[(Tip of the Iceberg )] [Author: Larry O'Connor] [Dec-2005]

by Larry O'Connor

"Growing up in remote central Canada, Larry O'Connor was spellbound by the country farther north - the unknowable white expanses, the harsh lives of its indigenous peoples and animals, and the exploits of its legendary explorers. A memoir of self-discovery, Tip of the Iceberg samples the history and lore of the frozen wastes as it reveals a young man's journey across his family's past." O'Connor is the kind of child the Eskimos might have left to the undersized, frail, an outsider. Yet he is willful, driven to lift the pall that emanates from his father to blanket the entire family. Underlying the physical coldness of place is an emotional chill. O'Connor's father is a stern, secretive man, barely knowable to his son, misunderstood by those around him. While father and son are poles apart in their temperament, O'Connor senses the traces of a hidden, softer man in his father, the man who retreats to a lockbox of memorabilia in the middle of the night.

Paperback

First published March 1, 2002

About the author

Larry O'Connor is a newspaperman who writes books. Larry grew up along the shores of Georgian Bay and Lake Huron and now lives a short bike ride away from the Brooklyn dockyards. He resides with his wife and daughter in Park Slope.

Reviews

[Three O'Clock Press]

Tip of the Iceberg is a remarkable story of a boyhood lived at the gateway to Canada's far north. The narrator, raised by a stern, secretive father barely knowable to his son, is spellbound by the country that lies beyond his small town. He is fascinated by white expanses, the harsh lives of indigenous peoples and animals, and the exploits of the legendary explorers. A memoir of self-discovery, Tip of the Iceberg samples the history and lore of the frozen wastelands as it reveals a young man's journey across his family's past. O'Connor's spare and elegant prose conveys the heartbreaking weight of the unspoken and unseen: relatives who never call or visit, photographs locked in a cedar chest, forgotten obituaries in back issues of the local newspaper.