Posts Tagged ‘A Reader Reports’

A Reader Reports: Lost in Booktopia

Wednesday, December 7th, 2011

Hello, and welcome to the third edition of A Reader Reports! I love talking to you about recent reads; I can’t believe I waited so long to make it a blog feature. I’ve been reading like a fiend lately (reading while breastfeeding = win!) and without a particular program – just falling into whatever book is new to me and nearby, with amazing and enlightening results.

Zsuzsi Gartner, Better Living Through Plastic Explosives

I read Zsuzsi Gartner’s first short-story collection, All the Anxious Girls on Earth, in 2000 and fell for it, hard. I admired Gartner’s prose style, eye for detail, and satire. I also loved her prickly relationship with Vancouver; the city is practically a character in itself. Having loved the first book so much, I was very anxious about the new one.

I should have had more faith. Gartner is better than ever – funnier, angrier, fiercer, bolder, subtler. She’s still primarily a satirist, writing within a long tradition but in a slightly futuristic, quasi-fantastic, dystopian world. She’s still terribly funny, too, and her vision is so dark that you flinch as much as you laugh. And yes, she still detests Vancouver. And pretension. And most people, apparently. But she now displays more compassion for the characters she scourges, and that’s what makes this a finer work of art. There’s real empathy here, and a sense of mourning for a world gone terribly, probably irredeemably, wrong.

Andrea Levy, The Long Song

One reason I resist e-readers is because they deny me one of my favourite habits: browsing other people’s bookshelves. I love, love, love peering into people’s brains via their reading habits, as well as how and where they keep their books. I spotted this one on top of a small pile in my parents’ living room. I’d never heard of it, although clearly I should have. It’s an absolutely first-rate historical novel about Miss July, a house slave on a sugar plantation in early nineteenth-century Jamaica. Beautifully written, bursting with respectful and vivid dialect, and funny. You might not see much room for humour in life under slavery, but Levy is persuasive on this subject. Life, no matter how brutal, is tricky and surprising and leaves room for humour if you’re the sort of person to see it. She clearly is, and the result is utterly memorable.

Jill Paton Walsh, The Attenbury Emeralds

You may already know how much I adore the detective fiction of Dorothy L. Sayers and especially her sleuth, Peter Wimsey. If you haven’t had the pleasure of reading Gaudy Night, please do so as soon as possible. I dream of writing (but will never manage) a mystery novel as good, or a romantic couple with the depth and heart of Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane. This knowledge doesn’t stop me from reading and re-reading Sayers with utter pleasure.

All Sayers fans feel the same way, so Jill Paton Walsh risks life and reputation in writing a continuation of their story. The mystery here is beside the point; all really want to know is What Happened Next with Peter and Harriet. And this shows: while the mystery is twisty and fairly clever, its structure is inherently broken-backed and the dénouement should have been stronger. But the life stuff – the ongoing romance, the family story – is really, really good. Paton Walsh’s research into the post-war period feels authentic and she creates a complex and believable life for Peter (the younger son of a duke, and thus a central part in a class system that’s beginning to feel its irrelevance), Harriet (his detective-novelist, bluestocking wife), and their family. It’s a satisfying book when you’re reading for Peter-and-Harriet and using the mystery as a pacing device. This sounds like faint praise (or passive-aggressive criticism), but it’s a significant achievement and Paton Walsh’s writing is clean and elegant in its homage to Sayers, especially when giving voice to the other members of the Wimsey family.

Miriam Toews, The Flying Troutmans

This novel really shouldn’t work: it’s a self-consciously zany, neurotic, roadtripping, coming-of-age saga about a family with serious mental health issues. It’s largely, deliberately, plotless. It’s written almost entirely in dialogue. It ends with redemption. And it’s absolutely fantastic.

Miriam Toews has a brilliant ear, an enormous amount of sympathy for misfits, and a fine understanding of the endless difficulties of being a weird kid. The Flying Troutmans is like a perfect rebuttal, or a reverse-engineered recipe: take all the groan-inducing clichés of CanLit. Add a fiercely self-conscious wit. And suddenly, you have a completely addictive firecracker of a novel. (In fact, between them, Miriam Toews and Zsuzsi Gartner offer a brilliant and convincing refutation of all that people complain of in Canadian literature.) This was SO good, you guys.

Robert van Gulik, The Chinese Maze Murders

Oh, I’m ambivalent about this one. Robert van Gulik was a diplomat and scholar of ancient Chinese detective fiction. He knew far more about the Chinese tradition of murder-mysteries than I ever will. His aim in writing (this novel is part of a series featuring his sleuth, Justice Dee) was to share that tradition with contemporary Western readers, and in this he partly succeeds: I learned some interesting details about justice and daily life during the Ming Dynasty, and enjoyed van Gulik’s period-style illustrations.

But even now, I’m not sure how much of what I disliked was due to the genre/tradition, and how much was van Gulik’s own contribution. The narrative style is mannered and stilted, the characters are entirely two-dimensional, and most of the twists in the plot were given away in the jacket copy! The one element that I know was van Gulik’s idea (the identity & motivation of the last murderer) is very much a sensationalist cliché of his time (the 1950s), which I can’t help reading with a modern sensibility. Finally, this edition (published by the University of Chicago Press, which really ought to do better) also contains a number of distracting typos. Still, it has novelty value and while I wouldn’t read another Judge Dee mystery, I appreciated learning a little about a different tradition of detective fiction.

How about you, friends? What have you been reading?

