I’m beyond thrilled to welcome a new guest reviewer to this blog. Mary is a treasured friend and neighbour, a silent book club stalwart and life force and a discerning reader who articulates beautifully how a book captures her interest (or doesn’t, as the case may be). Before we enjoy her moving review of a book that truly inspired her, here is her bio:
Mary Schulz, a Social Worker by background, has enjoyed a rich and rewarding career in virtually all areas of health care, focusing primarily on the care of older adults, including those living with dementia. Now that that period of her life has come to a satisfying close, she is figuring out what the next phase of life may bring. Happily, books play a huge part in this, as entertainment, escape, instruction and catalyst for reflection.
One cannot get to a certain stage in life without experiencing the death of some of those closest to us. If we are lucky, that experience is not “out of order”, a term I have learned refers to deaths that happen earlier than expected. One also hopes that the experience will be delayed for as long as possible. In my case, the recent deaths of three of my dearest family members were neither out of order nor premature. Does that being comfort? Absolutely. How much? Hmmmm … not so sure. But that said, books written by grief therapists and personal accounts of loss and bereavement all provide ingredients for a new kind of recipe – a “how to” of sorts- everything from realizing you are not the only person who believes you can still hear his key turning in the lock nor are you unique in suddenly marvelling at the sight of people who seem so HAPPY.
I have read many of these books about grief and grieving in the hopes they will shed a light that will enable me to place my feet on the path ahead, even if only for a few measures. Some have spoken to me like a wise friend, testament to this being the glow of yellow highlights throughout their passages (books like Option B by Sheryl Sandberg). Of course some have been quite dreadful. (Spoiler alert. Flip to the back of the book. If the widow/widower ends up remarried just in time to wrap up the book, give it a pass). Surely one of the best is David Kessler’s Finding Meaning: the Sixth Stage of Grief (2019).
David started out in his career as a grief therapist collaborating with Dr Elizabeth Kübler Ross, famous for outlining five stages of death and dying that were modified to help understand stages of grieving, as well. Not to put too fine a point on this achievement, this work changed the way we talk and think about these orphan subjects that are so often the victims of silence, awkward clichés and shame.
The book, Finding Meaning builds on the work of Dr Ross and makes the case that there is a sixth stage to coming to terms with loss and grief, namely that it is in making meaning of a person’s life and death that one is able to build a different life for oneself. Make no mistake; this is not about “moving on”, getting over the loss or forgetting the person. Quite the opposite. As David says, “the funeral ritual is important in witnessing grief because we will grieve alone for the rest of our lives” (page 45). Sound daunting? Yes. But that is the nature of grief. It is daunting. But one learns that grief is love – an extension of love. As surely as love is about skipping down the street, grief is also part of the continuum of love that includes holding hands in the sun during another session of chemotherapy. And because we will hold that love – and therefore grieve – all our lives, making meaning of that love will lessen the suffering and let in some light.
Reading this book is not always easy and it is absolutely do-able to skip specific chapters that deal with the unique losses associated with death by suicide or the death of a child, whether miscarried or in infancy. Most of the content is highly applicable to all types of loss. Strategies for making sense of life after loss are regularly illuminated by helpful case examples, including the author’s own experiences with death and loss.
The book challenges us to think about what possible good can come from loss. This is indeed a challenge and not one most people can even contemplate when their hearts rest in a million pieces. But as the gaping hole starts to be surrounded by some pleasant distractions – the contented fatigue that comes after a long walk, the loving lick from a beloved pet, a laugh with a dear friend – one can start to think about how this loss – which cannot be undone- can bring some good. Perhaps you become a more empathic person. Perhaps you make a point of reaching out right away when you hear of someone else going through a loss. Perhaps you get involved in a community cause. Whatever. The point is that loss and death happen. And when they happen to you, you have choices about how you make meaning of that loss – or not.
Of course not all relationships are loving. The book spends some time talking about finding meaning when there is regret about never having another chance to “make things right” in the relationship. This, too, is reality for many people and the importance of finding meaning in these relationships is no less urgent. At its heart, it seems to be about coming to some peace about what we bring to these relationships and how we tried to make them as good as they could be. And where that didn’t happen? Trying to go forward in life with some new found wisdom and commitment to not repeat the same behaviour in another relationship.
For those of us who have been blessed beyond any reason with immeasurable love in all forms, we accept this gift knowing that the only way to avoid loss is to avoid love. And that is not a life many of us would willingly choose. So David spends a lot of the book debunking myths such as “is there a loss worse than any other?” (Hint: the worse kind of loss is yours. How kind and validating is that?) Or “grief will grow smaller over time” (No such luck. We must grow bigger around the loss, bringing curiosity to the rest of our own life story so that the gaping hole of grief becomes smaller in relation to the other things in our life.) After all, since grief is love and love doesn’t die with the person, it stands to reason that grief does not ever end. And why does this not send us back under the covers? Because those of us who are mourning want to keep the person we have lost very, very close and never lose sight of the love.
Of all the books I have read on a way forward in the midst of soul aching loss and grief, Finding Meaning has been one of the most helpful. No pretense. No quick fixes. No happily ever after. Those of us who are grieving have a well tuned radar for that kind of deception. Instead, the book gives us permission to continue to live our lives infused with love and invites us to dig deeply to find new avenues for making meaning of the love we have been so fortunate to know.
