Modern life in North America often seems like a Faustian bargain: in exchange for material comforts we must give up a sense of community, social cohesion, and genuine contentment. Most modern North American towns bear witness to this awful trade-off. Edmonton, Alberta is no exception.

Today I drove to Edmonton’s downtown and discovered that the historic Arlington Apartments have been demolished. Once a proud edifice just a stone’s throw from Jasper Avenue, the Arlington Apartments had an interesting and lively past. The building itself was an exemplar of elegant early twentieth century architecture. Between 1994 and 1995, I lived there with two roommates for about six eventful months. I remember once preparing myself chilli con carne with week-old ground beef and, after eating it, going into a 24-hour delirium, interrupted every hour by violent vomiting. The climax of my stay at the Arlington was when the upstairs apartment flooded ours with sewage.

A couple of years ago, a fire ripped through the Arlington and destroyed most of it. Nevertheless, the facade overlooking the street remained, and many people believed that the building could and should be rebuilt. Clearly, these voices have been ignored. In between the black-glass office tower on one side and the ugly green home of the Fresh Start education centre on the other, is a gaping hole. The hole where my home once stood.

What does it do to the human spirit to see the places of one’s past torn down and replaced with condominiums or parking lots or strip malls? During my relatively brief sojourn in Edmonton, I witnessed the destruction of the old Edmonton Journal building, a grain elevator, city hall, the lieutenant governor general’s house… There was even talk at one time of tearing down the Hotel MacDonald.

I remember when I was fourteen, and the Journal building was coming down, I asked my peers, “Why are they doing this?” The general consensus was that the building was “too old” and that a “better one” was needed. In Edmonton, people generally think that history is something that happens elsewhere – i.e. in Europe, or possibly eastern Canada. People rarely think how history is something that happens everywhere, and that we all have a part in creating it and preserving it.

The other day, reading the Edmonton Journal, I discovered that many councillors at Edmonton’s intrepid city hall are “outraged” at the prospect of spending $50,000 to restore an historic Edmonton area barn. Thinking like this has prevailed throughout most of Edmonton’s history, and the result is that the city now has the feeling of utter abandonment. To travel around the place on a brisk day like today is like visiting the scene of some violent catastrophe that has killed most humans and condemned those that survive to huddling in temporary box-like structures. I stood in the heart of downtown and there was not a single soul on the sidewalk. In Edmonton, this is normal. This is what passes for city living.

People move around Edmonton looking miserable and rather shell-shocked. They seem suspicious and nervous of each other. I first noticed this general surliness when I returned to the city for Christmas 2007. This Christmas, my girlfriend noticed the exact same phenomenon.

Is it any wonder that Edmontonians look so miserable when the city itself is hell-bent on replacing everything old and unique with garish new warehouses that promote mass-market brands such as McDonalds and Boston Pizza and IKEA? Most of Edmonton is a perfect example of what author Howard Kunstler calls “the geography of nowhere.” How does it feel to live somewhere that looks like everywhere else, or in other words, like nowhere at all? Perhaps, after living in “nowhere” for long enough, people might end up feeling like a bunch of nobodies.

Is there any real difference between Blue Quill, Duggan, Clareview, or Riverbend? Beyond the size of the houses, as befits Edmonton’s varying social classes, do any of these neighbourhoods actually have a story to tell? I can’t think of many neighbourhoods in Edmonton that have a defined centre – i.e. a main street, a social hub, an historic core. All you get as you move from one part of the city to the other is the incessant voice of the commodity culture imploring you to buy buy buy.

I have immensely enjoyed many things about my festive season in Edmonton. The company of my wonderful girlfriend, her family, and the numerous stalwart friends that I’ve had a chance to see here -it’s been splendid. But boy am I glad to live somewhere else.