Author Archives: bookgaga

The best kind of silence to take us into the holiday season

csmonitor-logoI’m thrilled to share with everyone that our Toronto-based silent book club, held monthly at PRESS books. coffee. vinyl, is included in a lovely feature in the international news publication The Christian Science Monitor. Congratulations to all who have made this club such a success, in person and online. Enjoy the article here.


Did I mention that the night before a silent book club meeting, it feels like Christmas Eve? How wonderful then to be packing my book bag this month in the light of our little Christmas tree.

How wonderful, too, to have a group of reading friends who concur that the holidays aren’t always wonder and joy … and so we’ve agreed to pencil in an interim silent book club meeting between Christmas and New Year’s, as a companionable sanctuary amidst the demands of the season.

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Thank you, Press on the Danforth, for having our table set up and extra scones awaiting as we all arrived, eager to spread our books out on the table and start sharing them. That sharing has evolved from the engaging discussions about we’re reading to, almost as a matter of course now, a passing of books across the table to the next eager reader. In just over a year, such trust has developed that if someone from silent book club had recommended it, we’re all willing to roam beyond our reading comfort zones and try new things.

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What follows, as always, is this month’s list of the books we read and discussed at our silent book club. Each title is presented and discussed within the group with readers’ capsule positive, negative or mixed – always refreshingly constructive – reviews. (We segued briefly in today’s discussions into the drive-by, non-constructive book “reviews” often encountered via Goodreads.) Our list as I present it here has no rating system, just a link to either publisher information or generally positive reviews or informational pieces. The list is not inherently a list of recommendations, just a record of what we discussed. Still, I think it’s a pretty diverse and intriguing selection that might spark the interest of anyone keeping up with our club.

One book club member’s reading choice for this month – A Book of Silence by Sara Maitland – was inspired by some lovely book club cross-pollination. In addition to promoting our silent book club meetings on social media, I’d recently tweeted about Literary North’s Slow Book Club, one of our silent book club members saw my tweets and she signed up for that club’s thoughtful consideration of a book per season. I’m joining, too, with their first reading choice for the new year, and am very much looking forward to this complement to our monthly silent book club. (Slow Book Club, you might see a few more sign-ups from Toronto in the near future!)

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A couple of meetings ago, one of our silent book club members mentioned that for her 70th birthday, she was asking everyone to share with her the gift of stories and storytelling. She had an excellent and generous response to her request, and she is now gradually posting the story gifts she received on her blog. Take a look at jofacilitator.ca/.

At the end of today’s silent book club gathering, the other readers indulged my request to read aloud a poem from my recent reading that I found particularly striking and moving – “Migration” from The Mobius Strip Club of Grief by Bianca Stone. We’ve decided that at our next get-together, everyone will be given the opportunity to share a poetry or prose excerpt. It is so gratifying and heartening to see how our group and what we share has evolved.

As always, you can enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

Finally, I just want to offer my gratitude for our silent book club’s special sense of community and, in its way, almost a type of gentle worship that I know has seen me through a somewhat trying year. I hope what almost palpably radiates from our quiet, bookish gatherings takes us all (those who assemble around the coffee/bookstore table, and those following along with us and/or building their own groups of readers) into a new year filled with every kind of happiness, bolstered by the books that buoy us and bring us together.

Chuckles and the rustle of pages turning

Several of my silent book club friends are also my neighbours. It’s nice to be able to say “See you at silent book club” when I run into them around the neighbourhood between meetings. Now some of us are suggesting that maybe a month between meetings is too long. Hmmm …

The night before a silent book club meeting, it feels like Christmas Eve. I’m already planning which books I’m going to bring, reviewing the books I read over the past month to share observations on with the group, checking if there are additional books I need to bring to lend to other book club members, getting out my book bag and coffee mug … and in the morning, I get extra help to ensure that everything is packed.