The sun shines, at least figuratively, any day that includes a silent book club meeting. That the sun actually shone this morning as we all prepared for today’s meeting was every reader’s favourite example of pathetic fallacy. Even though the bulk of the meeting was, as it has been for a while, online … the fact that (yes, Ducks, Newburyport was mentioned briefly today!) the sun shone as a few of us in the neighbourhood met for a physically distanced catch-up outside Press, the book / record / coffee shop, our pre-pandemic (and we hope post-pandemic) meeting place.
You can’t see it, but I was grinning from ear to ear as I got ready for that visit.
You also can’t see the smiles of our silent book club friends, but trust they were there as we enjoyed some neighbourly chat and showed off some of the books that are helping us through this challenging time.
While we’ve comisserated about the pandemic’s effects on our ability to concentrate and read, it’s been reassuring to see the tide gently turn over the course of our recent silent book club meetings to how our reading is influencing our thinking about current and future circumstances. One member talked about how he has been pondering his love of travel, how that is going to change post-pandemic and, interestingly, how a recent read has reframed some things for him. He described the children’s book The 79 Squares by Malcolm J. Bosse, in which an unlikely friendship develops between a troubled 14-year-old boy and an 82-year-old man:
“The old man introduces his new friend to the natural beauty and life of the garden in which he now spends most of his time. He instructs Eric to divide the garden into 79 squares, asking that the boy spend one hour a day in each square and watch life unfold — from the ant to the squirrel.” (from 1979 New York Times review)
Our silent book club friend commented on how that premise compelled him to consider the city block around his home, to travel it and examine it with the same attention as he would more far flung places. What revelations our reading provides us with, perhaps when we least expect it.
No matter how enthusiastic (or not) each of us is about technology, we all have misgivings about the amount of screen time pervading our lives. That said, I think all or most of us would agree that technology has helped to keep us in vital communication with each other, for business, community and personal reasons. As “zoomed out” as a lot of us are, we still don’t want to miss our family gatherings, yoga classes and book club discussions and even silent reading sessions.
What I’ve been delighted to discover is how we can “dial down” the technology, but still use it to allow people to stay “dialed in”, even blending in non-digital forms of communication to stitch it all together. For this latest zoom meeting of our book club, we invited participants in by good old landline phone – and I even extended the invitation to one participant with a handwritten note delivered to the mailbox on her front porch:
After leaving her that note a few days ago, it felt like a special kind of magic to hear her voice during today’s zoom meeting.
The fleeting, distanced visits connect us. The zoom meetings connect us. And our eclectic, lovingly assembled book list connects us to each other and to all other readers out there, getting through all of what we’re all getting through right now.
You can always catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports (our current online incarnation and our previous, lovingly recalled, much anticipated again in-person version) and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own. You can check out links to articles, CBC Radio interviews and more here – some with San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich, and some with us here in east end Toronto.
Under the current circumstances, this text I put at the end of each silent book club report isn’t entirely applicable, but I’m still going to repeat it with continued optimism anyhow:
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
And the sign-off from our recent reports is, I think, still very applicable:
We will wait until we can again fling open our doors, venture out and gather in our communities. A silent book club meeting with friends and neighbours, held at and in support of a local business exemplifies exactly the kinds of freedoms we are foregoing now to get through these unsettled and unsettling times … and is where we’re all going to want to be when we get through this. Read well where you are now, be well and let books buoy your spirits, put the current situation in perhaps new and fresh contexts, and make the time pass swiftly.
As we observed – in Brady Bunch zoom formation – in recent online silent book club meetings, reading just doesn’t feel the same or offer the same solace and escape as it did before the world changed as it did. But by meeting and commiserating and try try trying again, we’re finding the words and the pieces and the books that are getting us back to what we love. And by getting back to what we love, we’re equipping ourselves to cope with whatever version of so-called normal comes next.
During our latest silent book club meeting, scheduled as a surprise “pop-up” outside of our usual schedule that everyone seemed to appreciate, we shared the ways in which we’re working to get back into satisfying reading grooves. One approach that seems to be working is rereading past favourites. Interestingly, it seems to be the comfort of the familiar, although not necessarily comfort reads per se that is clicking. For example, a couple of us coincidentally are rereading the short story collection The Progress of Love by Canada’s Nobel Prize-winning Alice Munro – and oh, what we’re discovering/rediscovering! Ms Munro is a truly wicked and incisive observer of human nature, and of the passions and frustrations that swim not far beneath the benign and mundane surfaces of the everyday. And oh, how bracing and energizing it is to return 20 (er, or more) years later to reread what captivated the first time with age and gained experience and, of course, wisdom.
Silent book club members have always touted the magic of certain magazines – particularly for long form pieces and journalism – for keeping up one’s reading momentum and enthusiasm. The New Yorker and The Economist are favourites, and others have mentioned and shared copies of West End Phoenix, Arc Poetry, The Walrus and Popshot Quarterly, among others.
