Category: Reviews
Follies Past by Melanie Kerr: Review and Author Q&A
My rating: 3.5/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
Taking its facts from Austen’s own words, Follies Past opens almost a year before the opening of Pride and Prejudice itself, at Pemberley, at Christmas. Fourteen-year-old Georgiana has just been taken from school and is preparing to transfer to London in the spring. It follows Georgiana to London, to Ramsgate and into the arms of the charming and infamous Mr. Wickham.
Remember last year when I did Austen in August and decided that even though Austen is Awesome, she kind of wasn’t for me (with the exception of Persuasion because let’s face it, Captain Wentworth is for everybody?) It’s a credit to Ms. Kerr’s persuasiveness (sorry) that I decided to read Follies Past. I didn’t want to set myself up for a disappointing read, or deal with the awkwardness of a writing a bad review of a local, self-published book. But over the course of a few weeks’ email correspondence, she wore me down. I picked up the ebook and girded myself.
It wasn’t just Kerr’s salesmanship (thought it was impressive) that convinced me. She created a series of wonderfully overwrought book trailers that are far more entertaining than those of best selling authors. And she blogs. Her blog is neither in your face promotion nor dubious writing tips; rather, it’s an interesting and educational look at what goes into writing a historical novel and publishing it yourself. Kerr’s expertise in the Regency era comes through in her fiction, but her blog really drives it home. My favourite posts are those about about peculiarities of Regency language, but she also rants about misuse of “beg the question,” one of my pet peeves.
What about the book?
Right! The best thing about Follies Past is that the writing style comes oh-so-close to Austen, it feels completely natural and not at all like that “put a Zombie on it” brand of adaptation. Kerr’s wit isn’t quite as razor sharp, but that’s like saying you are slightly worse at playing piano that Mozart. I don’t know about you, but I read Austen for the sick burns more than the romance, and there are plenty here. Speaking of romance, here’s our hero contemplating marriage with Caroline: Continue reading
The Shore Girl by Fran Kimmel
My rating: 4/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
Rebee Shore’s life is fragmented. She’s forever on the move, ricocheting around Alberta, guided less than capably by her dysfunctional mother Elizabeth. “The Shore Girl” follows Rebee from her toddler to her teen years as she grapples with her mother’s fears and addictions, and her own desire for a normal life. Through a series of narrators–family, friends, teachers, strangers, and Rebee herself–her family’s dark past, and the core of her mother’s despair, are slowly revealed
The first sentence in the synopsis is bang on. Rebee Shore’s life is fragmented. So was my reading experience. So is this review.
I’ve been paralyzed for six months in writing this review. The reasons are uninteresting, but most come down to the fact that I don’t quite know what to make of the book. I enjoyed it, but my reactions were a little strange. Like how I didn’t cry while reading, despite many tragic circumstances, but cried suddenly and heartily upon finishing the last page. Because I was going to miss the characters? Because I had a bad feeling about the main character, Rebee? I think it was supposed to be a optimistic ending, but I had this sinking feeling…
I can tell you now that I’m all grown up, that I don’t need a mother to keep me safe. That might be a lie.
Come Barbarians by Todd Babiak: The Book, The Man, The Hummus
Come Barbarians languished on my shelves for months, despite the fact that I attended the book launch and was immersed in a rather impressive media campaign that included digital billboards and bus shelters (for a book! For a LOCAL book!) I was afraid of a couple of things:
- That I wouldn’t like it and would have an Awkward Moment with Todd on Twitter (that sounds like a terrible new comedy series or something)
- That I wouldn’t “get it” because it was compared to Le Carre, and the one time I tried to read Le Carre, I was like that person in the theatre who’s whispering, “Who’s that? Why are they doing that? What is happening?!”
- That I wouldn’t be able to stand reading about the death of a child the same age as my own. It’s a terrible cliche, but it’s true: the older my kids get, the harder it is for me to read anything about a child being killed or hurt, real or fictional.
