The Sealey Challenge describes itself as “a community challenge to read one book of poetry a day for the month of august”. The community is one of readers, writers/poets, publishers, booksellers and the poetry-curious. Since its inception in 2017, championed by US poet Nicole Sealey, it was always an online entity, since it was built not just on reader participation, but on boosting the challenge with the hashtag #TheSealeyChallenge. As such, that social media foundation means that it is inherently an international – albeit perhaps somewhat rarified – phenomenon.
I’ve been a steadfast reader of poetry long before then, but I joined the challenge in 2020 … why? To be honest, I don’t fully recall in what would have been the first six months of the pandemic, right? It might have been filling some time-related and other voids at a time when those of us who read a lot thought reading more more more would be a twisted upside to the many pandemic downsides … and then discovered “reading just [didnt’] feel the same or offer the same solace and escape as it did before the world changed as it did.” Whatever the reason, I did it, found it indeed challenging and a unique reading experience of the kind of works I read but seemed to read differently when it wasn’t compressed into 31 days.
I’ve risen to The Sealey Challenge every year since, so 2023 was my fourth year. Here is not all but most of what made up this year’s breathtaking poetry rush …
(Some books are not part of the group photo because, for the first time this year, I included audiobooks on my reading list.)
On the eve of this year’s challenge, I tweeted (yes, like many, I still tweet, not x/post/whatever) that I was feeling exhilarated, a bit full and a touch weary – but oh, the poetry had challenged and delighted me again this year! I remarked that I’d read some great collections that I will be happily revisiting.
Anything you read for the first time during The Sealey Challenge that sparks your interest, you’re likely going to need to revisit to give it your full attention and assessment. (Well, if something is patently off-putting in one way or another, maybe not …) All four years I’ve done the challenge, I kept up but found the pace of 31 works in 31 days to be demanding. Even if your reading strategy includes pacing yourself with some shorter works – chapbooks and selections from literary journals spliced in between full poetry collections that could range from an average of 60 to over 100 pages – and even if you’re a regular and experienced poetry reader, that’s a rich and full plate to consume in a comparatively short period of time. The words, the text formats and layouts, the subject matter, the layers of reference and meaning, the richness of how things are structured and textured and formally constructed (or not) and orchestrated – it’s all going to demand a lot of you. If you averaged it out as, say, 70 pages per day for 31 days: that’s 2,170 pages of what could be wonderful, possibly unpleasant or bewildering at times, regularly emotionally taxing, intoxicating and cumulatively overloading stuff.
Under these conditions, I didn’t think it was fair or really possible to attempt to review any of these works – although I admire those challenge participants who did, in mini or even full reviews. I do think it would be fair to say I derived something from every single work I read, though – from snippets of startling wordplay or imagery to overall themes, concepts or subject matter that were arresting.
I note that I’ve been pretty consistent in several respects over the four years I’ve completed The Sealey Challenge:
Full collections vs chapbooks/journals/smaller works – 23/8 this year, compared to the same in 2022, 24/7 in 2021 and 25/6 in 2020.
Canadian works – 24/31 this year, compared to the same in 2022, 25/31 in 2021 and 22/31 in 2020.
Rereads – 9 this year, compared to 8 in 2022, 5 in 2021 and 6 in 2020.
Audiobooks – This is the first year I included audiobooks in the mix. I enjoyed four, three of which were read by the poets and one by a narrator/voice actor.
And with that, here is my 2023 reading list from the Sealey Challenge, including links to more information, images from some of the social media posts (posted completely to Twitter, Mastodon and Bluesky, partially to Spoutible and periodically to Instagram), and links to the full posts on Twitter, which included poetry excerpts.
My silent book club friends can rest assured I’m paying close and avid attention when I chair our meetings each month (and by “chair”, I mean simply introduce each reader and then sit back and enjoy the insights and delights each one has to share). But sometimes reader’s book summaries and comments will set my mind down interesting paths, as was the case here:
“In Finding the Mother Tree, ecologist Suzanne Simard explains her decades-long research on the relationships among trees in the forests of British Columbia. Simard shows that the long-held “competition” model of forest ecology is inaccurate, and that instead the major dynamic among plant life in forests is cooperation and interdependence. She has discovered that trees in a forest are interconnected — they communicate and share resources through a complex underground network of fungi.”