Here’s a little bit of what and where our silent book club members are reading right now:
While we all remain a little concerned individually that our reading enthusiasm and tempo is not quite what it was (but hey, it’s never been a competition), our aggregate book list is still rich, formidable and gorgeous. Here is the latest:
As always, you can catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports (from our current online incarnation and our previous and lovingly recalled and anticipated again in-person version) and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own. You can check out links to articles, CBC Radio interviews and more here – some with San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich, and some with us here in east end Toronto.
Under the current circumstances, this text I put at the end of each silent book club report isn’t entirely applicable, but I’m going to repeat it with continued optimism anyhow:
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
And the sign-off from our recent reports is, I think, still very applicable:
We will wait until we can again fling open our doors, venture out and gather in our communities. A silent book club meeting with friends and neighbours, held at and in support of a local business exemplifies exactly the kinds of freedoms we are foregoing now to get through these unsettled and unsettling times … and is where we’re all going to want to be when we get through this. Read well where you are now, be well and let books buoy your spirits and make the time pass swiftly.
“Lots of time … and I don’t know what I’m doing with it.” That’s how one ruefully bemused silent book club member described what would have been a booklover’s delicious dream not so long ago – hours and days and weeks of unstructured, uncommitted, unscheduled time to just read, read, read …
While we’re all still struggling with the distractions of this strange time, us readers are still meeting, comparing notes, working up the energy to enthuse about the reading delights and victories , getting through it together. When we each click “Leave Meeting” to start our shared hour of reading in spirit, I’m certain we’re all coming away feeling bolstered by the company and encouragement. We need to keep doing this, don’t we?
As I did in our last report, I want to share another appreciation on the value of our group from one of our members. Emilia’s is like a love letter, and while poignant, it sounds beautifully hopeful notes for how we are getting through, and what we will look forward to resuming once this is got through:
Dear lovely SBC people,
I live in books. For me, books have always been an escape, a home, a friend, a salvation, a teacher, a window, a mirror, a hope, and a promise. I taught myself to read when I was 4. I’ve been reading ever since. I cannot stress how truly life-saving this has been.
Another life-saving thing has been to – quite late in life, I feel – begin to consciously and deliberately seek out fellow readers and connect with them. You know how they say you should “step out of your comfort zone” now and then? Well, I had spent most of my life outside of mine. Joining the SBC was a much-needed step back *into* that comfort zone.
And, let me tell you, it felt like stepping into a hot bath after a long hard day. Our meetings are the highlight of my month. Invariably, I look forward to sitting with you in companionable silence, to listening to your bookish adventures and suggestions, and wishing, much like Harry had when he first saw the magic of Diagon Alley, that I “had about eight more eyes”, so that I could read all your fascinating recommendations.
PS. I was a book club virgin before the SBC. Since joining, I’ve also tried a regular book club and, somehow, found it much less satisfactory. All I could think was, “Well, that sure was different. Everyone reading and discussing the same book? Weird!”
While we all remain a little concerned individually that our reading enthusiasm and tempo is suffering these days, collectively we still offer a very heartening cornucopia of books. Here is the latest:
You can always catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own. You can check out links to articles, CBC Radio interviews and more here – some with San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich, and some with us here in east end Toronto.
Under the current circumstances, this text I put at the end of each silent book club report isn’t entirely applicable, but I’m going to repeat it with optimism anyhow:
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
And the sign-off from our last couple of reports is, I think, still very applicable:
We will wait until we can again fling open our doors, venture out and gather in our communities. A silent book club meeting with friends and neighbours, held at and in support of a local business exemplifies exactly the kinds of freedoms we are foregoing now to get through these unsettled and unsettling times … and is where we’re all going to want to be when we get through this. Read well where you are now, be well and let books buoy your spirits and make the time pass swiftly.
In our previous silent book club report – our first report of this new, uncharted era – I observed how when our reserves of determination, courage and good humour run low, one of the things we celebrated in the old world that can still replenish our spirits in this new world was a good, inspiring, comforting, diverting book. That still holds truth in the most steadfast ways, but I think readers everywhere are struggling and how they read is evolving – maybe temporarily, maybe not. This Twitter thread captures it well:
For the foreseeable future, we have the dates of what would have been our in-person silent book club meetings tentatively converted to zoom meetings, ably and gracefully managed by our club’s co-founder, Jo. We do miss Press, the book / record / coffee shop where we usually hold our meetings … and we make a point of swinging by there on late evening dog walks, to make quiet promises that we will return.
Prior to everyone sheltering in place (thankfully, with their books and reading devices), some of our silent book club members crafted some appreciations on the value of our group. I intended to share some of them with upcoming meeting reports, and of course, there is no reason not to continue doing that. It’s interesting how some of those appreciations have new meaning in these current circumstances – and I also think they provide signposts for the future. Here is Jo’s tribute:
“Our Silent Book Club has been a real joy for me. I have met wonderful people in my neighbourhood and beyond that I never would have met in any other way. And my reading has been both accelerated and broadened by the wide variety of books that others are reading and commenting on. The wide variety of interests and reading styles (some always finish a book, others give the book 50 pages to prove that it is worth spending time on!) are inspiring. And I deeply appreciate the generosity of people in sharing books they’ve read with others in the group.”
