Category Archives: Reviews

Happy second anniversary to our east end Toronto silent book club!

The title of this blog post kind of says it all. We’ve been meeting with friends, neighbours and fellow booklovers who have quickly become friends once or twice a month to share our reading enthusiasms and challenges, in the cozy confines of a favourite local coffee/vinyl/book haven … for two years! Here is to many more – friends, books, chai lattes, scones and more.

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(Photo by Jo Nelson)

Without further ado, here is today’s eclectic list of books presented with passion and verve during the discussion portion of the meeting, and read with equal passion and commitment during the delicious silent portion of the meeting.

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(Photos by Jo Nelson)

Enjoy 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.

San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich were most recently featured in a wonderful piece on the NPR web site (yes, National Public Radio, thank you very much!). Extensive and enthusiastic coverage silent book club coverage includes this piece in the February 2019 issue of O, the Oprah Magazine, describing the club’s genesis and extolling its virtues as the concept and clubs spread worldwide.

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.

Poets, monsters and uncommon magic

“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.

Walking down the Lower Don River Valley Trail

Walking down the Lower Don River Valley Trail

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.)

Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation of gargoyle sculptures in the Lower Don River Valley

Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation of gargoyle sculptures in the Lower Don River Valley

Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation of gargoyle sculptures in the Lower Don River Valley

Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation of gargoyle sculptures in the Lower Don River Valley

Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation of gargoyle sculptures in the Lower Don River Valley

Mobile by Tanis MacDonaldThe 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.

Tanis MacDonald reads from her poetry collection Mobile at Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation

Tanis MacDonald reads from her poetry collection Mobile at Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation

Tanis MacDonald reads from her poetry collection Mobile at Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation

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 …

Nameplate in the grass for Duane Linklater's Monsters for Beauty, Permanence and Individuality installation

Silent book club multiplication

San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich were most recently featured in a wonderful piece on the NPR web site. Thanks to that fantastic coverage, lots of curious readers are googling “silent book club [city]” … and many more readers in the Greater Toronto Area are finding us. As a result, we arranged to do a doubleheader this month, with meetings on Saturday and Sunday at our favourite spot, Press …

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By doubling the number of meetings, at least for this month, we were able to welcome some 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. We might be able to double up our meetings on occasion, but another way we can accommodate the enthusiasm for the silent book club experience is by helping others to start their own groups … and in that regard, we have some great news! A recent attendee at one of our meetings earlier this summer has started a group in the Mississauga area. Another regular attendee of our meetings is guiding a traditional book club of which she is a member to transition to a silent book club, and hers will be meeting in midtown Toronto. These groups are just getting off the ground, but if you’re interested in finding out more, please contact me for more details. Needless to say, we’re thrilled to see our group’s energy and enthusiasm spinning off into new groups benefiting more readers, local businesses and communities.

As always, before the silent reading portion of the meeting, we went around the table so everyone could offer highlights on their recent reading discoveries, delights and challenges. One fellow reader revealed that chancing upon Judith Kerr’s obituary in The Economist has opened some new reading pleasures that she and her children are sharing together. When I described part of the inspiration for Karen Solie’s latest poetry collection, The Caiplie Caves, another fellow reader nearly jumped out of her chair to insist she needed to read those poems, because she’s been to that part of the rugged coast of Scotland. Another fellow reader spoke with brief and moving eloquence about the joys of revisiting Alistair MacLeod’s short stories in Island. These moments and more are why the “non-silent” portion of our meetings seems to be as cherished as the silent portion.

The range and variety of books we highlighted, recommended, occasionally expressed dismay or disappointment about and devoted a concentrated an hour to … once again, the list is lush, delicious, lively, intriguing.

(Note: The list that follows now reflects books discussed in both sessions of our two-meeting weekend.)

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Enjoy 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.

