Category Archives: Reading

14: Room

From the fall 2012 VPL book sale.

Read in May 2013.

Here’s one I probably don’t need to say much about. You’ve either read it or you’ve read about it. My question going in was “will it live up to the hype?” The answer: yes.

Jack, the narrator, is five years old. His mother, who he calls Ma, is 26. They live in a 12×12 room, which turns out to be a garden shed (spoiler? I think that horse has left the barn). Jack thinks Room is the whole world and everything else is “TV” (imaginary). Jack calls everything by proper nouns: Bed, Wardrobe, Door. This is partly because there is only one of each of these things in his world. But also, I wondered if it didn’t partly come from the children’s shows he likes to watch. For example, he’s a big fan of Dora, and Dora’s backpack is called Backpack.

Ma has managed to shelter Jack from the reality of their situation, but now that he’s five, he’s starting to ask questions. She decides to tell him the truth. Events start snowballing from there.

What I thought was particularly impressive about Room was the pacing. It starts off at an almost oppressive pace, detailing the minutia of a day in the room. But then just when you start to think “I’m not sure how much more this I can take” Donoghue shifts gears, and the story speeds up to an almost frenetic pace. Finally, she slows it down again, letting readers catch their breaths.

I know some readers didn’t like the story being told in Jack’s voice—they find kid-voices annoying or question the authenticity of his thoughts—but I think to tell this particular story, it had to be from his pov. If it were told from Ma’s pov, it would be a story we’ve heard before. We also have no trouble imagining how we’d feel if we were kidnapped/falsely imprisoned. So telling the story from Ma’s pov sets up a very different narrator/reader dynamic. Jack’s situation is outside the realm of our experience . Readers have to work harder to understand his perspective, not because he’s a child, but because we (with few exceptions) didn’t start off life like Jack did.

tl;dr: It is easy for us to empathize with Ma; we have to work to empathize with Jack.

And that’s why I think the last part, when Jack is suffering from sensory overload, when he wants to go back, is so important. This story is not about freedom, as it would be if it was told from Ma’s pov, but about adjustment. Jack has to adjust the entire framework of his life experience.

13: The Flying Troutmans

The Flying Troutmans by Miriam Toews

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

From the Spring 2011 VPL book sale.

Read in April 2013.

View all my reviews

Hattie Troutman was living in Paris with her boyfriend, but returns home to take care of her sister Min’s kids when Min has a psychotic break and is hospitalized. Hattie is 28; her nephew Logan is 15 and niece Thebes (short for Theodora) is 11.

Hattie is unsure about taking on this responsibility and decides to take the kids and go look for their father, Cherkis, who left years before. Which means… road trip! Yes, this is a road trip book. Love. Most of the story takes place on the road. Naturally, they have a crumbling van and stay at cheap motels in dusty towns populated by quirky characters.

They start in South Dakota, where Hattie knows Cherkis used to live. There, they get a lead that he moved to California, so they head off cross-country. On the way, they have adventures (of course).

I’m not sure when this is supposed to be set, but they drive across the border without showing ID and Hattie keeps making calls to the hospital to check on Min’s condition from pay phones, so I’ll assume back at least a decade (it was published in 2008).

I think I’ll stop here lest I say anything spoilery. I loved this book.

12: The Cottage Builder’s Letter

The Cottage Builder’s Letter by George Murray

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

From the Book Shop in Penticton.

Read in April 2013.

View all my reviews

Since it was poetry month, I thought I’d read some poetry. This one’s been on my to-read shelf for a while (how long? not sure. I think it’s probably from my 2009 trip to the Book Shop). You may be familiar with George Murray as the proprietor of the (sadly no-longer-updated) book blog Bookninja.

Most of the poems in The Cottage Builder’s Letter are narrative poems (stories in poetry), many of them multi-part. A number of the poems are semi-formal in construction, e.g. poems consisting of all 3-line stanzas or all 2-line stanzas, poems where a phrase/word sequence is repeated in each line or stanza.

This was one of those books that I wanted to like more than I did. The writing was good; the poems skillfully composed, but for whatever reason, I didn’t really connect with them. Maybe it was that there were too many unfamiliar references. I’m not sure.

I did like this one, especially the last stanza:

LIBRARY

Maybe you know how
to live in a way
that isn’t just about breathing,
but I don’t —
so please: reserve this
space for me.