I got a kick in the butt from #yegbookclub, a monthly Twitter chat dedicated to an Edmonton-authored book. Come Barbarians was the first selection, and I started reading the next day.
Around this time, I listened to an interview with Todd on The Next Chapter wherein he reminded me of his BOOK CLUB PROMISE (his caps, not mine,) including “magical” hummus and “ninja vacuuming” and I knew what I had to do. I rounded up a few of the Edmonton book bloggers and created an impromtu book club. On to the reviews!
The Book
4 out of 5 stars
Goodreads
In addition to the reservations listed above, I had a feeling Come Barbarians wasn’t the right place to start with Babiak’s work. Come Barbarians is a departure, a genre book, a political thriller; whereas his earlier stuff is (I understand) funny, smart, and literary. I’ve had my hand on Toby: A Man several times (That’s What She Said) but never took the plunge. It doesn’t really matter, though. A good book is a good book. I’m glad I read this one first. It was surprising and dark, action-packed and violent, but also contained and cerebral.
I feel like this one could have been called Kruse: A Man (though I’m glad it wasn’t) because despite the action and intrigue, it’s a character study and a mediation on what makes a “good” man. Is it being good at something? What if the thing you’re good at is basically beating the crap out of people? Is it loving your family? What if your family doesn’t love you back? What if you lose them anyway? What’s left after that’s all gone?
And if these types of questions bore you, there’s plenty of other stuff to get interested in, from martial arts to French politics and organized crime.
I thought this book would be different from what I usually read, and it was, but I found myself comparing it to an old favourite: Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving. Maybe it’s the (North) Americans in Europe, or the sudden turns of tragedy and violence. Actually, I know what it was. It was this line, as Kruse laments the loss of his daughter and his wife:
He would swim to Europe with them on his back.
It put me in mind of the death of the mom and Egg over the Atlantic, and also that repeated line, “Sorrow floats.” It also made me at once wistful (how romantic!) and cynical (easy to say now, bub.) That’s a lot of stuff going on for ten-word sentence.
The only parts of the book that didn’t work for me were the more outrageous scenes. One involves a vegetable peeler used in creative and disturbing ways, and one involves the shaming of a child abuser. Neither were necessary to my experience of the book, and neither did much for me. I feel like I should have been a lot more grossed out about the vegetable peeler thing, but mostly I was wondering where I could purchase such an efficient utensil. For vegetables, calm down!
So, don’t be afraid. Whether you’re a Le Carre fanatic or and Irving lover or neither of these, if you like moody, thoughtful writing, you’ll like this.
Other reviews worth reading:
Fellow book-clubber Tania of Write Reads
The original Edmonton Book Blogger Kristilyn of Reading in Winter
Laurence Miall (who has a Babiak-blurbed book coming out soon, incidentally)
The Book Club
Can you believe we forgot to take a picture? He pretty much looks like this but less intense.
After a little awkwardness and jitters (none of us had done the author-visit thing before) talking to Todd about his book and a million other things was totally natural. We talked about marital arts, acts of kindness, vegetable peelers, and growing up in LA (that’s Leduc, Alberta.) I was most surprised by how autobiographical this book was. I was most nervous about how to talk about the book critically with the author right there but it was no problem at all. He even asked us questions about how authors and publicists should pitch to bloggers, which is always a ripe topic!
The Wine
Part of Todd’s book club promise is to bring a wine from the region the book takes place in. He couldn’t find the exact one he wanted, but assured us the grapes were the same, whatever that means. It was so good that when I got home, I immediately emailed to find out the name of the wine. It was Bila Haut by Chapoutier. Todd sent me a detailed description of the region and the grapes, which didn’t mean much to me. Bottom line: The first glass tasted like a second glass. I picked it up for $16 at Liquor Select.
The Hummus
This pains me, but the hummus not only displayed limited magical qualities, but it needed more garlic. The texture was good but it wasn’t flavourful enough for me. Sorry Todd!
Watch for book two in the Christopher Kruse series sometime in 2015. Todd would not give us an exact date no matter how much we hounded him.
