October 1, 2024 The Humans by Matt Haig
This was a book club pick, but I might have considered reading it anyway after enjoying The Midnight Library. In The Humans, an alien is sent to Earth to eliminate a human man who has discovered an important mathematical proof that will, once widespread, lead humans to other important discoveries that could then challenge the existence of the alien species. Many book club members were turned off by 1) the alien and 2) the math, but Haig has an engaging style and it was entertaining to see the alien adapting to the “primitive” human culture. He takes on the persona of the mathematics professor he has killed, and then must interact with “his” wife and son as if he has always known them; in this way, the story is similar to The Midnight Library where people can enter multiple versions of their own lives, but within each life they don’t know their own past.
Certainly, the book was entertaining, especially as the alien makes observations about the ridiculous behaviour of humans and their pursuit of sex and money. I was more engaged than I expected to be, but it was hard to let go of Mork calling Orson when the alien communicated with his species “back home.” I found that ultimately his observations about humanity were pretty trite: being human means loving and letting go, who knew? Being human means suffering pain, feeling empathy, having a range of emotion! Oh, and apparently aliens can understand dogs. I love a good, imperfect dog character but in this book, Newton the dog added very little. Haig completes the story with a 97-item list of “Advice for a Human.” Besides the number, which he uses because it is prime but which bothers my obsessive tendencies, the list is troubling in its lack of originality. “Shame is a shackle. Free yourself. /Tragedy is just comedy that hasn’t come to fruition./Language is euphemism. Love is truth.” I’d have preferred a 10-item (okay, 7 or 13) list that was much more philosophical and less like the result of a google search for memes.
When asked, “did you like the book?” I had a hard time answering. There were some things I enjoyed, and the concept was creative, but I don’t think ultimately that it worked, if the goal was to contemplate humanity in a fresh new way.
This was a book club pick, but I might have considered reading it anyway after enjoying The Midnight Library. In The Humans, an alien is sent to Earth to eliminate a human man who has discovered an important mathematical proof that will, once widespread, lead humans to other important discoveries that could then challenge the existence of the alien species. Many book club members were turned off by 1) the alien and 2) the math, but Haig has an engaging style and it was entertaining to see the alien adapting to the “primitive” human culture. He takes on the persona of the mathematics professor he has killed, and then must interact with “his” wife and son as if he has always known them; in this way, the story is similar to The Midnight Library where people can enter multiple versions of their own lives, but within each life they don’t know their own past.
Certainly, the book was entertaining, especially as the alien makes observations about the ridiculous behaviour of humans and their pursuit of sex and money. I was more engaged than I expected to be, but it was hard to let go of Mork calling Orson when the alien communicated with his species “back home.” I found that ultimately his observations about humanity were pretty trite: being human means loving and letting go, who knew? Being human means suffering pain, feeling empathy, having a range of emotion! Oh, and apparently aliens can understand dogs. I love a good, imperfect dog character but in this book, Newton the dog added very little. Haig completes the story with a 97-item list of “Advice for a Human.” Besides the number, which he uses because it is prime but which bothers my obsessive tendencies, the list is troubling in its lack of originality. “Shame is a shackle. Free yourself. /Tragedy is just comedy that hasn’t come to fruition./Language is euphemism. Love is truth.” I’d have preferred a 10-item (okay, 7 or 13) list that was much more philosophical and less like the result of a google search for memes.
When asked, “did you like the book?” I had a hard time answering. There were some things I enjoyed, and the concept was creative, but I don’t think ultimately that it worked, if the goal was to contemplate humanity in a fresh new way.
September 12, 2024 The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz
In general, I don't read a lot of self-help books. This book, subtitled "A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom," sat on the shelf for a while after it was given to me by a close friend, but clearly they thought I might enjoy it so I gave it a chance.
The Four Agreements are based on Toltec wisdom (women and men of knowledge in ancient Mexico). The premise is that everything we do in life is an agreement: we agree to follow rules, to speak a certain way, to go by a certain name which we did not choose. But we can, as adults, choose our agreements and, according to Ruiz, make our lives better by doing so. These are the agreements:
1) Be impeccable with your word. Here, this statement means speaking with integrity, to promote good and love, avoiding negative talk about ourselves or others. The word impeccable is pretty nuanced, since of course simply speaking the truth is not always the best course of action when it might hurt others.
2) Don't take anything personally. He emphasizes that when others say hurtful things (not being impeccable!) they are often the ones hurting. He suggests not only ignoring negative things, but also positive things (doesn't he know about my love of a gold star?), rather focusing on knowing ourselves deeply, our own skills, talents and weaknesses.
3) Don't make assumptions. "Even if we hear something and we don't understand, we make assumptions about what it means and then believe the assumptions." To Ruiz, these assumptions are due to poor communication and can be avoided by admitting we don't know, and asking for clarification.
4) Always do your best. This seems self-evident, but he makes the very reasonable point that on any given day, our best changes. Doing our best parenting depends on sleep, supports, and external stressors. Doing a fast time in a race may not be possible due to illness or injury, so we need to reset our expectations. In this way Ruiz feels we can reduce self doubt and negative self talk, since our expectations match our circumstances.
While the Agreements themselves are interesting, they're not that different from the teachings of others over the ages. The Golden Rule summarizes at least two of the above, in one sentence! I'm also not sure about statements like "All human problems would be resolved if we could have good, clear communication." If I say "this is what I want" and someone else says "this is what I want," Ruiz feels that exchange will resolve everything, but if one considers the Gaza strip, as an extreme example, communication has not been successful so far. Blowing each other up, I agree, is definitely not the answer.
Overall, this book stuck with me and I highlighted a few passages. As a work of philosophy, I enjoyed reading and discussing it with others. My husband and I now find ourselves saying, "don't make assumptions!" or "don't take it personally!" If you enjoy pondering life and paths to happiness, consider spending some time with this book. It's okay if you don't. I know you are doing your best.
In general, I don't read a lot of self-help books. This book, subtitled "A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom," sat on the shelf for a while after it was given to me by a close friend, but clearly they thought I might enjoy it so I gave it a chance.
The Four Agreements are based on Toltec wisdom (women and men of knowledge in ancient Mexico). The premise is that everything we do in life is an agreement: we agree to follow rules, to speak a certain way, to go by a certain name which we did not choose. But we can, as adults, choose our agreements and, according to Ruiz, make our lives better by doing so. These are the agreements:
1) Be impeccable with your word. Here, this statement means speaking with integrity, to promote good and love, avoiding negative talk about ourselves or others. The word impeccable is pretty nuanced, since of course simply speaking the truth is not always the best course of action when it might hurt others.
2) Don't take anything personally. He emphasizes that when others say hurtful things (not being impeccable!) they are often the ones hurting. He suggests not only ignoring negative things, but also positive things (doesn't he know about my love of a gold star?), rather focusing on knowing ourselves deeply, our own skills, talents and weaknesses.
3) Don't make assumptions. "Even if we hear something and we don't understand, we make assumptions about what it means and then believe the assumptions." To Ruiz, these assumptions are due to poor communication and can be avoided by admitting we don't know, and asking for clarification.
4) Always do your best. This seems self-evident, but he makes the very reasonable point that on any given day, our best changes. Doing our best parenting depends on sleep, supports, and external stressors. Doing a fast time in a race may not be possible due to illness or injury, so we need to reset our expectations. In this way Ruiz feels we can reduce self doubt and negative self talk, since our expectations match our circumstances.
While the Agreements themselves are interesting, they're not that different from the teachings of others over the ages. The Golden Rule summarizes at least two of the above, in one sentence! I'm also not sure about statements like "All human problems would be resolved if we could have good, clear communication." If I say "this is what I want" and someone else says "this is what I want," Ruiz feels that exchange will resolve everything, but if one considers the Gaza strip, as an extreme example, communication has not been successful so far. Blowing each other up, I agree, is definitely not the answer.
Overall, this book stuck with me and I highlighted a few passages. As a work of philosophy, I enjoyed reading and discussing it with others. My husband and I now find ourselves saying, "don't make assumptions!" or "don't take it personally!" If you enjoy pondering life and paths to happiness, consider spending some time with this book. It's okay if you don't. I know you are doing your best.
September 3, 2024 The Sisters of Belfast by Melanie Maure (Harper Collins 2024)
I’d decided not to read any more WWII books for a while, but then received this book as a gift so decided to forge ahead. The story centres around Isabel and Aelish McGuire, ten-year-old twin sisters orphaned by a bombing blitz in Belfast at the very start of the novel. They’re taken to the local orphanage staffed by nuns, and maybe it’s just me, but that never seems to work out well in books. To the writer’s credit, the twins are very different in personality and cope with their trauma in opposite ways.
Over the many years of the story, the girls deal with more than anyone’s share of tragedy. It’s a bleak, difficult book, and yet I did not feel emotional about it; the many time jumps and point of view changes made it difficult for me to connect with the characters in a deep meaningful way. The choices they made felt questionable, rather than expected or inevitable based on the character development.
There are a few side plots (the Catholic sisters at the convent/orphanage, various love triangles, and the very upsetting mystery of what happened to Isabel that made her leave Belfast in the first place). The characters all have their secrets and shame, which I appreciate, but the way the story unfolds starts to feel like a thriller structure, with cliffhanger chapter endings and big reveals in nearly every section.
This is a debut novel and the author took on a lot, between the subject matter, the multiple POV, and the time changes. I appreciate how much research must have gone into this novel, and the author’s attempt to increase the reader’s awareness of lesser-known historical events. I also thought she did a good job describing Aelish’s faith and questioning thereof. On the other hand, I feel like war orphans and negative portrayals of nuns and the lack of woman’s rights in the 1960’s have been done over and over, and I’m not sure this specific book changes my mind about that.
I’d decided not to read any more WWII books for a while, but then received this book as a gift so decided to forge ahead. The story centres around Isabel and Aelish McGuire, ten-year-old twin sisters orphaned by a bombing blitz in Belfast at the very start of the novel. They’re taken to the local orphanage staffed by nuns, and maybe it’s just me, but that never seems to work out well in books. To the writer’s credit, the twins are very different in personality and cope with their trauma in opposite ways.
Over the many years of the story, the girls deal with more than anyone’s share of tragedy. It’s a bleak, difficult book, and yet I did not feel emotional about it; the many time jumps and point of view changes made it difficult for me to connect with the characters in a deep meaningful way. The choices they made felt questionable, rather than expected or inevitable based on the character development.
There are a few side plots (the Catholic sisters at the convent/orphanage, various love triangles, and the very upsetting mystery of what happened to Isabel that made her leave Belfast in the first place). The characters all have their secrets and shame, which I appreciate, but the way the story unfolds starts to feel like a thriller structure, with cliffhanger chapter endings and big reveals in nearly every section.
This is a debut novel and the author took on a lot, between the subject matter, the multiple POV, and the time changes. I appreciate how much research must have gone into this novel, and the author’s attempt to increase the reader’s awareness of lesser-known historical events. I also thought she did a good job describing Aelish’s faith and questioning thereof. On the other hand, I feel like war orphans and negative portrayals of nuns and the lack of woman’s rights in the 1960’s have been done over and over, and I’m not sure this specific book changes my mind about that.
August 27, 2024 Every Little Piece of Me by Amy Jones (Penguin Random House, 2019)
Have you ever thought, if only I could be famous? Have you ever wanted to be a rock star, an influencer, a superstar athlete, an actor? Have you ever considered the repercussions, if your dream came true?
In this book, two women realize the dream of becoming famous, and learn the toll that fame takes. Mags is a singer whose band is trying to find a balance after losing one of their star performers (also Mags’ husband). Ava is a teenager whose family has their own reality TV series, but in taking on the project, they must uproot from her beloved Manhattan to a B&B in Nova Scotia.
The reader follows each of these women as they navigate the desire for, and hatred of, celebrity. What does it mean, when the public gets to comment on every facet of your life? What does it mean, when your behaviour, relationships, appearance, and day-to-day choices are open to opinion and analysis? Mags and Ava have separate storylines that overlap in small ways initially, and then in a much larger way later in the book. They develop a friendship based on their common experience of fame, and each develops a plan to take charge of her own life.
I preferred Amy Jones’ previous book, We’re All in This Together, but as that one is set in Thunder Bay, I admit to a Northern Ontario bias. Every Piece of Me is not as funny as the previous book, but it is very thought-provoking. I was invested in the characters, even as they were behaving badly, which is generally the sign of good writing. Definitely, the book did not make fame appealing, which is just fine since that outcome is highly unlikely for me.
Have you ever thought, if only I could be famous? Have you ever wanted to be a rock star, an influencer, a superstar athlete, an actor? Have you ever considered the repercussions, if your dream came true?
In this book, two women realize the dream of becoming famous, and learn the toll that fame takes. Mags is a singer whose band is trying to find a balance after losing one of their star performers (also Mags’ husband). Ava is a teenager whose family has their own reality TV series, but in taking on the project, they must uproot from her beloved Manhattan to a B&B in Nova Scotia.
The reader follows each of these women as they navigate the desire for, and hatred of, celebrity. What does it mean, when the public gets to comment on every facet of your life? What does it mean, when your behaviour, relationships, appearance, and day-to-day choices are open to opinion and analysis? Mags and Ava have separate storylines that overlap in small ways initially, and then in a much larger way later in the book. They develop a friendship based on their common experience of fame, and each develops a plan to take charge of her own life.
I preferred Amy Jones’ previous book, We’re All in This Together, but as that one is set in Thunder Bay, I admit to a Northern Ontario bias. Every Piece of Me is not as funny as the previous book, but it is very thought-provoking. I was invested in the characters, even as they were behaving badly, which is generally the sign of good writing. Definitely, the book did not make fame appealing, which is just fine since that outcome is highly unlikely for me.