(Rest here a moment
without thinking)

In what manner you choose
to keep your books:
I know this little part of you,
hold it sacred —
it’s your other secrets,
if any, that are not safe with me.

—The Cottage Builder’s Letter, 55

11: Why is Always About You?

Why Is It Always About You? : The Seven Deadly Sins of Narcissism by Sandy Hotchkiss

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This one was passed along to me.

Read in March/April 2013.

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Part I describes the 7 deadly sins of the title:

Shamelessness (shame = personal flaw)
Magical Thinking (fantasy world)
Arrogance (value = relative)
Envy (need to be superior)
Entitlement (expect to get what they want)
Exploitation (lack of empathy)
Bad Boundaries (violate others’ boundaries)

The boundaries one is worth thinking about—helps to understand why certain gifts can be so uncomfortable—these types of gifts are not about doing something nice, really thinking about the receiver, but about molding them in the shape of the giver (narcissist).

Part II discusses where narcissism comes from. Hotchkiss claims narcissism originates in toddlerhood—occurs when child doesn’t develop healthy sense of self. Adolescent narcissism is also a normal stage, but people can get stuck there. Children of narcissists often become narcissists themselves; those who don’t are shame-driven, drawn to people who resemble their narcissistic parent(s).

Part III discusses strategies for defending yourself from narcissists: know yourself, embrace reality, set boundaries, cultivate reciprocal (i.e. healthy) relationships. I thought this section wasn’t as helpful as it could have been. Sort of, “yes, and…?”

Unfortunately, there’s not a lot you can do to help/change narcissists because the first rule of being a narcissist is not admitting you’re a narcissist. It’s like Fight Club. So someone you know is a narcissist, you have two choices: a) flee! or b) tolerate them. (Here’s the moment where you wonder “I don’t think I’m a narcissist. Does that mean I am one?” Well, if you’re questioning whether you are, you’re probably not. Self-awareness!)

Part IV describes narcissism in different scenarios (e.g. love, work, family). Narcissists, of course, consider themselves “special” so if you know someone like that (and you probably do), they might be a narcissist. Read Part I and find out.

Part V was about preventing narcissism.

Decent overview, but I wasn’t thrilled with her conservative agenda. If y’all just believed in Almighty God, society wouldn’t be overrun with narcissists, don’t ya know? 🙄

everything is fiction

I always assume everything that I read is fiction, even if it’s in the non-fiction section. The very notion of putting something on paper means that you are creating a narrative.

—Tanis Rideout

10: Cockroach

Cockroach by Rawi Hage

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

From the fall 2012 VPL book sale.

Read in March 2013.

View all my reviews

The protagonist is an immigrant living in Quebec. He had a job at a restaurant as a dishwasher, then was promoted to busboy, but he quit when the maitre’d told him he was “too brown” to be a waiter. He’s now on welfare.

He tried to commit suicide by hanging himself from a tree, but the branch broke. He’s currently in court-ordered therapy with a psychiatrist, Genevieve. In his sessions with Genevieve, he talks about his past and his regrets, and these scenes foreshadow the book’s climax.

All of his friends/acquaintances are also immigrants, but they don’t share his background. Most of them, like his frenemy Reza and Shohreh, who he sort of has a relationship with, are Persian/Iranian, but he isn’t. His name and home country are never revealed. (‘Lira’ is mentioned, but this is a generic term, like ‘dollar.’) However, it’s possible he’s Lebanese, since Hage immigrated to Canada from Lebanon.

He imagines himself as a cockroach. This is partly a metaphor for how he sees himself (a low-life, a pest, but resilient), but also being a cockroach allows him to explore places he couldn’t as a human. One question for the reader to decide is how much of what he does as a cockroach is real and how much is imaginary.

He’s kind of an anti-hero. He’s not a ‘good’ person (yes, the dreaded unlikable character!), but I still empathized with him.

Cockroach is funny, in a dark humor / black comedy kind of way. In what comes as no surprise (at least to me!), there are drug-induced hallucinations. Note to self: if you have the urge to write an “I’m on drugs!” scene, just say no.

Also, it’s quite scatological. You’ve been warned!

9: The Lonely Voice

The Lonely Voice: A Study of the Short Story by Frank O’Connor

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Borrowed from the VPL.

