David Yoon
This things packs a hefty emotional wallop. A semi-autobiographical account of the expulsion of nearly 80,000 Asians from Uganda during the reign of Idi Amin. Relegated to a footnote in the history books the exiled Asians had called Uganda home for generations. Had built businesses, families, lives in their adopted country only to be told they had 90 days to leave.
It's an incredibly beautiful story. Raju's early encounter with the boy Prem is finely wrought and echoes the larger theme of the book. There are so many interconnected themes shot throughout.
The book stands on it's own merits. But as added bonus, author Tasneem Jamal is from Kitchener. The family's journey there references local landmarks like the Schneider's highway sign and Howard Robertson school for that giddy feeling of familiarity.
This is one of those books you just want everyone to read.
It is closer to what we experience when we read online. The Paris Review excerpts a chapter from the book and it's a seamless, almost better experience online.
He calls it a Phenomenology With Illustrations but it's more literary philosophy for the rest of us.
Deb and Chip are newly married and off on their honeymoon when they discover mermaids. Naturally. Suddenly their compatriot in discovery, a marine biologist, is found dead in her bathtub and they align themselves with a motley crew that includes a Japanese YouTuber and ex Navy SEAL to thwart the mega corporation that seeks to put the mermaids front and centre of a massive theme park. At parts funny the writing isn't up to the premise and I'm still scratching my head at the massive mic drop that ends the book.
It's magical realism, supernatural horror, metaphoric thriller set in a ruined Detroit. It opens with a 10 year old boy, cut in half and crudely sewn onto the legs of a fawn. We're introduced to a slew of characters with wildly divergent stories along with the killer himself. He's propelled by a singular artistic vision and struggling to find the means to rip the skin that separates worlds. He's full on crazy town and it slowly begins to infect the rest of the narrative. It's the dream that wants to be made real but needs an audience to truly manifest itself.
There's something there, a grad school dissertation on internet culture. Catfishing, cyberbulling, YouTube fame, Reddit conspiracy theorists, but all I want is David Fincher to get a hold of this a make it into the movie it needs to be.
Peter Leigh is a Christian minister sent to the planet “Oasis”. He's replacing the last minister who had mysteriously “gone native”.
Christian missions in foreign lands are fraught with problems and the spectre of past indiscretions but here the natives hunger for the “technique of Jesus” and to learn from the “Book of Strange New Things”. It's a rare seduction to be so readily embraced, the Oasans going so far as to halt trade with the human settlers until a replacement minister arrives. While Peter's every word falls on devout ears his wife back at home finds no succour in his messages while her world seems to fall apart in his absence. Food shortages, riots, natural disasters, economic ruin and tragedies both global and close to home plague her.
Author Michael Faber is himself an atheist but never treats minister Peter Leigh as a caricature and avoids the obvious. He treats his faith with sincerity and we have a minister who truly believes.
I don't often consider the author when I read but here, with a book shot through with rich metaphor, I can't help it. An atheist who lost his wife to disease prompting him to call this his last book - writing about faith, vast insurmountable distances, the problems of success shared as another suffers. (Faber is also the author of Under the Skin recently made into a movie starring Scarlett Johansson) This thing works on so many levels.
How we make end of life decisions is still hampered by our need to have answers, to prolong life. Doctors offer us information, explaining what the red pill does vs the blue pill. In a telling moment, Atul Gawande along with his mother is listening to the attending doctor explain possible treatment options for his ailing father. All three Gawande's are doctors themselves but found the options confusing and difficult to parse.
Outlining treatment options isn't as important as considering how we want to end our lives. What comes through in the book is that, for terminal patients, the cure is often worse than the disease. That prolonging life comes at the cost of the quality of that time.
Gawande also spends time on elder care facilities and their need to better cater to the lives being lived there. Autonomy, privacy and possessions trump schedules, spartan arrangements and concessions made in the name of safety.
Gawande is a warm writer with a wonderful bedside manner. I've already gifted this book to my folks, even though they've got years to go, to better discuss what's important to them as they age.
If anything it only serves to remind me how much of the classics I've yet to read. And while I can delight in those that I have, feeling smug in my recognition of phrases from J. Alfred Prufrock (the yellow smoke!) and my beloved Jane Eyre - I'm left adrift with Dickens, Cormac McCarthy and Henry James. And yes, The Hunger Grains would be the perfect name for Peeta's bakery.
So while a lot of the time it feels like i'm laughing along just based on context cues (Marius just seems like he's the worst) I'm too often lost and feeling shame over my clearly squandered English degree which was supposed to prepare me for books like this! Point removed for making me face my own literary inadequacies - I should totally know what the hell Coleridge is going on about!