August 15, 2024 A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles
This book is not new (published in 2016), not Canadian (the author lives in New York), is published by a major publisher (Viking, which is part of Penguin Random House) and not written by a woman. So, why am I reviewing and promoting it?
Simply put, this is a wonderful book. The writing is superb, the story engaging, and the characters very well drawn. When Count Alexander Rostov is accused of writing a politically charged poem in 1922, he is sentenced to life under house arrest…and he happens to live in the Metropol Hotel in Moscow.
The storyline reminded me of Sara Crewe in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s well known children’s book, A Little Princess, in which Sara loses all her wealth while living at a fancy boarding school and is turned into a maid and given an attic room she shares with a rat. Despite her changed circumstances, she is determined to behave like a princess.
In this adult version, the Count is also given an attic room with limited comforts (although he still has material wealth), and he too continues to behave as a gentleman, without ever leaving the building. Over time, we get to know the staff of the hotel, the little girl who becomes his friend, and the comings and goings of those who frequent the hotel, in politically charged times. The reader is privy to the tiny details of the Count’s day-to-day life, then gradually a wider and wider picture until we are seeing the room, the hotel, the city of Moscow, and even the whole of Europe.
Some examples:
Two old friends speak of “the once and the was, of the wishful and the wonderful.”
The Count, when he can’t sleep, describes it “Like in a reel in which the dancers form two rows, so that one of their number can come skipping brightly down the aisle, a concern of the Count’s would present itself for his consideration, bow with a flourish, and then take its place at the end of the line so that the next concern could come dancing the to the fore.”
And, regarding ghosts and why they come out at night: “After all those years of striving and struggling, of hoping and praying, of shouldering expectations, stomaching opinions, navigating decorum, and making conversation, what they seek, quite simply, is a little peace and quiet.”
As you can see, this is not an easy read, and the writing is quite formal in keeping with the Count’s style, but I greatly enjoyed the book and highly recommend it to anyone with a love of language. It has now been made into a TV series as well, which I’ll try out just as soon as it streams somewhere other than Paramount plus!
This book is not new (published in 2016), not Canadian (the author lives in New York), is published by a major publisher (Viking, which is part of Penguin Random House) and not written by a woman. So, why am I reviewing and promoting it?
Simply put, this is a wonderful book. The writing is superb, the story engaging, and the characters very well drawn. When Count Alexander Rostov is accused of writing a politically charged poem in 1922, he is sentenced to life under house arrest…and he happens to live in the Metropol Hotel in Moscow.
The storyline reminded me of Sara Crewe in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s well known children’s book, A Little Princess, in which Sara loses all her wealth while living at a fancy boarding school and is turned into a maid and given an attic room she shares with a rat. Despite her changed circumstances, she is determined to behave like a princess.
In this adult version, the Count is also given an attic room with limited comforts (although he still has material wealth), and he too continues to behave as a gentleman, without ever leaving the building. Over time, we get to know the staff of the hotel, the little girl who becomes his friend, and the comings and goings of those who frequent the hotel, in politically charged times. The reader is privy to the tiny details of the Count’s day-to-day life, then gradually a wider and wider picture until we are seeing the room, the hotel, the city of Moscow, and even the whole of Europe.
Some examples:
Two old friends speak of “the once and the was, of the wishful and the wonderful.”
The Count, when he can’t sleep, describes it “Like in a reel in which the dancers form two rows, so that one of their number can come skipping brightly down the aisle, a concern of the Count’s would present itself for his consideration, bow with a flourish, and then take its place at the end of the line so that the next concern could come dancing the to the fore.”
And, regarding ghosts and why they come out at night: “After all those years of striving and struggling, of hoping and praying, of shouldering expectations, stomaching opinions, navigating decorum, and making conversation, what they seek, quite simply, is a little peace and quiet.”
As you can see, this is not an easy read, and the writing is quite formal in keeping with the Count’s style, but I greatly enjoyed the book and highly recommend it to anyone with a love of language. It has now been made into a TV series as well, which I’ll try out just as soon as it streams somewhere other than Paramount plus!
August 6, 2024 Athlete at Heart by Kristina Bangma
This book is a memoir by a woman from BC who was diagnosed with arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy (ARVC)—a potentially fatal heart condition—in her forties, after years of immersing herself in the world of high-level athletics. The book was loaned to me by a friend who also has ARVC, and who lost a daughter to the rare condition.
Because of this connection, and because I am also a triathlete (although not nearly the calibre of Bangma), I was very interested in the book and the direction it would take as she curtailed her physical activity to preserve her heart function.
Despite being a self-published author myself, I feared poor writing quality; this uncertainty related to self-publication is a frustrating and ever-present bias in the writing, reading, publishing and bookselling worlds, despite the immense success of many self-published authors. I apologize for even thinking negative thoughts before reading.
In fact, the book was well-written and reflective, didn’t skirt around the negatives, and allowed the reader to accompany Bangma through her journey from “I am a high-performance athlete” to “who am I really, without sports?”
As a physician I could appreciate her descriptions of the illness itself, without becoming too technical. I liked the patient perspective, as she navigated specialists, tests, and conflicting opinions. As an athlete, I marvelled at her accomplishments, from Ironman races to cycling up mountains (for fun!) to full-time coaching. But it was as a person that I really felt involved with the story, accompanying her as she lost a large part of her personal identity and slowly rebuilt her life in a new way. She didn’t do it on her own; as sometimes happens, in times of stress people enter our lives and provide new perspectives. When we are ready, we also allow help to find us, and become open to novel ways of living rather than the black-and-white labels to which we sometimes cling.
The book does not pretend to be a self-help book, but there are many good ideas for helping oneself through a difficult time. Not all options appealed to me, but not all options were useful to her, either. If anything, the book emphasized the importance of figuring out what is most important to each individual, and how to navigate the obstacles thrown in the way. A good lesson for anyone, with or without health issues. A great example of non-traditionally-published memoir.
This book is a memoir by a woman from BC who was diagnosed with arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy (ARVC)—a potentially fatal heart condition—in her forties, after years of immersing herself in the world of high-level athletics. The book was loaned to me by a friend who also has ARVC, and who lost a daughter to the rare condition.
Because of this connection, and because I am also a triathlete (although not nearly the calibre of Bangma), I was very interested in the book and the direction it would take as she curtailed her physical activity to preserve her heart function.
Despite being a self-published author myself, I feared poor writing quality; this uncertainty related to self-publication is a frustrating and ever-present bias in the writing, reading, publishing and bookselling worlds, despite the immense success of many self-published authors. I apologize for even thinking negative thoughts before reading.
In fact, the book was well-written and reflective, didn’t skirt around the negatives, and allowed the reader to accompany Bangma through her journey from “I am a high-performance athlete” to “who am I really, without sports?”
As a physician I could appreciate her descriptions of the illness itself, without becoming too technical. I liked the patient perspective, as she navigated specialists, tests, and conflicting opinions. As an athlete, I marvelled at her accomplishments, from Ironman races to cycling up mountains (for fun!) to full-time coaching. But it was as a person that I really felt involved with the story, accompanying her as she lost a large part of her personal identity and slowly rebuilt her life in a new way. She didn’t do it on her own; as sometimes happens, in times of stress people enter our lives and provide new perspectives. When we are ready, we also allow help to find us, and become open to novel ways of living rather than the black-and-white labels to which we sometimes cling.
The book does not pretend to be a self-help book, but there are many good ideas for helping oneself through a difficult time. Not all options appealed to me, but not all options were useful to her, either. If anything, the book emphasized the importance of figuring out what is most important to each individual, and how to navigate the obstacles thrown in the way. A good lesson for anyone, with or without health issues. A great example of non-traditionally-published memoir.
July 6, 2024 The Thursday Murder Club (series of 4 books) by Richard Osman
1. The Thursday Murder Club
2. The Man Who Died Twice
3. The Bullet that Missed
4. The Last Devil to Die
I considered skipping this review, since I like to stick mostly to Canadian books and publishers, and the books in this series are multimillion bestsellers already, so who cares what I think? On the other hand, I decided to proceed since the series is just so much fun, and in the summer life should be fun!
The Thursday Murder Club is a group of older adults living in a retirement home, where they meet on Thursdays to review cold cases, trying to solve old murders. These are no ordinary pensioners, as their club indicates: airheaded Joyce is a former nurse, and not nearly as vapid as she seems. Ron is a brusque former union leader and general disruptor, who’s not about to sit and knit for his retirement. Ibrahim is a retired psychiatrist who loves nothing more than a good spreadsheet. And Elizabeth seems to have contacts all over the place, and unusual skills suggestive of a highly interesting past, which we don’t find out about until the second book. An actual murder occurs, the group becomes involved, and they make some friends in the police force as well. Overall, they are consistently underestimated, and use that to their advantage to crack the cases.
This is a British series, so these are “pensioners” who use words like “rather” and “quite” with great frequency, as well as “off you pop” or “bits and bobs.” There are a lot of cups of tea. The observations made by the various characters are quite hilarious, particularly when Joyce is writing in her diary, and even the secondary characters such as Elizabeth’s husband (sometimes-lucid Stephen), the muscled-yet-sensitive Bogdan, and the police constables Donna and Chris come across as nuanced and lovable.
Ultimately, of course, these are murder mysteries, with lots of hints and clues and red herrings such as the genre demands. I laughed out loud numerous times in each book, but there are also moments of sadness and poignancy. Despite the caricatures, the characters develop and the villains are not entirely evil. As with a good sitcom, I found myself less concerned with the mystery and just enjoying my time with the club. As a result, I did have to reread a few sections to really understand the twists and turns, some of which were maybe more complicated than they needed to be. But that’s pretty picky; in general, these books are delights and if you haven’t read them, you should.
1. The Thursday Murder Club
2. The Man Who Died Twice
3. The Bullet that Missed
4. The Last Devil to Die
I considered skipping this review, since I like to stick mostly to Canadian books and publishers, and the books in this series are multimillion bestsellers already, so who cares what I think? On the other hand, I decided to proceed since the series is just so much fun, and in the summer life should be fun!
The Thursday Murder Club is a group of older adults living in a retirement home, where they meet on Thursdays to review cold cases, trying to solve old murders. These are no ordinary pensioners, as their club indicates: airheaded Joyce is a former nurse, and not nearly as vapid as she seems. Ron is a brusque former union leader and general disruptor, who’s not about to sit and knit for his retirement. Ibrahim is a retired psychiatrist who loves nothing more than a good spreadsheet. And Elizabeth seems to have contacts all over the place, and unusual skills suggestive of a highly interesting past, which we don’t find out about until the second book. An actual murder occurs, the group becomes involved, and they make some friends in the police force as well. Overall, they are consistently underestimated, and use that to their advantage to crack the cases.
This is a British series, so these are “pensioners” who use words like “rather” and “quite” with great frequency, as well as “off you pop” or “bits and bobs.” There are a lot of cups of tea. The observations made by the various characters are quite hilarious, particularly when Joyce is writing in her diary, and even the secondary characters such as Elizabeth’s husband (sometimes-lucid Stephen), the muscled-yet-sensitive Bogdan, and the police constables Donna and Chris come across as nuanced and lovable.
Ultimately, of course, these are murder mysteries, with lots of hints and clues and red herrings such as the genre demands. I laughed out loud numerous times in each book, but there are also moments of sadness and poignancy. Despite the caricatures, the characters develop and the villains are not entirely evil. As with a good sitcom, I found myself less concerned with the mystery and just enjoying my time with the club. As a result, I did have to reread a few sections to really understand the twists and turns, some of which were maybe more complicated than they needed to be. But that’s pretty picky; in general, these books are delights and if you haven’t read them, you should.
June 20, 2024 The Circle by Katherena Vermette
I must admit, I did not especially enjoy this author’s first book, The Break. After hearing her speak at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival this past fall, however, I wanted to try her writing again. Along with Alicia Elliott and Cherie Dimaline, they were funny, thought-provoking, and very willing to discuss being Indigenous, being writers, being women, and being all of the above.
The Circle is told in a new-to-me structure; perhaps there are other examples of this type of novel, but none of which I’m aware. Every chapter is told from the point of view of a different character, 22 in total, which is a bit of a challenge as a reader but quite intriguing as a writer. The structure is based on an Indigenous Restorative Justice Circle, where the perpetrators of a crime and their victims are allowed to express their stories to each other in public. In this case, a young woman, Phoenix, is being released from jail after a 10-year incarceration for the rape of a teenage girl. As readers, we are invited to consider the impact from the point of view of the victim, her family, Phoenix’s family, members of the surrounding community, and even the police officer involved as the story spirals outward. We see the sometimes desperate, sometimes violent backgrounds of many characters, and how that results in subsequent violent and criminal acts (again, in a circle). At the same time, we are asked to consider the effects on the people trying to help: the social worker, the healer, the parents, the children.
Is there hope within the circle, as we see behaviours loop back on themselves again and again? As with many books about impacts of colonialism, the hope rests with the strong communities, support within families, and the possibility of change. The same circles that hold us can imprison us; knowing the difference can be crucial to survival.
I must admit, I did not especially enjoy this author’s first book, The Break. After hearing her speak at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival this past fall, however, I wanted to try her writing again. Along with Alicia Elliott and Cherie Dimaline, they were funny, thought-provoking, and very willing to discuss being Indigenous, being writers, being women, and being all of the above.