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I left early, wanted to take my dog …

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… and when I got to Press on the Danforth, some silent book club members were already there, ordering their beverages and treats and getting settled in. So, I have the feeling I’m not the only one eagerly anticipating each meeting …

Have you ever heard folks describing what they don’t like about the book clubs of which they’re a part, or which they are reluctant to be a part, or which they’ve abandoned? One thing I know I hear a lot is that the book club is devoted to the book in question for a mere few moments, and then the get-together becomes a gossip session or otherwise goes decidedly off-topic. In the year that we’ve been enjoying this club, we have our usual go round the table to share recent reading delights and disappointments (always constructively couched), and we don’t typically stray too far from the subject of books. Even today, when we did stray a bit, the subjects were still bookish. We all chimed in on a discussion of childhood reading pleasures, some guilty, some forbidden, all adored: Nancy Drew! The Hardy Boys! The Bobbsey Twins! Swallows and Amazons! Puffin Books! Trixie Belden! Nurse Sue Barton! We all chimed in again to sing the praises of Little Library boxes, with which our east end Toronto neighbourhood seems to be particularly blessed.

Here, as usual, is this month’s list of the books we read and discussed at our silent book club. Each title is presented and discussed within the group with readers’ capsule positive, negative or mixed reviews. The list as I present it here has no rating system, just a link to either publisher information or generally positive reviews or informational pieces. The list is not inherently a list of recommendations, just a record of what we discussed. That said, it’s still a rich, varied and thought provoking collection that I think might spark the interest of anyone keeping up with our club.

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As always, you can enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

A few good words about a few good books

bookcover-zolitudeTruth be told, 2018 has not been a good reading year for me. Not that I haven’t read great books and attended some memorable readings and book events, but my normal reading tempo has been impeded by vision problems. Not to dwell on it too much, but my vision deteriorated in an alarmingly short period of time. For a time, I didn’t know if that change would be permanent. If it was, I knew I had to accept changing how I read and would have to adapt accordingly. Other readers read in other ways, and I could too if I had to. As it turns out, surgery and support from excellent professionals means I’ll be able to continue casting my gaze on the printed page, my preferred way of reading. I’m grateful I have that option, and have heightened respect for those who come to the written word with patience and resourcefulness in other ways.

Because I was tussling just to read, I didn’t write about my reading much this year – except, as you may have noticed, about our beloved silent book club. Still, I did my best to share a few thoughts on my reading as I went along, and managed to put up some snippets on Goodreads, Twitter and even Instagram. Sometimes those wee comments sparked a bit of conversation with fellow readers, which was nice and some continued reassurance that not all of social media is a relentless dumpster fire.

For what they’re worth, here are a few good words about a few good books …

Happy first anniversary to our mighty fine silent book club!

The weather in the Toronto area went from excessive humidex values to verging on windchill, essentially in the span of a day. It definitely looks and feels like autumn now. I was reminded that one of the best antidotes for that chill in the air is a warm gathering of booklovers. Then I was reminded that there was quite a chill in the air when this particular group of booklovers, or the start of this group, first met – a year ago. How time flies when you’re immersed in great books, enthused about your reading and eager to share it with others. So yes, we toasted – with upraised chai lattes and our rendition of this – how this group has grown and evolved in a year.

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Before we settled in with beverages, treats and much anticipated books for an hour of quiet, concentrated reading, we had our usual go round the table to share recent reading delights and challenges. As well, one of our fellow readers shared a lovely new reading journal she is inspired to use to augment the reading lists and ideas she’s acquiring through this group. Another reader announced something very special that she is planning next month for her 70th birthday: she wants everyone to share with her the gift of stories and storytelling. I hope she won’t mind that I’m sharing some of her words describing what prompted this idea and how it would work:

“Over the last year, and particularly the last few months, I have experienced deep despair about the future of the world. Constant negative news about economic, political, cultural, environmental events and forecasts have had a huge impact on me. And when I talk with others, there is a near universal response of ‘I’ve experienced the same thing’. Many of the events we hear about seem to be beyond our control.

