We all know about the storied and powerful #fridayreads hashtag and tradition, whereby folks tweet what they’re reading on Friday. It’s a way to shout out and celebrate reading, good books and hard working writers, publishers and booksellers.

While touting the virtues of one of writer Angie Abdou’s great book reviews today (The Dead Are More Visible, by Steven Heighton), a fellow book tweep (@davideburga) declared that the review had inspired him to make the book his #fridayreads selection. Ah, the instantaneous, twinkling magic of Twitter!

So, OK then … What if we pointed folks to great reviews before Friday, so that they can make some good and informed reading decisions for Friday and the weekend?

Thus is born #thursdayreviews … let’s see how it goes:

• For #thursdayreviews, on a Thursday, tweet a link to a good review of a book that you think someone should make his/her #fridayreads.

• The #thursdayreviews link can be to your own review, or a review that you like and/or that inspired you to pick up a specific book.

• In the spirit of the week that was (start here), #thursdayreviews can also be a negative review of something that shouldn’t be one’s #fridayreads. Ahem. Be nice, or at least be constructive, OK?

Are you in?

See also:

#thursdayreviews contributors on Twitter

Here are the books I’ve read so far in 2012, with links where they exist to books that I’ve reviewed (either here on this blog or briefly on Goodreads). As I’ve remarked before, it’s a competition with no one but myself, but it is always interesting to reflect halfway through the year where one is at with one’s reading, both quantitatively and qualitatively. This has been another good year. How is your reading going so far in 2012?

1. The Game
   by Ken Dryden (reread)



2. The Money Tree
   by Sarah Stewart and David Small



3. The Antagonist
   by Lynn Coady (reread)



4. The Marriage Plot
   by Jeffrey Eugenides



5. Something Fierce – Memoirs of a Revolutionary Daughter
   by Carmen Aguirre



6. Expressway
   by Sina Queyras



7. Algoma
   by Dani Couture



8. Autobiography of Childhood
   by Sina Queyras



9. I’m Starved For You
   by Margaret Atwood



10. Inside of a Dog – What Dogs See, Smell and Know
    by Alexandra Horowitz



11. On a Cold Road
    by Dave Bidini (reread)



12. Believing Cedric
    by Mark Lavorato



13. Audio Obscura
    by Lavinia Greenlaw, photographs by Julian Abrams



14. Why Men Lie
    by Linden MacIntyre



15. Methodist Hatchet
    by Ken Babstock



16. The Love Monster
    by Missy Marston



17. Detroit Disassembled
    by Andrew Moore, essay by Philip Levine



18. The Sisters Brothers
    by Patrick DeWitt
    (guest review by Barbara McVeigh)



19. Night Street
    by Kristel Thornell



20. The Juliet Stories
    by Carrie Snyder



21. Killdeer
    Phil Hall

Currently in progress:

• The Blue Book, by A.L. Kennedy
• The Collected Short Stories of Lydia Davis
• Satchel: The Life and Times of an American Legend, by Larry Tye

I’m delighted to introduce Bookgaga blog visitors to another splendid guest book reviewer. Barbara McVeigh is a dedicated and enthusiastic teacher-librarian working in Southwestern Ontario. She’s a writer and avid, omnivorous reader who combines her own interests, such as cycling, with particular emphasis in her reading and book curating on the area of sport literature. Barbara is active on Goodreads, and you’re guaranteed a lively discussion when you converse with her via Twitter – @barbaramcveigh.

The Sisters Brothers: A Defense

I was reluctant to read The Sisters Brothers for a long time. It was getting mixed reviews and being nominated for so many damn awards. Not a good sign. However, I bought (and read) the book because I was attending the Stephen Leacock Medal presentation, which The Sisters Brothers had won.

The book has been criticized as not having a story, for having too much senseless violence, and for its weird, anachronistic language and characters. Because of all these reasons, I loved the book.

In terms of plot, The Sisters Brothers moves along in short chapters. Each chapter left me breathless and wondering where the characters were going to next. We do not expect what happens to happen. For example, after being treated for a tooth infection and then robbing the dentist of his novocaine, the narrator defies a witch’s curse in order to save a horse he doesn’t want from a grizzly bear. These short chapters allow the brothers to quickly move from place to place and interact with the best the Wild West has to offer.