San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich were most recently featured in a wonderful piece on the NPR web site (yes, National Public Radio, thank you very much!). Extensive and enthusiastic coverage silent book club coverage includes this piece in the February 2019 issue of O, the Oprah Magazine, describing the club’s genesis and extolling its virtues as the concept and clubs spread worldwide.

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.

2019 – The year in reading (so far)

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.

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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!

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  1. Milkman
    Anna Burns
    2018

  2. Years, Months, and Days
    Amanda Jernigan
    2018

  3. Voodoo Hypothesis
    Canisia Lubrin
    2017

  4. Machine Without Horses
    Helen Humphreys
    2018

  5. OBITS.
    tess liem
    2018

  6. The Emissary
    Yoko Tawada, translated by Margaret Mitsutani
    2018

  7. The Long Take
    Robin Robertson
    2018

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  9. City Poems
    Joe Fiorito
    2018

  10. Reproduction
    Ian Williams
    2019

  11. Wuthering Heights
    Emily Bronte
    1847
    (read aloud)

  12. Indecency
    Justin Phillip Reed
    2018

  13. Can You Ever Forgive Me? Memoirs of a Literary Forger
    Lee Israel
    2008

  14. Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk
    Kathleen Rooney
    2017

  15. Nirliit
    Juliana Leveille-Trudel, translated by Anita Anand
    2018

  16. Human Hours
    Catherine Barnett
    2018

  17. Living Up To a Legend
    Diana Bishop
    2017
    (read aloud)

  18. The Quaker
    Liam McIlvanney
    2018

  19. The Organist – Fugues, Fatherhood and a Fragile Mind
    Mark Abley
    2019

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  21. Wonderland
    Matthew Dickman
    2018

  22. Gingerbread
    Helen Oyeyemi
    2019

  23. These are not the potatoes of my youth
    Matthew Walsh
    2019

  24. Quarrels
    Eve Joseph
    2018

  25. Belonging – A German Reckons with History and Home
    Nora Krug
    2018

  26. No Bones
    Anna Burns
    2001

  27. The Perseverance
    Raymond Antrobus
    2018

  28. Women Talking
    Miriam Toews
    2018

  29. Girl of the Southern Sea
    Michelle Kadarusman
    2019

  30. Watching You Without Me
    Lynn Coady
    2019

  31. Normal People
    Sally Rooney
    2018

  32. The Art of Dying
    Sarah Tolmie
    2018

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  34. There Are Not Enough Sad Songs
    Marita Dachsel
    2019

  35. Most of What Follows is True
    Michael Crummey
    2019

  36. On Looking – Eleven Walks with Expert Eyes
    Alexandra Horowitz
    2013
    (read aloud)

  37. Heave
    Christy Ann Conlin
    2002

  38. Into That Fire
    MJ Cates
    2019

  39. The Teardown
    by David Homel
    2019

  40. Watermark
    Christy Ann Conlin
    2019

  41. Casting Deep Shade
    C.D. Wright
    2019

Currently in progress:

  • The Flamethrowers
    Rachel Kushner
    2013

  • The Caiplie Caves
    Karen Solie
    2019

  • Broke City
    Wendy McGrath
    2019

  • Say Nothing
    Patrick Radden Keefe
    2019
    (read aloud)

How is your reading going so far in 2019?

April showers also bring excellent opportunities for cozy silent book club gatherings

April was showering in earnest today, but it did not deter sufficient numbers of readers from carefully bundling up their books and reading devices and meeting for our largest gathering of silent book club devotees to date: 18 around the tables marked “Reserved for Book Club”. Several new readers joined the group that has made this book club inviting and compelling since its inception in the fall of 2017.

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After last month’s coverage of our silent book club, we put a lot of thought into how to manage the deluge of new interest. As we acknowledged, the charm and vitality of silent book club meetings comes from the size of the group and setting in which the meetings are held. At the same time, we were keen to welcome new readers and enjoy their company, hear new book recommendations and perspectives on the joys of reading, and just generally spread the silent book club love around. That love includes, by the way, our willingness to advise others on how to start clubs of their own. Be in touch if we can help you start a club of your own.

