No Relation

Finalist, Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour

“Not too many Canucks have ventured to write humorous books. There is Stephen Leacock, of course. And Robertson Davies cranked out a couple … Count Terry Fallis among the few to achieve success at the form.… Poignant.”

–
Ottawa Citizen

“The wait has been worth it for Terry Fallis fans: his third novel has already earned a well-deserved spot on the shortlist for the 2013 Leacock Medal, Canada’s most prominent award for humour writing.”

–
Publishers Weekly

“One of CanLit’s crowned king of chuckles, Terry Fallis hits stratospheric heights with [this] well-balanced and unpredictable satire.… Fallis is a gifted storyteller.”

–
Telegraph-Journal

“Fallis’s hilarious running commentary on the minutiae of modern life recalls the comedy of
Seinfeld
. … In
Up and Down
, space is the metaphor for a braver, better world.”

–
National Post

“Gently satirical and intelligently frothy,
Up and Down
achieves a delightful weightlessness as transporting as the space voyage it deals with.”

– Andrew Pyper, author of
The Demonologist

“[A] lighthearted plot involving slamming doors, vaudeville turns, plot twists, and a lot of good-natured badinage.… Vivid and dazzling.”

–
Globe and Mail

“Fallis spins a hilarious story.… Memorable.… Quite enjoyable from start to finish.”

– Montreal
Gazette

“Terry Fallis has done it again.
Up and Down
is another hilarious page-turner that also packs an emotional punch. Only a very talented writer can balance humour and pathos so skillfully. Beautifully written, these characters rocket off the page and straight into your heart. This is satire at its finest.”

– Ali Velshi, former CNN anchor and chief business correspondent

“A fascinating story of the divergence of Canadian and American values, the importance of family, unlikely friendship, second chances, ageism, a love of Sherlock Holmes, insight into the awe-inspiring world of space travel, and the importance of using your head but following your heart.”

–
Winnipeg Free Press

“[
Up and
Down is] the literary equivalent of a roller coaster for kids.”

–
NOW
magazine

“A rollicking good ride. Funny one moment, serious the next, always compelling: a reminder that we can all dream.”

– Marc Garneau, Member of Parliament and Canada’s first astronaut

“[Terry Fallis has] done it again. What a great read!”

–
Waterloo Record

PRAISE FOR
THE BEST LAID PLANS

Winner, 2011 Canada Reads competition
Winner, Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour

“Amusing, enlightening – and Canadian, it deftly explores the Machiavellian machinations of Ottawa’s political culture.”

–
Globe and Mail

“A new brand of political satire – the most irreverent, sophisticated, and engaging CanLit has seen since Stephen Leacock.”

–
Winnipeg Free Press

“Brisk and humorous.”

–
Ottawa Citizen

“This is a funny book that could only have been written by someone with first-hand knowledge of politics in Canada, including its occasionally absurd side. This is a great read for anyone thinking of running for office, and especially reassuring for those who have decided not to.”

– The Hon. Allan Rock, former Justice Minister and Canadian ambassador to the United Nations

“Bravo! This is a wonderful book with a clever and funny storyline. Humour and heart run through these pages. The parliamentary setting and the backroom shenanigans reel you in.”

– The Hon. Paddy Torsney, veteran MP and parliamentary secretary

“Terry Fallis’s novel has two things that kept me hooked: characters who I cared about and a story that made me want to find out what would happen next. And often, very often, there was a line that made me laugh aloud or think twice – sometimes at the same time.”

– Mike Tanner, author of
Acting the Giddy Goat

“Terry Fallis has found the cure for Canada’s political malaise: a stubborn, old, irreverent Scotsman with nothing to lose. Until Angus McLintock walks out of fiction and into public office, where he would surely save the nation, the only place to find him is right here among
The Best Laid Plans
.”

– Tom Allen, CBC Radio host and author of
The Gift of the Game

PRAISE FOR
THE HIGH ROAD

Finalist, Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour

“
The High Road
will surely make you laugh. There will be snickers, occasional snorting and hooting, and almost certainly rip-roaring belly laughs.”

– Halifax
Chronicle Herald

“Fallis writes in pictures … that the mind’s eye can see clearly.… An easy-reading page-turner.”

–
National Post

“Terry Fallis scores again with
The High Road
.”