In addition to our scheduled meetings, we hosted a pop-up meeting last week, with our regular east end Toronto group and invitations extended to our silent book club compatriots in midtown Toronto and Mississauga. It was wonderful to see everyone pop up on the screen, and to hear their voices and what they had to share. To a person, we commented on our challenges with focusing on our reading balanced with our desire and commitment to continue. While each person remarked that their overall reading was down, in terms of pages, books, focus and so on, collectively we still offer an abundant and heartening harvest of solace, entertainment and new and different worlds in which to dwell – here it is:
As always, you can catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own. You can check out links to articles, CBC Radio interviews and more here – some with San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich, and some with us here in east end Toronto.
Under the current circumstances, this text I put at the end of each silent book club report isn’t entirely applicable, but I’m going to repeat it with optimism anyhow:
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
And the sign-off from our last report is, I think, still very applicable:
We will wait until we can again fling open our doors, venture out and gather in our communities. A silent book club meeting with friends and neighbours, held at and in support of a local business exemplifies exactly the kinds of freedoms we are foregoing now to get through these unsettled and unsettling times … and is where we’re all going to want to be when we get through this. Read well where you are now, be well and let books buoy your spirits and make the time pass swiftly.
We need not recount here how the world – truly and literally the world – has changed. We’re all affected by it and living it. We’re struggling with fear and uncertainty and frustration, and we’re drawing on reserves of determination and courage and even good humour that we perhaps didn’t even know we possessed. When those reserves run low, one of the things we celebrated in the old world that can still replenish our spirits in this new world is a good, inspiring, comforting, diverting book.
As where we could go and what we could do narrowed down more and more each day, our silent book club membership kept in touch by phone and email. We devised a plan that scaled to what we could still safely and reasonably do to keep our book club tradition and its vital connections alive:
1. For this weekend’s silent book club double header, we asked everyone to read in spirit for an hour at the times at which we would have started in person: 10 am on Saturday and 11 am on Sunday.
2. For the Saturday meeting, those of us within walking distance of Press, the book / record / coffee shop where we normally hold our meetings, would meet (exercising proper social distancing) outside the shop at 9:30 am. One by one, we went in the shop to purchase our usual beverages and pastries, as well as some books. (I ended up buying out the remaining day-old scones. One does what one must.) In our email correspondence with club members, we encouraged everyone to drop by on Saturday or Sunday to support Press with purchases, if possible.
3. Following the Saturday in spirit reading, we convened online at 11 am to discuss our recent and current reading. One of our members is a facilitator by profession, and she elegantly steered us through the session. She made sure everyone felt comfortable with this technological solution, and steered the meeting so everyone had time to talk about their reading and then we had time to generally chat, in relaxed and genial fashion. It felt as close as I think it could feel to being around our usual table at Press, which was inexpressibly wonderful. I suspect I’m going to fall asleep tonight with the image of that Brady’s Bunch-esque screenful of dear bookish friends before my eyes.
After our last meeting at Press, I asked a favour of our members to provide a few words on what the silent book club means to them. The intent was to use those words as the introductions to future meeting reports, so these reports open with more of the voices of our group than just me all the darned time.
Todd went above and beyond a few words, with a blog post that made my heart glow when I first read it, and makes me kind of teary-eyed now. This hits hardest:
“The atmosphere is lovely. It isn’t just reminding me of childhood Sustained Silent Reading time at school, I am noticing it is something that I rarely get to experience these days: the experience of sharing comfortable silence with others. Very often with friends and family there’s a sense that if we’re together there must be a conversation happening. This is most definitely not the case here. I’m happy to be in the room with others but I’m also happy to simply be able to read and share space with them.”
I will open future reports with other members’ thoughts on their silent book club experiences. There will be future reports because we will meet again, one way or another.
Without further ado, here is this month’s book list, combined of books shared during our virtual session and contributed by members via email.
As always, you can catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own. You can check out links to articles, CBC Radio interviews and more here – some with San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich, and some with us here in east end Toronto.
Under the current circumstances, this text I put at the end of each silent book club report isn’t entirely applicable, but I’m going to repeat it with optimism anyhow:
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
We will wait until we can again fling open our doors, venture out and gather in our communities. A silent book club meeting with friends and neighbours, held at and in support of a local business exemplifies exactly the kinds of freedoms we are foregoing now to get through these unsettled and unsettling times … and is where we’re all going to want to be when we get through this. Read well where you are now, be well and let books buoy your spirits and make the time pass swiftly.
Young aspiring musician Louisa isn’t sure about the phrase “fair dinkum” when she visits from Canada and hears her Australian uncle use it in the early days of her visit with him at a camp in the wilds of Tasmania. The phrase signifies not only approval but a warm vote of confidence. It can be applied to many aspects of Governor General’s award nominated author Michelle Kadarusman’s third middle grade novel, Music For Tigers.
Kadarusman weaves beautifully themes and issues such as environmental fragility and protection, understanding and respecting neurodiversity differences, reverence for family and history and more into an engaging and at times suspenseful storyline. Louisa’s initial reluctance about being sent to the family’s remote settlement in Tasmania for the summer gives way to affection for her uncle and neighbours as she learns about their involvement in the preservation of a rare, presumed extinct species of marsupial. Louisa, Uncle Ruff, Mel, who runs a nearby Eco Lodge and her son Colin are all fully realized characters with frailties and charms. Louisa’s ancestors and offstage Canadian family members round out the story with additional insights and emotional underpinnings.