At the same time, every so often, stories crop up of something that ordinary people are doing in their communities or beyond, that make a significant difference in people’s lives. Many have huge ripple effects. These give me hope, and are the antidote to despair. The more I look for them, the more I see and hear.

… So as my gift to the world, I propose to host a birthday party event … that is a storytelling event. It can include people who can physically attend, as well as all my friends, colleagues, and family globally who can participate virtually by sending their stories to me.

… Here’s what I’m asking of you to do as a gift to me and this process: look everywhere for stories of where ordinary people are making a positive difference in others’ lives, and capture them. Tell the stories in your own words, and write them down.

She goes on to say that the captured stories can range from the local to the international and ones in the headlines. I’ve come to see the silent book club as an oasis and respite from all the news and noise that creates the anxiety and despair she mentions here. Her brilliant idea is another way of harnessing the power of storytelling to immensely positive effect, don’t you think?

Here is this month’s list of the books we read and discussed at this latest edition of our silent book club. As I’ve mentioned previously, each title is presented and discussed within the group with readers’ capsule positive, negative or mixed reviews. We do have cases of diverging opinions about some books, but the discussion is consistently interesting and respectful. The list as I present it here has no rating system, just a link to either publisher information or generally positive reviews or informational pieces. The list is not inherently a list of recommendations, just a record of what we discussed, for good, bad or indifferent. That said, I think each list brims with rich and eclectic offerings, and you could indeed use it to spark and expand your own reading.

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As always, you can enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and perhaps interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

Exuberant, brimming over, not-so-silent book club

We returned to our comfortable coffee/book shop Press for the latest edition of our silent book club. Our usual table near the back of the top was full, including new members and another guest, this time from Red Deer, Alberta.

Everyone was clearly eager to share their recent and current reading – both the delights and the challenges – with the group. Another interesting evolution in the group since we started it almost a year ago is that we now share not only what we’ll be reading at the meeting, but what we’ve read since the last meeting. (One member who couldn’t attend this month sent along a list of her recent reading and I presented it to the group.) In fact, most of us bring a stack of books and happily distribute recommendations to fellow book club members.

A delicious dilemma arises from this enthusiasm. Our silent book club meetings are regularly scheduled on Saturday for two hours, from 10 am to 12 noon. The first hour is devoted to discussing what we are and have been reading and to exchange books, and then the second hour is for focused, silent reading. The idea is that by finishing by noon, people still have a chunk of Saturday to do regular Saturday errands and activities. We discovered at this latest meeting that we got into such a lively discussion in the “what we’re reading” portion of the meeting that we abbreviated the actual silent reading portion. I do think we want to ensure we have an hour for reading in future readings, but what do we do to still accommodate people’s Saturdays and finish by noon. Start earlier? Somehow limit the discussion before the silent reading portion? I don’t think we want to discourage that. Like I said, it’s a nice problem to have. I’ll report back on how we decide to resolve it.

We had a brief but very interesting side discussion this meeting about authors who seem more noticeably performative in terms of how they present their work. The thought was not that this was a necessarily bad thing, as many authors who seem to be this way can be very entertaining. One book club member made the distinction in thought provoking fashion: “people who write for an audience and people who just write.” Bookish food for thought, eh?

Here is this month’s list of books read and discussed. Each title is presented and discussed within the group with readers’ capsule positive, negative or mixed evaluations, and we do have cases of quite differing opinions amongst members. Note, though, that the list I capture from each meeting has no rating system, just a link to either publisher information or generally positive reviews or informational pieces. The list is not inherently a list of recommendations, just a record of what we discussed, for good, bad or indifferent. Does that make sense?