The Circle is told in a new-to-me structure; perhaps there are other examples of this type of novel, but none of which I’m aware. Every chapter is told from the point of view of a different character, 22 in total, which is a bit of a challenge as a reader but quite intriguing as a writer. The structure is based on an Indigenous Restorative Justice Circle, where the perpetrators of a crime and their victims are allowed to express their stories to each other in public. In this case, a young woman, Phoenix, is being released from jail after a 10-year incarceration for the rape of a teenage girl. As readers, we are invited to consider the impact from the point of view of the victim, her family, Phoenix’s family, members of the surrounding community, and even the police officer involved as the story spirals outward. We see the sometimes desperate, sometimes violent backgrounds of many characters, and how that results in subsequent violent and criminal acts (again, in a circle). At the same time, we are asked to consider the effects on the people trying to help: the social worker, the healer, the parents, the children.
Is there hope within the circle, as we see behaviours loop back on themselves again and again? As with many books about impacts of colonialism, the hope rests with the strong communities, support within families, and the possibility of change. The same circles that hold us can imprison us; knowing the difference can be crucial to survival.
June 2, 2024 Shut Up You’re Pretty by Téa Mutonji
This book of short stories was a candidate for this year’s Canada Reads competition and has won some awards, eg. the Trillium Award and Writer’s Trust of Canada award. It’s also the first publication by V.S.Books, an imprint (subgroup) of Arsenal Pulp Press, a small but well-known Canadian literary publisher. The imprint was created to feature works by new and emerging young writers who self-identify as BIPOC.
All that to say, I had high hopes for this book, slim though it is. There are eighteen stories in 121 pages, so some are very short, as little as 2 pages. The stories are linked and chronological, such that the characters are consistent and it reads a bit like a novel, but with each story complete within itself (an unusual structure, but one I’ve enjoyed previously eg. The Juliet Stories by Carrie Snyder).
The stories are about Loli, whose family has come to Canada from the Congo, and who lives in poverty in a housing complex called the Galloway. The stories are also, largely, about sex, although not in an erotic way. Instead, we read Loli’s experiences with sex as sources of identity, power, belonging, survival, and attempts to overcome intense loneliness. “I tried not to make everything about sex, every act of kindness, every well-wish, every hello. But you go through life with an uncle commenting on your breasts, or your brother’s friend giving you a condom for your birthday then denying it, you go through life…being told you’re pretty, you’re pretty, you’re so f-ing pretty—it gets complicated.” (from the story "Phyllis Green"). These are not happy stories, yet there are pockets of happiness, found mainly in the sense of community within the Galloway. We root for Loli, even as she makes questionable decisions and attaches herself to people who are not good for her. It’s very clear, straightforward prose, but is a difficult read; as Canadians, we like to think we are friendly to all, we look after everyone, but the more stories I read by immigrant authors, the more I realize that their paths often involve pain, poverty and an overwhelming sense of "otherness". Making these books especially important.
This book of short stories was a candidate for this year’s Canada Reads competition and has won some awards, eg. the Trillium Award and Writer’s Trust of Canada award. It’s also the first publication by V.S.Books, an imprint (subgroup) of Arsenal Pulp Press, a small but well-known Canadian literary publisher. The imprint was created to feature works by new and emerging young writers who self-identify as BIPOC.
All that to say, I had high hopes for this book, slim though it is. There are eighteen stories in 121 pages, so some are very short, as little as 2 pages. The stories are linked and chronological, such that the characters are consistent and it reads a bit like a novel, but with each story complete within itself (an unusual structure, but one I’ve enjoyed previously eg. The Juliet Stories by Carrie Snyder).
The stories are about Loli, whose family has come to Canada from the Congo, and who lives in poverty in a housing complex called the Galloway. The stories are also, largely, about sex, although not in an erotic way. Instead, we read Loli’s experiences with sex as sources of identity, power, belonging, survival, and attempts to overcome intense loneliness. “I tried not to make everything about sex, every act of kindness, every well-wish, every hello. But you go through life with an uncle commenting on your breasts, or your brother’s friend giving you a condom for your birthday then denying it, you go through life…being told you’re pretty, you’re pretty, you’re so f-ing pretty—it gets complicated.” (from the story "Phyllis Green"). These are not happy stories, yet there are pockets of happiness, found mainly in the sense of community within the Galloway. We root for Loli, even as she makes questionable decisions and attaches herself to people who are not good for her. It’s very clear, straightforward prose, but is a difficult read; as Canadians, we like to think we are friendly to all, we look after everyone, but the more stories I read by immigrant authors, the more I realize that their paths often involve pain, poverty and an overwhelming sense of "otherness". Making these books especially important.
May 22, 2024 Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch by Rivka Galchen
I’ve been re-reading Rivka Galchen’s book Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch. (2021, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, not a small Canadian publisher).
Although I love the title, and this book is a wonderful “slow burn” as it builds towards a trial, it made me think a lot about justice (see my blog this week, Has Anything Changed since 1615?).
The story centres around a true trial of an elderly woman (Katharina Kepler), at a time when women were tortured into confessing witchcraft, then killed once they confessed. Katharina was, by all accounts, an odd and stubborn woman, a bit socially awkward, who spoke her mind a bit too much and offered various remedies for ailments that were mostly incurable. At one point, she offers a drink to a neighbour, the woman states she has been poisoned, and over time the townspeople begin to turn against Katharina. The ridiculous accusations that follow generate such a frenzy that she has to flee her hometown in order to prevent vigilante justice. Meanwhile, the actual court case grinds along at a frustrating pace, and the reader follows statements of people on both sides of the case, as well as chapters from Katharina’s point of view and that of her male guardian. The book builds momentum as we get closer and closer to finding out Katharina’s fate.
This novel asks us about loyalty, greed, and justice. It asks us to consider the existence of evil, and what behaviours, if any, actually constitute evil. We are reminded of the brutality of history, when so little of the world was understood, and so much attributed to incorrect causes.
This second reading, I found much more humour than I remembered the first time around, and engaged more with Katharina and her family. The book requires a careful read (not sure I gave it that the first time around), but is greatly rewarding. Does it make you, too, consider the current state of justice?
I’ve been re-reading Rivka Galchen’s book Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch. (2021, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, not a small Canadian publisher).
Although I love the title, and this book is a wonderful “slow burn” as it builds towards a trial, it made me think a lot about justice (see my blog this week, Has Anything Changed since 1615?).
The story centres around a true trial of an elderly woman (Katharina Kepler), at a time when women were tortured into confessing witchcraft, then killed once they confessed. Katharina was, by all accounts, an odd and stubborn woman, a bit socially awkward, who spoke her mind a bit too much and offered various remedies for ailments that were mostly incurable. At one point, she offers a drink to a neighbour, the woman states she has been poisoned, and over time the townspeople begin to turn against Katharina. The ridiculous accusations that follow generate such a frenzy that she has to flee her hometown in order to prevent vigilante justice. Meanwhile, the actual court case grinds along at a frustrating pace, and the reader follows statements of people on both sides of the case, as well as chapters from Katharina’s point of view and that of her male guardian. The book builds momentum as we get closer and closer to finding out Katharina’s fate.
This novel asks us about loyalty, greed, and justice. It asks us to consider the existence of evil, and what behaviours, if any, actually constitute evil. We are reminded of the brutality of history, when so little of the world was understood, and so much attributed to incorrect causes.
This second reading, I found much more humour than I remembered the first time around, and engaged more with Katharina and her family. The book requires a careful read (not sure I gave it that the first time around), but is greatly rewarding. Does it make you, too, consider the current state of justice?
May 7, 2024 Cracked Pots by Heather Tucker
I read Cracked Pots as an audiobook, something I have not done for a long time. Some people argue that listening to a book doesn't count as reading it; I'm sure there are a lot of blind people, in particular, who would disagree! The audiobook experience is definitely different,. Pro: the soothing nature of being read to. Con: it's easy to lose track of the story, or miss out on wonderful images or wording because you can't go back and re-read or savour (well, I suppose you could, but it would take more work to find the spot). I chose to listen to this book because I was working on a knitting project at the same time, and the two activities went well together.
This book is actually the second of two about Ari Appleton (why don't I check these things before I start?), but I didn't find the story difficult to follow without reading the first one. Ari is a teenager in this book, and life has dealt her a heavy hand: an abusive, corrupt-police-officer father, a drug-abusing mother, and a friend who has just gone missing. Luckily, Ari has many supports: her aunts on the East Coast, two of her teachers, her half-brothers, her many sisters, and her imaginary friend/conscience/spirit animal, a seahorse named Jasper. Left untethered by her parents, Ari needs to find her way through the murk of adolescence and somehow come out with a sense of identity and purpose. Fortunately, she has her art to help her through, and the "Cracked pots" of the title refer to Japanese Kintsugi, where broken pieces of pottery are repaired with gold in the cracks to make entirely new art. The image of the cracked pots runs through the book in a very cohesive and beautiful way.
I enjoyed the book, although found it long. I kept thinking–since I couldn't see how many pages were left–that it was finished–what a great ending!–and then it kept going. There are a lot of characters, so having the narrator use different voices (including some East Coast accents) helped to distinguish people for me. The author is apparently a social worker, and I felt that she tried to include too many things from her experiences into one book. Surely so many bad things cannot all happen to one person? Please?
After completing the book, even though I didn't read the lines myself, there were lingering images, which to me marks a good read. Some were upsetting and some were simply beautiful. There's humour and a lot of very likeable characters. Overall, I would recommend this book, and I might read it again in paper format at some point.
The Publisher, again, is ECW Press (like the last book I reviewed). I'll be looking for more of their titles moving forward.
I read Cracked Pots as an audiobook, something I have not done for a long time. Some people argue that listening to a book doesn't count as reading it; I'm sure there are a lot of blind people, in particular, who would disagree! The audiobook experience is definitely different,. Pro: the soothing nature of being read to. Con: it's easy to lose track of the story, or miss out on wonderful images or wording because you can't go back and re-read or savour (well, I suppose you could, but it would take more work to find the spot). I chose to listen to this book because I was working on a knitting project at the same time, and the two activities went well together.
This book is actually the second of two about Ari Appleton (why don't I check these things before I start?), but I didn't find the story difficult to follow without reading the first one. Ari is a teenager in this book, and life has dealt her a heavy hand: an abusive, corrupt-police-officer father, a drug-abusing mother, and a friend who has just gone missing. Luckily, Ari has many supports: her aunts on the East Coast, two of her teachers, her half-brothers, her many sisters, and her imaginary friend/conscience/spirit animal, a seahorse named Jasper. Left untethered by her parents, Ari needs to find her way through the murk of adolescence and somehow come out with a sense of identity and purpose. Fortunately, she has her art to help her through, and the "Cracked pots" of the title refer to Japanese Kintsugi, where broken pieces of pottery are repaired with gold in the cracks to make entirely new art. The image of the cracked pots runs through the book in a very cohesive and beautiful way.
I enjoyed the book, although found it long. I kept thinking–since I couldn't see how many pages were left–that it was finished–what a great ending!–and then it kept going. There are a lot of characters, so having the narrator use different voices (including some East Coast accents) helped to distinguish people for me. The author is apparently a social worker, and I felt that she tried to include too many things from her experiences into one book. Surely so many bad things cannot all happen to one person? Please?
After completing the book, even though I didn't read the lines myself, there were lingering images, which to me marks a good read. Some were upsetting and some were simply beautiful. There's humour and a lot of very likeable characters. Overall, I would recommend this book, and I might read it again in paper format at some point.
The Publisher, again, is ECW Press (like the last book I reviewed). I'll be looking for more of their titles moving forward.
April 29, 2024 The Very Marrow of Our Bones by Christine Higdon
As described in my prior book review of Higdon’s Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue (March 18), I was really excited to order her first novel. This one is long (481 pages is unusual for a first book) but worth the effort. The story revolves around Lulu, who is a child when we first meet her, and her neighbour Doris Tenpenny, a mute observer of the happenings of a small community.
Lulu’s mother, along with another woman of the town, Alice McFee, disappear one day. Lulu finds a message, which she hides. Doris hears and sees things but never discusses them with anyone. Over many years, the two end up together as grown women, and their shared secret is revealed.
Lulu, over the course of the book, is torn between her many brothers, her need to escape the small town as much as she is tied to it, and the tragedies of her family. She must also deal with the mistakes of her past.
The novel is part character study, part mystery, and ultimately all is revealed. There are some very good characters, particularly Lulu, Doris, and Lulu’s cognitively impaired brother, Geordie. We aren’t sure whether to love or hate the charming Mr. McFee, or Lulu’s father, who seems untethered without his wife.
There was a side storyline involving Lulu’s own early adulthood, that was relevant but seemed almost like an afterthought, as if sections were stuck in later and didn’t quite integrate smoothly. That’s really my only criticism of the book, which held my interest throughout the long read. I love Higdon’s imagery and the unique ways she has of describing even simple things: “I stared dispiritedly at the spirographic rust circles the canisters had left behind on the stained turquoise arborite.” “The Scouts were pulsing. Caught in the purplish ultraviolet of our road’s brand new streetlight and the yellow bug light at our front door, they looked ghoulish, bruised.”
I have to admit I liked GTPR better overall, but I love both of Higdon’s books and find them worthy of full savouring while I read. Her books are published by ECW Press, another one of Canada’s independent publishers.
As described in my prior book review of Higdon’s Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue (March 18), I was really excited to order her first novel. This one is long (481 pages is unusual for a first book) but worth the effort. The story revolves around Lulu, who is a child when we first meet her, and her neighbour Doris Tenpenny, a mute observer of the happenings of a small community.