Michelle Kadarusman orchestrates it all with compassion and storytelling verve. Music For Tigers is uniquely good and genuine, truly “fair dinkum” …!
Thank you to Pajama Press and Michelle Kadarusman for providing a review copy of Music For Tigers.
Last month, we presented our silent book club report and reading list with pictures of our meeting participants holding up the books they were reading and discussing. We rather liked that way of showing off our reading, so we’ve decided to do it again this month. As one participant emphasized, we wanted to show booklovers “cradling” their book treasures – holding them gently, delicately, protectively, like cradling an infant. Isn’t that a rather lovely, evocative and accurate way of capturing how we care for books and what they can mean to us?
No matter the composition of a particular silent book club gathering – there are unique alchemies in the different combinations of regular, occasional and new readers coming from different experiences and perspectives – each gathering seems to collectively speak to interesting recurring themes. In this month’s meetings, we touched time and again on how books allow us to immerse ourselves in the lives of others, ultimately allowing us to better understand both others and ourselves. (AbeBooks states it plainly and beautifully here.)
The following list encompasses books discussed with passion, read with joy and touted with enthusiasm over two meetings this Family Day long weekend. We present this list after every month’s gathering or gatherings, not only as a service to everyone who attends in person, but to extend what we share at each meeting to a virtual network of fellow readers. We invite you to explore the lists and pursue the books. Each title links to additional information about the book, either from the publisher, from articles about the book or author, or from generally positive and/or constructive reviews.
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, are you tempted to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
Some snow swirling about did not deter us from making it to Press on the Danforth for two silent book club meetings this week. Really, we were quite cognizant that we had nothing to complain about weather-wise. We were grateful we could open our doors to get out to come to our meetings … unlike our fellow Canadians in St. John’s, Newfoundland, who were quite literally house-bound by the storms that hit their region.
Back in September, we hosted two meetings in one weekend to meet continued demand for the somewhat limited number of seats at our silent book club table. As we observed then, by doubling the number of meetings, we were able to welcome new attendees, still have room for our ongoing members, and not compromise the quality of our gatherings – or blow out Press’ walls – with too large a group. Then and now, we also encourage people to seek out the new silent book clubs starting to flourish in midtown Toronto and Mississauga. (Please contact me for more details.)
Another good reason to double up our meetings, when and if we can, is simply because we love them and they’re an excuse to help us through the winter. That’s why we’re doing just that this month and in February and March. So, enjoy this month and stay tuned for the next two months’ reports for especially bountiful book lists which will capture two days’ worth of great discussions and reading.
While we’re always looking to multiply our own bookish pleasures, we had another tremendous opportunity to extend the book manna our group enjoys with others. One of our members is involved in harvesting book donations for Canadian prison libraries, so our group, our generous venue and others gathered more than a carload of books for the cause. (In fact, the donation drive continues to February 14th if anyone reading this report is interested in contributing.) When we are not contributing to specific initiatives like this, we also contribute to the many Little Library boxes in this neighbourhood the books that have made the rounds in our group.
In addition to, as usual, extolling the virtues of the books we’re all enjoying, silent book club members touted this year’s Toronto Public Library Reading Challenge and an under-the-radar online book source, Book Outlet. Oh, and I modeled my recently acquired SBC hoodie (so utterly perfect for cozy reading) from the newly refreshed selection of Silent Book Club merchandise.
And then, after all that, we got down to some companionable silent reading together!
The following list encapsulates two meetings’ worth of books discussed thoughtfully, read voraciously and honoured with love and respect by truly avid readers (also captured in this month’s pictures of bookish affection). This list, presented after every month’s gathering or gatherings, is not only a service to everyone who attends in person, but it’s meant to extend what we share at each meeting to a virtual network of fellow readers – so enjoy! Each title links to additional information about the book, either from the publisher, from articles about the book or author, or from generally positive and/or constructive reviews.
During each silent book club meeting, we usually spread our books out on the meeting tables, and I take a few pictures (occasionally a video) to give a visual summary of what we read and discussed. For a change of pace, I took some pictures at this weekend’s meetings of our readers proudly and lovingly presenting their books.
As always, you can catch up on our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.
We’re pleased and honoured to have been interviewed about the silent book club concept and how to start a club of one’s own.
If you’ve so far enjoyed the silent book club experience virtually, might you resolve in the new year to experience it firsthand? Via Guinevere and Laura’s Silent Book Club web site, you can find information on meetings happening around the world and close to where you live. If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, check out the resources on the Silent Book Club web site, or please feel free to contact me for more information.
Early January, in that sweet cushion of time between post-holiday festivities and pre-back to work, has become a time I relish for contemplating my year past in reading and for absorbing and appreciating the musings of fellow readers as they share their own reflections. Interestingly, I find myself leaping/flipping/scrolling past the “best of” lists and instead gravitating more and more to the reflections about reading as exploration, revelation, often deliciously meandering journey, shared experience, opportunity to bust out of staid categories and forge new ones … and more.