When CBC Toronto turned the spotlight on our group, another great benefit of the coverage was that it helped shed light on other silent book clubs in the Greater Toronto area and others that are re-inspired to give it a try. Some of the groups we discovered include:

The following is the book list which sums up all the titles presented and discussed within the group this month, with an infusion of many brand new titles thanks to the brand new attendees. If you follow our book lists from month to month, you’ll notice that some titles are repeated, which happens when a book gets passed to a new reader or another reader reads and wants to discuss the same book. At some point, I’m going to create a master list of all books discussed – eliminating duplicates – to get a sense of how many unique books our group has discussed since its inception in October, 2017. After today’s meeting, I estimate it’s around 350+ titles.

When we go round the table before the silent reading portion of the gathering, each reader offers capsule reviews of what they have finished or are in the midst of reading – positive or negative, always constructive. 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. Mind you, I think it is a pretty good list of recommendations, as it continues to reflect a diverse and vibrant range of subjects and genres that 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.

In addition to the recent coverage by CBC Toronto, our silent book club was included in a late 2018 feature about silent book clubs in the international news publication The Christian Science Monitor. Enjoy the article here. San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich are featured in the February 2019 issue of O, the Oprah Magazine, describing the club’s genesis and extolling its virtues (if we haven’t done that enough here!) as the concept and clubs spread worldwide.

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.

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Silent book club as post-apocalyptic sanctuary

Particularly warm kudos are in order this month to the silent book club members who made it through the February cold and over the snowy, slippery streets to our bookish oasis. Some have been contending with the colds, flus and other ailments of the season, and all have been contending with the ever-changing and treacherous weather and how it permeates everyone’s moods, energy and ambition.

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As we were settling around our table (so nicely adorned now with a “Reserved For Book Club” sign – thanks, Press!), removing coats and scarves and layers, setting out our books, beverages and treats, an interesting thing happened. Our normally book-focused chit-chat strayed – innocuously at first – into the seemingly unavoidable state of the world today, including commentary on the latest shenanigans coming from the country to our south (aka the elephant next to which Canada sleeps). Suddenly, we seemed to realize we did not want to stray down that path – and we rapidly got back on the intended path. The refreshingly robust manner in which our group resisted – stayed true to what the group is about – did my heart and brain immense good. I hope the readers around the table with me today felt the same way.

I realize that by using the term “chit-chat”, I’ve possibly belittled what this group has come to mean to me. Our discussions are anything but inconsequential or unimportant. By sharing with open minds and hearts and without judgement the words and ideas that interest, inspire, challenge and comfort us, we’re doing something truly essential. We are taking time away from our daily demands to do that, and we’re stepping away from the newsfeeds and discourse that often inflame more than they inform. I would not call this practice a form of avoidance. On the contrary, I would assert that we’ve not only found a potent curative in this quiet fellowship, but we’ve found a very practical way to mentally and emotionally recharge before heading back into the fray.

We were not long into the “what I’ve been reading lately” portion of today’s gathering when it dawned on all of us that there was a consistent thread of darkness wending through all the reading choices we seem to be making in recent weeks. By the third or fourth mention of “post-apocalyptic”, we were conjecturing whether this was a collective response to the weather, our health, the state of the world … Whatever the cause, I think it made us aware that we all seek comfort, insight and diversion in interesting ways … and, we might all want to calibrate the brightness and lightness levels on our reading. Can’t hurt, eh.

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Here, as usual, is the book list which sums up all the titles presented and discussed within the group. Each reader offers capsule reviews – positive or negative, always constructive. 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. The list continues to reflect a diverse and vibrant range of subjects and genres that might spark the interest of anyone keeping up with our club.