The next #yegbookclub selection is Waiting for Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk and it sounds amazing.
After Alice by Karen Hofmann
After Alice by Karen Hofmann | Published in 2014 by NeWest Press| Source: Review copy from the publisher
My rating: 4/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
Having escaped the place in her youth, retired professor Sidonie von Taler returns to her ancestral Okanagan valley orchards still very much in the shadow of her deceased older sister Alice.
As she sifts through the detritus of her family history, Sidonie is haunted by memories of trauma and triumph in equal measure, and must reconcile past and present while reconnecting with the people she left behind.
Karen Hofmann’s debut novel blends a poetic sensibility with issues of land stewardship, social stratification and colonialism. Her eye for period detail and characterization is reminiscent of Margaret Atwood’s “The Blind Assassin” or Margaret Laurence’s “The Stone Angel,” while her lyrical realization of bygone B.C. pastoralia recalls the work of George Bowering.
The blurb is right: After Alice reminded me of The Stone Angel, big time. This is good, because TSA is one of my favourite books, but it’s also bad, because nothing can really measure up. Eventually, I realized there are enough differences here for After Alice to stand on its own, majorly influenced by Laurence, perhaps, but not derivative.
Where The Stone Angel fascinated me with it portrayal of aging – of a woman aging, specifically, and reverting back to childhood impulsiveness and petulance – After Alice frightened me. Hagar was 90, an age one may or may not reach, but Sidonie is in her 60s, and her stubbornness, her ambivalence towards her nephews and nieces (which reminded me of Hagar’s hate-on for Martin,) the creeping suspicion that she had mattered too little, had left no mark – is too close for comfort.
Sidonie’s retreat to her abandoned childhood home and subsequent illness are very reminiscent of Hagar’s journey into the wilderness. It may just be a coincidence, but I recently read yet another book with the “aging woman wanders into wildness, is stranded, and reflects on life” thing (Malarky, review forthcoming.) Is this becoming a cliche? It is effective though.
There are also shades of The Grapes of Wrath in the plight of the seasonal workers, both necessary and marginal. The reverse colonization, where Japanese labourers are brought in, during Sidonie’s childhood, is contrasted with present-day gentrification.
After Alice isn’t just about aging and pastoral scenes. It’s about importance of relationships, or sometimes, the lack of importance. I was struck by how few words are given to the recounting of Sidonie’s married years. The fact that Sidonie’s married life wasn’t central to her story was unexpected and I don’t know what that says about me, but it certainly conveys that Sidonie is an unconventional character given her age and background.
Hofmann is really effective in revealing the ambivalence in close blood relations – siblings, children, cousins. The sisters, Alice and Sidonie, especially. After sniping at each other in a way that is horribly recognizable, Alice lets her guard down for just a moment and Sidonie realized she doesn’t know her sister anymore:
“I pity you,” Sidonie says… “because you’re married to Buck, who, everyone knows, is a drunk and a bum, and you’ll always be poor and have black eyes and get fat.”
And then Alice opens her mouth in a sort of grin that is also a snarl, a rictus, and Sidonie sees what Alice has been hiding with her hand, her tight-lipped speech. Both of Alice’s upper eyeteeth are gone, pulled out, and dark spaces agape. Alice is missing teeth. How has this happened?
I was also fascinated by Alice as a mother, disgusted with her deaf child Claire; and how Sidonie related to Claire after Alice was gone, and then, in the present day, how Sidonie placed so many hopes on Claire’s child, teenager Justin. The portrayal of Justin and his two teenage cousins was great. They are at times sulky, entitled and “emo” but then suddenly caring and resourceful. The kids gave this book a hopeful tone that I welcomed, after the slow revealing of Alice’s death and Sidonie’s childhood trauma.
That slow reveal is so well done. Hofmann tells a story over many generations and places and not only makes it coherent, but makes you want, no, need to know more. Not a lot happens in the present, but after the halfway point, actually, right around the point of that excerpt, I needed to know. What happened to Alice? To Sidonie? Who was to blame? How did they seemingly end up trading fates?