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As always, you can enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and maybe interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

On Not Losing My Father’s Ashes in the Flood, by Richard Harrison

bookcover-harrison-on-not-losingRichard Harrison’s wise and approachable poetry collection On Not Losing My Father’s Ashes in the Flood has the satisfying cohesiveness of linked short stories. His meditations on mortality are grounded in rueful realities, from the collection’s titular tragicomedy to the telling observations of lovers, children and even golfing partners. Those meditations become transcendent as and because they take the body as their humble starting point, as in the poignant “With the Dying of the Light”:

“It is here now, what that hand held when it held itself up,
the lull before the poem begins,
the surrender when it’s done.”

You can sense Harrison’s craft and thought in every line and stanza. He often muses in his poems about writing poems and about others being aware that he is framing and composing as he is experiencing. That doesn’t come across as forced or pretentious, though, but as disarmingand self-effacing.

The concluding poem of the collection, “Haiku”, captures beautifully Harrison’s process and his wry consciousness of that process.

                                          It demands haiku,
                                       bee within chrysanthemum.
                                          Damn, I got nothing.

But that quits the moment
     and the moment is too much a moment to quit –

With that, we’re given simple encouragement to not quit our own moments, whatever we’re striving for, so we don’t miss out on moments of quiet discovery and resolution such as …

                                          At last the man sees
                                       the poem is the woman’s hand
                                          resting in his own.

On Not Losing My Father’s Ashes in the Flood by Richard Harrison (Wolsak and Wynn, 2016)

Silent book club in the park

This edition of our warmly anticipated silent book club took to the outdoors, thanks to the weather for permitting. We gathered in a shaded corner of a neighbourhood park (not far from the coffeeshop where we usually meet), toting blankets and folding chairs along with our reading material. The hour before silent book club, some of us enjoyed an invigorating yoga class under the trees. After the class, our instructor, who is visiting Canada from Bangalore, India, joined us for the book gathering. (I’m not-so-secretly hoping she’ll plant some silent book club seeds when she returns home …!) All in all, it was a wonderful way to kick off the weekend.

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Truth be told, our time in the park was also a restorative antidote to a trying week of tragedy and upheaval in Toronto. People everywhere face challenges – individually and collectively – every day. The nature and often relentless tempo of those challenges demand that we find ways to recharge and regain strength and focus to head back into what the world throws at us – as neighbours, friends, family members, employers and employees, citizens. For me, I hope for the friends with whom I gathered in the park today, there was solace, rejuvenation, joy and fellowship with our yoga mats, our books and our contemplative silence together under the trees, with other neighbours nearby.

Again, there are some repeats on our book list, because the group continues to actively share and pass along books among the members.

Here is this month’s list of books read and discussed.

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As always, you can enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and maybe interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

Our hardy, hearty, full of heart, good for your heart silent book club

Silent book club was a particularly peaceful oasis after a particularly demanding week (work, politics, you name it … but let’s not …) The conversation was splendid, lively, enthusiastic and edifying – I love what all the silent book club members quite literally bring to the table – followed by an hour of blissful, focused reading.

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Once again this month, there are some repeats on our book list, because the group is actively sharing and passing along books among the members. I would dare say there is a fine trust developing among these fellow readers that is encouraging us all to read outside our comfort zones. It’s heartening and inspiring.

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Here is this month’s list of books read and discussed.

Moments after the hour of silent reading commenced, one of our readers begged a second to read the first sentence of a new book that had charmed and immediately drew her in. (It was from Dead Cold by Louise Penny. I won’t spoil it for you – seek it out!) I wonder if it might be a fun added feature to our gatherings to have each member read the first sentence of what they will be reading during the hour, to kick things off …

Enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

If you’re interested in starting your own silent book club or are in the Toronto area and maybe interested in checking ours out, please feel free to contact me for more information.

So ready for the next silent book club meeting

The week ahead is going to be flat-out busy work-wise. On top of that, the unknowns of a rather tumultuous provincial election hang over our heads, the eagerly anticipated but also dreaded results of which will be announced on Thursday, June 7th. By Saturday, June 9th, I will be so ready for the calm and reflection offered by a good, cozy silent book club meeting – I suspect a few of my neighbours and fellow booklovers will feel the same way.

