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The Bleaks: A Memoir
The Bleaks is the true story of a harrowing nightmare into which writer Paul Illidge’s life is plunged one summer night, when a police drug-squad raids his suburban house, arrests him and his two teenage sons, and whisks them off to jail for growing some marijuana plants in their basement.Helpless against police harassment and abuse, tangled in a judicial system where the presumption of innocence is thrown out the window, Illidge is not only forbidden contact with his children, but forced by his estranged wife to sell their house before the government seizes it as an organized crime grow-op.He finds himself embattled on all sides, living out of the trunk of his car, his finances dwindling, a debilitating depression setting in that he can’t seem to shake―other than through desperate measures that, before things went so badly awry, would have been unthinkable.With circumstances at their bleakest, no choice but to admit defeat and face the consequences of his so-called crimes, he stumbles on an idea that he thinks could save him. The question is, will it be in time?
412 pages, Hardcover
First published October 14, 2014
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
October 15, 2014
I just leapt right into this book, not knowing it was a memoir (I read a review copy with no cover.) I was shocked to find, on the last page, that it was true -- even now I barely believe it. It is truly better than [most] fiction. It also defies belief -- in a good way. One more cliche: a page-turner.
Takeaways:
We should all have such a wonderful group of lifelong friends to take us in when bad fortune and rotten policing call.
Making a living out of Shakespeare: good for him!
The welfare system! As presented here, it's funny, but I was so annoyed for the patient Paul.
How--and why--did he ever agree to/be able to get the house in sale condition? My shoulder ached for him!
With this chronicle of awful mishaps and bad luck, there was one event that I kept dreading would come back to Paul. (Maybe it did, later on, IRL.)
I wonder how soon Hollywood will come calling -- or, in this case, Toronto, where so many movies are made. It probably already has. I hope the author takes his pay in tiny increments of $570.
Please read this.
Takeaways:
We should all have such a wonderful group of lifelong friends to take us in when bad fortune and rotten policing call.
Making a living out of Shakespeare: good for him!
The welfare system! As presented here, it's funny, but I was so annoyed for the patient Paul.
How--and why--did he ever agree to/be able to get the house in sale condition? My shoulder ached for him!
With this chronicle of awful mishaps and bad luck, there was one event that I kept dreading would come back to Paul. (Maybe it did, later on, IRL.)
I wonder how soon Hollywood will come calling -- or, in this case, Toronto, where so many movies are made. It probably already has. I hope the author takes his pay in tiny increments of $570.
Please read this.
November 7, 2014
At its simplest, The Bleaks is a Kafkaesque “urban nightmare” about a writer whose life is turned upside-down when his neighbours rat him out for growing pot in his basement.
Going by the last paragraph of the blurb, the book seems more like it’s a race against time, a will-he-or-won’t-he-succeed thriller. I suppose there are elements of that, and it’s true that this book is about beating “the man,” and injustice, before the clock. Yet it’s a lot more than that.
The “selling his house in time” problem is just the framework for a story about other problems and issues: how to be honest with your children when society thinks you should be hypocritical with them about drugs; how to deal with feelings of anxiety and inadequacy as a father and as a person; how to stick to your guns when everyone says you’re wrong.
I’m not particularly steeped in the tradition of memoirs, although I used to read biographies voraciously as a kid. I was enthralled with the trials and tribulations of Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, or anyone who worked on Saturday Night Live. All the parties, drinking and drugs were so titillating and incredible. It was always like pulling back the curtain onto a living movie you can’t believe actually happened. The Bleaks is one of those too-strange-for-fiction movies, but with a photo album quality to it. Kind of like looking at a series of polaroids: sometimes the sides overlap to cut off details, sometimes the colours bleed into each other, maybe because the whole album has been left out in the rain too long. Colours and faces are clear as day against dark, fuzzy backdrops that both reveal and cast shadows on the demons waiting at every turn. The narrative comes alive as a result, especially the section when Paul describes his experience on antidepressants.
Although The Bleaks has been compared to The Trial, the context reminds me more of Ibsen’s Ghosts, with the theme of the sins of the parents visited upon the children, and how society takes umbrage at the discussion of taboo subjects. Ibsen was excoriated for writing a play about venereal disease; you can almost imagine the same thing happening to Paul for writing about depression and marijuana. In fact, I read Paul’s recent Toronto Life piece, and some of the responses to that article amounted to “How could a father let his son grow marijuana” and other types of balderdash.
This kind of acrimony (which of course this kind of story will trigger) just doesn’t get at what Paul was really doing: helping his son find a path in life. We could all argue till the cows come home about whether the way he went about it was smart or not, but the truth is that he did not commit 99% of the crimes that the police said he did. He and his sons did not deserve that treatment from the police. No one does.