(summarized in ShortForm)
As wonderful in many ways as traditional book clubs (everyone reading and discussing the same book together) can be, this consideration of how trees may be interconnected immediately made me think of our silent book club orchard? copse? grove? differs from such groups in equally wonderful ways. Every month for close to six years now, I come away from every meeting and every scan of our combined reading list having learned, been nurtured, been challenged in good ways, had gates flung open, feeling throughout that my enrichment has been in concert with, not in competition with, my fellow readers.
Those I’ve spoken to about joining or starting their own silent book club groups often mention disenchantment with traditional book clubs that does sound like perverse forms of competition: that certain members always get to take the lead in selecting the reading, that getting through the reading is sometimes an unpleasant endurance race, that some readers’ interpretations of the assigned reading “wins” over others’. No, not all single book clubs are like that, but the complaints are a recurring theme that you won’t find with silent book club groups.
So as not to get too proud of how great a silent book club group can be … well, that such a group’s nurturing and “biodiversity” can be described with an analogy related to fungi will surely keep us all humble.
The question that kicked off this month’s themed discussion meeting was:
Do you keep track of your reading? If so, do you use a journal, spreadsheet, Goodreads or something else? If not, why not? Do you also keep track of recommendations / what you plan to read next?
Our conversation touched on lots of great ideas and options, including:
Read Harder / Book Riot and other reading challenges
Here is our group’s latest combined book list (it’s breathtaking!), gathering up books mentioned and discussed at our end of August meeting. Each list reflects the reading of many of our members. Many provide their reading lists even when they can’t attend a meeting. The titles featured in each of our reports encompass print and digital versions of books, along with audiobooks.
Any title on any of our group’s lists means that at least one (but often more) readers have given that title some consideration. That’s encouragement for you and other readers checking out our reports and lists to consider it, too. Is that a recommendation? It might be, but not exactly or necessarily. Inclusion on this list always means that a title has been given thoughtful consideration and attention by our readers, which counts for a lot.
Here are some extra book-related articles, resources, news and recommendations. These items and tidbits are often companions to books on the list, or are inspired or offered by our members and/or come up during our discussions and chat.
Blended in to our combined reading list this month is one reader’s (er, my) list of Sealey Challenge selections – a challenge to read 31 poetry works in the 31 days of August – completed so far. When the challenge is over, I’ll post that list separately, in the order in which the works were read.
Books & Boba – An Asian American Book Club & Podcast – Books & Boba is a book club and podcast dedicated to spotlighting books written by authors of Asian descent. Every month, hosts Marvin Yueh and Reera Yoo pick a book by an Asian or Asian American author to read and discuss on the podcast. In addition to book discussions, they also interview authors and cover publishing news, including book deals and new releases.
2022 Recipients of The Dragon Award – The award is described as following: “In a world of the ordinary, the Dragon is most astonishing. Its heart burns with determination and desire as it soars from page to canvas to screen. The Dragon’s inner fire elevates it above the mundane, and once released, inspires respect and awe from all who witness its greatness.”
Manga of the Month, from Reverse Thieves, a site that delves deep into character- and story-focused analysis of anime and manga, and sometimes look at the fandoms that surround those hobbies as well.
Hip-Hop Books for Adults from The New York Public Library – As part of hip-hop’s 50 year anniversary,NYPL’s recommended reads for all ages that explore the influence and impact of hip-hop, including memoirs by landmark artists, explorations of fashion, fiction inspired by hip-hop culture, and more
Our previous reports and book lists are always available right here, growing every month.
You can also check out links to articles, 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.
Learn more about silent book clubs 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. Every club is a different size, format (in-person, virtual or combinations) and vibe, so contact a club’s organizers beforehand if you have any questions or preferences. Please feel free to contact me for more information about our club and its offerings.
Wishing you and the grove of readers around you – in person and virtually – all the literary sunshine, shade, precipitation and nutrition you need to thrive!
