When David Antrobus set out on a personal, reflective solo road trip from the Pacific Coast of Canada to New York City, he picked a random date: Tuesday, September 11, 2001. This coincidence, despite the horrors of that day, proved oddly serendipitous in the sense of the author's struggle for understanding of his own relatively small trauma, which he was then only beginning to face. Evocations of the quiet melancholy of the landscape alongside poignant descriptions of grain elevators, motels, convenience stores and gas stations as he heads eastward across the Canadian Prairies are complemented by the dawning reality of New York City's wounded presence looming ever nearer. Upon arrival, the author is at first haunted by the visceral horrors that remain just days after the attacks on the World Trade Centre, yet finds unexpected comfort in the people of the city as they relate their own personal trauma stories.

There are writing manuals... and there are writing manuals. Endless Joke casts a somewhat ironic and satirical eye over the current state of publishing, very much from one independent writer's perspective, but certainly far from a partisan one. It pokes affectionate fun while genuinely wrestling with some of the complications produced in the wake of traditional publishing's seismic changes. But don't be fooled: it somehow manages to be both punk-rock irreverent and devout as a choirboy—while often funny, and at other times filled with the kind of awe that a lifelong love of writing will generate, you will learn much from this book. About lists. About movies. About how to begin a story and how to end one. And ultimately, about how to stay in love with writing amid the flood of new authors marketing their books, upon the new battlegrounds created by the e-publishing revolution. You will laugh. Maybe even cry. And you will enjoy every moment. Except for maybe a couple low points about halfway through.