“On our honeymoon,” Klein tells me, laughing, “I made him visit Nike sweatshops!” As the wine and conversation flow, we all devour plates of nasi lemak ordered by Klein’s husband, Avi Lewis, a TV host and documentary filmmaker who exudes graciousness and transparently adores his wife. We’ve convened at Soos Resto/Bar, a newfangled Malaysian café, for dinner with a group of friends including her lanky, droll Random House editor, Louise Dennys (the niece of Graham Greene), avant-garde filmmaker John Greyson, fiction writer Kyo Maclear and her composer husband, David Wall, a onetime member of the almost-famous alt-rock band Bourbon Tabernacle Choir. On this sultry summer evening, we’re sitting in a place where the attractive 44-year-old Toronto resident does feel comfortable. “Even though I believe in mass social movements, I’m uncomfortable in crowds.” “I was never really a marcher,” says Naomi Klein, an author so politically committed that she discovered she was pregnant with her son, Toma, while among Occupy Wall Street protesters in Zuccotti Park.
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