Maybe we don't need another book telling us how we as a species are having untold effects on the planet. Climate change, animal extinction, oceanic pollution, energy issues - we face severe challenges but Ackerman is an optimist (and a poet besides). She explores innovative solutions that showcase our resourcefulness as a species and is cautiously optimistic about our ability to solve some of the very problems we've created. Like other books of it's ilk, she can only offer fleeting glimpses of our ingenuity as she cruises on to the next but it is with an infectious sense of wonder.
I love that a large part of Citizen is a poetic smackdown over a former colleague's poorly worded poem that he later tried to mansplain away, going as far as to say “this poem is for white people.”
Rankine was having none of that and here creates something that explores how crazy making these small slights can be. A friend who refers to you by the name of her black housekeeper. a colleague bristling over having to hire a person of colour. And then being told not to over react, that it's no big deal.
This daily act of erasure, of quietly moving past these incidents, has a physical toll and she pokes at it here. She will widen her scope to explore Trayvon Martin, James Craig Anderson and the Jena Six.
I like what poetry here can do that novels, long form articles and op eds cannot.
I admit I flipped through the first few pages at the bookstore and noped it right back on the shelf. I've little knowledge of the Cultural Revolution and it seemed a far cry from the expansive sci-fi promised on the cover. But Ye Wenjie witnessing the death of her father in these opening chapters informs her motivations going forward as she becomes an astrophysicist who makes first contact.
I've never really examined my pollyanna notions of first contact, informed by Zefram Cochrane and his contact with the Vulcans in Star Trek lore. Rationally it would be more akin to colonizers landing in the new world spreading small pox, religious indoctrination and mass genocide - Earth, just another world ripe for plunder. And of course there would some among us hungry for this alien annihilation believing it a punishment we so rightly deserve.
And then there's the alien Trisolarans who, understanding that an invasion will take 400 years, can admit that our current explosive technological progress might quickly outpace their alien knowledge in the ensuring centuries. That something must be done. That they must kill our science.
I'm giddy with the slow burn of first contact and the ideas explored here. This is hard-sci-fi that still manages to be absolutely wild with a wonderful translation by Ken Liu.
Company Town is the story of Go Jung-Hwa, the half-Korean, all Newfie daughter of an embittered ex K-Pop star working as a bodyguard for the sex workers' union, on an oil rig city off the coast of Newfoundland. Whew - that was enough to sell me.
Hwa suffers from Sturge-Weber Syndrome that leaves her with a port-wine stain across her face and body as well as leaving her prone to seizures. Most would have had the necessary implants to cure the disease but she's financially unable. Instead, as a purely organic, non-augmented human she's essentially un-hackable which proves beneficial when she's tasked with being the bodyguard to the young scion of a powerful tycoon that has essentially purchased the city Hwa lives in.
This is the definition of a page turner. Perfectly engineered to an almost insidious level to promote late night, “Just one more chapter” consumption. Ashby drops some serious beats throughout the story and pushes you right through till the end. Hits all the right sci-fi notes for me.
I feel about it the same way I do about a highly regarded albums on Pitchfork. I don't think I'm quite smart or depressed enough to fully get it. As one reviewer puts it, “it explores isolation, creativity and the permeable membrane between outer and inner worlds; how childhood dreams and teenage obsessions colour the infinite expanses of the mind; and how far we can share our interior journeys.” I'll be over here listening to Taylor Swift I guess.
The Ministry of Time sits somewhere on the chronal courtship continuum between The Time Traveller's Wife and This is How You Lose the Time War. Apparently I've got a soft spot for timey-wimey romance.
Our protagonist is a “bridge” working for the Ministry of Expatriation. What that means is she's a live-in keeper and guide to the 21st century to one Commander Graham Gore. Instead of dying somewhere in the Arctic in 1847, Gore has been pulled into the present by the British government who have recently discovered time travel.
It's a bit cozy for a secretive government agency. Snatching random folks across history into the present, to hole them up in a lovely flat with a modern day member of the opposite sex is about as convoluted a meet-cute as you're going to get. The sci-fi equivalent of the busy big city executive going back to her home town to meet the chiseled Christmas tree vendor who's had a glow-up since his nerdy high school days. But hey, I'm all for a suspension of disbelief.
And it is interesting to see how these folks adjust to the new world. It's not just Spotify, airplanes, and washing machines, but the Holocaust, Hiroshima and 9/11. And what does it mean to exist centuries out of your own time? How does one maintain a “hereness” so fully removed from your temporal origins?
