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Bellecour
by John Calabro

Guernica's Cities Series is dedicated to writers and their relationship to their environment. A street, a district, a city become the main characters in these (non)fictionalized literary documentaries. This page highlights the work in John Calabro's Bellecour. If you'd like to explore more books in this series click here.


About the Book | About the Author | Excerpt | Other Cities Series pages


At the Moonbeam Cafe by Malca LitovitzBellecour
John Calabro
Cities Series
1-55071-216-0. $12 Canada - $10 USA. 2005

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Bellecour is about a man’s metaphysical return to a series of enigmatic sexual moments that occurred when he was nine years old in the Paris of 1963.

This journey blurs the physical lines between present and past, between Toronto and Paris, and ultimately between sexual awakening and sexual abuse.

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About the Author - John Calabro

John Calabro has been teaching for
twenty-five years with the Toronto
District School Board.

Bellecour is his first work of fiction.


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Excerpt - Bellecour

I walk. Head hazy. A murky pool of drunken, tripping, half-chewed, disconnected, left over thoughts. The numb feeling at the back of my head persists and my now scraped-empty stomach aches the aftermath
of convulsing.

Don’t stagger as much anymore, swagger from side to side, I avoid hitting lampposts and try to feel better. The darkness is blacker, soothing, befriending me. I need to walk.

The dirty metallic shutters reappear more often, almost on every second store, all of them varying shades of grey.Orienting myself in this black and white neighbourhood is difficult. Shutters, leaking rust, display
faded, barely legible names and logos hiding behind peeling paint. The filth and desolation is more prevailing and maybe because of it, I hurt less.The graffiti is bleak, hideous, mostly meaningless scribbles, grey
on white, smudges with rounded embossed contours. Illegible. Sometimes, jagged-edged indecipherable lettering; all in all, a poor effort at rebellion. Tossed garbage and broken glass, dark empty remnants of wine bottles, strewn over an uncaring sidewalk. Imprints of rotting food, squashed by heavy steps, smear the already soiled walkway; footprints acting as pointers. It is an ugly route that I am following.

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