Lulu’s mother, along with another woman of the town, Alice McFee, disappear one day. Lulu finds a message, which she hides. Doris hears and sees things but never discusses them with anyone. Over many years, the two end up together as grown women, and their shared secret is revealed.
Lulu, over the course of the book, is torn between her many brothers, her need to escape the small town as much as she is tied to it, and the tragedies of her family. She must also deal with the mistakes of her past.
The novel is part character study, part mystery, and ultimately all is revealed. There are some very good characters, particularly Lulu, Doris, and Lulu’s cognitively impaired brother, Geordie. We aren’t sure whether to love or hate the charming Mr. McFee, or Lulu’s father, who seems untethered without his wife.
There was a side storyline involving Lulu’s own early adulthood, that was relevant but seemed almost like an afterthought, as if sections were stuck in later and didn’t quite integrate smoothly. That’s really my only criticism of the book, which held my interest throughout the long read. I love Higdon’s imagery and the unique ways she has of describing even simple things: “I stared dispiritedly at the spirographic rust circles the canisters had left behind on the stained turquoise arborite.” “The Scouts were pulsing. Caught in the purplish ultraviolet of our road’s brand new streetlight and the yellow bug light at our front door, they looked ghoulish, bruised.”
I have to admit I liked GTPR better overall, but I love both of Higdon’s books and find them worthy of full savouring while I read. Her books are published by ECW Press, another one of Canada’s independent publishers.
We All Will Be Received by Leslie Vryenhoek
Published by Breakwater Books, a Newfoundland-based publishing company, this book was part of my commitment to read more from small, independent Canadian publishers. Certainly, Newfoundland features prominently in the story.
At the start of the book, Dawn escapes from her then-boyfriend after what has clearly been a night of unexpected violence. She takes her bloodstained shirt, her personal belongings, and a duffel bag filled with drug money. From there, she begins a journey–mainly due to the whims of the truckers that allow her to hitchhike– into a new life, ending up in Newfoundland after starting in Western Canada. A new identity presents itself, and even a cobbled-together family of sorts.
Periodically, we see glimpses of her boyfriend, with chapters from his point of view. We are also, inexplicably, introduced to a man who was kidnapped as a child. Wondering how these stories will come together creates the main suspense of the book.
There were some descriptive passages I loved. For example, “…disrupted, Jerry’s face drew down, all of it concentrating at his pursed mouth. Dawn imagined words piling up like sticks at an impasse in a stream.” Or, “…a logging truck jostling past on the highway…woke him up, the sound of it like calamity in his swollen head. A shaft of early morning light punched him in the eye…”
Overall, however, the story felt slow at times, particularly in the “messy middle” where we find out more about Dawn, her past, and the years in Newfoundland. I love the descriptions of the people and the landscape, but the characters just did not hold my attention well in this section. Once the big storm blows in–beautifully described–the energy comes pulsing back.
It’s a worthwhile read and I’ll look for more from this publisher, but this book won’t be a re-read for me.
NOTE: books by independent Canadian publishers are on sale at Indigo right now! These are the publishers who release books by mostly Canadian authors, without requiring agent representation. Give them a try!
Published by Breakwater Books, a Newfoundland-based publishing company, this book was part of my commitment to read more from small, independent Canadian publishers. Certainly, Newfoundland features prominently in the story.
At the start of the book, Dawn escapes from her then-boyfriend after what has clearly been a night of unexpected violence. She takes her bloodstained shirt, her personal belongings, and a duffel bag filled with drug money. From there, she begins a journey–mainly due to the whims of the truckers that allow her to hitchhike– into a new life, ending up in Newfoundland after starting in Western Canada. A new identity presents itself, and even a cobbled-together family of sorts.
Periodically, we see glimpses of her boyfriend, with chapters from his point of view. We are also, inexplicably, introduced to a man who was kidnapped as a child. Wondering how these stories will come together creates the main suspense of the book.
There were some descriptive passages I loved. For example, “…disrupted, Jerry’s face drew down, all of it concentrating at his pursed mouth. Dawn imagined words piling up like sticks at an impasse in a stream.” Or, “…a logging truck jostling past on the highway…woke him up, the sound of it like calamity in his swollen head. A shaft of early morning light punched him in the eye…”
Overall, however, the story felt slow at times, particularly in the “messy middle” where we find out more about Dawn, her past, and the years in Newfoundland. I love the descriptions of the people and the landscape, but the characters just did not hold my attention well in this section. Once the big storm blows in–beautifully described–the energy comes pulsing back.
It’s a worthwhile read and I’ll look for more from this publisher, but this book won’t be a re-read for me.
NOTE: books by independent Canadian publishers are on sale at Indigo right now! These are the publishers who release books by mostly Canadian authors, without requiring agent representation. Give them a try!
April 15, 2024: How to Build a Boat by Elaine Feeney
This author, from the West of Ireland, has published multiple books of poetry, as well as a highly prizewinning first novel (which I have not read). This book was also longlisted for the Booker Prize (why do people keep giving me these Booker Prize books?), which generally seems to mean there are no quotation marks and the formatting is disorganized. Admittedly, however, this time I did connect with the characters, hallelujah! Jamie is the main protagonist, a teenager who is clearly on the autism spectrum. He’s struggling with his mother’s long-ago death, on top of general difficulty fitting into society and its norms. His father, Eoin (“Owen” according to youtube), is very supportive but somewhat unprepared for Jamie’s needs.
Jamie enters a boy’s school and while enduring class bullies and a judgmental presiding priest, makes friends with a teacher named Tess, who has her own marital struggles going on. He also meets the shop teacher, Tadgh (“tiger without the r” thanks again youtube), who thinks he can assist with Jamie’s persistent desire to make a perpetual-motion machine by helping him to build a currach, a traditional Irish boat.
All of the characters are grieving, in their own ways, and the currach may be a way to assist with healing, but first many difficult truths must be faced. The author does a great job of building realistic connections between unlikely friends. and I found myself rooting for the main protagonists even as they made questionable decisions. There was more tension than you might expect as they work on the boat (will it get finished? Will it float?) likely because the boat comes to represent so much to each of them.
I liked the book, in the end, but didn’t love it. Will I read it again? Unclear at this point. I’ll hand on to it, and keep you posted.
This author, from the West of Ireland, has published multiple books of poetry, as well as a highly prizewinning first novel (which I have not read). This book was also longlisted for the Booker Prize (why do people keep giving me these Booker Prize books?), which generally seems to mean there are no quotation marks and the formatting is disorganized. Admittedly, however, this time I did connect with the characters, hallelujah! Jamie is the main protagonist, a teenager who is clearly on the autism spectrum. He’s struggling with his mother’s long-ago death, on top of general difficulty fitting into society and its norms. His father, Eoin (“Owen” according to youtube), is very supportive but somewhat unprepared for Jamie’s needs.
Jamie enters a boy’s school and while enduring class bullies and a judgmental presiding priest, makes friends with a teacher named Tess, who has her own marital struggles going on. He also meets the shop teacher, Tadgh (“tiger without the r” thanks again youtube), who thinks he can assist with Jamie’s persistent desire to make a perpetual-motion machine by helping him to build a currach, a traditional Irish boat.
All of the characters are grieving, in their own ways, and the currach may be a way to assist with healing, but first many difficult truths must be faced. The author does a great job of building realistic connections between unlikely friends. and I found myself rooting for the main protagonists even as they made questionable decisions. There was more tension than you might expect as they work on the boat (will it get finished? Will it float?) likely because the boat comes to represent so much to each of them.
I liked the book, in the end, but didn’t love it. Will I read it again? Unclear at this point. I’ll hand on to it, and keep you posted.
April 10, 2024: They Left Us Everything by Plum Johnson
This book is a memoir, published in 2014, recently brought to my attention by my mother-in-law, who knows the author. Really, how can you go wrong reading about someone whose first name is Plum?
At the start of the book, we meet Plum and her mother at a time when “nineteen years, one month, and twenty-six days of eldercare have brought me to my knees.” The descriptions of her eccentric and demanding mother are hilarious and will resonate with anyone looking after elderly parents. After the death of her mother, the focus turns to her parents’ sprawling home on the shores of Lake Ontario, purchased back when Oakville was a small town with lots of farmland (difficult to imagine that now). The house is packed with everything her parents have collected over the years, and it falls to Plum and her brothers to sort and clear out the contents, a process that she initially estimates will take six weeks, but ultimately takes over a year.
The book is divided into three parts: “Endings,” “Inheritance,” and “Dispersal.” I enjoyed “Endings” the best, since I found her relationship with her mother so funny, and the wonderful descriptions of the house and its contents very relatable. There are so many things that go along with “Inheritance;” what does one do with the elderly dog? The leather-bound books? The antique furniture that is too dark and heavy for young apartment-dwellers? Not to mention the division between siblings and grandchildren, the concept of value (including sentimental) and the costs of both maintaining and selling a century-old home.
In the last section of the book, Plum dives into her family history and then the resolution of all the items. She makes the reader consider questions like, is it better to clean out your home yourself, or let your children do it so they learn about their past? What is the best way to divide an inheritance among multiple siblings? Why do we hold onto things, and is there value in doing so?
I’m not sure I agree with all the answers she proposes, but I sped through the book with great enjoyment. Having experience with family members and older homes in the Oakville area made it even better.
This book is a memoir, published in 2014, recently brought to my attention by my mother-in-law, who knows the author. Really, how can you go wrong reading about someone whose first name is Plum?
At the start of the book, we meet Plum and her mother at a time when “nineteen years, one month, and twenty-six days of eldercare have brought me to my knees.” The descriptions of her eccentric and demanding mother are hilarious and will resonate with anyone looking after elderly parents. After the death of her mother, the focus turns to her parents’ sprawling home on the shores of Lake Ontario, purchased back when Oakville was a small town with lots of farmland (difficult to imagine that now). The house is packed with everything her parents have collected over the years, and it falls to Plum and her brothers to sort and clear out the contents, a process that she initially estimates will take six weeks, but ultimately takes over a year.
The book is divided into three parts: “Endings,” “Inheritance,” and “Dispersal.” I enjoyed “Endings” the best, since I found her relationship with her mother so funny, and the wonderful descriptions of the house and its contents very relatable. There are so many things that go along with “Inheritance;” what does one do with the elderly dog? The leather-bound books? The antique furniture that is too dark and heavy for young apartment-dwellers? Not to mention the division between siblings and grandchildren, the concept of value (including sentimental) and the costs of both maintaining and selling a century-old home.
In the last section of the book, Plum dives into her family history and then the resolution of all the items. She makes the reader consider questions like, is it better to clean out your home yourself, or let your children do it so they learn about their past? What is the best way to divide an inheritance among multiple siblings? Why do we hold onto things, and is there value in doing so?
I’m not sure I agree with all the answers she proposes, but I sped through the book with great enjoyment. Having experience with family members and older homes in the Oakville area made it even better.
April 3, 2024: Hello, Beautiful by Ann Napolitano
In between the last book I reviewed (Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue) and this book, I re-read Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. GTPR is not explicitly based on Little Women, although as described, the four sisters and their mother definitely gave that vibe. Hello, Beautiful is supposedly an “homage” to Little Women (according to the back cover), yet really does not follow that story at all. Yes, there are four sisters whose lives are very intertwined, but early on (spoiler alert) the mother moves away, as does the eldest sister, for reasons that did not fully resonate with me.
This book was everywhere, it seemed, around Christmas time--on all the lists at Indigo, showing up as a “must-read,” and I’m sure it has therefore achieved commercial success. The author is both an MFA herself and teaches writing. It surprised me, therefore, that there was so much “telling” in this book. We are told very early on in creative writing to “show” emotions rather than telling them (instead of “he was surprised,” saying “he jumped and dropped his bag”) yet I felt I was continually being told what each character thought and felt in this book. Another writing suggestion is “trust the reader,” in that you don’t need to explain every little thing, people will figure it out for themselves. Here, every detail was explained over and over, and as a reader I was left without any room to imagine what a character was trying to accomplish, or why they might have behaved in a certain way.
There are some beautiful moments, such as the father Charlie saying, “We’re all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is. Your mother and sisters don’t have that awareness…they believe they’re contained in their bodies, the biographical facts of their lives.” Charlie, an unemployed alcoholic, seems an unlikely character for these beautiful conversations, but that’s just one of the many jarring aspects of the book.
The characters in Hello, Beautiful try to figure out which of them compares to each sister from Little Women, but I found that aspect felt forced. I greatly preferred GTPR as a book, and also as a deliberate-or-not comparator to Little Women.
In between the last book I reviewed (Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue) and this book, I re-read Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. GTPR is not explicitly based on Little Women, although as described, the four sisters and their mother definitely gave that vibe. Hello, Beautiful is supposedly an “homage” to Little Women (according to the back cover), yet really does not follow that story at all. Yes, there are four sisters whose lives are very intertwined, but early on (spoiler alert) the mother moves away, as does the eldest sister, for reasons that did not fully resonate with me.
This book was everywhere, it seemed, around Christmas time--on all the lists at Indigo, showing up as a “must-read,” and I’m sure it has therefore achieved commercial success. The author is both an MFA herself and teaches writing. It surprised me, therefore, that there was so much “telling” in this book. We are told very early on in creative writing to “show” emotions rather than telling them (instead of “he was surprised,” saying “he jumped and dropped his bag”) yet I felt I was continually being told what each character thought and felt in this book. Another writing suggestion is “trust the reader,” in that you don’t need to explain every little thing, people will figure it out for themselves. Here, every detail was explained over and over, and as a reader I was left without any room to imagine what a character was trying to accomplish, or why they might have behaved in a certain way.