The novel also delivers emotional sucker-punches and subverts the expectations of the Western genre. In a typical Western, you’d have two cowboys in white hats who come to save the day. Instead, we have the brothers Charlie and Eli Sisters whose job it is to mercilessly kill Hermann Kermit Warm, and dispose of anybody who gets in their way. When hatching a plot, Charlie says: “Morals come later. I asked if [the plan] would make sense” (DeWitt 222). As they head towards their mission and move from misadventure to misadventure, we cheer them on.

The strength of the subversion lies in the empathy the reader feels for Eli Sisters. I read this book out loud to a student and was immediately struck by the strength of the voice: gravelly, rolling and soaked with whiskey. Now Eli isn’t just your run-of-the-mill heartless killer. He’s looking for true love and personal improvement. He is also loyal to his bloodthirsty brother. Yet, Charlie (whom is often described as a psychopath in reviews) doesn’t always come across as the baddest of the bad, either. At one point Charlie tells Eli the story of how Eli got his freckles. The story demonstrates their brotherly bond, as well as revealing Charlie’s protective spirit.

Still, these aren’t men in white hats. When the brothers are in situations where they could behave as if they were good guys, they defy our expectations. On their way to California to find Warm, Eli and Charlie come across a 15-year-old boy alone in the wild. They give him food and listen to his life story. Apparently, everyone who meets this boy hits him on the head. In the usual Western script, the reader would expect that the two heroes would adopt the boy and care for him. But Charlie and Eli can’t: They’re assassins. They hit the boy on the head to disarm him and then abandon him (not once, but twice) on their journey.

The reality of scenes like this would be horrible if played straight. Patrick DeWitt at the Stephen Leacock presentations spoke about using comedy as a weapon. The humour deflects the bite of reality. This is the Wild West “where life ha[s] no value” (Fisher). The boy evokes every sense of pathos: no mother, a missing father, unrequited love, and a naive optimism that the brothers will take him under their wing. Their interaction is touching and funny, and then the boy disappears from the book. Like all the minor characters in the novel, whether it be the intermissions girl, the dirt coffee prospector, or the weeping man, these characters appear “for no real reason” (Edwards). In an interview, DeWitt says that these characters have no symbolic value; they are just “semi-humorous vaudevillian prop[s] wandering into someone else’s scene” (Edwards). What these characters do provide is the quirkiness and atmosphere for this great rollicking story.

The action quickly continues to California and comes to an unexpected conclusion. There’s a moment when the elastic seems to snap backwards and fortunes are reversed, much like Martin Amis’s Time’s Arrow.

Initially, I felt the ending wasn’t satisfactory. There’s a reversal of position for Eli and Charlie, but I wanted them to get some sort of reward. A few readers (and definitely some characters) might say that, in the end, Charlie and Eli got their “just desserts”. Still, I felt that since we’ve grown to like these two anti-heroes, something good should’ve happened to them. But then I found, on second thought, that something good does happen; it’s just not in terms of a monetary prize.

Comedy as a weapon not only deflects the harshness of reality. If the humour is sharp, it also reveals a message or truth. And what does the humour of The Sisters Brothers reveal? That despite “the difficulties of family [and] how crazy and crooked the stories of a bloodline can be” (DeWitt 11), it is only family you can trust. In a world that changes in the blink of an eye and where life has no value, it is only with family you can find safety and home.

So should you read The Sisters Brothers, especially since there’s a danger you may hate it rather than love it? Here’s the warning I like best: “If the characters and briskly paced events don’t appeal to [you] early, it is unlikely it will get better” (Trembley). If you can preview the book, do. I strongly recommend that you saddle up and go on a wild ride with Eli and Charlie Sisters.

Works Cited

DeWitt, Patrick. The Sisters Brothers. Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2011. Print.

Edwards, Art. “An Interview with The Sisters Brothers Author Patrick deWitt.” The Nervous Breakdown. 13 July 2011. Web. 13 June 2012.

Fisher, Austin. “Chapter II: A Fistful of Lire.” Dissertation. Sergio Leone and the Western Myth: Reading the Ritual. 50Webs.com. 2000-2001. Web. 15 June 2012.

Trembley, Dave. Comment on Goodreads. 25 January 2012. Web. 13 June 2012.

