER PUNISHMENT:“MacIntyre is a masterful storyteller.” —Toronto Star “What is Linden MacIntyre, the famous and recently retired host of CBC’s fifth estate and the winner of the Scotiabank Giller Prize for fiction and the Edna Staebler Award for non-fiction, doing writing a crime thriller? Well, whatever he’s doing he’s doing it very well indeed. Punishment is another winner that displays all of MacIntyre’s talent for character development, for sympathetic treatment of people’s foibles and shortcomings, and for descriptions of landscapes—with the addition of amazing crime novel twists and turns. . . . [A]n absolute frenzy of unexpected exposés.” —Waterloo Region Record“[A] gripping mystery. . . . [T]he reader remains on the edge of his or her easy chair.” —The Kingston Whig-Standard “Knife-twistingly powerful. . . . I have never read anything quite like it. It may echo the work of your favourite crime writers—or chroniclers of caustic small-town dynamics such as David Adams Richards—but this book stands adroitly on its own legs. . . . To say much more about the plot would be a disservice to the serpentine storyline MacIntyre sets in motion from the first page. . . . The momentum is unstoppable. At this point some readers might be saying to themselves, Is this THE Linden MacIntyre we’re talking about? The literary writer, veteran newsman, and Giller Prize winner? So you’re telling me he’s written a … what? Crime thriller? To which I might reply: In my estimation, yeah. It has all the trappings. And if those readers thought that a crime-themed novel could not possibly contain all the touchstones of powerful writing—incisive characterization, setting, and detail, all wedded to a propulsive plot—well, they and I would sit in different camps. The writing on display in Punishment is strong, as it is in all of MacIntyre’s work. The characters are utterly believable, their actions making sense within a complex morality-driven narrative. MacIntyre does such a good job at sketching the village of St. Ninian, employing just the right details about its places and people to situate the reader within it. He understands human weakness and motivation; in this novel he has put those talents, so evident in earlier and much-loved works, in the service of a propulsive plot. . . . It urges a reader to stay up deep into the night as I did, flipping pages feverishly. . . . Punishment is not Mystic River. It is its own wondrous beast, every bit as vigorous as Lehane’s own brilliant work. With it, MacIntyre cements his reputation as one of our country’s most vital writers.” —Craig Davidson, author of Precious Cargo and Cataract City, The Globe and Mail “[A] stunning tale of vengeance.” —Zoomer“Linden MacIntyre proves once again how adept he is at dealing with the topical and the taboo. . . . Punishment has a puzzle of a plot and will surely keep most readers guessing until the final pages. . . . MacIntyre has painted a brilliant picture of a small community where the close and far-reaching ties that bind can also strangle.” —Winnipeg Free Press“[T]his page-turning novel is filled with revelations and surprises. . . . Linden MacIntyre has succeeded with a thought-provoking, powerful and important story.”  —Atlantic Books Today“I devoured Punishment in one weekend. After finishing I was left bereft. Now what would I do? Now what would I read? I was so drawn into this story, I never wanted it to end. Although I knew where it might be leading us, I had to keep reading just so all of this glorious MacIntyre greatness could unfold before my eyes. . . . I’ve waited with bated breath for a new Linden MacIntyre and thankfully, oh so thankfully, he delivered another fantastically moving and all-consuming page turner.” —Literary Hoarders