Those who read steadily and think about reading inspire me, including Shawna Lemay, Kerry Clare, Tanis MacDonald (who, if you’re fortunate to be connected to her on Facebook, has done some mighty category-busting this year). Those who gather to share with delight and fervor their varied reading experiences, such as the generous attendees at two different silent book club gatherings I attended regularly this year, bring my reading enthusiasm and devotion to new levels every month.
Reading is not a competitive sport, but that doesn’t stop me from challenging myself (and, I hope not intimidatingly, others at times) … and this turned out to be a banner year, particularly after the struggles with which I contended in 2018. I read the most books ever in a year since I’ve been keeping track – 65 – and I came this close to considering posting a “10 best” list this year because some of the reading was that good. But I reminded myself that sometimes the setting and circumstances and company and more around each particular read often elevated what I was reading, and it’s those experiences I want to celebrate and strive to have more of in future.
In addition to my year’s reading list, I continued my commitment in 2019 to a daily devotion to at least one poem … and usually more, as friends on Twitter continued to generously share their poem choices and reflections via the #todayspoem hashtag. I’m now heading into my ninth uninterrupted year (that’s right, I have not missed a single day) of poetry tweets.
Another practice that heightens my weekly reading joy as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, tirelessly championed and curated by author David Abrams. As I observed last year, seeking a weekly gem seems to sharpen my attention when I’m reading, and I love discovering new works through the #sundaysentence choices of other readers.
Last year, my husband arranged for my then 35-year-old book of books (in which I’ve recorded my reading since I graduated from university in 1983) to be beautifully rebound, by bookbinder Don Taylor. Now 36 years old, it is still the place I go to first to record my continued adventures in reading.
Here are the books I read and read aloud in 2019, with a few recollections of where I was when I was reading them.
“Knowledge didn’t guarantee power, safety and relief and often for some it meant the opposite of power, safety and relief – leaving no outlet for dispersal either, of all the heightened stimuli that had been built by being up on in the first place. Purposely not wanting to know therefore, was exactly what my reading-while-walking was about.”
I so enjoyed getting lost in the feisty and singular voice of reading-while-walking maybe-girlfriend middle sister in Anna Burns’ Milkman. This book was a steady companion for the first couple of weeks of the year, at home, on transit and at silent book club.
I remember reading this at home in a fairly swift and gorgeous swoosh. Helen Humphreys is consistently masterful at creating lush prose around sometimes unlikely subjects, this time the imagined life and thoughts of real life salmon-fly dresser, Megan Boyd, a craftswoman who worked for sixty years out of a bare-bones cottage in a small village in the north of Scotland. That remote cottage was visited by Prince Charles, an avid user of her uniquely crafted flies who made the trip there to present her with the British Empire Medal.
“He walks. That is his name and nature. / Rows of buildings, all alike, / doors and windows, people going in, looking out; / inside – halls and stairs, halls and stairs, / and more doors, opening and closing.”
Robin Robertson’s The Long Take is a singular and hypnotic blend of poetry and prose, sometimes starting as one and ending as the other in one paragraph, sentence or phrase.
From the very, very cold January night when Ian Williams launched his debut novel to a very cold night in November at the end of the Canadian literature awards season, it was a pleasure to cheer on Reproduction. The book is challenging in its experimental approach to how language on the page can evolve – clearly drawing on the poetry foundation of Williams’ oeuvre – and its cast of characters is thorny, but diligent readers are rewarded for giving this book full and concentrated attention.
Yes, dear readers, we read Wuthering Heights aloud … and its tempestuous plot and characters and often exquisitely overwrought prose made it a surprisingly entertaining experience from beginning to end. As the likes of Meghan Cox Gurdon contend – and my husband and I have known and appreciated for years – “Storytime isn’t just for young children”.
Can You Ever Forgive Me? Memoirs of a Literary Forger
Lee Israel
2008
In rapid succession, I read the book and then we saw the movie, where Lee Israel is portrayed unforgettably by Melissa McCarthy. Book and movie are an unusually well-matched pair of interpretations of an intriguing bookish tale and singular character.
Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk
Kathleen Rooney
2017
Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk made the rounds as a popular choice of our silent book club.
Nirliit
Juliana Leveille-Trudel, translated by Anita Anand
2018
Human Hours
Catherine Barnett
2018
This collection of sometimes rueful but always very grounded poems about everyday human frailties and foibles was one of my favourite poetry reads of the past year.
Living Up To a Legend
Diana Bishop
2017
(read aloud)
These are not the potatoes of my youth
Matthew Walsh
2019
“I get so worried when I see space news. I heard astronauts
incinerate their underwear and the ash falls to Earth.”
Couch potato by Matthew Walsh from These are not the potatoes of my youth
Indisputably my favourite title of the year, this was also one of my favourite poetry reads of 2019.
Belonging – A German Reckons with History and Home
Nora Krug
2018
This book presents an intriguing approach to a non-fiction/memoir piece tackling troubling subject matter. Nora Krug uses a beautifully realized illustrated / graphic novel format to confront her family’s wartime past in Nazi Germany. I came to this book by way of a trusted recommendation from a silent book club friend.