I’m perhaps particularly yearning for a silent book club meeting because I missed the May gathering. Thank you to Jo for compiling that meeting’s list of books read and discussed, another vibrant and eclectic collection.

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Enjoy our previous silent book club meeting reports and book lists here.

In the Cage, by Kevin Hardcastle

I am very pleased to welcome Hannah Brown as a guest reviewer to this blog. I’m delighted to present her thoughtful contribution, and I’m equally thrilled that she has gazed so perceptively and sensitively on Kevin Hardcastle’s powerful In the Cage, a book that I devoured with admiration and astonishment to prepare to moderate a Toronto Word on the Street book club session in September, 2017.

Born in Hastings County, Hannah Brown currently lives in Toronto. She won prizes as a screenwriter and wrote for anyone who’d pay. After a very happy sojourn teaching English and film at the college and collegiate levels, she returned to writing. Her work has appeared in several North American literary magazines, such as Superstition Review, and her short story, “The Happiness” was nominated for the 2016 Journey Prize. Her first novel, Look After Her, will be released in the spring of 2019 (Inanna Publications).

bookcover-inthecageWhen we were eleven and seven, my brother and I boxed. We lived on a farm miles from other children, in the former country home of the head of Massey-Ferguson International. He and his family had departed for Bermuda, leaving behind bright lime-green leather slippers with the heel bent down flat, as is the case of all good Spanish footwear, a painting of square-bottomed sheep, a copper tray with Arabic writing, and a double pair of sawdust-filled, suede boxing gloves. My brother and I agreed: nothing above the collar and nothing below the waist. It was fun and didn’t hurt: getting socked was like being thudded with a small, firm pillow.

I have always avoided pain: I consider it humiliating. Too many times trying to get away from my spanking mother, crawling under dining room tables and chairs, with her on her hands and knees crawling right after me, furious and intent.

Kevin Hardcastle’s In the Cage, however, draws upon the experience of pain, receiving it and inflicting it. He does so in such an objective, sober fashion that I found myself trying to imitate the complicated and precise moves, such as when the main character, Daniel has ”one hand clasped over the other behind the other man’s neck and there he pinched his elbows together.” I was reminded of how people always ended up trying to explain their idea of Ondaatje’s famous kitchen sex scene in In the skin of a lion. “If her hand is there,” someone would say, “he has to be this way to reach the icebox, so they’re like this” — you know, the way Canadian literature causes people to behave. Maybe not just Canadian literature. There is that oft acted-out scene in Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge when Sergeant Troy shows Bathsheba his remarkable sword-fighting moves. In their minds, if not in their living rooms, I imagine other readers standing up to follow Hardcastle’s calm instructions on mayhem.

In the Cage draws upon another kind of pain, seen before and reckoned with in that same early novel of Hardy’s. Usually the phrase, “the industrial revolution” conjures up images of urban factories and urban blight, but the mechanization of farm labour threw the “workfolk” (as Hardy called them) out of their former crofts or homes, and forced them to trade their skills for part-time employment, unstable shelter, and low wages. Sound familiar?

That kind of bewildering social wound is certainly felt again in formerly prosperous rural communities all over North America, and wherever people are marginalized. Hardy claimed to be, not a pessimist, but a realist. An evolutionary meliorist. Hardcastle, too, is not a sunny optimist. If things are not good, they are not going to be made better by not saying just how bad things actually are — a stance for which Hardcastle’s contemporary, Ta-Nahesi Coates has received much barbed criticism. Hardcastle writes about those who have been left behind, with limited options, who are stoic, resourceful, and — here’s where his book will get you — noble.

His main character, Daniel, is a welder who has had success as a Muay Thai fighter, getting better and better until a sidelining injury introduces him to a woman with whom he makes a life and a child, and for whom he struggles, especially after the theft of all his welding equipment. His nobility, his restraint, seems to arrive equally out of the discipline of rural life as out of Korean martial arts.

