The High Road
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A brilliant follow-up to the Stephen Leacock Award-winner The Best Laid Plans, this deeply funny satire continues the story of Honest Angus McLintock, an amateur politician who dares to do the unthinkable: tell the truth.
Just when Daniel Addison thinks he can escape his job as a political aide, Angus McLintock, the no-hope candidate he helped into Parliament, throws icy cold water over his plans. Angus has just brought down the government with a deciding vote. Now the crusty Scot wants Daniel to manage his next campaign.
Soon Daniel is helping Angus fight an uphill battle against "Flamethrower" Fox, a Conservative notorious for his dirty tactics. Together they decide to take "The High Road" and--against all odds--turn the race into a nail-biter with hilarious ups and downs, cookie-throwing seniors, and even a Watergate-style break-in. But that's only the beginning. Add a political storm in the capital and a side-splitting visit from the U.S. President and his alcoholic wife, and Terry Fallis's second novel is a wildly entertaining read full of deft political satire and laugh-out-loud comedy.
to the McClintock house. In her lap, her index finger rubbed back and forth against the pad of her thumb, unbidden. “Come on, Muriel, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, of course you’re right, Daniel. Angus has served Cumberland-Prescott well but it’s time he headed back to the engineering faculty.’” “Daniel, if I believed that I’d say it. But I don’t, and because I want to arrive safely for lunch, I’m keeping quiet about it.” She turned her gaze to the trees lining the road. “I think I just saw a
looked as if he were fighting the act of offering his hand in return. His short and shiny brown hair was plastered flat to his head, making it look painted on. Although he wore round gold-rimmed glasses from the John Denver collection, there was certainly no “Sunshine on My Shoulder” happening, let alone “Rocky Mountain High.” Instead, he looked like he’d rather Angus and I were “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” He looked peeved and well on the way to pissed. “Prime Minister, we have only a short time
mid-afternoon, the stratagem was in play. I wasn’t fully in control of the timing, but was reasonably comfortable that we’d hit the right window. I figured we had a week. If Bradley Stanton knew that I’d been freelancing without the centre’s approval, I’d be in for any number of horrible fates at his hand. Quietly taking my leave was not one of the options he was likely to offer. It could be anything from live human taxidermy to the old naked spread-eagle, fire ants, and honey routine. Both were
security perspective, the RCMP guys think Angus’s house, being right on the river, is very easy to defend. Anyway, the Secret Service squareheads are going to call you. They want to come up to do the advance work and we gotta keep the Pres happy.” With that, he walked out, leaving me agape with the bill resting atop the draft report, still undisturbed on the table. True to his word, they called a half-hour later as I drove home. DIARY Tuesday, February 18 My Love, We’re not quite finished,
which government really started the infrastructure negligence campaign. So why not take that revelation away from them and try to control how it’s positioned?” We debated the political pros and cons for another ten minutes or so before Angus grew bored. “Was there anything else, Prime Minister?” Angus asked. Not a line often used in Ottawa. The PM’s polite façade was slipping. I’d seen it before when I served on his staff so I could almost picture the back of his neck flushing red as he