There are some beautiful moments, such as the father Charlie saying, “We’re all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is. Your mother and sisters don’t have that awareness…they believe they’re contained in their bodies, the biographical facts of their lives.” Charlie, an unemployed alcoholic, seems an unlikely character for these beautiful conversations, but that’s just one of the many jarring aspects of the book.
The characters in Hello, Beautiful try to figure out which of them compares to each sister from Little Women, but I found that aspect felt forced. I greatly preferred GTPR as a book, and also as a deliberate-or-not comparator to Little Women.
March 18, 2024: Gin, Turpentine, Pennyroyal, Rue by Christine Higdon
Sometimes, you read a book and look forward to getting back to it during the day, whenever you can grab a moment. You don’t want it to end, because you’re enjoying the characters and the story and will miss them. This book is like that.
The story is about four sisters, set in 1920s Vancouver. Georgina is unhappily married and childless. Morag is happily married and pregnant. Isla is in love with Morag’s husband and has just had an illegal abortion. Harriet-Jean is in love with another woman (also illegal). The personalities of the sisters are well developed, with normal irritations and humour but also an amazing family connection. They are fatherless and Harriet lives with their mother, Ahmie, providing a Little Women vibe. Little Women, perhaps, with abortion, and women’s rights, and sexual fluidity at the core. Throw in some rum runners and a narrative beagle and you’ve got this book. The descriptions, especially of emotions, are absolutely wonderful: “her good mood has slunk off, some feral cat to whom…someone has given the boot.” “…guilt will not trot in on its little pony until later…” “A needle prick of jealousy tattoos itself along some seam in Harriet’s heart.” I’ll be honest, sometimes I simply devour books and feel I don’t appreciate them fully; in such cases, I finish the book and then immediately begin it again, in order to savour and take note of beautiful phrases. I’m on second reading right now.
I had not heard of Christine Higdon before, but she is a Canadian writer who has lived on both coasts and now lives in Ontario. She has one prior novel (which I’ve already ordered!) and hopefully there will be many more.
Sometimes, you read a book and look forward to getting back to it during the day, whenever you can grab a moment. You don’t want it to end, because you’re enjoying the characters and the story and will miss them. This book is like that.
The story is about four sisters, set in 1920s Vancouver. Georgina is unhappily married and childless. Morag is happily married and pregnant. Isla is in love with Morag’s husband and has just had an illegal abortion. Harriet-Jean is in love with another woman (also illegal). The personalities of the sisters are well developed, with normal irritations and humour but also an amazing family connection. They are fatherless and Harriet lives with their mother, Ahmie, providing a Little Women vibe. Little Women, perhaps, with abortion, and women’s rights, and sexual fluidity at the core. Throw in some rum runners and a narrative beagle and you’ve got this book. The descriptions, especially of emotions, are absolutely wonderful: “her good mood has slunk off, some feral cat to whom…someone has given the boot.” “…guilt will not trot in on its little pony until later…” “A needle prick of jealousy tattoos itself along some seam in Harriet’s heart.” I’ll be honest, sometimes I simply devour books and feel I don’t appreciate them fully; in such cases, I finish the book and then immediately begin it again, in order to savour and take note of beautiful phrases. I’m on second reading right now.
I had not heard of Christine Higdon before, but she is a Canadian writer who has lived on both coasts and now lives in Ontario. She has one prior novel (which I’ve already ordered!) and hopefully there will be many more.
March 12, 2024: A New Season by Terry Fallis
Those who know Terry Fallis as an author have most likely read his Best Laid Plans series about politics. He is known as a humour writer, and although sometimes quite silly, his books have generally had good quirky characters and are lots of fun. I knew, from attending his session at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival, that this book would be quite different. The protagonist, “Jack Mack” McMaster, has lost his wife, and is figuring out life without her.
At the Writer’s Festival, Fallis described his process at some length; he is an engineer by education, and apparently did a 92-page outline before the actual writing of the book. Each section was meticulously planned. For those of us who tend to be pantsers (see my blog: Plotters vs Pantsers), this description sounded highly efficient and made my writer friend and myself feel a bit scattered and lesser-than. To be fair, the other writers sharing the stage seemed to feel the same way!
Unfortunately, all that planning did not work out well for this book. The characters are completely two-dimensional, the plot is entirely predictable, and everything other than losing his wife (who was, of course, perfect), goes amazingly well for Jack. His son, the son’s girlfriend, Jack’s ball hockey team, his songwriting side gig, absolutely everything goes so smoothly and perfectly, there is no tension whatsoever. The narrator seems to be trying to be funny, with much less success than I’d anticipated.
I’m not sure what happened here. I feel frustrated, however, knowing that many up- and- coming writers are being told to be original, creative, three-dimensional, and are having books and stories rejected, while this one enjoys relative popularity. As Carol Shields said in the title of her excellent book about writing: Startle and Illuminate. This book does neither.
Those who know Terry Fallis as an author have most likely read his Best Laid Plans series about politics. He is known as a humour writer, and although sometimes quite silly, his books have generally had good quirky characters and are lots of fun. I knew, from attending his session at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival, that this book would be quite different. The protagonist, “Jack Mack” McMaster, has lost his wife, and is figuring out life without her.
At the Writer’s Festival, Fallis described his process at some length; he is an engineer by education, and apparently did a 92-page outline before the actual writing of the book. Each section was meticulously planned. For those of us who tend to be pantsers (see my blog: Plotters vs Pantsers), this description sounded highly efficient and made my writer friend and myself feel a bit scattered and lesser-than. To be fair, the other writers sharing the stage seemed to feel the same way!
Unfortunately, all that planning did not work out well for this book. The characters are completely two-dimensional, the plot is entirely predictable, and everything other than losing his wife (who was, of course, perfect), goes amazingly well for Jack. His son, the son’s girlfriend, Jack’s ball hockey team, his songwriting side gig, absolutely everything goes so smoothly and perfectly, there is no tension whatsoever. The narrator seems to be trying to be funny, with much less success than I’d anticipated.
I’m not sure what happened here. I feel frustrated, however, knowing that many up- and- coming writers are being told to be original, creative, three-dimensional, and are having books and stories rejected, while this one enjoys relative popularity. As Carol Shields said in the title of her excellent book about writing: Startle and Illuminate. This book does neither.
March 4, 2024: And Then She Fell by Alicia Elliott
I borrowed Alicia Elliott’s first book, A Mind Spread Out on the Ground, from the library, and subsequently bought it so I could reread it, possibly multiple times. It is a series of nonfiction essays on mental health, Indigenous experience, and other topics, and affected me deeply.
And Then She Fell is a novel this time, about Alice, who is an Indigenous writer trying to tackle the story of Sky Woman, the first woman in the Haudenosaunee creation story. Alice is married to a Caucasian husband and has just given birth to her first baby, Dawn. Things are not going well postpartum, and Alice is questioning her mothering ability, her self-identity, and her competence to tell the story that feels so important to her. As time progresses, the reader is taken on a journey within Alice’s mind, where we must question what is real and what is delusion, what is symbolic or metaphorical and what is madness.
As a physician who spent many years working with pregnant and postpartum women, and as a mother myself, I could very much relate to Alice’s self-questioning. Her humorous voice, and Elliott’s excellent descriptive language, made this book a very intriguing and enjoyable read. We know that postpartum, some women are prone to mental health difficulty, but the way the story unfolds creates incredible tension as we try to follow Alice’s reasoning. Is her husband setting her up for failure, or is she paranoid? Are her neighbours (all white) actually judging her and out to get her, or is it all in her mind? Both seem possible.
I was confused when the twist occurred near the end, but decided that it worked, once I’d finished the book.
This was not a light read, but for me was a very worthwhile one. I look forward to reading more from Alicia Elliott.
I borrowed Alicia Elliott’s first book, A Mind Spread Out on the Ground, from the library, and subsequently bought it so I could reread it, possibly multiple times. It is a series of nonfiction essays on mental health, Indigenous experience, and other topics, and affected me deeply.
And Then She Fell is a novel this time, about Alice, who is an Indigenous writer trying to tackle the story of Sky Woman, the first woman in the Haudenosaunee creation story. Alice is married to a Caucasian husband and has just given birth to her first baby, Dawn. Things are not going well postpartum, and Alice is questioning her mothering ability, her self-identity, and her competence to tell the story that feels so important to her. As time progresses, the reader is taken on a journey within Alice’s mind, where we must question what is real and what is delusion, what is symbolic or metaphorical and what is madness.
As a physician who spent many years working with pregnant and postpartum women, and as a mother myself, I could very much relate to Alice’s self-questioning. Her humorous voice, and Elliott’s excellent descriptive language, made this book a very intriguing and enjoyable read. We know that postpartum, some women are prone to mental health difficulty, but the way the story unfolds creates incredible tension as we try to follow Alice’s reasoning. Is her husband setting her up for failure, or is she paranoid? Are her neighbours (all white) actually judging her and out to get her, or is it all in her mind? Both seem possible.
I was confused when the twist occurred near the end, but decided that it worked, once I’d finished the book.
This was not a light read, but for me was a very worthwhile one. I look forward to reading more from Alicia Elliott.
February 19, 2024: An Equal Music by Vikram Seth
This is an older book, 1999, and it had some early promise as it outlined a violinist, Michael, working on a particularly difficult piece with his quartet. During the rehearsing, he reminisced about working on the piece in the past, as a student, when he lived in Vienna and was enamored with a pianist named Julia. Initially, I enjoyed the very detailed descriptions of the instruments and the music, although it quickly got too technical even for me, and I did fifteen years of piano and a few of violin myself.
Michael and Julia have a chance encounter in present day and realize they have been unknowingly living in the same city. They begin to meet, although Julia is now married with a child.
I quickly got tired of Michael mooning over Julia. I got frustrated with the endless “Art of Fugue” piece the quartet was trying to accomplish (given that a fugue often has many repetitions of a theme, this may have been a deliberate writing technique). In short, I enjoyed the book less and less as I went along and was happy when it finished. There are some beautiful passages and the writer is clearly very accomplished, in music and writing, but the story just did not do it for me despite my personal interest in both subjects. I’ll try some of this author’s other work to see if it was just this particular book that did not appeal.
This is an older book, 1999, and it had some early promise as it outlined a violinist, Michael, working on a particularly difficult piece with his quartet. During the rehearsing, he reminisced about working on the piece in the past, as a student, when he lived in Vienna and was enamored with a pianist named Julia. Initially, I enjoyed the very detailed descriptions of the instruments and the music, although it quickly got too technical even for me, and I did fifteen years of piano and a few of violin myself.
Michael and Julia have a chance encounter in present day and realize they have been unknowingly living in the same city. They begin to meet, although Julia is now married with a child.
I quickly got tired of Michael mooning over Julia. I got frustrated with the endless “Art of Fugue” piece the quartet was trying to accomplish (given that a fugue often has many repetitions of a theme, this may have been a deliberate writing technique). In short, I enjoyed the book less and less as I went along and was happy when it finished. There are some beautiful passages and the writer is clearly very accomplished, in music and writing, but the story just did not do it for me despite my personal interest in both subjects. I’ll try some of this author’s other work to see if it was just this particular book that did not appeal.
February 12, 2024: The Lightning Thief and The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan
Yes, these are the first two books in the series Percy Jackson and the Olympians, the series in which Perseus Jackson is in fact a demigod, but didn’t realize it for the first 12 years of his life. After the first book, previously made into a much-maligned movie, came out as a well-done series on Disney Plus, I felt motivated to re-read the first novel (which led to the second, and so on).
If you have been following my book reviews, you may be thinking, well no wonder you don’t do well with the Booker Prize nominees, if you spend your time reading YA fiction! Honestly, my tastes are extremely eclectic when it comes to reading. I love a great story with characters who speak to me, whether YA or adult.
There are a few things I absolutely love about this series. Firstly, I’m a Greek mythology geek and was thrilled, for both readings, to reacquaint myself with the Greek gods, their offspring, and their unique forms of torture and torment. Riordan does a brilliant job of making mythology accessible, in books that he wrote to assist his own kids. Things like Dionysus drinking Diet Coke to stay sober, everyone feeling extra grumpy when Ares is around, and Tantalus chasing food around the table, never able to reach it, bring the myths into the present day in a brilliant way.
Secondly, the novels are funny without feeling contrived (for the most part). Percy’s voice seems like a genuine, funny teenager and the imagery he uses feels authentic.
Thirdly–and this part has become more obvious to me over time–the books are intended to make those who feel left out or different, feel important. Thus, Percy’s ADHD and dyslexia are part of being a demigod, and are related to his physical skills and innate tendency to read ancient Greek. Throughout the series, those who are different demonstrate unique benefits to assist with the various quests.
The TV series even stepped up from the books, by choosing actors with more diverse backgrounds than the book characters.
If you have older kids or young teens, if you love Greek mythology, or if you just enjoy a good series with quests and heroes and Cyclopes and magic, I would definitely suggest taking a look.
Yes, these are the first two books in the series Percy Jackson and the Olympians, the series in which Perseus Jackson is in fact a demigod, but didn’t realize it for the first 12 years of his life. After the first book, previously made into a much-maligned movie, came out as a well-done series on Disney Plus, I felt motivated to re-read the first novel (which led to the second, and so on).
If you have been following my book reviews, you may be thinking, well no wonder you don’t do well with the Booker Prize nominees, if you spend your time reading YA fiction! Honestly, my tastes are extremely eclectic when it comes to reading. I love a great story with characters who speak to me, whether YA or adult.