–
Guelph Mercury

“In a perfect world, the federal government would establish a Ministry of Humour and put Terry Fallis in charge of that department.
The High Road
is brilliantly written and hysterically funny.… Do yourself a favour and pick up this book, find a quiet place to read it, and enjoy … you will laugh out loud on almost every page.”

– Ian Ferguson, author of
Village of Small Houses

“Doing battle with the prigs and prats that rule the halls of power has never been more enjoyable since … well, since
The Best Laid Plans
. Thought-provoking and funny.”

– Jim Cuddy, singer/songwriter, Blue Rodeo

What’s in a name? For many, nothing. For some, not nothing, but not much. For a very few, blessed or cursed, it’s everything. I’m one of those few. And if you’re wondering, I usually count myself among the cursed.

When I turned forty, I lost the desire, and even the ability, to sleep in. So I was an early riser. Yet, at 7:45, I still wasn’t the first into the office that morning. I heard him as I crossed our marble lobby, past the futuristic “reception pod” where Angela and her headset would soon be stationed. He called out to me from down the hall.

“Morning, Hem. Um, you got a minute?”

Bob was standing just outside the corner office,
the
corner office,
his
corner office, at the end of the corridor. This was not good news. Bob was never in before 9:30. And when he eventually did arrive, it was to start a workday that was almost always devoid of any real work. Bob,
BOB
,
BOB
. I’ve never really liked
the name “Bob.” It’s just so short. Simple. Primitive. Unrefined. In fact, I have a theory on the name’s origin. Six million years ago, when the early hominids first discovered their vocal cords, I think the sound “Bob” may well have been among their first harsh guttural utterings. Shortly after “Grrrrr” and “Aaaah” would have come “Baaaahb.” Short, simple, primitive, unrefined. Much like Bob himself.

Conveniently, I disliked Bob as a person as much as I did his name. We’d joined the New York ad agency Macdonald-Clark within weeks of each other nearly fifteen years ago. But we’d been on different trajectories ever since. Over the years, I rose through the ranks as if I were sauntering up a gentle slope, stopping often to lounge at patio rest stations along the way. But soon after we started, Bob seemed to board the space shuttle, docking with the corner office after what seemed to me like a very short ride. How it happened so fast – no, how it happened at all – was more a mystery to me than Bigfoot. I still cannot fathom how Bob parlayed his principal assets of incompetence, paranoia, and mediocrity all the way to the top. But there he was, M-C’s general manager, waving me into his palatial enclave, with an expression on his face that suggested his next words just might be “Grrrrr” and “Aaaah.”

On the other hand, despite its shortcomings, I’d be thrilled to have a name like “Bob.”

“Sure, Bob.”

I turned and followed him in.

He led me to the couch and easy chair at one end of the office, far away from his barren desk, where very little work was ever done. I took a spot on the couch, lowering myself into what felt like upholstered quicksand. I sank in so deep that when I stopped, I could almost rest my chin on my knees. I wondered how I was going to get back out. Bob sat in the chair across from me.

“So, Hem, um, how have you been?”

“Just fine, Bob. You?”

“Awesome, thanks.”

Cue awkward silence. Bob shifted his position in his chair. I tried to shift my position but the couch simply wouldn’t let me.

“Well, um, I guess you’ve heard the rumours,” he continued.

“Actually, Bob, I’ve been here too long for that. I make it a point never to pay attention to stray rumours or anything else I may encounter in these hallways. If I see a colleague crying in a corridor, or yelling at an intern, or moaning in a bathroom stall, I quickly make a show of checking my watch, turn around fast, and head back the way I came. That’s my policy. So, no rumours have reached these tender ears.”

“So you really haven’t heard anything? No rumblings? Nothing?”

“Not a peep, Bob. Should I have?”

His face clouded.

“Come on, Hem, you’re not helping!” he snapped. “We plant those rumours for a reason. They help condition the staff and prepare them for bad news. Strategic rumours are an important
part of our internal communications program. You’re a senior guy. You’ve been here a long time. You should know that.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Bob. Had you flagged and tagged them as ‘strategic rumours from the corner office’ I probably would have paid more attention.”

“Shit.”

“Bob, I’m a copywriter. I sort of work on my own. I just follow the brief and try to think up the right words and how best to arrange them. That’s what copywriters do. I don’t really hang out much with the account teams. I’m generally oblivious when it comes to office gossip.”