No Bones
Anna Burns
2001
This early Anna Burns novel was also recommended to me by the silent book club friend from whom I learned about Nora Krug’s Belonging – A German Reckons with History and Home. It was interesting to see Anna Burns building her craft to what culminates so exquisitely in Milkman.
The Perseverance
Raymond Antrobus
2018
The Perseverance by Raymond Antrobus – moving, fierce, unforgettable – garnered awards and attention galore in 2019, particularly astonishing and gratifying for a debut collection. How wonderful that the work was shortlisted for the 2019 Griffin Poetry Prize, which means we got to see and capture a powerful presentation of his poems:
“You’ll know when the Queen of the Sea is here because she calms the waters and the clouds gather overhead.”
I enjoyed Michelle Kadarusman’s gorgeous middle grade novel Girl of the Southern Sea myself before giving it to a young friend. The book was a highly deserving finalist for the 2019 Governor General’s Literary Awards in the category of Young People’s Literature.
This book is astoundingly well-crafted, a perfect balance of contemporary family drama, intriguing and cautionary character study and flat-out pageturner suspense thriller. Lynn Coady has created something singular, giving us food for thought about how we care for each other and how life evolves and sometimes changes abruptly and demands that we cope – all while mining our deepest fears yet never losing sight of the value of human compassion and resilience.
There Are Not Enough Sad Songs
Marita Dachsel
2019
“Tell me, as we take in this splendour,
have we run out of firsts – the ones that glow,
that bring joy? Old friend, please say no.”
now is the season of open windows by Marita Dachsel from There Are Not Enough Sad Songs
"Tell me, as we take in this splendour, have we run out of firsts – the ones that glow, that bring joy? Old friend, please say no."#todayspoem now is the season of open windows by @MaritaDachsel from There Are Not Enough Sad Songs (2019 @UAlbertaPress) pic.twitter.com/lEOzybjRuX
Having just read Heave (again, another spot-on recommendation from a silent book club friend), it was a particular treat to then get an advance copy of Christy Ann Conlin’s riveting short story collection Watermark, in which one of the stories is a variation on the startling opening sequence of Heave (which, by the way, was written 17 years earlier).
Our annual cottage weekend with friends includes an evening of readings, for which I selected the Flannery O’Connor-esque story “Full Bleed” – whoa.
“For healing, esp asthma in a child: core out a hole in trunk, put lock of asthmatic’s hair in hole. Plug hole. When child has reached height of hole, asthma will be all gone.”
from Casting Deep Shade by C.D. Wright
At its very simplest a meditation on the power and presence of trees, C.D. Wright’s posthumously published Casting Deep Shade is a treasure with which to spend concentrated and devoted time as it runs the emotional and intellectual gamut and takes you through poetry, prose, folklore, technical and scientific discourse, history and much more.
“it’s no crime to resemble discarded inventory
not a crime to regard others
with what appears to be only basic species recognition”
An Unexpected Encounter with He Who Has Been Left Alone to His Perils by Karen Solie from The Caiplie Caves
"it's no crime to resemble discarded inventory not a crime to regard others with what appears to be only basic species recognition"#todayspoem An Unexpected Encounter with He Who Has Been Left Alone to His Perils by Karen Solie from The Caiplie Caves (2019 @HouseofAnansi) pic.twitter.com/FLKDRoxWPL
Spirited Janina is one of my favourite characters tromping determinedly out of the pages of another one of this year’s reading highlights. And again, it seems it was a great year for titles, too … this one stirs my blood!
“Air empties, but for the squeak of strings and the tap tap of wooden fists against the walls.”
And Yet, on Some Nights by Ilya Kaminsky from Deaf Republic
Unnerving, astounding, incredibly moving …
In My Own Moccasins – A Memoir of Resilience
Helen Knott
2019
Say Nothing – A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland
Patrick Radden Keefe
2019
(read aloud)
Patrick Radden Keefe has crafted an absorbing and compelling combination detective story and oral history out of one of the most heartrending of the unsolved murders during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. This was absolutely amazing to read aloud, too.
Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellmann was not only the reading experience of the year for me, but it will remain as one of the most indelible of my life as a reader, I predict. The 1,000-page one-sentence tome capturing the rambling thoughts of a nervous pie-making mother and homemaker in contemporary Ohio could be dismissed and avoided on so many grounds, perhaps, but it is not to be missed. As she runs the gamut from recipes and grocery lists to concerns for her four children, love for her second husband, memories of her mother and other family members, anger and fear at the state of her home and nation under the odious shadow of Trump … and more … and more … and more … her voice doesn’t just remain in your head, it sinks into you at a cellular level. How her life seemingly inexplicably intertwines with that of a mountain lion tirelessly seeking the children that have been taken away from her turns the last pages of the book into a suspenseful ride that is almost unbearable … but by then, you simultaneously do not want it to end.
Even with its heft and awkwardness, I couldn’t help taking it everywhere with me … which means I’ll associate it with reading on the subway, in bed, at the cottage, at the blood donor clinic … and being utterly absorbed and entranced, no matter where I was.