I’m guessing our sense of place – both collective and individual – has changed significantly in very recent years. Where we are when we are here, when we are meeting, when we are with someone and so on has sharp new meanings when coupled with how we resorted to social media platforms or different renditions of virtual connection to stay in contact (one definition of contact, anyhow) when we were not able to be in physical proximity or contact. I won’t fill this blog post with too many meandering thoughts about what we might still be going through with respect to connecting or not connecting and what that means, because I do want to get to the latest brimming and delicious book list our group has amassed. But here are some questions and thoughts that popped up for me as I was prepping this month’s silent book club report:
When we meet virtually with fellow readers, even if most of those gathering are within walking distance of each other, is someone zooming with us from across a border or an ocean here with us? (The edges of east end Toronto extend here and here, so my answer is a hearty “yes!”)
When we meet in person on a patio, in a park or in a coffee shop with fellow readers from the neighbourhood, is the here that location or is the here the places we inhabit in our books once we’re reading silently together?
When we are reading by ourselves in our living room or on our balcony or porch or cottage dock, are we there with our other fellow readers, too … while we’re here wherever our books have taken us, as well as here in a comfy reading spot?
In some ways, maybe it’s neither here nor there, eh? We’re blessed to be able to read, we’re fortunate to have access to many ways to read, we’re privileged (in all good senses of that word that remain) to read what we want to read when we want to read it – and to lend our voices on behalf of those being deprived of that right.
Here (see what I did there?) are some of the places our readers and their books were this past month:
Silent book club member Philippa visited the Grolier Poetry Museum in Cambridge, Massachusetts
(Here’s an interesting piece from The Paris Review in 2013 on this destination literary landmark.)
Sometimes other activities – like piloting an inflatable loon on a northern Ontario lake – distract one from proper cottaging activities like reading. But then again, with a beverage holder and some way to protect one’s books or reading devices from the water, an inflatable loon on a northern Ontario lake would be as dreamy a reading place as a hammock … just sayin’ …
Here (yes, here) is our group’s latest combined book list, gathering up books mentioned and discussed at our end of July meeting. Each list reflects the reading of many of our members. Many provide their reading lists even when they can’t attend a meeting. The titles featured in each of our reports encompass print and digital versions of books, along with audiobooks.
Any title on any of our group’s lists means that at least one (but often more) readers have given that title some consideration. That’s encouragement for you and other readers checking out our reports and lists to consider it, too. Is that a recommendation? It might be, but not exactly or necessarily. (This is rare, but a reader confided this month that one of the titles on this list offered one of their worst reading experiences ever …) That said, that same title might be one of your best reading experiences – who knows? Inclusion on this list always means that a title has been given thoughtful consideration and attention by our readers, which counts for a lot.
Silent Book Club “head office” offers an email listserv for those who organize and manage sbc chapters around the world, and that community is talking up a storm about the wave of interest and influx of new member requests that @hellomandyo’s video has generated. (Yes, we’ve welcomed lots of new inquiries, too – and look forward to meeting some new readers in the months ahead!) Some chapters run significantly higher capacity events than others (more on that another day), and some chapters are still virtual versus in-person, so how one engages with each group is different. I imagine the delight in reading, reading together and sharing reading delights with other readers, as captured by @hellomandyo, is consistent across all chapters around the world!
Our previous reports and book lists are always available to interest and amaze, not to mention threatening to send your tbr pile toppling! The reports and lists are always right here, growing every month.
You can also check out links to articles, 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.
Learn more about silent book clubs 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. Every club is a different size, format (in-person, virtual or combinations) and vibe, so contact a club’s organizers beforehand if you have any questions or preferences. Please feel free to contact me for more information about our club and its offerings.
Here, there and everywhere, we hope your reading nurtures head and heart!
Looking back on my years in reading in 2020 and 2021 was challenging because those were uniquely challenging years for all of us, in all ways. Enough said.