Of course, the version of himself that the author reveals in this book could perhaps be faulted with a few things: he seems a bit flaky about filing his taxes, he’s pretty nonchalant about spending time with his no-good brother, and he has zero compunction about being belligerent with people in authority. But, uh… so what? And worst of all, he cares more about his family and his writing than about money. Gosh, lock him up throw away the keys. What a monster!
But it’s important to understand that Paul’s experience is not an isolated incident. This is not a one-off story of someone who happened to get caught up in the government’s bogus war on drugs. To read this book is to understand the true nature of the marijuana laws in Canada. Paul and his sons are just a few of the hundreds of thousands of people who now have a criminal record because of draconian policing methods. They’re just some of the many people whose lives have been ruined because of the government’s mission to stop people from ruining their lives. The back-asswardery in this area of the law is too mind-boggling for words.
(Some necessary background reading along with this memoir would be the MacLean’s article from 2013 on this topic, "Why It's Time to Legalize Marijuana," the 2002 Canadian Senate Committee report on Canadian Public Policy on Cannabis, and a recent article in Scientific American about the need for scientific research on marijuana. These articles explain why the hysteria about marijuana exists in Canada, what most Canadians really think about this “evil” plant, and the positive effects this substance can have. In the past two years, especially with recent legalization in Washington and Colorado, the policies such as the one espoused by the Conservative Party have been shown to be extremely stupid.)
Although marijuana is what gets Paul into trouble and triggers his depression, overall what I found more compelling was the very intimate look at a broken family who refuses to be broken, as well as Paul’s never-ending quest to be honest with his children. He pays a tremendous price for that honesty, but throughout everything, his relationship with his son remains intact—a testament to his dedication as a father.
To me, the tragedy here is how Paul’s refusal to accept an authority figure’s bulls*** is what saves him as a child but is what hurts him as an adult. Because Paul really didn’t get into so much trouble just for growing weed in his basement. He also got into trouble because he didn’t “respect the arresting office.” And if that can happen to a middle-aged white dude, you can just imagine the experiences of more marginalized people, which Paul also describes during his time in the “big house.” You start to feel just a bit sick. And bit helpless. And a bit bleak.
As a mother, my heart ached for the two little boys that were Paul and his brother. I wanted to go back in time and hug them and tell them everything was going to be okay and change some of the future disasters awaiting them. But of course, you can never really “save” someone from The Bleaks, as life and depression are just too complicated. But we should all hope to be as honest with our children as Paul was with his, which is ultimately his saving grace and a rare quality that takes an extreme amount of courage to express. Overall, the author shows an amazing resiliency. Where he found that well of strength is a mystery unto itself.
In the end, The Bleaks reminds me of the famous quote from The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Too true, too true.
Bravo.
Going by the last paragraph of the blurb, the book seems more like it’s a race against time, a will-he-or-won’t-he-succeed thriller. I suppose there are elements of that, and it’s true that this book is about beating “the man,” and injustice, before the clock. Yet it’s a lot more than that.
The “selling his house in time” problem is just the framework for a story about other problems and issues: how to be honest with your children when society thinks you should be hypocritical with them about drugs; how to deal with feelings of anxiety and inadequacy as a father and as a person; how to stick to your guns when everyone says you’re wrong.
I’m not particularly steeped in the tradition of memoirs, although I used to read biographies voraciously as a kid. I was enthralled with the trials and tribulations of Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, or anyone who worked on Saturday Night Live. All the parties, drinking and drugs were so titillating and incredible. It was always like pulling back the curtain onto a living movie you can’t believe actually happened. The Bleaks is one of those too-strange-for-fiction movies, but with a photo album quality to it. Kind of like looking at a series of polaroids: sometimes the sides overlap to cut off details, sometimes the colours bleed into each other, maybe because the whole album has been left out in the rain too long. Colours and faces are clear as day against dark, fuzzy backdrops that both reveal and cast shadows on the demons waiting at every turn. The narrative comes alive as a result, especially the section when Paul describes his experience on antidepressants.
Although The Bleaks has been compared to The Trial, the context reminds me more of Ibsen’s Ghosts, with the theme of the sins of the parents visited upon the children, and how society takes umbrage at the discussion of taboo subjects. Ibsen was excoriated for writing a play about venereal disease; you can almost imagine the same thing happening to Paul for writing about depression and marijuana. In fact, I read Paul’s recent Toronto Life piece, and some of the responses to that article amounted to “How could a father let his son grow marijuana” and other types of balderdash.