After Alice has the makings of a CanLit classic, with complex characters, heavy themes done with a light touch, and expert pacing. Did I mention that this is Karen Hofmann’s first novel? I can’t wait to see what she does next.
Thank you to NeWest Press for the review copy!
For an amazing review of After Alice, check out Pickle Me This.
Mini Reviews, Manic Pixie Dream Girl Edition: Another Name for Autumn and Me Before You
Who do you think of when you hear the phrase “manic pixie dream girl?” If you’re my age, it’s probably Natalie Portman. If you’re a little younger, maybe it’s Zooey Deschanel. I don’t have any women’s or film studies cred to back me up, but to me the MPDG is a non-conventional and non-threatening woman-child who exists to teach a hero an Important Lesson. This device is pretty unappealing for obvious reasons.
I’ve thought about the MPDG phenomenon a couple times lately, while reading the American novella Another Name for Autumn and again while reading British blockbuster Me Before You. Both feature quirky, twee heroines, but neither are running around dancing in the rain; they’re both dealing with some fairly heavy stuff. All the quirkiness with none of the shenanigans! Sounds fun, eh? I don’t hate these books, but I have Issues with the heroines that coloured my reactions.
(Note: for thoughts from someone who DOES know what they’re talking about when it comes to MPDGs, see this article by author Jennifer Quist.)
Another Name for Autumn by Corrie Greathouse
My rating: 2/5 stars
Goodreads
I won’t paste the Goodreads synopsis here because it wasn’t reflective of the reading experience for me. I see this as a stream-of-consciousness account of a woman dealing with isolation and loss. So far, so good. But the unnamed narrator is a weird combination of Ally McBeal and uber-MPDG Natalie Portman in Garden State and not in a good way (could that possibly ever be in a good way?) She’s forever thinking her quirky, romantic thoughts, and that’s all we get, is her thoughts, relentlessly. Like this:
I wasn’t in love with anyone then but I had this love that was light and spirited and heavy and true and it belonged to someone.
What? And what is it with MPDGs and the rain?
I stopped going outside unless it was raining. When it rains, no one can see that your eyes are filled with years and your heart is full with holes. When it rained, I would sometimes sit outside, hoping my heart would fall silently from the sky again and come back to me.
The writing is all… very much liked the examples above. Oddly childlike and repetitive. It’s all love and hearts and music and fate.
Despite my issues with the character and the writing style, I finished the book in one sitting. It’s not that impressive a feat at 100 pages, but I did stay up past my bedtime. There is something strangely compelling about the writing and it’s rhythm. I was pretty confused at the end. I can barely decide if I liked it or not. If I liked it, it’s because all the stuff I didn’t like was done so well and so consistently, that I couldn’t help myself.
This book being published by a new, small press, there aren’t many other reviews out there, but I would love to see what some of my fellow bloggers think of it. Hit me up if you want my copy, it’s tiny, so I can probably mail it pretty cheap!
Thank you to Black Hill Press for the review copy!
Me Before You by Jojo Moyse
My rating: 2/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis: I’m assuming you know what it’s about, since everyone and their mother is reading it right now.
If any book is screaming for a gif-laden review, it’s this one. I’m at a disadvantage, because a) I’m too lazy to find a bunch of gifs and b) my Kobo died, taking all my annotations with it. It’s telling that almost all my annotations were “Run girl run” or “red flag!” or some variation. This is yet another story of a rich, devastatingly handsome, overbearing/possessive/jealous asshole and a young, poor, aimless woman who is just begging to be told what to do. Fifty shades of are you fucking kidding me with this shit.
Before I rant on, I will say that Moyse is a good writer. No inner goddesses here. The writing flows nicely and the dialogue is really well done. There’s not much to challenge the reader, though. The symbolism is beyond obvious (Lou is literally lost in a maze at one point, like, yes, we get it, she needs to find herself and stuff.) And I do appreciate the subversion of some of the tired romance tropes – Lou’s not a virgin, and Will’s disability means he’s not the typical virile hero.