Looking back on my year in reading in 2022 is also proving challenging. The third year into whatever-we’re-calling-this-stage-of-yes-it’s-still-a-pandemic, we’re all coping, semi-resuming pre-pandemic activities and practices and forging new versions of normal. Some of the challenges I’m finding are actually not so bad, like, say, this challenge to this bookish household:
Actually, Mavis (named after Staples, Gallant and Wilton) joined this household late in 2022, so she didn’t so much distract my reading as distract me from assembling my customary “year in reading” post this month. After work, playing with puppy, reading and hanging out virtually with book friends, writing about my reading feels kind of further down the list these days. And in all fairness to Mavis and her mentor, Tilly, our dogs are generally conducive to our reading, not a distraction. I am still feeling sharply the loss of a very dear reading companion, Jake, who was also a silent but influential presence at many of our silent book club zoom meetings.
Here are the books I read, reread and read aloud in 2022.
For each book on this year’s list, I’ve sought out links to reviews – not my own, but ones with which I concur – author interviews and/or publisher information. Hope this is helpful if you want to learn more about any of these titles.
I’ve remarked on the following in reference to our silent book club combined reading lists. I realize more and more that the same thing applies to me as a reader, one with a penchant for finishing all or most of what I start: Any title on any of our group’s lists means that at least one (often more) readers have given that title some consideration. That is encouragement, I’d say, for other readers reading our reports and lists to consider it, too. Is that a recommendation? It might be, but not exactly or necessarily. It always means that a title has been given attention and thought by our readers, which counts for a lot. So, that I have devoted my precious time as a reader to every book from the first page to the last means – at least to me, I hope to you too – that everything on my reading lists every year have been fully considered and overall, at least appreciated, often much more than that.
I’m also incorporating a feature in this year’s list that is perhaps as close as I’ll ever get to a “top x reads of the year” kind of distinction. As I was laying out this list of titles, some of them just glowed with memories of particularly satisfying or striking reads, likely paired with good settings, ideal company (or not), perfect timing and more. So, I’ve bolded those glowing titles. That’s it.
14. H of H Playbook, Euripides translated by Anne Carson
15. Gabriel by Edward Hirsch 16. Hotline by Dimitri Nasrallah
17. Mad Shadows by Marie-Claire Blais, translated by Merloyd Lawrence
In 2022, I read a total of 85 works. That’s down from the dramatic-for-me total of 102 works in 2021, but it’s still darned good. That total broke out as:
26 works of fiction (novels and short story collections)
49 poetry collections and
10 works of non-fiction.
I reread 13 books. (I’ll blog about it next – our silent book club inaugurated its new themed format meetings with a discussion about delights and pitfalls of rereading.) I read 7 works in translation, read 3 graphic works and read 52 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read 5 books aloud to each other this year, a lively and intriguing cross section of subjects and authors:
The Storyteller by Dave Grohl
Erebus: The Story of a Ship by Michael Palin
Palaces for the People – How Social Infrastructure Can Help Fight Inequality, Polarization, and the Decline of Civic Life by Eric Klinenberg
On the Trail of the Jackalope by Michael P. Branch
The Year of the Puppy by Alexandra Horowitz
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2022, the oldest book I read was published in 1816 (Emma by Jane Austen), and I read 8 books before 2000, improving on my intention in recent years to read more older books. More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2021 or 2022.
So far in 2022, I’ve read or have in progress:
The Descendants by Robert Chursinoff
The Thinking Heart: The Etty Drawings (1983-1984) Claire Wilks by Jessica Hiemstra
Towards a General Theory of Love by Clare Shaw
Walk the Blue Fields by Claire Keegan
Lessons by Ian McEwan
Young Skins by Colin Barrett
To wrap it up in consistently Groundhog Day-ish fashion (just barely before Groundhog Day, actually), here are my observations from the last couple of years, which are still very applicable again this year:
For yet another year, I’m looking back with quiet satisfaction (and with gratitude to the practices and people who helped and inspired) on my reading during an extraordinarily difficult year, and looking forward with quiet optimism to where my reading this new year 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 as always 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.
I’ll simply conclude, once again …
It’s not how many books or works you read (in whatever form) that counts. It’s that you read that counts – and it counts so very much.
And I might add … If you can read in good company, be it a partner, a four-legged reading companion and/or a group of trusted bookish friends, your reading will always be imbued with a special, warm glow.