But that's all speculative window dressing to the slow burn romance on display. Bradley could have just as easily relied on the wonder of the sci-fi conceit, but instead the prose sparkles and Gore is overflowing with old world charm. He's got charisma for days, freed from the constraints and cold of a tireless Arctic expedition. In fact, all the temporally displaced “expatriots” are wonderfully realized eccentrics with a penchant for snappy dialogue. I just love the way Bradley turns a phrase.
There are disappearances and double-crosses, not to mention casualties and conspiracies to ratchet up the tension but in the end it's the characters on the page that won me over. This is made for adaptation and ripe for a sequel. I can't wait to see more from Kaliane Bradley!
This mines every single Hallmark, rom-com movie trope and throws it on the page. Daddy's little girl with the million dollar wedding that's on a bridezilla hair trigger, her bland, smiling fiancé still dealing with the death of his first wife, his surly tween daughter, the blue-collar best man hitting on anything that moves, along with the day drinking mother of the bride. The weeklong extravaganza collides head on into Phoebe Stone who is the sole guest at the posh Cornwall Inn that isn't part of the wedding and, if all goes to plan, won't be a part of the world either.
Phoebe's 12-year marriage has dissolved over Zoom. Her ex-husband has decided to shack up with Phoebe's work bestie which means she's forced to encounter them in her hastily fashioned office which also serves as the photocopier room and coffee station. Oh, and her cat has died. Determined to end her life, she instead finds new reserves of IDGAF, becomes Lila's maid of honour, and finally starts to say what she's thinking.
Now what if you take all of that seriously. (Let's not forget that Phoebe happens to be working on an academic paper that focuses on 19th century British novels concerning marriage) Here Espach imbues every single one of these characters, that could so easily be reduced to caricature and sneering pokes, with real human heart. They are fully realized people, a little ridiculous sure, but confused and hurt and just trying to catch up. I mean you can call Jane Eyre a romance too but it doesn't diminish the genius of Bronte's work a whit.
I loved the tension it created, and maybe it was just all in my head — but what does a more grounded story entail? Where does the author choose to end this particular type of book? How might this situation play out in the “real world” instead of within the constraints of a typical romance novel? What does a happy ending look like with clear eyed reasoning?
Maybe I'm overthinking it. The characters are a ton of fun, absolutely a blast to hang out with even as it all goes off the rails, and in the end I felt empathy for every one of them. A perfect summer read.
On the evening of the school fundraiser a parent is killed, perhaps murdered, amidst the general mayhem of duelling Elvis' and screaming Audrey Hepburns. It's hard to suss out the actual details with all the gossipy innuendo surrounding a French nanny, bullied kids and an erotic book club. There's a lot going on here and Moriarity handles it all with a deft hand, mixing humour with darker truths and snappy banter. It's a literary Desperate Housewives meets earnest After School special for adults without tilting too far into either camp.
Three preteen girls meet at a Fourth of July BBQ in the 80's which marks the beginning of their loosely intertwined lives. From there they being to forge distinct paths for themselves that frame the three sections of the book.
Giselle Chin is a performance artist seeking to fully become an art monster, Jackie Ong is a coder trying to build and sustain an online community, and Ellen Ng is a commune living squatter eking out an existence at the edges of society. All three are creatives in a world that pushes back against the purity of the work and any hope of escaping the clutches of capitalism. Their work is compromised in some way, inevitable in the world of art and technology, but even in the dystopian future, Ellen's punk ethos still can't completely escape big corporate.
But it's about navigating that reality and emerging into the possibility of something better. That capitulation may be inevitable, but there still remains the chance of something more. The project is ever ongoing.
And while characters are named Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin and Ballister Blackheart there's more to them than that. Nothing is what it seems and there's a shifting of lines throughout. It's manages a balance between fantasy and science fiction with jousting matches leading to bionic arms. Even the humor is cut through with feels ...and shark boobs ftw
The residents of a tiny island of the south coast of Newfoundland are targeted for relocation. Avoiding having to provide essential services to the isolated crag means the government can offer every resident $100K to leave - but everyone has to accept. Moses Sweetland is the lone standout.
It doesn't seem enough to frame a book around but Michael Crummey is an absolutely beautiful writer, and native Newfoundlander, who writes incredibly living and unique characters. From Moses himself to the chain-smoking, romance reading Queenie Coffin who hasn't left her house in 40 years. Or the shit-disturbing, good-time newfies, the Priddle brothers.
You can read as a meditation on dealing with a terminal illness, or maybe an elegy to a lost way of life for many Newfoundlanders. But even at it face value it's an incredibly good read.