But Lou. Oh Lou. She’s the one who inspired the title for this post. She’s got MPDG vibes with her cutesy outfits and child-like naivety, but she’s so stuck in a rut that I don’t really understand why either of her romantic interests are into her. It’s also hard to root for her when she ends up in the thrall of Will. I just wanted her to get away from him and into a healthy relationship, like, maybe with a therapist. Don’t even get me started on how all the trauma of being gang raped as a teen is magically gone once she talks to Will about it once for like five minutes. Don’t even.
And Will. So many of my contemporaries are singing his praises on blogs across the land and I was ready to like him. I didn’t mind that he was an asshole to Lou at first – I kind of didn’t blame him – but did none of the swooning readers notice how he slowly and creepily insinuates himself into Lou’s life and makes her more or less dependent on him? When Will conveniently gives a job to her desperate, unemployed dad, I forget my exact annotation was but it was for sure in all caps. It’s not romantic for a guy to make your entire family financially dependent on him, it’s pathological!
So I found the two characters and their “romance” abhorrent. But the real deal breaker for me came early on, when the premise of the book was revealed, because it’s 100% ridiculous. I guess I won’t go into it just in case, but a lot of the plot is pretty “convenient” (Lou doesn’t own a computer, Will’s parents can outfit an entire annex for a quadriplegic but can’t Google voice recognition software, Will happens to be fabulously rich, etc.)
I know a lot of you loved this book and part of my reaction is due to my heightened expectations. I didn’t hate it quite as much as this review may make you believe, but despite decent writing and an imaginative premise, I didn’t find it much better than any other romance novel I’ve read.
What do you think of Manic Pixie Dream Girl characters? Do they annoy you as much as they annoy me?
A Very Bronte Blog Post: Villette and A Bronte Burlesque
Do you have a favourite Bronte novel? If not, go read some of their stuff. It’s okay, I’ll wait.
The perceptive Rory at Fourth Street Review suggests that many readers identify strongly with either Jane Eyre (Charlotte) or Wuthering Heights (Emily), but not both. I’ve been a Wuthering Heights girl since I read it 17 years ago, but I’ve broadened my Bronte horizons of late: I read my first Anne book, Agnes Grey last fall, I read Charlotte’s Villette last month, and just recently saw a play based on the Bronte’s lives. I’m still Team Emily, but it’s time for me to give Charlotte her due: Villette is her masterpiece (sorry Jane fans) and she’s the most interesting of the siblings.
I didn’t even get around to reviewing Agnes Grey last year. It definitely had it’s moments, but the biggest impression it left was my wonder at how things were so different in Anne’s time; mostly in terms of the qualifications needed to educate children (be female, be unmarried, have a pulse?) Villette made me wonder about this stuff too, but I also felt the universality of Lucy’s situation. She could be anyone, at any time, not just a 19th century teacher, whereas Agnes was trapped in time. Indeed, if you have ever loved someone more than they love you, you’ll identify with Lucy Snowe.
Villette reminded me of a smaller-scope Middlemarch. Both novels are named for a city and are about the divisions between classes and sexes and have wonderful feminist perspectives. Middlemarch has much more going for it, from politics to academia to satire – so much, in fact, that I’m paralyzed to write a proper review. Villette is more of a character study – a convincing portrait of Lucy and her world. It’s a tragedy, and at times gothic and romantic. It’s odd in its construction – a straightforward narrative most of the time, but then, BAM, there’s a stream of consciousness account of Lucy’s severe depression. Or a delerious description of Lucy tripping out after being drugged. An anti-Catholic rant. A ghost nun. And so on.
Jane Eyre is great, but it just wasn’t this ambitious or this awesome. I made the mistake of finishing Villette over lunch time at work, and spent that afternoon in a state of bewilderment. I may have said “oh no she DIDN’T” aloud. It’s pretty much the opposite of the satisfying “Reader, I married him,” but to me, the ending was more satisfying for being so ambiguous.