“By the Don, beneath the bridge, gargoyles brought to earth, scale-model dragons and angels of revisionist history, beasts of Bay Street brought low and eye to eye with ideology and staghorn sumac …” Jane and the Monsters for Beauty, Permanence, and Individuality by Tanis MacDonald from Mobile
Who better than a poet to orchestrate uncommon magic on a gray Saturday morning in the heart of noisy #Toronto? Read the whole story here.
I Am Sovereign
Nicola Barker
2019
A new Nicola Barker is always cause for celebration, at least by this reader. This novella is signature Barker brilliance, and another step in her experimentation with breaking down the walls between characters, reader and writer. Utterly fascinating!
This captures, by the way, one of my favourite places and times of the day to read – breakfast on a working weekday, after I’ve done my initial check-in for email and work-related social media updates and have my working day mapped out.
Deborah Levy’s interview with Eleanor Wachtel in November at Revival Bar was peculiar and strangely recalcitrant, but Wachtel’s team ably edited it for broadcast. I love Levy’s work, so I tried to block out the odd interview behaviour as I read The Man Who Saw Everything and enjoyed it immensely. It’s the sort of book that I suspect I will go back to and glean different gems of insight with each reread.
Renaissance Normcore
Adele Barclay
2019
My Father, Fortune-tellers & Me
Eufemia Fantetti
2019
Night Boat to Tangier
Kevin Barry
2019
Kevin Barry offered a lively reading and generous insights to interviewer Charles Foran at the Toronto Public Library in September, still fresh in my mind when I read and was utterly enthralled with the book in November.
One of three rereads this year, Marina Endicott’s Good to a Fault has been calling to me for a while, and I’m so glad I heeded the call. This was a wonderful, affecting revisit.
Crow Gulch
Douglas Walbourne-Gough
2019
“All this hard living just to stay alive.
Nice to escape, though. This feather bed.
Dream up whatever life you want.”
Escape by Douglas Walbourne-Gough from Crow Gulch
"All this hard living just to stay alive. Nice to escape, though. This feather bed. Dream up whatever life you want."#todayspoem Escape by Douglas Walbourne-Gough from Crow Gulch (2019 @goose_lane) pic.twitter.com/6PyXVNwiN7
Spent some lovely time this afternoon reading the Something to Write Home About script in conjunction with this screening and talk (including info on the Seamus Heaney HomePlace @SHHomePlace) @JaipurLitFest in 2018: https://t.co/AZ1tGoBpGj
Another of three rereads this year, a final silent book club meeting during the holiday season helped me to finish this hefty but absorbing read. I was inspired to reread it after binge watching the superbly realized mini-series of the book. The first time I read this book (the book was published in 1996 and I first read it in 2003), Margaret Atwood’s voice was the narrator in my head. This time, Sarah Gadon as Grace was the voice.
Worry
Jessica Westhead
2019
In 2019, I read a total of 65 works, a considerable leap from my challenging 2018 reading year:
33 works of fiction (novels and short story collections) – the exact same as my 2018 total
21 poetry collections and
11 works of non-fiction.
I reread 3 books, read 3 works in translation, read one graphic work (interestingly, not a novel but non-fiction) and read 36 works by Canadian authors (again, surprisingly, the exact same as my 2018 total). My husband and I read 3 books aloud to each other this year and have another one in progress as we greet the new year.
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2019, the oldest book I read was published in 1847 (Wuthering Heights, which was also a read-aloud book and, oh my, quite the rereading experience), and I also read a number of books published in the 1990s, further fulfilling last year’s intention to read or reread some more older books (a yearly practice I intend to keep up). More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2018 or 2019.
Currently in progress, heading into 2020:
Grand Union
by Zadie Smith
Arias
by Sharon Olds
I’ll Take You There: Mavis Staples, the Staple Singers, and the March up Freedom’s Highway
by Greg Kot (reading aloud, with gusto!)
For yet another year, I’m looking back fondly and with great satisfaction on my 2019 reading and looking forward eagerly to where my 2020 reading will take me. I’m grateful to the writers, publishers, reviewers and fellow readers who have spurred on and broadened my reading. I’m thankful for the bounty of beautiful words that came to me via so many conduits, evoking such an array of ideas, trains of thought, memories and associations, providing so much off the page, too, from solace and companionship to challenges and even healthy discontent.
I’ll simply conclude (as I always do) …
It’s not how many you read that counts. It’s that you read that counts.
One cannot get to a certain stage in life without experiencing the death of some of those closest to us. If we are lucky, that experience is not “out of order”, a term I have learned refers to deaths that happen earlier than expected. One also hopes that the experience will be delayed for as long as possible. In my case, the recent deaths of three of my dearest family members were neither out of order nor premature. Does that being comfort? Absolutely. How much? Hmmmm … not so sure. But that said, books written by grief therapists and personal accounts of loss and bereavement all provide ingredients for a new kind of recipe – a “how to” of sorts- everything from realizing you are not the only person who believes you can still hear his key turning in the lock nor are you unique in suddenly marvelling at the sight of people who seem so HAPPY.
While we’re all still struggling with the distractions of this strange time, us readers are still meeting, comparing notes, working up the energy to enthuse about the reading delights and victories , getting through it together. When we each click “Leave Meeting” to start our shared hour of reading in spirit, I’m certain we’re all coming away feeling bolstered by the company and encouragement. We need to keep doing this, don’t we?