This kind of acrimony (which of course this kind of story will trigger) just doesn’t get at what Paul was really doing: helping his son find a path in life. We could all argue till the cows come home about whether the way he went about it was smart or not, but the truth is that he did not commit 99% of the crimes that the police said he did. He and his sons did not deserve that treatment from the police. No one does.
Of course, the version of himself that the author reveals in this book could perhaps be faulted with a few things: he seems a bit flaky about filing his taxes, he’s pretty nonchalant about spending time with his no-good brother, and he has zero compunction about being belligerent with people in authority. But, uh… so what? And worst of all, he cares more about his family and his writing than about money. Gosh, lock him up throw away the keys. What a monster!
But it’s important to understand that Paul’s experience is not an isolated incident. This is not a one-off story of someone who happened to get caught up in the government’s bogus war on drugs. To read this book is to understand the true nature of the marijuana laws in Canada. Paul and his sons are just a few of the hundreds of thousands of people who now have a criminal record because of draconian policing methods. They’re just some of the many people whose lives have been ruined because of the government’s mission to stop people from ruining their lives. The back-asswardery in this area of the law is too mind-boggling for words.
(Some necessary background reading along with this memoir would be the MacLean’s article from 2013 on this topic, "Why It's Time to Legalize Marijuana," the 2002 Canadian Senate Committee report on Canadian Public Policy on Cannabis, and a recent article in Scientific American about the need for scientific research on marijuana. These articles explain why the hysteria about marijuana exists in Canada, what most Canadians really think about this “evil” plant, and the positive effects this substance can have. In the past two years, especially with recent legalization in Washington and Colorado, the policies such as the one espoused by the Conservative Party have been shown to be extremely stupid.)
Although marijuana is what gets Paul into trouble and triggers his depression, overall what I found more compelling was the very intimate look at a broken family who refuses to be broken, as well as Paul’s never-ending quest to be honest with his children. He pays a tremendous price for that honesty, but throughout everything, his relationship with his son remains intact—a testament to his dedication as a father.
To me, the tragedy here is how Paul’s refusal to accept an authority figure’s bulls*** is what saves him as a child but is what hurts him as an adult. Because Paul really didn’t get into so much trouble just for growing weed in his basement. He also got into trouble because he didn’t “respect the arresting office.” And if that can happen to a middle-aged white dude, you can just imagine the experiences of more marginalized people, which Paul also describes during his time in the “big house.” You start to feel just a bit sick. And bit helpless. And a bit bleak.
As a mother, my heart ached for the two little boys that were Paul and his brother. I wanted to go back in time and hug them and tell them everything was going to be okay and change some of the future disasters awaiting them. But of course, you can never really “save” someone from The Bleaks, as life and depression are just too complicated. But we should all hope to be as honest with our children as Paul was with his, which is ultimately his saving grace and a rare quality that takes an extreme amount of courage to express. Overall, the author shows an amazing resiliency. Where he found that well of strength is a mystery unto itself.
In the end, The Bleaks reminds me of the famous quote from The Tempest: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Too true, too true.
Bravo.
September 30, 2015
This memoir seems implausible to me. To begin with, if the cannabis plants are growing in the basement of the house, how does the neighbour across the street come to know about it?
On to the arrest? Every person, once arrested, is intimately searched. So, what's so special about that? Nobody gets issued an orange jump suit until they arrive at the prison where they are to be held. You don't get one handed to you at Old City Hall.
The fact that Paul lets his son take the fall for the grow operation blows my mind. Why didn't he take the rap? Instead, his son gets saddled with a criminal record, while his own case gets dismissed. Well done! Later, he claims to get a grow license, with permission to grow 69 plants. That's quite a large number. But no details are given about, for example, how he or his son ponied up the money to pay the electric bill with 3000 watts worth of electricity being consumed for 18 hours a day, during the grow cycle. That gets very expensive, very fast. Using activated carbon to remove the smell of budding plants? That might work, but no mention is made of how the air filtration system was installed. Activated carbon is also quite expensive to use, and you can't get the equipment at your local hardware store.
He also allows his son to grow cannabis using the license that he claims was issued to him. He further incriminates his son by claiming that while he was in the Maritimes, he would receive cannabis grown by his son through the mail. Smart!
The quality of the writing is poor, and the facts don't add up. If you are looking for truth about the problems with the criminal justice system and the risks that people take if they grow cannabis for personal use without an impossible to obtain license, you won't get much of anything useful out of this book.
On to the arrest? Every person, once arrested, is intimately searched. So, what's so special about that? Nobody gets issued an orange jump suit until they arrive at the prison where they are to be held. You don't get one handed to you at Old City Hall.