Send in the Girls in A Bronte Burlesque: Charlotte, Emily, Branwell, and Anne via https://www.facebook.com/sendinthegirls
Villette was the perfect preparation for seeing A Bronte Burlesque, a production of local theatre company Send in the Girls. Charlotte is the star, and we first meet her on her deathbed, her siblings having all died years earlier. Villette is never mentioned, and not often referenced (it’s all about Jane Eyre) but dying Charlotte, bitter and alone, put me in mind of Lucy Snow immediately.
In real life, Charlotte was newlywed and pregnant at her death, though this is never mentioned in the play. So, the story is manipulated, but what story isn’t? A Bronte Burlesque is confined to the insular world of the four Bronte siblings: Charlotte, Emily, Anne, and Branwell, the underachiever brother who I didn’t even know about till I saw the play.
It’s about exposing (get it?) the real Charlotte, how her ambition drove her to betray her siblings. She’s successful, but haunted by the past. Emily and Anne are laid bare as well – Anne and her jealousy, Emily and her depravity.
I had always wondered about Emily: how did she write so convincingly about obsession and loss, living such a short and isolated life? This play suggests that there was some Flowers in the Attic action going on up at Haworth, which made me question my teenage obsession with Wuthering Heights for a second before realizing this is a work of fiction about another work of fiction and every interpretation is as valid as the next – icky or not.
The burlesque element was fun, and worked well on a metaphorical level – you know, exposure, identity, femininity -but sometimes I would remember that they were supposed to be related and it got a a little weird. Or a lot weird. Seeing Emily throw herself at her own brother to the strains of Radiohead’s “Creep” was one of the more bizarre experiences of my life. This play was not exactly date night material.
The set, music and costumes were gorgeous. I was entertained and I gained a serious appreciation for Charlotte Bronte. And I simply love the fact that there’s a local theatre company doing something like this with literature and history! I never read biographies, but now I’m on the lookout for a good one – maybe Elizabeth Gaskell’s on Charlotte, or Daphne Du Maurier’s on Branwell.
Tell me, are you Team Emily or Team Charlotte? Is there a Team Anne? Branwell??
The Good Mother Myth edited by Avital Norman Nathman: Review + Giveaway!
The Good Mother Myth edited by Avital Norman Nathman | Published in 2014 by Seal Press| Source: Review copy from the publisher
My rating: 3/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
In an era of mommy blogs, Pinterest, and Facebook, The Good Mother Myth dismantles the social media-fed notion of what it means to be a good mother. This collection of essays takes a realistic look at motherhood and provides a platform for real voices and raw stories, each adding to the narrative of motherhood we don’t tend to see in the headlines or on the news.
From tales of mind-bending, panic-inducing overwhelm to a reflection on using weed instead of wine to deal with the terrible twos, the honesty of the essays creates a community of mothers who refuse to feel like they’re in competition with others, or with the notion of the ideal mom — they’re just trying to find a way to make it work.
It’s been years since I read a collection of feminist essays – probably since Dropped Threads in the early 00s. I love reading and I love feminism, but these days I tend to get my fill of non-fiction essays on blogs. Many of the contributors to The Good Mother Myth are bloggers and the book didn’t quite exceed the sum of its blog posts, but it was a good attempt. Rather than my usual list of favourite stories/pieces, here are the things I look for in a nonfiction anthology, and how this book stacked up:
Credibility
Anyone can write a blog (hi, case in point!) but a book has some credibility attached to it. Then there are the little extras to add an ever greater sense of it – blurbs and forewords and introductions. Continue reading
Why Here? by Michelle Ferguson
Why Here? by Michelle Ferguson | Published in 2013 by Borealis Press| Source: Review copy from the author
My rating: 3/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
Potato Island, Nova Scotia, is a quiet place sheltered from the problems of the outside world. When Ian McKendrie, a young man from Toronto, arrives and begins selling the products of his small meth lab, the Islanders are anxious to rid the Island of this scourge.