If you have read Cormac McCarthy, or watched the series Justified, you know that rural life has sunsets to die for, and drug dealers? — same, same. With his financial back to the wall, Daniel agrees to be an intimidator for a local gangster cum money launderer, and things go very wrong. The local criminal gang in this milieu provides shady employment.They also betray, exploit, and kill. The story moves from page-turning complication to alarming crisis after crisis. Daniel has to make many choices, both honorable and dreadful.

The straightforward presentation in the novel of a constant consumption of alcohol to calm anxiety is startling, as is the matter-of-fact understanding that nursing homes are among the few stable enterprises in rural Ontario. The night shift at the nursing home is a prized position, even if you’re as overqualified as Daniel’s wife, Sarah. We see how warm and practical she is in an extended scene of camaraderie between caregiver and cared-for, where she shares a drink with a dying man — the respectful thing to do, if not the respectable thing to do, and we see this again in the actions of Daniel’s and Sarah’s child, Madelyn, when she stands up to a bullying trio.

This is a physical book: it makes sense that a fighter like Daniel will be aware of what is underfoot, or for that matter, under tire. We run with Daniel “over hard uneven ground and knots of tallgrass” and we always know if it’s a gravel road or if the wheels are going to throw “broken bits of brittle tarmac.” It is also a book with unashamed poetry: like Hardy, Hardcastle employs wordtwins, like the aforementioned “tallgrass.” Somehow, “roadgravel” delivers how crunching, hard, and uneven that surface can be, better than a prosaic construction such as ‘the gravel of the road.’ And, also like Hardy, Hardcastle delivers the authentic sound of regional speech, as in a tense scene at a construction site where “they “waited yet” and where bikers “set to laughing.”

Besides these sensual and poetic elements, Hardcastle’s style is remarkably cinematic. In scene after scene, we are given a long shot establishing where we are, a cut to a close-up of a someone’s face or a significant object, and often, a travelling shot to arrive at plan Américain, the so-called American shot of two people acting out their relationship in front of us, as here, when one of the rural gangsters is about to dispose of evidence:

“He got out of the truck with the garbage bag in his hand, weighted enough that it swung while he walked the ramp. Down and down to where the jetty left the beach. The inbound boat had one headlamp and it cut out sudden. The engine idled low. Wallace stood on the planking and waited. He knelt and reached for something. Another man got out in the shadow and started tying ropes to the dock cleats. He stood full and they were talking.”

In the Cage is a novel you watch as much as you read. It is also full of emotion held in, as in this crucial passage, where an out-of-work Daniel comforts his wife:

She wiped her eyes and slid the letter across the table to Daniel and then she looked up at the ceiling.

He set his beer down and took up the envelope. He took the letter and unfolded it carefully as he could. He read. He put the pages back into the envelope and held it in his hand for a while. Finally he slid it back over to Sarah. She just let it lie on the tabletop in front of her.

“You are gonna go to that school, Sarah,” he said.

She shook her head and ran a knuckle under her eye again. “Did you see what it costs?”

“There’s government loans they give for that.”

“I can’t be off work that long. If something goes wrong, we’re done for.”

Daniel got up with the chair in hand and set it down beside her. He sat and put an arm around her, She was rigid but he kept on. “Is that what you want to do or isn’t it?” he said.

“I wanted other things I didn’t get. It won’t be the last one.”

Daniel promises to find the money needed in the same unsentimental tone. In truth, the novel is never sentimental. Like Hardy, Hardcastle writes in close sympathy with his characters, and like Hardy, he not only brings a calm, unsparing view to the life of rural workingclass, it would seem he recommends and admires their struggle to live, and live right. You will find yourself on the side of Daniel, on the side of his wife and his daughter, and the hint at the end of In the Cage about how the mills of the gods might yet grind for the better is likely to leave you deeply moved.