There are a few things I absolutely love about this series. Firstly, I’m a Greek mythology geek and was thrilled, for both readings, to reacquaint myself with the Greek gods, their offspring, and their unique forms of torture and torment. Riordan does a brilliant job of making mythology accessible, in books that he wrote to assist his own kids. Things like Dionysus drinking Diet Coke to stay sober, everyone feeling extra grumpy when Ares is around, and Tantalus chasing food around the table, never able to reach it, bring the myths into the present day in a brilliant way.
Secondly, the novels are funny without feeling contrived (for the most part). Percy’s voice seems like a genuine, funny teenager and the imagery he uses feels authentic.
Thirdly–and this part has become more obvious to me over time–the books are intended to make those who feel left out or different, feel important. Thus, Percy’s ADHD and dyslexia are part of being a demigod, and are related to his physical skills and innate tendency to read ancient Greek. Throughout the series, those who are different demonstrate unique benefits to assist with the various quests.
The TV series even stepped up from the books, by choosing actors with more diverse backgrounds than the book characters.
If you have older kids or young teens, if you love Greek mythology, or if you just enjoy a good series with quests and heroes and Cyclopes and magic, I would definitely suggest taking a look.
Feb 5, 2024: Moon of the Turning Leaves by Waubgeshig Rice
A few weeks ago I wrote on the first book in this series, Moon of the Crusted Snow. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this sequel.
In this book, Evan Whitesky, the protagonist of the first novel, has been living in the bush with his family for twelve years, since the events of the first novel (a sudden power outage and loss of contact with the rest of the world). The surviving group has left the reservation in order to be safe and within close distance of fresh water, fishing, game, etc. They have created a community and they are doing very well.
The problem is that they are depleting the land; game is less available, and they have to travel further and further to hunt. The lakes nearby are becoming sparsely populated with fish. They decide as a group to seek a large lake in Southern Ontario and take back land that used to belong the the Anishinaabe people.
The novel is essentially a quest, with a group of six heading out on a trek that will cover hundreds of kilometres, with no awareness of what has happened nor the dangers that await. In the first book they did hear of chaos and violence in Southern Ontario, so as they are walking, the reader feels the anticipatory tension: what exactly are they going to find?
I connected with Evan’s teenage daughter, Nangohns, as a character, as well as Evan from the first book. I loved the descriptions of survival in the woods, right down to details of traditional medicines, fishing, preparing meals, and finding shelter. In fact, those details appealed to me more than the quest, which felt predictable. Ultimately the book is about community, and family, and finding a sense of place. Rice does a beautiful job of showing the strength of his Anishinaabe characters as they work together to survive the calamity that has befallen mankind, which may very well represent what Indigenous Canadians have already had to survive. A sequel worth reading.
A few weeks ago I wrote on the first book in this series, Moon of the Crusted Snow. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this sequel.
In this book, Evan Whitesky, the protagonist of the first novel, has been living in the bush with his family for twelve years, since the events of the first novel (a sudden power outage and loss of contact with the rest of the world). The surviving group has left the reservation in order to be safe and within close distance of fresh water, fishing, game, etc. They have created a community and they are doing very well.
The problem is that they are depleting the land; game is less available, and they have to travel further and further to hunt. The lakes nearby are becoming sparsely populated with fish. They decide as a group to seek a large lake in Southern Ontario and take back land that used to belong the the Anishinaabe people.
The novel is essentially a quest, with a group of six heading out on a trek that will cover hundreds of kilometres, with no awareness of what has happened nor the dangers that await. In the first book they did hear of chaos and violence in Southern Ontario, so as they are walking, the reader feels the anticipatory tension: what exactly are they going to find?
I connected with Evan’s teenage daughter, Nangohns, as a character, as well as Evan from the first book. I loved the descriptions of survival in the woods, right down to details of traditional medicines, fishing, preparing meals, and finding shelter. In fact, those details appealed to me more than the quest, which felt predictable. Ultimately the book is about community, and family, and finding a sense of place. Rice does a beautiful job of showing the strength of his Anishinaabe characters as they work together to survive the calamity that has befallen mankind, which may very well represent what Indigenous Canadians have already had to survive. A sequel worth reading.
Jan 29, 2024: Learned by Heart by Emma Donoghue
Emma Donoghue has been publishing quite prolifically recently, with The Pull of the Stars in 2021, Haven in 2022, and now this book in 2023. I particularly enjoyed The Pull of the Stars, in no small part because of my own personal and professional experience with childbirth, but it also drew in historical fiction, pandemic, and an evolving relationship between two women. In Learned by Heart, Donoghue dives again into historical fiction, this time a British boarding school. Two adolescent girls, calling each other by last names (Raine and Lister), are thrust together in tight living arrangements, each living as an outsider: Raine, due to her maternal Indian heritage and resulting brown skin colour, and Lister, due to her defiance and unwillingness to live the way a “proper young lady” ought. Set in the late 19th century, when expectations for women were high but prospects few, the book observes these two girls developing and evolving in their own ways. Every few chapters, there is a letter from Raine to Lister, much later in life, making the reader wonder what has happened to separate them and cause estrangement when in the younger years we see them becoming closer and closer.
I enjoyed this book, and I love Donoghue’s style, but I was left feeling something was missing. It was great fun to live through the girls’ boarding school adventures and get to know the fellow students, but the ultimate outcome did not feel quite real, or quite right. That said, with Room and The Pull of the Stars remaining firm favourites, I’ll continue to look forward to each Donoghue novel as it is released.
Emma Donoghue has been publishing quite prolifically recently, with The Pull of the Stars in 2021, Haven in 2022, and now this book in 2023. I particularly enjoyed The Pull of the Stars, in no small part because of my own personal and professional experience with childbirth, but it also drew in historical fiction, pandemic, and an evolving relationship between two women. In Learned by Heart, Donoghue dives again into historical fiction, this time a British boarding school. Two adolescent girls, calling each other by last names (Raine and Lister), are thrust together in tight living arrangements, each living as an outsider: Raine, due to her maternal Indian heritage and resulting brown skin colour, and Lister, due to her defiance and unwillingness to live the way a “proper young lady” ought. Set in the late 19th century, when expectations for women were high but prospects few, the book observes these two girls developing and evolving in their own ways. Every few chapters, there is a letter from Raine to Lister, much later in life, making the reader wonder what has happened to separate them and cause estrangement when in the younger years we see them becoming closer and closer.
I enjoyed this book, and I love Donoghue’s style, but I was left feeling something was missing. It was great fun to live through the girls’ boarding school adventures and get to know the fellow students, but the ultimate outcome did not feel quite real, or quite right. That said, with Room and The Pull of the Stars remaining firm favourites, I’ll continue to look forward to each Donoghue novel as it is released.
Jan 22, 2024: Study for Obedience by Sarah Bernstein
Another Booker Prize shortlisted novel. I try to go into these with an open mind, but again I was quite frustrated. Remember in grade school when we were taught about run-on sentences? This book seems to use run-on sentences with multiple commas as an experiment in literature. Perhaps that’s why it was shortlisted. I sometimes found myself having to go back nearly an entire page to figure out where the single-sentence paragraph started, as I had lost the thread of it part way through. Maybe that says more about me as a reader than Bernstein as a writer.
The book is about a woman who goes to another country (never named) to live with her brother, at his request. She is more or less his servant, but this seems to be her choice, and one which she defends at length. Strange things begin to happen, and her standing in the town, as well as that of her brother, is called into question.
As I mentioned with Burnt Sugar, I appreciate good writing, but I also need good characters. I need to care about them. The narrator here, with her run-on sentences, is passive and annoying. Yes, she does undergo some change. Yes, there’s a well-done, gradual unravelling of the back story, in a very subtle way. Yes, there’s tension buildup as we try to figure out why she is the way she is, what will become of her, why the townspeople are behaving as they do, and so on. I’ll enjoy discussing this book with readerly colleagues. I just wish I understood why this particular style generated such positive attention.
Another Booker Prize shortlisted novel. I try to go into these with an open mind, but again I was quite frustrated. Remember in grade school when we were taught about run-on sentences? This book seems to use run-on sentences with multiple commas as an experiment in literature. Perhaps that’s why it was shortlisted. I sometimes found myself having to go back nearly an entire page to figure out where the single-sentence paragraph started, as I had lost the thread of it part way through. Maybe that says more about me as a reader than Bernstein as a writer.
The book is about a woman who goes to another country (never named) to live with her brother, at his request. She is more or less his servant, but this seems to be her choice, and one which she defends at length. Strange things begin to happen, and her standing in the town, as well as that of her brother, is called into question.
As I mentioned with Burnt Sugar, I appreciate good writing, but I also need good characters. I need to care about them. The narrator here, with her run-on sentences, is passive and annoying. Yes, she does undergo some change. Yes, there’s a well-done, gradual unravelling of the back story, in a very subtle way. Yes, there’s tension buildup as we try to figure out why she is the way she is, what will become of her, why the townspeople are behaving as they do, and so on. I’ll enjoy discussing this book with readerly colleagues. I just wish I understood why this particular style generated such positive attention.
Jan 15, 2024: The Heaviness of Things that Float by Jennifer Manuel
I was so fortunate, in 2023, to spend a week on the Pacific Ocean in the region of Haida Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas, off the coast of Northwest BC. This book, published in 2016, is set North of Vancouver Island, and Manuel's descriptions reminded me so much of the comparatively tiny glimpse of the area I had seen.
The book is about a nurse, Bernadette, who is the only health care provider for the fictional Tawakin reserve. She lives a short boat ride away, and is non-Indigenous, but has been in her role for forty years and knows many of the secrets that lie within the small community (illness, substance misuse, infidelity). Over the years, she has grown to love the people, yet continues to feel like an outsider in many ways.
As Bernadette prepares to leave the outpost and trains a new nurse to take her place, she reflects on the life she has led, and the lives of others now interwoven with hers. I loved the descriptions of nature: the multicoloured starfish clinging to the black rocks at low tide, the anger of the waves making the ocean seem like a character in itself, the little coves and islands that allow members of the small community to have their secrets. It's a heartbreaking story but also very real in the ways that lives come together and fall apart in remote locations. Some of the challenges she faces as a nurse are faced by those of us in health care even here, in a much larger place with a hospital, but still removed from the tertiary centres. I was very involved with Bernadette and the other major characters, which is something I absolutely love in a book. Enjoy!
I was so fortunate, in 2023, to spend a week on the Pacific Ocean in the region of Haida Gwaii and Gwaii Haanas, off the coast of Northwest BC. This book, published in 2016, is set North of Vancouver Island, and Manuel's descriptions reminded me so much of the comparatively tiny glimpse of the area I had seen.
The book is about a nurse, Bernadette, who is the only health care provider for the fictional Tawakin reserve. She lives a short boat ride away, and is non-Indigenous, but has been in her role for forty years and knows many of the secrets that lie within the small community (illness, substance misuse, infidelity). Over the years, she has grown to love the people, yet continues to feel like an outsider in many ways.
As Bernadette prepares to leave the outpost and trains a new nurse to take her place, she reflects on the life she has led, and the lives of others now interwoven with hers. I loved the descriptions of nature: the multicoloured starfish clinging to the black rocks at low tide, the anger of the waves making the ocean seem like a character in itself, the little coves and islands that allow members of the small community to have their secrets. It's a heartbreaking story but also very real in the ways that lives come together and fall apart in remote locations. Some of the challenges she faces as a nurse are faced by those of us in health care even here, in a much larger place with a hospital, but still removed from the tertiary centres. I was very involved with Bernadette and the other major characters, which is something I absolutely love in a book. Enjoy!
Jan 6, 2024: Roost by Ali Bryan
I actually read this author’s second book, The Figgs, before I read this first one. The Figgs made me laugh more than any book I’ve read in recent memory; I’m talking laugh-out-loud, people-looking-at-you-on-a-flight funny. I was looking forward to Roost and got it for Christmas this year.
While The Figgs is about a menopausal mother of three trying to get her adult children to leave home, Roost is about a young single mother with two small children, trying to get her life together after a marital breakup. For me, the greatness of Ali Bryan is the lovable imperfection of her characters: Claudia is disorganized, her home is a mess, and she calls her children assholes, sometimes out loud. Told to get dressed, her three-year-old appears wearing a bathing suit. Her visiting father picks his teeth with the plastic hand of her son’s action figure. The people and situations feel so real, so human, compared to many other books.
Despite having adult children, I remember those days of small kids very well, and I had a reliable partner around to help out! I had great sympathy for Claudia, even when she was making terrible choices. Her love for her kids is evident and overarching, which makes her ultimately forgiveable. The book is about home, and family, and the things that make each of these work for each individual. I highly recommend both of Bryan’s books.
I actually read this author’s second book, The Figgs, before I read this first one. The Figgs made me laugh more than any book I’ve read in recent memory; I’m talking laugh-out-loud, people-looking-at-you-on-a-flight funny. I was looking forward to Roost and got it for Christmas this year.
While The Figgs is about a menopausal mother of three trying to get her adult children to leave home, Roost is about a young single mother with two small children, trying to get her life together after a marital breakup. For me, the greatness of Ali Bryan is the lovable imperfection of her characters: Claudia is disorganized, her home is a mess, and she calls her children assholes, sometimes out loud. Told to get dressed, her three-year-old appears wearing a bathing suit. Her visiting father picks his teeth with the plastic hand of her son’s action figure. The people and situations feel so real, so human, compared to many other books.