The judge in Halifax sees things differently. He sentences McKendrie to house arrest on the Island with conditions that seem no punishment at all. So, when an opportunity presents itself, the Islanders decide to take the law into their own hands and impose a few “conditions” of their own.
I have an appreciation for drug stories that goes back to Evelyn Lau’s Runaway, read as a preteen and before I’d smoked a cigarette, let alone anything else. By the time I saw Trainspotting at seventeen, I’d done plenty. My parents objected to renting the movie because it glorified drug use, but it actually scared me off trying hard drugs. The “baby on the ceiling” hallucination scene may look kind of ridiculous by today’s special effects standards, but it was a pretty effective deterrent in my case.
Other drug and addiction books that I love: The Basketball Diaries, Heather O’Neill’s Lullabies for Little Criminals, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, A Clockwork Orange, Go Ask Alice, every other Irvine Welsh books I’ve ever read. Oh, and Spun, which is a movie but relevant because it’s specifically about meth and absolutely horrifying. So that’s my frame of reference.
Why Here? is a a drug story. Addicts, dealers, and law enforcement dance around each other in a tiny isolated community, till the community’s had enough and regular folks turn vigilante. The premise is very similar to Ferguson’s first novel, From Away (my review), but this story succeeds in ways that From Away didn’t – the writing is fresher, and the stakes are higher. I really like how the older adults were the heroes; not the twenty-something drug dealers or the teenage drug addicts, but the people in their 50s and 60s who’d had enough. And the ending was great. I almost thought it was headed towards the “special moment” 90s sitcom ending, but then it was suddenly open ended and hopeless or hopeful, depending on your perspective.
Ferguson took some risks; however, the story just isn’t gritty enough. All those drug books I’ve read have given me certain expectations. I want devastating relapses, and sweaty, hallucinating withdrawals. I want the manic filth of “Spun.” I want Trainspotting‘s baby on the ceiling. I needed something harrowing or horrible to believe that this community would take the law into their own hands. That, or I need a strong lead character to hang that belief on, and I didn’t quite find that in the ensemble cast.
After two books with similar settings and themes, I’m left wondering about the author’s intentions. Are these morality tales? Celebration or condemnation of small town, maritime culture? I await Ferguson’s next move.
Thank you to the author for the review copy!
I ended up watching a bunch of scenes from Spun while writing this review. As stylized and dated as this movie is, it’s worth a watch.
Eat It edited by Nicole Baute and Brianna Goldberg
Eat It: Sex, Food and Women’s Writing edited by Nicole Baute and Brianna Goldberg | Published in 2013 by Feathertale | Source: Review copy from editor
My rating: 4/5 stars
Goodreads
Synopsis:
What’s the best way to poison one’s husband? What happens when the body itself becomes a source of food? Can a potato be political? EAT IT ’s contributors explore these questions and more with equal parts humour and gravitas, revealing that for many women food is about love but also power, biology, social obligation, experimentation, nourishment, pain and pleasure.
My husband says that my sister and I are obsessed with food. It’s true that any time we’re together, the conversation tends toward it, but, isn’t it normal, almost necessary, to talk about something you do three, (okay, seven,) times a day? I suppose it’s true that a vegan (her, not me) always has more to consider and plan. But are we really that weird for talking about recipes and restaurants and our mutual crush on Chef at Home?
Eat It made me feel a little more normal. Here’s a whole bunch of people just talking about food, and writing poems about food, and imagining menus and remembering childhood meals. Of course, it’s not only about food. As the subtitle suggests, there’s more at play, and for women there are usually extra helpings (sorry) of guilt and shame on the one hand, and love and acceptance on the other.
Let’s address the all-women thing: this book isn’t *for* women. Anyone who enjoys a good short story or poem or creative non-fiction will get something out of this. But I love that this book is written, edited, and published by women. I’m paraphrasing @snpsnpsnp (again!) when I say that feminism isn’t making stuff for women, it’s women making stuff, and so this right here is feminism in action!