Writer Mark Lavorato sets several daunting challenges for himself with the ambitious Being Cedric. His title character Cedric Johnson, middle-aged insurance broker, variously estranged from family, friends and former associates, isn’t particularly sympathetic – which is fine and true to life and all, but then perhaps something else might be needed to draw readers in. There are other characters with which one can establish some interest or understanding, but none of those characters are involved and sustained throughout the story.

Then there’s the matter of Cedric’s rather unique problem: the readers is to believe he is having physical flashbacks to key moments in his past, going back as far as childhood. He can’t change the outcome of those events, but he can view and assess them in the moment with full knowledge of their impact and the presumed wisdom of age. Can this problem come to attain some symbolic heft, transcend gimmickry to achieve something more profound? Early on this strange journey, the reader might be piqued but not entirely certain.

So, Lavorato’s writerly dilemmas in turn create some considerable challenges for his readers. Those challenges freight the book with vaguely discordant notes well into the first several segments, each consisting of a few stanzas of poetry and two prose pieces set in different time frames. However, readers who persevere with this somewhat cumbersome structure and at times thorny novel/linked short stories hybrid will be rewarded with the book’s surprising emotional payoff.

Is it a spoiler of sorts to suggest that with each successive chapter or segment, it becomes increasingly likely that while he’s the title character, Cedric isn’t the protagonist? It’s an interpretation that does help to remove the distraction of Cedric and his predicament and get to the heart of some more interesting character studies, such as his third-grade teacher, a former landlady, a disgruntled ex-business partner, an emergency room physician and most poignantly, his estranged daughter. Those character studies, while uneven, offer some absorbing and satisfying moments in this book.

While they’re meant to be part of the connective tissue of the book, the poetry sequences in each chapter suffer from unwieldy structure and phrasing in places, not really deepening our understanding of the related prose sections. Interestingly, the most stirring poetry in the book isn’t in these sequences, but in a discussion about human connection and poetry towards the end of the book, which includes this soaring evocation:

“Poetry is being deaf to the extravagant choir that is behind you, below you, above you. But singing anyway. It is the collective and soundless cacophony of our solitary melodies, which is humming, even now, ringing in our ears with its almost perfect silence.”

Perhaps that’s the clue. Whether intentional or not, the awkward poetry sequences end up being a lovely illustration of what a spiritual panacea writing poetry can be. Writing poetry seems to have been comforting and clarifying for at least one of the characters brushed by Cedric in his earthly and unearthly travels. By the same token, whether intentional or not, the at best glancing connections from chapter to chapter are a form of mourning for connections lost or never really made. It makes it worth forging to the end of this uneven but intriguing and at times touching book.

Thank you to Brindle & Glass and the author for providing a review copy of Believing Cedric, by Mark Lavorato.

In recent months, I’ve had the opportunity to approach some of my reading from an intriguingly different angle. I’ve been asked to prepare discussion questions for some House of Anansi Press titles, questions incorporated in readers’ guides that could be used for book clubs or study groups. Anansi has made readers’ guides available for download from their web site for numbers of their popular titles, and they’re also working to have questions printed and bound in some book editions. Whether the questions are used to spark group discussion and debate or are quietly employed for individual consideration, I think they’re a great way to deepen one’s reading experience and probe further into what you’ve just read.

I’ve discovered that formulating these questions – even, reading a book for the first time knowing you will be preparing questions – is also a great way to more fully appreciate a work, even a work you might not necessarily expect to like. You go in as a book’s advocate when you know you’re compiling questions, because you assume from the outset that people have been motivated to obtain the book, read it and discuss it with others, so there must be some respect for the book and positive perspectives on its value, out of respect for those readers. It’s a different kind of respect than discovering a book disappoints you, and you want to be able to articulate that constructively but perhaps firmly, to dissuade people from reading it at the expense of what you feel are worthier books, or to perhaps give a writer genuine, albeit critical feedback.

It doesn’t mean, either, that you’re acting as a suspiciously nice or damning-with-faint-praise Marilyn Hagerty-ish apologist for books that wouldn’t hold up to the scrutiny of a more straight-up review or qualitative analysis. If anything, I’d contend that developing questions for others to ponder might force you, the question-concocter, to pay attention and fathom the writer’s craft and intentions more concertedly than if you were reading for pleasure.