Despite having adult children, I remember those days of small kids very well, and I had a reliable partner around to help out! I had great sympathy for Claudia, even when she was making terrible choices. Her love for her kids is evident and overarching, which makes her ultimately forgiveable. The book is about home, and family, and the things that make each of these work for each individual. I highly recommend both of Bryan’s books.
Dec 18, 2023: Why Birds Sing by Nina Berkhout
This book was another selection as I was exploring small Canadian literary presses (in this case, ECW press). The protagonist is an opera singer who has lost her voice, and with it her identity. She and her husband are not as close as they once were, and his brother has moved into their home with his pet parrot. This introduction may sound more like the setup of a joke than a good novel, but despite its quirkiness (or because of it), I really enjoyed this book. Dawn, although unable to sing, must continue teaching and therefore leads a class in classical whistling, meeting an entire group of interesting characters. Her distance from her husband contrasts with her slowly developing relationship with Tariq, her brother-in-law, and Tulip, the parrot.
Full disclosure: I’m not a huge fan of opera, or parrots. Or whistling! I got really involved with this book, though, to the point that I looked up all of the arias they were whistling, just to understand the book more fully. It’s such a funny premise, but so well done. If you don’t mind a bit of weirdness in your books, enjoy this one (and see if you’re inspired to whistle better).
This book was another selection as I was exploring small Canadian literary presses (in this case, ECW press). The protagonist is an opera singer who has lost her voice, and with it her identity. She and her husband are not as close as they once were, and his brother has moved into their home with his pet parrot. This introduction may sound more like the setup of a joke than a good novel, but despite its quirkiness (or because of it), I really enjoyed this book. Dawn, although unable to sing, must continue teaching and therefore leads a class in classical whistling, meeting an entire group of interesting characters. Her distance from her husband contrasts with her slowly developing relationship with Tariq, her brother-in-law, and Tulip, the parrot.
Full disclosure: I’m not a huge fan of opera, or parrots. Or whistling! I got really involved with this book, though, to the point that I looked up all of the arias they were whistling, just to understand the book more fully. It’s such a funny premise, but so well done. If you don’t mind a bit of weirdness in your books, enjoy this one (and see if you’re inspired to whistle better).
Dec 11, 2023: We, Jane by Aimee Wall (published 2021)
I selected this book for two reasons: 1) I was exploring publications from small Canadian presses, and Book Hug Press was of particular interest, and 2) I’m interested in the Jane Network that grew out of Chicago in the 1960’s: a group of young women who provided illegal abortions by telling women to “call Jane” or “ask for Jane,” as a code for their services.
This particular book tells the Canadian version of the story, fictionally describing a Jane network in rural Newfoundland. The main character is Marthe, who is searching for something to do with her life after leaving her home in St. John’s and travelling elsewhere in Canada. She meets Ruth, who has big plans for the two of them to return to Newfoundland and become part of the abortion service network, with which Ruth already has some experience.
The premise is interesting, the writing is good, but I just could not get into this book. My favourite aspect of the novel was the section set in Newfoundland, where Wall’s descriptions of the setting, the people, and her use of the local language drew me in completely. As for the characters and their troubles, however, I found I just didn’t care that much. Part of the problem is Marthe herself, who spends much of the book waffling about her future. This type of discovery quest is basic to many novels, and not everything in life–or books– needs to be rapid and dramatic, but in this case I kept wondering if anything was going to actually happen.
Overall, the book had many positive features, but I didn’t love it. If you read it and feel differently, I’d love to hear your point of view.
I selected this book for two reasons: 1) I was exploring publications from small Canadian presses, and Book Hug Press was of particular interest, and 2) I’m interested in the Jane Network that grew out of Chicago in the 1960’s: a group of young women who provided illegal abortions by telling women to “call Jane” or “ask for Jane,” as a code for their services.
This particular book tells the Canadian version of the story, fictionally describing a Jane network in rural Newfoundland. The main character is Marthe, who is searching for something to do with her life after leaving her home in St. John’s and travelling elsewhere in Canada. She meets Ruth, who has big plans for the two of them to return to Newfoundland and become part of the abortion service network, with which Ruth already has some experience.
The premise is interesting, the writing is good, but I just could not get into this book. My favourite aspect of the novel was the section set in Newfoundland, where Wall’s descriptions of the setting, the people, and her use of the local language drew me in completely. As for the characters and their troubles, however, I found I just didn’t care that much. Part of the problem is Marthe herself, who spends much of the book waffling about her future. This type of discovery quest is basic to many novels, and not everything in life–or books– needs to be rapid and dramatic, but in this case I kept wondering if anything was going to actually happen.
Overall, the book had many positive features, but I didn’t love it. If you read it and feel differently, I’d love to hear your point of view.
Dec 4, 2023: VenCo by Cherie Dimaline
I wasn’t sure about this book, despite enjoying both The Marrow Thieves and Empire of Wild, Dimaline’s prior novels. There are fantasy elements in both of those books, but for some reason a book about witches felt like too much (this, from a huge Harry Potter fan, who also adored Ami McKay’s Witches of New York). At any rate, I went in unsure, but was sold nearly immediately. The protagonist, Lucky St. James, is well drawn out and suffers from the same anxiety and curiosity I would definitely have if random women started approaching me with job offers and weird magical things started happening. Her Grandmother, Stella, steals the show with her on-again, off-again cognitive function, and their relationship is both poignant and hilarious. Under the surface, it becomes clear that the coven (hence the name VenCo) represents much more than witchcraft. The book, at its core, is about feminism, patriarchy, acceptance and self-love. Dimaline suggests that “witch hunts” have always been about suppressing powerful women, both in the past and today. She makes her points while using diverse cultures, races, and gender identities, but also lots of humour and quirky characters. The ending was fairly predictable, but VenCo is now my favourite of Dimaline’s books, and reading it was very entertaining.
I wasn’t sure about this book, despite enjoying both The Marrow Thieves and Empire of Wild, Dimaline’s prior novels. There are fantasy elements in both of those books, but for some reason a book about witches felt like too much (this, from a huge Harry Potter fan, who also adored Ami McKay’s Witches of New York). At any rate, I went in unsure, but was sold nearly immediately. The protagonist, Lucky St. James, is well drawn out and suffers from the same anxiety and curiosity I would definitely have if random women started approaching me with job offers and weird magical things started happening. Her Grandmother, Stella, steals the show with her on-again, off-again cognitive function, and their relationship is both poignant and hilarious. Under the surface, it becomes clear that the coven (hence the name VenCo) represents much more than witchcraft. The book, at its core, is about feminism, patriarchy, acceptance and self-love. Dimaline suggests that “witch hunts” have always been about suppressing powerful women, both in the past and today. She makes her points while using diverse cultures, races, and gender identities, but also lots of humour and quirky characters. The ending was fairly predictable, but VenCo is now my favourite of Dimaline’s books, and reading it was very entertaining.
Nov 28, 2023: The Mothers by Brit Bennett
In this debut novel (published in 2016), “The Mothers” are many things. The title refers to a group of elders at a church in small town California; the Mothers act like a chorus in the Greek myths, observing and commenting on happenings in the town. Then there is Nadia, the main character, the subject of the Mothers’ scrutiny. Marked since she lost her own mother tragically, she grows up trying to figure out her place within the small community. She tries to figure out motherhood in all its forms, and other relationships as well, particularly with her father. She discovers the hard way that secrets tend to come out.
What I loved about this novel was the way the Mothers acted as narrators, but not fully omniscient; the characters were allowed their own stories as well. I liked the flawed nature of Nadia and her decision making, despite cringing at some of her choices. It’s not a unique story--is any story truly unique at this point?--but is told in a unique way. The Mothers is a thoughtful, well-written book that requires a careful read (or re-read!) to appreciate all the nuances.
In this debut novel (published in 2016), “The Mothers” are many things. The title refers to a group of elders at a church in small town California; the Mothers act like a chorus in the Greek myths, observing and commenting on happenings in the town. Then there is Nadia, the main character, the subject of the Mothers’ scrutiny. Marked since she lost her own mother tragically, she grows up trying to figure out her place within the small community. She tries to figure out motherhood in all its forms, and other relationships as well, particularly with her father. She discovers the hard way that secrets tend to come out.
What I loved about this novel was the way the Mothers acted as narrators, but not fully omniscient; the characters were allowed their own stories as well. I liked the flawed nature of Nadia and her decision making, despite cringing at some of her choices. It’s not a unique story--is any story truly unique at this point?--but is told in a unique way. The Mothers is a thoughtful, well-written book that requires a careful read (or re-read!) to appreciate all the nuances.
Nov 20, 2023: Burnt Sugar by Avni Doshi
What does a book actually do for us? Educates, entertains, plays with language, takes us out of our own lives and into that of others. This book was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, which is why it was chosen for me as a gift. I’m not always enamoured with Booker Prize winning novels, which have gorgeous language but also frequently fail to engage me as a reader. Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough to appreciate all the nuances.
What does this book do? It educates about cultural differences between India and America, and the complicated relationship that can exist between a mother and daughter regardless of background. Antara and her mother Tara have a unique connection, based on their difficult past in a cult, but also seem intent on slowly destroying each other. Antara’s husband, an American, struggles to understand this dysfunctional association, as he and Antara also try to sort out their marriage.
Definitely, the book plays with language and generates striking–if uncomfortable at times–images. Am I fully engaged with the characters? No. Nonetheless, I do wonder, for example, who the man is in Antara’s repetitive drawings. I do wonder how the relationship between Antara, her daughter, and her mother, will play out. The novel’s progression feels quite unreliable; who is telling the truth? Whose memory is accurate? Who is at fault? Maybe having these “muddy” areas within the story demonstrates the skill of the author. I do wonder, if it was not shortlisted for a major prize, would I bother to work so hard to like it?
This was a second reading of this novel, and I did like it better the second time, but there won’t be a third.
What does a book actually do for us? Educates, entertains, plays with language, takes us out of our own lives and into that of others. This book was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, which is why it was chosen for me as a gift. I’m not always enamoured with Booker Prize winning novels, which have gorgeous language but also frequently fail to engage me as a reader. Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough to appreciate all the nuances.
What does this book do? It educates about cultural differences between India and America, and the complicated relationship that can exist between a mother and daughter regardless of background. Antara and her mother Tara have a unique connection, based on their difficult past in a cult, but also seem intent on slowly destroying each other. Antara’s husband, an American, struggles to understand this dysfunctional association, as he and Antara also try to sort out their marriage.
Definitely, the book plays with language and generates striking–if uncomfortable at times–images. Am I fully engaged with the characters? No. Nonetheless, I do wonder, for example, who the man is in Antara’s repetitive drawings. I do wonder how the relationship between Antara, her daughter, and her mother, will play out. The novel’s progression feels quite unreliable; who is telling the truth? Whose memory is accurate? Who is at fault? Maybe having these “muddy” areas within the story demonstrates the skill of the author. I do wonder, if it was not shortlisted for a major prize, would I bother to work so hard to like it?
This was a second reading of this novel, and I did like it better the second time, but there won’t be a third.
Nov 13, 2023: DUCKS: Two Years in the Oilsands by Kate Beaton
Despite winning the 2023 Canada Reads contest, impressively represented by Mattea Roach of Jeopardy! fame, I still wasn’t sure about this book because it is a graphic novel, not my usual genre. Furthermore, despite my posting of Oct 30, I don’t normally read a lot of memoirs. Still…it’s supposed to be a book that “Everyone in Canada should read,” according to the contest, so I gave it a try and was not disappointed.
Kate Beaton, from Cape Breton, moves out to Alberta solely to make enough to pay off her student loans. Once there, she discovers an entire, mostly masculine world. She must adjust to cold, isolation, loneliness, shift work, and homesickness (despite the surprisingly large number of others from the East Coast). Men are different on the oilsands, and she finds herself the object of constant unwanted attention, sometimes in its most extreme form.
The drawings amazed me in this book. She considers herself a cartoonist, but there are drawings of the ocean, the oilsands, the machinery, even the Northern lights, that are quite different than I would expect from a cartoonist, in their detail and specificity. Her characters are somehow drawn in a way that makes them easily distinguishable even wearing the PPE required when working. She shows realistic positions during conversations, and many facial expressions that while simplistic, get the point across extremely well. The dialogue tells the vast majority of the story, and feels very real, right down to the lilt and wording of those from Newfoundland. It’s a large book, but I went through it very quickly, caught up in the story right from the start.
This book definitely did not make me want to work in the oilsands. Beaton even managed to clearly outline the arguments for and against their existence, without preaching. The book did, however, make me want to read more graphic novels. A great choice for Canada Reads.
Despite winning the 2023 Canada Reads contest, impressively represented by Mattea Roach of Jeopardy! fame, I still wasn’t sure about this book because it is a graphic novel, not my usual genre. Furthermore, despite my posting of Oct 30, I don’t normally read a lot of memoirs. Still…it’s supposed to be a book that “Everyone in Canada should read,” according to the contest, so I gave it a try and was not disappointed.
Kate Beaton, from Cape Breton, moves out to Alberta solely to make enough to pay off her student loans. Once there, she discovers an entire, mostly masculine world. She must adjust to cold, isolation, loneliness, shift work, and homesickness (despite the surprisingly large number of others from the East Coast). Men are different on the oilsands, and she finds herself the object of constant unwanted attention, sometimes in its most extreme form.
The drawings amazed me in this book. She considers herself a cartoonist, but there are drawings of the ocean, the oilsands, the machinery, even the Northern lights, that are quite different than I would expect from a cartoonist, in their detail and specificity. Her characters are somehow drawn in a way that makes them easily distinguishable even wearing the PPE required when working. She shows realistic positions during conversations, and many facial expressions that while simplistic, get the point across extremely well. The dialogue tells the vast majority of the story, and feels very real, right down to the lilt and wording of those from Newfoundland. It’s a large book, but I went through it very quickly, caught up in the story right from the start.