The stories are grouped into sections that correspond to life stages. This made me wonder: what is it about relationship status and food? The ice cream for the single and broken hearted, the home cooked meal for the domesticated, pickles for the pregnant? Why are these images so enduring in our culture? I don’t have an answer after reading this book, but I do have a whole bunch of perspectives on food and life from some awesome writers.
Now, the stories: I have a few favourites to tell you about, but the whole collection is quite strong. There aren’t many big names; former Giller short lister Sarah Selecky is probably the biggest. The variety of forms and tones and voices is quite impressive for such a slim book. It really would have made a perfect stocking stuffer for my food-obsessed sister; I just wasn’t done reading yet.
- “Pot Luck of Nutritional Tips” by Sara Hennesy. You may have seen Sara on Video on Trial, which I shame-watched regularly back before I had to worry about my kids repeating everything they hear. Her monologue had me laughing and nodding (“Slather my lady junk in yogurt for all the right reasons? Done and done.”) and it’s a pretty good commentary on the ridiculousness of media messages about women and food.
- “A Lady’s Gotta Eat” is the story of one woman’s quest for the perfect hamburger and also maybe an orgasm? I don’t know, I was reading all sorts of stuff into this one.
- “Left Over” by editor Nicole Baute is a very short piece about loss and remembrance and it made me cry.
- “Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows” by Katie Daubs, for the title, and the first line, “Girls started dressing like sluts for Halloween in 1997,” because that was the first year I did it, too.
- Stories about breastfeeding! There are two, one poignant and one hilarious. This is very relevant for me as my two year old nursling shows no signs of stopping, and even I, pro-breastfeeding, quasi-attachment parent, am questioning whether it’s time to shut it down. The whole “if he can ask for it, he’s too old” thing is clearly baloney, but where’s the pithy saying for a 35 pound toddler who motorboats you and screams “I need it,” because this was not covered in What To Expect. Uh, your mileage may vary on this one.
A note on how to find this book: it’s a little tricky, as it’s likely to be stocked with literary journals, but I’m told the easiest way to is to order online here. I would lend you mine, but it’s going to my sister next.
(Psst, Cait: I made Isa Chandra’s vegan chocolate cookies last night and they were amazing. It’s the molasses, I think. We ate them all, sorry.)
Thank you to the editors for providing a review copy of this book!
Storytellers Book Club #1: The Progress of Love by Alice Munro
For all the details on The Storytellers Book Club, see my introductory post or Douglas Gibson’s website.
This update’s been a long time coming. I signed up for this CanLit challenge back in August. Alice Munro’s Nobel win inspired me to get cracking with The Progress of Love. I’m down to the wire here – I have till Dec. 31st to review a book club selection for a chance to win all five books, including selections from CanLit heavyweights Davies, MacLennan, MacLeod and Gallant. I’d tell you to get on it too, but with two days to go, you’re either in or you’re out by now!
The Progress of Love: Review
I was third in line for this book at the library for a couple of weeks, which is unusual for something published 25ish years ago. Must be that Nobel buzz! But you wouldn’t know this book is 25 years old. Munro’s stories are timeless, and you feel they could have been written 100 years as easily as 10 years ago.
The Progress of Love isn’t Munro’s most famous collection. It won the Governor General’s Award but her two Giller winners, The Love of a Good Woman and Runaway, seem to be the most well known. My only experience with Munro is Too Much Happiness, and with only that for a basis of comparison, The Progress of Love didn’t quite measure up. The first five stories were so good that the rest were slightly disappointing. My favourite was “Miles City, Montana” which shows us that the Mommy Wars are nothing new:
I had a dread of turning into a certain kind of mother – the kind whose body sagged, who moved in a woolly-smelling, milky-smelling fog, solemn with trivial burdens. I believed that all the attention these mothers paid, their need to be burdened, was the cause of colic, bed-wetting, asthma. Continue reading
Reading in Bed 