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A Reader Reports: Hot Streak

Wednesday, October 12th, 2011

Hello, and welcome to the second instalment of A Reader Reports, which is very much what the title promises. I’ve had an absolutely wonderful streak of books lately – so much so that I’m a bit worried about what’s coming next, in case it doesn’t live up to its predecessors. The Fabulous Four, in the order I read them, are:

Shadows on the Moon, by Zoë Marriott

I flicked this one open quite casually, thinking that I might just browse a little before saving it it for a while. Then I read the first paragraph: “On my fourteenth birthday when the sakura was in full bloom, the men came to kill us. We saw them come, Aimi and me. We were excited, because we did not know how to be frightened. We had never seen soldiers before.” But it’s not just a tense, fast-paced adventure story. Zoë re-tells the Cinderella story in a way that makes Suzume, the main character, a real heroine: determined, resourceful, intelligent, and brave. She folds into the story cultural details about a country that resembles, but is not, feudal Japan. And she plays with the idea of what it means to be exotic with witty, thoughtful results.

Jane Austen: A Life, by Claire Tomalin

I’ve raved about Claire Tomalin here before, so I’ll keep this brief. I cannot imagine a more sensitive, satisfying exploration of Jane Austen’s elusive life story. Tomalin fills in the gaps gently, suggests enticing possibilities, and offers a thoroughly convincing theory for Austen’s quiet period. She also reads the novels with authority and her argument about Sense and Sensibility (until now my least-favourite Austen novel; Tomalin claims it’s a conflicted debate about propriety and Romanticism, which intrigues me) makes me want to re-read it more attentively.

Plain Kate, by Erin Bow

This book just won – and entirely deserved to win – the TD Canadian Children’s Literature Award! It’s a stunner of a novel about an orphaned carver girl, the Plain Kate of the title. The novel is a fairy tale, a ghost story, a coming-of-age tale, and a meditation on family, all told in beautifully precise and elegant prose. And did I mention the talking cat? I cried myself to a  pulp reading this and the world is a better place for its existence.

Faith Fox, by Jane Gardam

I love Jane Gardam’s work. She’s a ruthless observer of human weakness, yet affectionate towards the ridiculousness of her characters’ behaviour. She creates absurd situations with outrageous levels of coincidence, yet they feel absolutely realistic at the same time. Faith Fox is a baby whose mother dies in childbirth, setting off a series of actions and reactions – Faith is just the catalyst. As always with Gardam, it’s not about the plot at all; instead, I revel in her language, her astoundingly precise and surprising characterization, and her gift of being able to see into so many different times and places and minds with such clarity.

Whew. So. What have you been reading?

P. S. I bought Shadows on the Moon and Plain Kate with my own money; Jane Austen and Faith Fox were gifts from my husband, who is also clearly on a hot streak.

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A Reader Reports: Postpartum Edition

Wednesday, August 17th, 2011

Hello, friends. You know how, from time to time, I talk about what I’ve been reading? I’m going to start calling it A Reader Reports (not least because the initials spell “arr”, me hearties!) and making it a regular-ish feature.

At the moment, I spend most of my time with a floppy-yet-lunging baby and trying to remember critical things like where I left my coffee cup. As a result, I have 2 new criteria for things I read:

1. Words must be served in snack-sized portions. Short stories are great. Fact-packed non-fiction is even better, because I can drop it when necessary and remember where I left off (most of the time) without having broken the spell.

2. The pages must lie flat and stay open while my hands do other things.

I know, I know – the second stipulation is just absurd. I hope one day to have one hand free to hold a book. But in the meantime, here’s what I’ve been pecking at.

I confess, I wasn’t sure I’d like a blog-inspired book about gardening. I’m not a good – or even mediocre – gardener. I’m also suspicious of blog-spawned books, which are so often single-idea stunts rather than thoughtfully constructed narratives. But Merilyn Simonds’s A New Leaf: Growing with My Garden is absolutely terrific. Simonds has a warm, expansive, wry, and sometimes sly voice that invites you into her world. She’s great on rituals, mistakes, frustrations, and unexpected delights. And she’s always learning, always experimenting. It’s a powerful blend of everything I love, all applied to a subject I know little about. Merilyn Simonds makes me want to garden like a fiend – assuming that fiends do, indeed, garden. I’m a little afraid of this new force she’s unleashed within me. For now, it’s all held in check by the fact that I have no hands with which to turn the pages, but I can plot. Oh yes.

In our house, we have a strict rule about magazines: anything more than 3 months old gets recycled, whether it’s been read or not. Unless it’s a classic car mag. Or Top Gear. Or a design mag. Or that one about restoring old homes. Or… you get the idea. We are drowning in old magazines. But the stockpile has come in very handy with the appearance of Rule #2, above, and I’ve been reading old issues of the New Yorker, in particular, from cover to cover. (The image above comes from its profile of Jaron Lanier. I’d link it, but subscription’s required.)

I’ve been reading snippets of Joe Moran’s Queuing for Beginners: The Story of Daily Life from Breakfast to Bedtime for months, now. But I suspect this may be the best way to read it. It’s a light-hearted book of social anthropology, crammed with details you immediately have to relay to the people nearest you (even if you’re in a doctor’s waiting room – trust me on that one). If you read it in a long session, the details begin to overwhelm you and they’re less delightful than they might otherwise be. And that would be a shame because they’re amazing, in both senses of the word.

And that’s my report for the past month or so. What are you all reading?

*Also, a little reminder to those in the Greater Toronto Area: I’ll be at the Mississauga Central Library on Saturday, August 27, from 2-4. Tickets are free, but you must have a ticket to attend. More details here. Hope to see you there!*

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