The fact that Paul lets his son take the fall for the grow operation blows my mind. Why didn't he take the rap? Instead, his son gets saddled with a criminal record, while his own case gets dismissed. Well done! Later, he claims to get a grow license, with permission to grow 69 plants. That's quite a large number. But no details are given about, for example, how he or his son ponied up the money to pay the electric bill with 3000 watts worth of electricity being consumed for 18 hours a day, during the grow cycle. That gets very expensive, very fast. Using activated carbon to remove the smell of budding plants? That might work, but no mention is made of how the air filtration system was installed. Activated carbon is also quite expensive to use, and you can't get the equipment at your local hardware store.
He also allows his son to grow cannabis using the license that he claims was issued to him. He further incriminates his son by claiming that while he was in the Maritimes, he would receive cannabis grown by his son through the mail. Smart!
The quality of the writing is poor, and the facts don't add up. If you are looking for truth about the problems with the criminal justice system and the risks that people take if they grow cannabis for personal use without an impossible to obtain license, you won't get much of anything useful out of this book.
December 26, 2014
Toronto-based novelist Paul Illidge has written an unsettling memoir about his drawn-out and devastating clash with the Canadian justice system.
In July 2007, Illidge’s home was raided by a vindictive drug squad after a neighbour alerted the police that a marijuana grow-up was on the premises. He and his two sons were charged with trafficking in controlled substances, even though all the police found was a few plants that the younger son grew for personal use.
What follows next is the ultimate nightmare. Illidge was interrogated, strip-searched, and released under draconian bail conditions. His hostile ex-wife ordered him to prepare the house for sale, even though a court order banned him from the premises. While struggling to keep his head above water financially, the author was subjected to additional setbacks and personal blows: repeated delays in clearing the house for sale, costly indictments arising from a con-artist younger brother’s tricks, and struggles with the welfare system, which he ultimately resorted to.
If The Bleaks was not classified as a memoir, it would be the ultimate case of disaster fiction. Whatever can go wrong for the protagonist does go wrong. But it’s not fiction, and that’s what makes this book so unnerving. If Illidge’s life could crash and burn so spectacularly, so could anyone’s. This piece of ‘therapeutic’ writing has turned the author’s personal nightmare into the reader’s greatest fear.
In July 2007, Illidge’s home was raided by a vindictive drug squad after a neighbour alerted the police that a marijuana grow-up was on the premises. He and his two sons were charged with trafficking in controlled substances, even though all the police found was a few plants that the younger son grew for personal use.
What follows next is the ultimate nightmare. Illidge was interrogated, strip-searched, and released under draconian bail conditions. His hostile ex-wife ordered him to prepare the house for sale, even though a court order banned him from the premises. While struggling to keep his head above water financially, the author was subjected to additional setbacks and personal blows: repeated delays in clearing the house for sale, costly indictments arising from a con-artist younger brother’s tricks, and struggles with the welfare system, which he ultimately resorted to.
If The Bleaks was not classified as a memoir, it would be the ultimate case of disaster fiction. Whatever can go wrong for the protagonist does go wrong. But it’s not fiction, and that’s what makes this book so unnerving. If Illidge’s life could crash and burn so spectacularly, so could anyone’s. This piece of ‘therapeutic’ writing has turned the author’s personal nightmare into the reader’s greatest fear.
June 26, 2015
I wish I could give this 2.5 stars. I thought the book was going to be a lot more about the author's take on marijuana in this country and more about his criminal charges, including more details about the plea bargain his son took etc. Instead, while the police raid on his house opens the book, the rest of the book is just more of a memoir of his life during the years after the raid. The raid sounded absolutely awful and I can definitely sympathize with his desire to speak out against that. However, I was struck by the anti-authority sentiment throughout the book. I can understand why some people become/are anti-authority but I wish he would have explained where those feelings came from for him because I don't think they started the night of the police raid. I felt like the author had made some bad choices which resulted in some bad things happening to him (like debts piling up) but he was always very quick to blame others without looking at himself. The incident with the Go Train at the end is a good example - why should he alone be excused from paying the fare while everyone else has to play by the rules and pay to take public transit? In his telling of the story, the Go Train seems to represent everything wrong with capitalism, authority, etc. when the bottom line is, he didn't pay for his ticket and seems to think there's nothing wrong with that. I read the entire book and was interested in his life but I probably wouldn't read anything else by him.
March 13, 2015
Wow, just wow.
July 20, 2018
This Egghead needs a kick to the head. Do the crime, do the time... don't throw your son under the bus. What's so hard about that. If you want to read a great book about a guy wrongly arrested, check out D Randall Blythe's book about his arrest while on tour with his band Lamb of God.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews