Oh? Actually if you look a bit closer at what was said, it reads a little differently.
Gilmour teaches modern fiction at the University of Toronto and, talking about his role, he said “…when I was given this job I said I would only teach the people that I truly, truly love. Unfortunately, none of these … happen to be women.”
I’m doing my best here to defend Gilmour, in the belief that someone who writes something as wonderful as The Film Club, surely can’t be some kind of horrific misogynist?
I found The Film Club entirely by accident, whilst browsing through the biography shelves in my local library.
Reading the front cover stirred some ancient dust of a memory deep in the old cranial depths and forced me to pick it up. Hmm. Quick look inside. Only 13 people had borrowed the book since 2008. Give it a go or leave it on the shelf? Compromise and read the first page. Twenty minutes later, I hadn’t moved from the shelf, but I was a heck of a way in to the first few chapters. A clear recommendation if ever there was one.
The book is Gilmour’s re-telling of the story of his relationship with his son, Jesse, after he’d taken the bold step of allowing Jesse, to drop out of school. The only thing that his boy had to agree to, in this unusual bargain, was to watch three films a week with, and chosen by, his dad.
The resulting book is a fabulous, moving, read detailing the highs and lows of their time together – The ultimate advocate for what all children need. A parent’s time, support, patience and unconditional love. In spades.