Read in March 2013.

View all my reviews

Some notes from the introduction:

“The novel is bound to be a process of identification between the reader and the character.” (16)
But this is not true of short stories: “There is no character here with whom the reader can identify himself, unless it is that nameless horrified figure who represents the author … the short story has never had a hero. What it has instead is a submerged population group,” (17) i.e. outlawed figures, fringes of society.
“there is in the short story at its most characteristic something we do not often find in the novel–an intense awareness of human loneliness” (18-19).
The differences between novel and short story are more ideological—with respect to national attitude toward society—than formal. The novel = civilized society, community. The short story = “remote from the community–romantic, individualistic, and intransigent” (20).
the short story “is organic form, something that springs from a single detail and embraces past, present, and future” (21)
the storyteller “must be much more of a writer, much more of an artist” (22) than the novelist—great novelists can be inferior writers; great storytellers are generally not inferior writers.
“the form of the novel is given by the length; in the short story the length is given by the form” (26)
“the difference between the short story and the novel is not one of length. It is a difference between pure and applied storytelling” (26)
short story = static, single episode, life telescoped. novel = episodic.

We have been told that the novel is dead, and I am sure that someone has said as much for the short story. I suspect that the announcement may prove a little premature … the novel and the short story are drastic adaptations of a primitive art form to modern conditions—to printing, to science, and individual religion–and I see no possibility of or reason for their supersession except in a general supersession of all culture by mass civilization. (43) [dated June 21, 1962]

The rest of the book is an analysis of work by various short story writers. There are some insights here and there, but also so many racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic stereotypes. I found it hard to take. The Katherine Mansfield chapter was especially terrible. So yeah. If you pick this up, you’ve been warned. The introduction was interesting, though.

8: Heave

Heave by Christy Ann Conlin

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

From the Fall 2012 VPL book sale.

Read in February/March 2013.

View all my reviews

Heave opens with Seraphina “Serrie” Sullivan running away from her wedding. This scene frames the story; the rest is told in flashback, starting from Serrie’s childhood.

I found the voice kind of hard to get into at the beginning. More drug-addled musings. Yep, it’s a theme.

At age 20, Serrie is in 3rd year university. She’s homesick (even though she’s only in Halifax, a short distance from home). Her bffs are Dearie and Elizabeth. Serrie is an alcoholic, like her dad, and has been since she was 14. She has a professor who’s kind to her, who notices she’s missing class, and tells her she should be thinking about grad school. Her brother Percy is doing an MA in Toronto (i.e. he’s perfect).

Serrie overdoses and ends up in the psychiatric hospital. She isn’t depressed; she’s young for her age. She doesn’t want to be an adult because it seems life gets worse the older you get.

Martha, Serrie’s mom, is depressed. She’s lamenting giving up her dreams and makes Serrie feel bad for being young / still having dreams. Cyril, Serrie’s dad, is oblivious. He’s too busy collecting outhouses. Yes, you read that right.

Anyway, when she gets out of the psych hospital, she gets a job in a pie factory (really!), where she meets Hans, this rich German dude.

You know how terrible things are always befalling certain people? And at first you’re like, “omg! that’s so awful!” but after the eleventy-billionth dramatic thing in a week/month/year, you’re like, “wtf dude, what’s with the constant drama? I haven’t had this much drama in my entire life!” Except you don’t actually say that because everyone would give you the side-eye and call you out for being mean and ostracize you even though they’re thinking the exact same thing. Well, that’s kind of what this book felt like. There was some good stuff here, but omg. Drama overload.

Well into the book there’s a big reveal, but it’s foreshadowed throughout. Watch for it!

I will say, with the framing device, most of the book in flashback, girl going crazy because she doesn’t want to grow up, this reminded me of The Language of the Goldfish. The difference being TLotG is a skinny novella, and Heave is a 300+ page epic.

7: On Writing Well

On Writing Well: An Informal Guide to Writing Nonfiction by William Knowlton Zinsser

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Borrowed from the VPL.

Read in February 2013.

View all my reviews

Here are some notes I took. I feel like I’m quoting myself; so many of these points are things I say all the time.

