My wife bought me this book for Valentines Day. Partly because I have been reading a lot lately, partly because I have been organizing a family fishing trip for the last 3 years now and partly because I have been reading a lot of books with a philosophy twist. In the past 8 months, Americans have written all the books I have read, with an American perspective. As a consumer of content I haven't paid much heed to this and for the most part was unaware of "the American perspective"  After reading Kingwell's "Catch and Release" I felt like I was allowed into the mind of a Canadian. Kingwell is not only a Canadian but also shares my timeline in life. This was by far the most enjoyable book I have read in the last year. It's one of those ones that are hard to put down. Not because of an overwhelming desire to see what's next but just because it's enjoyable. The imagery he uses is very Canadiana and is easy (for me anyway) to relate to. His writing often made me smile in a comfortable, reflective kind of way.

"I am far too near the beginning to feel this tow of delicious craziness, but I see already wisdom in the observation that "the man who has discovered fishing counts the world well lost" Adrift in a happiness without higher purpose, occupied but not directed, my thoughts veer off in random directions. I looked around and suddenly felt for the first time as if I were inside my country's money-the old kind, anyway, with the loons and woods, and, yes, the slow, low flight of a surprisingly massive osprey over the lake's slight chop."

Kingwell packs this book with humor, reflection and wisdom that is both practical and thought provoking. Even though the book has a constant thread, fishing, it is not about fishing so much as it is about life and peace of mind. In the beginning he is very much opposed to the idea of "Fishing" and names the second chapter "Fishing Is Stupid" but comes to the conclusion that this is not the case at all:

"I now found myself, against all odds, entirely happy, miles from my computer or the nearest library, untroubled by philosophical arguments I need to untangle or positions I need to defend. The state of mind peculiar to fishing, which I have called reflection, is neither precisely analytical nor entirely aimless; rather, it's a happy wandering that may outwardly resemble calm yet inwardly accommodates the most felicitous meanders, a quivering suspension in the delights of the moment. You are there but not there, concentrating but immobile, sharp-eyed but relaxed. Fishing is as close to prefect mental equilibrium as a mortal may wish to approach, it seems to me, since the asymptotic end point it sketches is probably indistinguishable from an out-of-body experience or, indeed, death. It is, says one devotee, a sport "capable of reducing the most inquiring mind to the happy indifference of a turnip." And how determinedly do we seek that vegetative state of contentment, this oddly welcome fever of peace, this therapeutic disease."

Near the end of the book he talks about his divorce and failed relationships, he writes:

"You cannot be happy alone, and you cannot be happy together. Mourning mourns the loss of a possible future, the not-yet that now will never be. Everything ends, including you. Love is not eternal, it is not even hardy. Accepting this takes a form and amount of courage that nobody but you will see, or appreciate. You can't change any of this; you have to live with it. Is that funny or sad? You know that it is both, and neither. Once again-and as always-that is the Point."

A book that is well worth the time. I am of course going to be reading more Kingwell in the future.