The following are the reader’s guide questions that I developed for Dr. Brinkley’s Tower by Robert Hough. (These are the questions I submitted to Anansi. An edited version of the questions are provided to accompany the book.) If you’ve read the book, are these questions useful for exploring the book further? If you haven’t read the book, do the questions perhaps spark your interest in the book? Either way, do you use and contemplate the questions posed by reader’s guides when they’re provided?

1. Señora Azula Mampajo, the town curandera or healer, is viewed more with fear or repulsion by the citizens of Corazon de la Fuente than with reverence or respect. Do those attitudes change by the end of the story? If so, why? If not, why not?

2. Dr. Brinkley’s Tower is told from a variety of points of view. Does this give a better sense of the different perspectives on the benefits and challenges of the changes that come to Corazon de la Fuente, or does it make the story more cacophonous and confusing? If the story was only told from one character’s point of view (which, of course, might mean that certain parts of the story might not be told at all), which character would you choose?

3. The colour green has almost consistently positive connotations and symbolic significance across cultures. Green conveys hope, fertility, abundance, birth and rebirth, freshness and purity, and is clearly associated with the natural world. How is the colour green used, with increasing intensity and pervasiveness, in Dr. Brinkley’s Tower?

4. Dr. Brinkley’s Tower is a sensory cornucopia, spilling over with sights, sounds, smells, tastes and sensations from the sensuous to the repugnant and horrific. Give appealing and not-so-appealing examples of vivid descriptions that pique each of a reader’s senses.

5. What is more insidious: the physical effects of the transmission of Radio XER, or the mental and spiritual?

6. From revolution and oppressions, to a post-revolution shell-shocked torpor, to the bewildering but perhaps promising early days of the construction of Dr. Brinkley’s tower, to the promise of prosperity and all that ensues … is there ever a time when Corazon de la Fuente is not in upheaval in one form or another? If there is a time, however brief, when in the story would you pinpoint it?

7. Name three seemingly unlikely pairings of characters – in romance, business, crime and so on – in Dr. Brinkley’s Tower. Which pair is your favourite and why?

8. Who is the most foolish or gullible character in Dr. Brinkley’s Tower, and who is the most savvy and resourceful? Who is toughest, perhaps the most hard-hearted? Who is most tender and compassionate? Which character surprised you the most, for good or for bad?

9. Where do the satirical barbs of Dr. Brinkley’s Tower best hit their marks? Is it with individual human pride, hubris and folly; collective human pride, hubris, folly and duplicity in conflict or commerce; the differences and conflicts between men and women … or something else entirely?

10. Compare and contrast the business acumen and managerial styles of Dr. Brinkley and Madam Félix.

11. Who tells the most damaging lie in Dr. Brinkley’s Tower?

12. When Ramon and his intimidating cronies come to Corazon de la Fuente, ostensibly hired to protect Madam Félix and her Marias in the House of Gentlemanly Pleasures, the town is quickly subjected to a new regimen of rules and social “justice”: “And so Ramón invented a code of conduct for the people of Corazón de la Fuente to disobey. Ironically, many of these bore a moralistic hue, which is always the case when laws are created by the despicable … There was no shortage of offenders — Ramón’s rules were so complicated and nonsensical that Ramón himself barely understood them.” In the mayhem that ensues, what is the book perhaps saying about contemporary approaches to crime and punishment?

13. Will Francisco and Violeta live happily ever after? What will strengthen their bond and what might challenge it?

14. Is Dr. Brinkley more a figure of premeditated evil or tragic folly? Does knowing that he is based on a real-life figure change your perception of him?

15. “If there was one thing the molinero had learned in his long, long life it was that men will always find something to fight about, the rationale not mattering nearly so much as the fighting itself. This was just one of the reasons he so preferred women …” Does Dr. Brinkley’s Tower dwell too much on male and female stereotypes, or can you provide examples to the contrary?

16. Ultimately, does the experience with Dr. Brinkley bring out more of the best or the worst of humanity? Pick only one and support that choice.

17. Will Corazon de la Fuente rebuild, or is its future as Nuevo Laredo?

Thank you to House of Anansi Press for the opportunity to read an advance version of Dr Brinkley’s Tower by Robert Hough.

See also:

Book Review: Dr. Brinkley’s Tower, by Robert Hough
by Michael Hingston, National Post
February 24, 2012

I’ve also prepared reader guide questions for:

• The Antagonist
• Easy to Like