After our hour of silent reading, we wrapped up today’s meeting with something new. Some members read aloud brief selections from their recent reading. Today’s selections included poems from 40 Sonnets by Don Paterson and Tell – poems for a girlhood by Soraya Peerbaye, a poem found online with no author attribution about the allures of Africa, and the opening lines of the introduction to A Brief History of the Amazons : Women Warriors in Myth and History by Lyn Webster Wilde. It’ll be interesting to see if this becomes an occasional or regular feature of our gatherings.

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

Our silent book club was included in a late 2018 feature about silent book clubs in the international news publication The Christian Science Monitor. Enjoy the article here. San Francisco-based Silent Book Club founders Guinevere de La Mare and Laura Gluhanich are featured in the February 2019 issue of O, the Oprah Magazine, describing the club’s genesis and extolling its virtues (if we haven’t done that enough here!) as the concept and clubs spread worldwide.

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.

What, where and how I read in 2018

As I confessed recently, 2018 was a challenging reading year for me. I read some great books and attended some memorable readings and book events, but how I read (mostly books, sometimes on screen) and my normal reading tempo was impeded by vision problems. My vision deteriorated in an alarmingly short period of time due to the swift and severe onset of cataracts. (I didn’t mind being told I was too young to be experiencing this problem so acutely, but that was the only meagre comfort at the time.)

For a time, I didn’t know if these vision problems would be protracted or even 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.

I continued my commitment in 2018 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 eighth uninterrupted year of poetry tweets. In 2017, I gathered up all my tweets here. I’ll try to do something similar with my 2018 #todayspoem tweets in the near future.

Another reading practice that sparks joy (ahem) as I navigate through books is that of #sundaysentence, tirelessly championed and curated by author David Abrams. 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.

An important milestone this reading year just past is that my treasured but admittedly battered, over 35-year-old book of books got a much needed restoration.

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My husband arranged for the book (in which I’ve recorded my reading since I graduated from university in 1983) to be beautifully rebound, by bookbinder Don Taylor. If you need something that further sparks reading joy, get yourself a gorgeous book in which to record your reading – you won’t regret it.

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Here are the books I read and read aloud in 2018, with a few recollections of where I was when I was reading them.

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  1. Stranger, by David Bergen
  2. The Left-Handed Dinner Party and Other Stories, by Myrl Coulter
  3. Cat’s Eye, by Margaret Atwood … here too
  4. This was the only book I reread this year, but it was a splendid one to revisit. As I remarked at the time, it’s a moving, intimate and instructive look at how women can be each other’s best allies and worst enemies.

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  5. Scarborough, by Catherine Hernandez
  6. The Finest Supermarket in Kabul, by Ele Pawelski
  7. This book was good company during my subway travels.

  8. Quantum Typography, by Gary Barwin
  9. The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas
  10. Still Life, by Louise Penny
  11. I very much enjoyed this introduction to Louise Penny and Chief Inspector Armand Gamache thanks to enthusiastic recommendations from my silent book club friends.

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    Still Life … with beagle-basset …

    A post shared by Vicki Ziegler (@vzbookgaga) on

  12. Loop of Jade, by Sarah Howe
  13. Wisdom in Nonsense – Invaluable Lessons from My Father, by Heather O’Neill
  14. Studio Saint-Ex, by Ania Szado
  15. Seven Fallen Feathers, by Tanya Talaga
  16. Sun of a Distant Land, by David Bouchet, translated by Claire Holden Rothman
  17.  

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  18. This is How You Lose Her, by Junot Diaz
  19. Antigone Undone, by Will Aitken
  20. Not only was the book captivating, but it was great to hear about it firsthand from Aitken and Anne Carson (gasp!) about a month later at the Toronto Reference Library.

  21. Winter’s Bone, by Daniel Woodrell
  22. This stunning book was a Little Library find!

  23. Magenta Soul Whip, by Lisa Robertson
  24. French Exit, by Patrick deWitt
  25. I have to live. by Aisha Sasha John
  26. This Wound Is a World, by Billy-Ray Belcourt
  27. A Death in the Family, by Karl Ove Knausgaard
  28. Kudos, by Rachel Cusk
  29. The Built Environment, by Emily Hasler
  30. I enjoyed both Kudos and The Built Environment at silent book club.