“Our national tendency is to inflate and thereby sound important.” (7) We think if a sentence is too simple, there must be something wrong with it. ha!
Simplify! Clear the clutter.
“My reason for bracketing superfluous words instead of crossing them out was to avoid violating the students’ sacred prose.” (17) ha!
carpentry analogy: simple and solid first, learn to embellish later—comes with practice
deliberately embellishing is like wearing a toupee. be yourself. (I need to remember that one.)
first paragraphs and pages can be discarded!
use “I”—take responsibility for your ideas!
write for yourself, in the sense that you shouldn’t worry “whether the reader likes you, or likes what you are saying or how you are saying it, or agrees with it, or feels an affinity for your sense of humor or your vision of life” (27)
think about how you writing sounds—read aloud
usage changes, but…
- avoid jargon. be precise.
- be liberal with new words and phrases.
- be conservative with grammar.
think small—try to leave the reader with one provocative thought
nonfiction can be literature; it’s not inferior to fiction
interviews:
- take notes; record only as backup. “Be a writer. Write things down.” (70)
- quotes will need to be moved around, spliced together—but do not fabricate!
places are second only to people
memoir—narrowness of focus, like a window or photograph into a life
science writing
- “describe how a process works”—exercise that helps people learn to write more clearly
- think of science writing as an upside-down pyramid—start with one fact the reader needs to know, then build from there
jargon = people wanting to sound important. hahaha. yes.
“I consider it a privilege to be able to shape my writing until it’s as clean and strong as I can make it. … Students, I realize, don’t share my love of rewriting. They regard it as some kind of punishment, or extra homework. Please—if you’re such a student—think of it as a gift. You’ll never write well unless you understand that writing is an evolving process, not a one-shot product.” (187-188)
distinction between a critic and a reviewer: “As a reviewer your job is more to report than to make an aesthetic judgment.” (215)

This was an older edition of the book, so some of the examples and advice (try a word processor! you’ll like it!) were dated. There’s a newer, 20th anniversary edition that I’m sure resolves those issues.

I think this should be required reading for 1st year university/college students. So much of it is stuff I find myself explaining to 3rd, 4th, 5th years—but I never know how much takes. Especially with certain students who seem to interpret tips like “simple is better” to mean “I’m too dumb to understand your deep thoughts,” having a “textbook” that backs me up might make them more likely to take my advice seriously.

6: Mean Boy

Mean Boy by Lynn Coady

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

From the fall 2010 VPL book sale.

Read in January/February 2013.

View all my reviews

The protagonist of Mean Boy is Lawrence (formerly Larry) Campbell, age 19. He’s from Prince Edward Island and is attending Westcock University in New Brunswick. It’s 1975.

The title is ironic. On page 35, he says, “I am trying to be meaner these days…” The highlight of Lawrence’s university experience is the poetry class he’s taking with his hero, poet Jim Arsenault.

Lawrence uptalks, which distresses him. Jim calls him “Larry” which annoys him.

Jim has been denied tenure, much to Lawrence’s consternation (he would have gone to the University of Toronto if Jim hadn’t been at Westcock). He and some of the other students (Todd and Sherrie) in the poetry class decide to write a letter to the admin and get all the students to sign it. The petition feels like a transgressive act to Lawrence and Sherrie.

Meanwhile, there are student/prof drinking-parties at Jim’s house and a poetry reading by Dermot Schofield, Jim’s frenemy + fellow poet, which turns into a comedy of errors. Oh, an awesome subplot featuring Lawrence’s cousin Janet that turns out to be not what you think. Instead, Lawrence learns a lesson about distancing yourself from your family in order to be able to write about them.

In the end, everyone’s flaws are revealed.

I guessed that “Westcock” was actually Mount Allison and a quick search confirmed that supposition to be correct. And it turns out that the character of Jim Arsenault is based on real-life poet/Mount Allison prof John Thompson, which apparently cheesed off some people who knew him. Interesting.

I’ve read all of Lynn Coady’s books prior to this one (Strange Heaven, Play the Monster Blind, Saints of Big Harbour; her latest, The Antagonist, is on my shelf). I read Strange Heaven because it was lauded at the time, and while I thought it was good, I didn’t really get the upop. I had the same feeling with PtMB and SoBH. Good, but missing… something. imo. Obviously others thought they were perfect. But Mean Boy, Mean Boy I loved. The ending gets a little crazy (I can’t seem to escape drug-induced hazes in fiction of late) but I will forgive this because endings are hard.