Coming round to another January, it occurs to me that the pandemic has turned entire years into Groundhog’s Day. I’m doing my usual ponder of my year in reading, taking a look at the reflections of other readers and the books and reading that filled their year … and it’s all feeling like, well, we’ve been here before, in almost exactly these same circumstances.
That’s not entirely a bad thing. As I remarked this time last year, reflecting on 2020, our reading then was a source of diversion, comfort, inspiration and more, and it was again – as it needed to be – again in 2021.
Early in 2021, I was delighted to team up with writer and blogger Liza Achilles to tackle the subject of how to maintain one’s enthusiasm and focus for reading (essentially, to keep the reading mojo workin’) during the pandemic. We exchanged blog posts, with Liza’s piece appearing here and my piece appearing on Liza’s blog – and what a revealing and energizing exercise that was.
Again in 2021, most of the events and gatherings normally enjoyed live and in-person were online. The silent book club groups in which I take part all moved online during the first wave of pandemic closures and lockdowns, and largely continued on as such this past year. Once again, the attendees of our silent book club gatherings collectively helped each other through struggles with our reading – intermittent concentration, flagging attention span, lessened energy, emotions triggered and so on – and I chronicled some of that in our reports. As I mentioned last year, I was determined to keep up our groups’ reports and not only did that throughout this year, but got many of our group members to write the introductions, all lively and interesting in their own fashions.
Respecting local guidelines and restrictions, our silent book club members still managed to meet for brief, physically distanced, but still heart lifting gatherings in the park … even as the weather grew colder again.
Along with silent book club meetings, most of the book launches and poetry readings I would normally enjoy in person were largely online again in 2021. Virtual gatherings are getting more sophisticated and are smoothing out the technical challenges (although some of the zoom oopsies occasionally add welcome whimsy to the occasion) … but still, nothing can compare to live events. How uplifting that the indefatigable poetry force knife | fork | book was able to present live readings in a singular setting in east end Toronto, as part of the launch of kfb’s retail presence at Great Escape Bookstore. I rhapsodized about it all on Twitter.
Again this year, I took up the somewhat intimidating but rewarding Sealey Challenge for reading yet more poetry. Started in 2017 by American poet and educator Nicole Sealey, and steered through social media with the hashtag #thesealeychallenge, the idea is to commit and do your best to read 31 works of poetry over the course of 31 days in August. I managed to do it again this year. I always have had a poetry collection on the go, but reading at this pace turns it into a whole new, mind-expanding experience – at times overwhelming but always exhilarating. Again, it was such a boost. Yes, I will aim to do it again. This past challenge, I roughly planned out a reading sequence of full works, chapbooks and a mix of new, new to me and rereads, and am already mapping out my August, 2022 poetry playlist.
I continued my commitment in 2021 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 have now completed 10 years of uninterrupted daily poetry tweets and am barrelling on into year 11.
Another practice that continues to enhance my weekly reading joy as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, championed by author David Abrams. As I’ve observed before, seeking a beautifully or uniqued crafted sentence each week sharpens my attention when I’m reading. I also love discovering new works through the #sundaysentence choices of other readers.
In years past when I’ve looked back on my reading, I’ve reminisced about where I was when I was reading this or that, or I’ve linked to longer notes and reviews here on this blog, on Goodreads, etc. As I refrained in 2020, I’m not going to do that again this year. Somehow, in spite of it all, I had a bountiful year of reading by just ploughing ahead – with, of course, a little help from my bookish friends. I’m going to keep doing that again this upcoming year in reading, and wish the same for everyone.
Here are the books I read, reread and read aloud in 2021.
(For each book on this year’s list, I’ve sought out links to reviews – not my own, but ones with which I concur – author interviews and/or publisher information. Hope this is helpful if you want to learn more about any of these titles.)
In 2021, I read a total of 102 works. That broke out as:
27 works of fiction (novels and short story collections)
63 poetry collections and
12 works of non-fiction.
I reread 5 books. I read 5 works in translation, read one graphic work and read 64 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read 2 books aloud to each other this year – A Promised Land by Barack Obama and Empire of Pain by Patrick Radden Keefe – both absorbing works that felt like long but very worthy journeys.