  31. The Bleeds, by Dimitri Nasrallah
  32. Warlight, by Michael Ondaatje
  33. Dreampad, by Jeff Latosik
  34.  

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  35. Collected Tarts & Other Indelicacies, by Tabatha Southey
  36. My husband and I read this book aloud. Much, much laughter …!

  37. Ties, by Domenico Starnone, translated by Jhumpa Lahiri
  38. Muskoka Holiday, by Joyce Boyle
  39. My husband and I read this book aloud at the cottage. I remember quite vividly that this was when my vision was just about at its worst, about a month before the first of two eye surgeries. I was pleased to be able to read this book, though, because of its large print.

  40. On Not Losing My Father’s Ashes in the Flood, by Richard Harrison
  41. Chicken, by Lynn Crosbie
  42. Deer Life – A Fairy Tale, by Ron Sexsmith
  43. The Deserters, by Pamela Mulloy
  44. If you’ve read them both, you might not think Lynn Crosbie’s Chicken and Pamela Mulloy’s The Deserters have much in common. I gathered notes for, but my weary eyes never allowed me to complete a review comparing the two books on the theme of troubled relationships.

  45. Wade in the Water, by Tracy K. Smith
  46. The Outlaw Album, by Daniel Woodrell
  47. Heartbreaker, by Claudia Dey
  48. Beartown, by Fredrik Backman, translated by Neil Smith
  49.  

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  50. Transcription, by Kate Atkinson
  51. As I remarked when I finished it, Transcription‘s Juliet is an endlessly fascinating creature – who, of course, we still don’t entirely know in the end – and her adventures and dilemmas are absorbing and, at times, horrifying. This incredible book was a favourite amongst the readers in our silent book club, and a bunch of us went to here her read from it and converse with Rachel Giese at the lovely Church of the Holy Trinity in downtown Toronto.

  52. The Blue Clerk, by Dionne Brand
  53. Both a stunning book and a gorgeous book object, this was one of the most pleasurable reading experiences of my year.

  54. Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq
  55. God of Shadows, by Lorna Crozier
  56. Sugar and Other Stories, by A.S. Byatt
  57. If They Come For Us, by Fatimah Asghar
  58. Zolitude, by Paige Cooper
  59. The Game, by A.S. Byatt
  60. The Mobius Strip Club of Grief, by Bianca Stone
  61. Stereoblind, by Emma Healey
  62. Dear Evelyn, by Kathy Page
  63. Theory, by Dionne Brand
  64.  

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  65. My Private Property, by Mary Ruefle
  66. Virgin, by Analicia Sotelo
  67. No Good Asking, by Fran Kimmel
  68. Liminal, by Jordan Tannahill
  69. The Library Book, by Susan Orlean
  70. We read this aloud – voraciously and with immense delight – and finished it on New Year’s Eve, which felt rather perfect.

In 2018, I read a total of 54 works: 33 works of fiction (novels and short story collections), 16 poetry collections and 5 works of non-fiction. I reread one book, read 4 works in translation, and read 36 works by Canadian authors. My husband and I read three books aloud to each other this year and have another one in progress as we greet the new year.

I also kept track this year of the publication dates of the books I read. In 2018, the oldest book I read was published in 1953, and I also read books published in 1967, 1987 and 1988, fulfilling last year’s intention to read some more older books. Exactly half of the books I read in 2018 were published in 20 18.

Currently in progress, heading into 2019:

  • Milkman
    by Anna Burns

  • Voodoo Hypothesis
    by Canisia Lubrin

  • Wuthering Heights
    by Emily Brontë
    (reread and … read aloud!)

For yet another year, I’m looking back fondly on my 2018 reading, looking forward eagerly, with anticipation and even some curiosity to my 2019 reading, I’ll simply conclude (as I always do) …

It’s not how many you read that counts. It’s that you read that counts.

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 …

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)

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.