It's an old story by now. Queen West just ain't what it used to be. First it was Bakka Books (now moved to Harbord Street), followed by places like the BamBoo, the 360 and, of course, Pages — all former mainstays on the strip. Most recently, the Sliver Snail announced that it'll be heading elsewhere sometime next year. Of these Queen West losses and defections (there are many more one could name), the latest might be the most telling because skyrocketing rent hasn't been cited as a major factor. According to Silver Snail manager George Zotti the street just doesn't feel like home anymore.

I try to keep pretty good tabs on Toronto-based book publications, especially those that relate to architecture and photography. But, inevitably, one manages to overlook certain titles that would make worthy additions to any collection of books about this city. Such is the case with the publications of Dominion Modern, the gallery space and Canadian architecture and design archive, which I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I only recently discovered.

As much as it's a cliche to say that one should avoid judging a book by its cover, in some instances this really isn't the worst practice - especially when the publisher's blurb reveals pretty much exactly what to expect from a particular title. Such is the case, I suspect, with the soon-to-be-released The Little Book of Rob Ford, published, almost unbelievably, by the once noble House of Anansi Press. CanLit fans will know this as the same press that brought us such classics as Margaret Atwood's Survival, Northrop Frye's The Bush Garden, and co-founder Dennis Lee's poetry (amongst other titles).

Amy Lavender Harris has filled a longstanding gap in Toronto's literary scholarship with the publication of Imagining Toronto, a comprehensive overview of literature devoted to and set in this city. Although clearly rooted in academic research - Harris teaches in the Geography department at York University - this book is nevertheless a mostly accessible read that's as much a narrative of Toronto via its various fictions as it is an analysis of the dominant tropes and themes that underwrite local literary tradition.

Oddly enough, Toronto has one of the world's finest Arthur Conan Doyle collections. Hidden on the fifth floor of the Toronto Reference Library and on your left after leaving the elevator it's tucked away in its own room: a well ordered explosion of all things Arthur Conan Doyle. Of course, there's also an overwhelming amount of Sherlock Holmes books and paraphernalia. After all, and much to Conan Doyle's chagrin, he was his most famous invention.

I was originally going to title this post "the authoritative guide to Toronto graffiti," but shortly after writing this out, I realized that such a label would disregard the degree the book in question works to destabilize concepts of authorship and ownership. Truth be told, even the word "ultimate" -- which gestures to both finality and closure -- belies the editor's intention to put together future versions of Toronto Graffiti. Nevertheless, I feel it necessary to somehow mark both the scope and seriousness of this effort to document the graffiti scene in our city.