This book definitely did not make me want to work in the oilsands. Beaton even managed to clearly outline the arguments for and against their existence, without preaching. The book did, however, make me want to read more graphic novels. A great choice for Canada Reads.
Nov 6, 2023: Tom Lake by Ann Patchett
It’s not fair, really, because every time I read something by Ann Patchett I want it to be Bel Canto again, and of course it can’t be. I’ve had my likes and dislikes among her books, but this one wove a spell that pulled me in, despite a pretty straightforward plot.
Lara, who lives with her husband on a cherry farm in Michigan, gets drawn into a conversation with her three daughters about a specific summer in her past, when she performed in summer stock theatre. She was an aspiring actress at the time, and got the lead in a play called “Our Town” (Thornton Wilder won the Pulitzer for the play in 1938). Most of the book is a flashback, her own tale of that specific summer, while in the present the grown daughters are back at the farm due to COVID, helping with the harvest.
I’ve never read “Our Town,” although after finishing this book, I will need to. I suspect if I knew the play, there would be some parallels within the plot or characters; the set-up is begging for an English essay. The drama that exists within seemingly mundane settings would be an obvious start.
The book has two of the things that drive me crazy: perfect children and perfect dogs. Somehow, in this case, the sisters who all get along and braid their hair together and help pick cherries all day and want to listen to their mother talk for hours end up feeling real. How did Patchett do that? Even Lara’s husband feels perfect. The setting is idyllic, so well described that you will likely want to go and live on a cherry farm by the end. It seems impossible to me that with all of these issues, I could love the book, but I did. It’s a quiet book that leaves a big impact, and again makes me admire the incredible skill of Ann Patchett.
It’s not fair, really, because every time I read something by Ann Patchett I want it to be Bel Canto again, and of course it can’t be. I’ve had my likes and dislikes among her books, but this one wove a spell that pulled me in, despite a pretty straightforward plot.
Lara, who lives with her husband on a cherry farm in Michigan, gets drawn into a conversation with her three daughters about a specific summer in her past, when she performed in summer stock theatre. She was an aspiring actress at the time, and got the lead in a play called “Our Town” (Thornton Wilder won the Pulitzer for the play in 1938). Most of the book is a flashback, her own tale of that specific summer, while in the present the grown daughters are back at the farm due to COVID, helping with the harvest.
I’ve never read “Our Town,” although after finishing this book, I will need to. I suspect if I knew the play, there would be some parallels within the plot or characters; the set-up is begging for an English essay. The drama that exists within seemingly mundane settings would be an obvious start.
The book has two of the things that drive me crazy: perfect children and perfect dogs. Somehow, in this case, the sisters who all get along and braid their hair together and help pick cherries all day and want to listen to their mother talk for hours end up feeling real. How did Patchett do that? Even Lara’s husband feels perfect. The setting is idyllic, so well described that you will likely want to go and live on a cherry farm by the end. It seems impossible to me that with all of these issues, I could love the book, but I did. It’s a quiet book that leaves a big impact, and again makes me admire the incredible skill of Ann Patchett.
Oct 30, 2023: Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing by Matthew Perry
I picked up this book, of course, because of Chandler Bing. Probably, that’s why most people are interested in Matthew Perry: his 10-season stint on Friends, where he showed himself to have wonderful comic timing and many of the best one-liners. Being a Canadian, we were all his friends automatically, or at least I felt that way. One of us! Hitting the big time! Funny! Likeable! Could he BE any cooler? I knew he had struggles with addiction, and I was interested in his perspective.
The memoir is not a work of art stylistically; I’m averse to overdramatic phrases like his bowel “exploding,” and certain sections were quite repetitive. Those issues aside, it’s a terribly sad story of a young man who seemingly had everything: money, fame, women, talent, and yet could not extricate himself from his addictions to alcohol and drugs (mostly narcotics). It’s hard to even imagine drinking a full 60 oz bottle of vodka and then going to work the next day and doing that over and over. It’s hard to imagine taking upwards of 50 oxycontin per day, sneaking around to numerous physicians and dealers to get supplies. It’s hard to imagine attending multiple expensive rehab facilities–he says over 60 of them–and still not being able to stop using for more than a few weeks or months at a time. The reader, drawn into his world, sees how complicated addiction is, how impossible it is to “just stop doing it,” even as all his energy goes into hiding what’s happening.
I had just finished the book, thinking how much sicker he had been than I realized, hoping he could somehow turn things around this time, when his death was announced. The cause is currently unknown, but as he said himself, he came close to death many times before. A heartbreaking epilogue to his story. One of many, many, many who lose their lives to addiction, whether famous or not. Too many.
I picked up this book, of course, because of Chandler Bing. Probably, that’s why most people are interested in Matthew Perry: his 10-season stint on Friends, where he showed himself to have wonderful comic timing and many of the best one-liners. Being a Canadian, we were all his friends automatically, or at least I felt that way. One of us! Hitting the big time! Funny! Likeable! Could he BE any cooler? I knew he had struggles with addiction, and I was interested in his perspective.
The memoir is not a work of art stylistically; I’m averse to overdramatic phrases like his bowel “exploding,” and certain sections were quite repetitive. Those issues aside, it’s a terribly sad story of a young man who seemingly had everything: money, fame, women, talent, and yet could not extricate himself from his addictions to alcohol and drugs (mostly narcotics). It’s hard to even imagine drinking a full 60 oz bottle of vodka and then going to work the next day and doing that over and over. It’s hard to imagine taking upwards of 50 oxycontin per day, sneaking around to numerous physicians and dealers to get supplies. It’s hard to imagine attending multiple expensive rehab facilities–he says over 60 of them–and still not being able to stop using for more than a few weeks or months at a time. The reader, drawn into his world, sees how complicated addiction is, how impossible it is to “just stop doing it,” even as all his energy goes into hiding what’s happening.
I had just finished the book, thinking how much sicker he had been than I realized, hoping he could somehow turn things around this time, when his death was announced. The cause is currently unknown, but as he said himself, he came close to death many times before. A heartbreaking epilogue to his story. One of many, many, many who lose their lives to addiction, whether famous or not. Too many.
Oct 23, 2023: Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice
I re-read this book due to the recent sequel, Moon of the Turning Leaves, which I hope to pick up at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival. Published in 2018, I was reminded how much Moon of the Crusted Snow eerily predicted human behaviour in response to the pandemic. In this novel, an Anishinaabe community in the far North is suddenly cut off from all communication, hydro, and delivery services from Southern Ontario, including cell phone and internet. We learn about the traditional skills that save many community members, and the sense of family connection, but we also see the sadly predictable response when there are limited supplies: hoarding, raiding, interpersonal divisions. We see the leaders struggle, praised by some, and derided by others. When strangers begin to arrive in the community to escape the unspecified events in the South, the community must figure out a way to balance safety, trust, and loyalty.
Reading it for the second time, as an author, I really appreciated Waub’s “slow burn,” that ability to hint at something ominous coming, in a slow, gradual fashion. I enjoyed getting inside the Anishinaabe community and learning some of the language and traditions; the language was clearly explained, making it easier than in The Covenant of Water (see last week’s post). I’m looking forward to seeing Waub live, and getting into the sequel!
I re-read this book due to the recent sequel, Moon of the Turning Leaves, which I hope to pick up at the Ottawa Writer’s Festival. Published in 2018, I was reminded how much Moon of the Crusted Snow eerily predicted human behaviour in response to the pandemic. In this novel, an Anishinaabe community in the far North is suddenly cut off from all communication, hydro, and delivery services from Southern Ontario, including cell phone and internet. We learn about the traditional skills that save many community members, and the sense of family connection, but we also see the sadly predictable response when there are limited supplies: hoarding, raiding, interpersonal divisions. We see the leaders struggle, praised by some, and derided by others. When strangers begin to arrive in the community to escape the unspecified events in the South, the community must figure out a way to balance safety, trust, and loyalty.
Reading it for the second time, as an author, I really appreciated Waub’s “slow burn,” that ability to hint at something ominous coming, in a slow, gradual fashion. I enjoyed getting inside the Anishinaabe community and learning some of the language and traditions; the language was clearly explained, making it easier than in The Covenant of Water (see last week’s post). I’m looking forward to seeing Waub live, and getting into the sequel!
Oct 16, 2023: The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese (Part 2)
Bottom line: A long but beautiful read. Initial concerns other than the length of the book were the large number of characters (not only was it difficult to keep track early on, I also wondered why we were learning such details about some supposedly minor characters, and where everything was going); unfamiliar language, although I could usually get the gist of it or else look up the word (eg. thorthu, vettukathi). Even with 200 pages to go, at the time of my last report, I worried how on earth it would all come together. Having read Cutting for Stone, I should not have doubted Verghese. He provided twists, turns, neatly tied off every thread, and did it all using gorgeous language and imagery. He pulls the reader into minute details of leprosy, surgery, sculpting, and cooking with equal expertise. I felt like I knew the fate of every person I'd questioned, from the elephant Damodaran to the surgeon Digby to the rebel Lenin. Despite many tragedies, the overall feeling was one of joy and great family love. I’ve heard this is also a beautiful audiobook, and although it would be a definite time commitment, hearing the musical language with the author doing all the accents sounds very worthwhile.
Bottom line: A long but beautiful read. Initial concerns other than the length of the book were the large number of characters (not only was it difficult to keep track early on, I also wondered why we were learning such details about some supposedly minor characters, and where everything was going); unfamiliar language, although I could usually get the gist of it or else look up the word (eg. thorthu, vettukathi). Even with 200 pages to go, at the time of my last report, I worried how on earth it would all come together. Having read Cutting for Stone, I should not have doubted Verghese. He provided twists, turns, neatly tied off every thread, and did it all using gorgeous language and imagery. He pulls the reader into minute details of leprosy, surgery, sculpting, and cooking with equal expertise. I felt like I knew the fate of every person I'd questioned, from the elephant Damodaran to the surgeon Digby to the rebel Lenin. Despite many tragedies, the overall feeling was one of joy and great family love. I’ve heard this is also a beautiful audiobook, and although it would be a definite time commitment, hearing the musical language with the author doing all the accents sounds very worthwhile.
Oct 10, 2023: The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese (Part 1)
This report is in two parts--have you seen the size of this book? I'm often leery of giant tomes (715 pages for this one) and wonder where the editors go that demand no more than 300 pages for a first novel. This book, however, has pleasantly surprised me so far by making me invest in many characters, and consistently using beautiful language. The separate sections (ten parts) help the reader to keep track of the characters and the significant events in their lives. Set in India and vividly described, the story follows generations of a family which has "the Condition"--a tendency toward drowning. My inclination so far is to compare the book to Rohinton Mistry (A Fine Balance), but with more positivity...a sentiment that may change once I finish the remaining 200 pages. Stay tuned!
This report is in two parts--have you seen the size of this book? I'm often leery of giant tomes (715 pages for this one) and wonder where the editors go that demand no more than 300 pages for a first novel. This book, however, has pleasantly surprised me so far by making me invest in many characters, and consistently using beautiful language. The separate sections (ten parts) help the reader to keep track of the characters and the significant events in their lives. Set in India and vividly described, the story follows generations of a family which has "the Condition"--a tendency toward drowning. My inclination so far is to compare the book to Rohinton Mistry (A Fine Balance), but with more positivity...a sentiment that may change once I finish the remaining 200 pages. Stay tuned!
Oct 3, 2023: Francie's Got a Gun by Carrie Snyder
This was my second time reading this book, which is Snyder's latest. I'm a big re-reader, perhaps because I like to inhale a book the first time and then pay more attention the second time to things like story arc, form, character development, and so on. Maybe I'm a lazy reader overall, but I enjoy books multiple times, and over many years.
In this book, young Francie is running away from unknown threats, clutching a gun. The chapters alternate between her breathless escape and the background that led to this point, with interwoven viewpoints of many other people in her life. Her mother, father, friend, grandmother, toddler brother, even her music teacher all reveal things about her and about her family.
I love the character of Francie, who is at once typical and atypical of children her age, and the way the varying adults around her interpret her behaviour. She is at once a child and an "old soul," partially because she has had to grow up early in her chaotic home environment. If I had to provide criticism, I'd say that there are perhaps too many points of view, which add humour at times but not much else to the overall story.
Snyder's books, which include The Juliet Stories and Girl Runner (a particular favourite of mine), are very diverse but so enjoyable. Try them out if you have not had a chance!
This was my second time reading this book, which is Snyder's latest. I'm a big re-reader, perhaps because I like to inhale a book the first time and then pay more attention the second time to things like story arc, form, character development, and so on. Maybe I'm a lazy reader overall, but I enjoy books multiple times, and over many years.
In this book, young Francie is running away from unknown threats, clutching a gun. The chapters alternate between her breathless escape and the background that led to this point, with interwoven viewpoints of many other people in her life. Her mother, father, friend, grandmother, toddler brother, even her music teacher all reveal things about her and about her family.
I love the character of Francie, who is at once typical and atypical of children her age, and the way the varying adults around her interpret her behaviour. She is at once a child and an "old soul," partially because she has had to grow up early in her chaotic home environment. If I had to provide criticism, I'd say that there are perhaps too many points of view, which add humour at times but not much else to the overall story.
Snyder's books, which include The Juliet Stories and Girl Runner (a particular favourite of mine), are very diverse but so enjoyable. Try them out if you have not had a chance!