I also kept track again this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2021, the oldest book I read was published in 1925 (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos), but only read four books before 2000, kind of backtracking on my intention in recent years to read more older books. More than half of the books I read this year were published in 2020 or 2021.
So far in 2022, I’ve read or have in progress:
Hell Light Flesh by Klara du Plessis
Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz
Undersong by Kathleen Winter
The Storyteller by Dave Grohl (read aloud)
To wrap it up in consistently Groundhog Day-ish fashion, here are my observations from a year ago, which are still very applicable again this year:
For yet another year, I’m looking back with quiet satisfaction (and with gratitude to the practices and people who helped and inspired) on my reading during an extraordinarily difficult year, and looking forward with quiet optimism to where my reading this new year 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 as always 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.
I’ll simply conclude …
It’s not how many books or works you read (in whatever form) that counts. It’s that you read that counts – and it counts so very much.
“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.
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.
“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 (2019)
Who better than a poet to orchestrate uncommon magic on a gray Saturday morning in the heart of the noisy city?
Poet Tanis MacDonald took a handful of us lucky souls on a journey on just such a morning in Toronto. Dressed for soggy, brisk conditions with the possibility of more rain, we walked from Broadview subway station south to Riverdale Park, across the park to a footbridge over the busy Don Valley Parkway. On the other side of the bridge, we slipped onto the Lower Don River Valley Trail … and into another world.
Even with the traffic roaring nearby, we were on a sylvan path, surrounded by trees and bushes in burgeoning autumn regalia, with birds of many feathers wheeling overhead. A kilometer or so along the trail and we almost literally stumbled on the mysterious site we were seeking: Omaskeko Cree artist Duane Linklater’s “Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality”, an installation of haunting cast concrete gargoyles. (Learn more about them here and here.)
The site and sculptures are some of the inspirations for poet MacDonald’s new collection Mobile, described so intriguingly and, to my mind, invitingly as “an uncivil feminist reboot of Dennis Lee’s Civil Elegies and Other Poems; an urban lament about female citizenship and settler culpability; an homage to working and walking women in a love/hate relationship with Toronto, its rivers and creeks, its sidewalks and parks, its history, misogyny and violence.”
There, in that moment of discovery, the perfect thing was for the poet to read the poem, amidst sculptures that mimic the gargoyles and grotesques that adorn municipal buildings, academic institutions and churches … and are arranged as if they dropped from the heavens and just lay scattered and toppled in the unmanicured grass and sumac.
We listened to the poem below the Bloor Viaduct, which vibrates with its own iconic significances. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds for the first time that morning, eventually exposing enough blue sky to make a sailor a pair of pants. (Hey, Tanis!) What surprising and potent alchemy in this collision of past and present, urban and natural, hidden and revealed, words, birdsong, traffic …
Most years, I try to do a little check-in partway through every year to see how my reading is going. As I’ve done in years past, I’m taking a look around the halfway point (ish) in the year at the books I’ve read so far, with links where they exist to books that I’ve reviewed or at least jotted a brief note or impression on Goodreads. As I’ve always pointed out, it’s a competition with no one but myself, but it is always useful and interesting to stop and reflect a bit where one is at with one’s reading, both quantitatively and qualitatively.
Here’s the quantitative part: Of the 38 books I’ve read so far this year, 6 were non-fiction, 14 were poetry and the balance of 18 were fiction (novels and short story collections). One book was a reread. Two books were works in translation. Twenty-one of the books were by Canadian writers. Three books were read aloud in their entirety (over a period of time, not in one sitting), which is a wonderful way to share the experience with another reader/listener.
I continue to keep track of my reading in my handwritten, 36-year-old, recently beautifully rejuvenated book of books. I’ll include some pictures of my 2019 pages in this blog post.
Qualitatively, it’s definitely another good year. There are some selections on this year inspired by book club recommendations, particularly from our much beloved local silent book club here in east end Toronto, which you know I go on and on about. I’ve been privileged to read some more books in advance of their release and hope to share some enthusiastic reviews of them in the late summer / early fall.
I always have multiple books on the go, with me wherever I go, and I am one happy reader so far in 2019. Hope you are too!