Lester Ferris is the Brevet-Consul to Her Majesty on the tiny island of Mancreau, somewhere off the coast of North Africa. Years of irresponsibly disposed chemicals have been stewing merrily underneath the island, resulting in potentially deadly Discharge Clouds erupting periodically. So the island is slated for destruction and in the meantime lives in an international limbo that attracts a lawless cadre of ships called the Black Fleet where one might partake in illegal surgeries, trafficking of all kinds and military torture.
It's in that sun drenched Gotham we witness the transformation of Lester Harris into Tigerman, prompted in no small part by his mysterious and unnamed young friend who flippantly refers to himself as Robin. He is the Obi Wan to Lester's Luke. Full of win and rocking it Gangnam style he is the connected, new world to Lester's old.
Despite being firmly rooted in the comics tradition, the book is nonetheless a more serious work compared to the steampunk aesthetic and apocalypse bees of Angelmaker. Pulpy, shadowy, Graham Greene tropical thriller with a chewy heart.
The English department is under attack, literally crumbling after funding cutbacks not to mention a construction crew refurbishing the Economic department's floor and filling the air with dust, and probably asbestos, to be breathed in by those poor saps unable to scamper off to other environs.
Meanwhile a beleaguered and aging English professor continues to write out letters of recommendation to current and former students looking to parlay their degree into work at the local paintball arena or as unpaid interns. (oh god the truth to that)
It's wry look at the state of liberal arts education, writers workshops and some inside baseball about the publishing industry. Professor Fitger is an old school grump with a love for the written word but no patience for fools, himself included. A fun diversionary read.
I imagine with the growing popularity of Norwegian crime novelist Jo Nesbo, Hollywood came looking for a property they could do a film adaptation for that didn't carry the weight of a 10 book series ala Harry Hole.
Nesbo is mining familiar territory featuring a damaged cop with a dark past nearing retirement, the eager protege, rampant corruption within the force and a unique and colourful cast of underworld characters. Take for example Sonny Lofthus who has been in prison for over a decade, hooked on heroin and absolving the sins of his fellow inmates after his hero father's apparent suicide to avoid disgrace. When he finds out his father was set up and killed, Sonny kicks his habit (easy) and goes on a remarkably clear-headed but blood spattered revenge spree. Suspension of disbelief required - this feels more like a movie plot for the latest Bruckheimer movie than a literary thriller. It's made for the big screen but it's still an enjoyable page turner.
Pink seems such an unlikely accent to the black ink illustration but it works. Cho does cityscapes incredibly well from a night-time shot of an empty basketball court, to the busy rush of traffic late at night to the quiet variety store outside the core. (His Back Alleys and Urban Landscapes book showcasing Toronto is stunningly good) The artwork here is beautiful.
Corrina Park isn't sure what she's doing. Writing ad copy at an advertising firm post English Lit degree isn't where she'd thought she'd be 5 years after graduating. It's a familiar territory, how'd I end up here alone in the big city writing banal blurbs for empty products when I could be writing my passion. But Cho manages to be melancholic without being bitter. And Corrina is sympathetic and quietly rendered when she could have been cloying and obvious in other hands.
“Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.”
A young German girl's brother dies as their communist branded mother takes them to their new foster home. Introduce a Jewish man who escapes the Holocaust in the heart of Nazi Germany during the the Second World War. Have Death narrate the story. Oh, and we're gonna put it in the teen section.
Pure storytelling populated with characters you will come to love. Markus Zusak is rightfully lauded for his work here painting real characters. The squat, cardboard faced Rosa. Lemon haired and defiant Rudy who paints himself black in homage to Jesse Owens, Liesel the book thief and so many more.
Loved this book.
This is a pure, winter comfort read that belies the pain and loss at the heart of the story. Madeleine Altimari is living in a cockroach infested apartment with a father nearly comatose with grief after the death of his wife. Jack Lorca is on the verge of losing his jazz club not to mention the tenuous relationship he has with his son. Sarina Greene is divorced and lonely in a new city. But the language that ushers each of them, inexorably, to the Cat's Pajamas is dazzling and light. Musicians arpeggiate through the park and flurries somersault, reconsider and double back. The writing is sharp and wry and imbued with a sparkling touch.
Lew Bryson has an easy conversational style and touches on the aspects that make whisky from Scotland different than that from Ireland, Japan, Canada and the United States as well as what some of the craft distillers are getting up, tramping through the path laid out by the explosion of craft brewers. As managing editor for Whisky Advocate he's afforded a rich perspective. I mean you could just drink whisky without a second thought to how it's produced, the generations of effort and the many, minute factors that make each tipple unique - but it tastes that much better if you're armed with a little bit of knowledge. Cheers!