Small Island: Of Course this book was adapted for a BBC Miniseries.

It’s easy to see why Andrea Levy’s 2004 monstrously successful Small Island was turned into a BBC mini-series. It has all the right stuff: historical fiction setting of post-WWII London, heady and illicit romance, examination of societal changes in race, class and gender through the small and focused familial experiences of one London home. Ditto why it’s so enjoyable to read. Continue reading

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The Library at Mount Char: 3 Life Lessons from Attending a Public Sci-Fi Book Club (and then an actual book review)

  1. You think you know the kind of people who attend an open-invitation Sci-Fi/Fantasy book club because you have ideas about the kind of people who a) read Sci-Fi/Fantasy and b) attend open-invitation book clubs. Your ideas are not charitable. And they have – for some reason – not expanded to include yourself (even though you are attending said club). Like most occasions when you confront your assumptions (about anything) you discover that there is much more variety involved and far fewer references to LoTR (though there is one).
  2. Your belief that you can power-read* a novel (in under a day) (the way you did in undergrad) is as steadfast – and as erroneous – as your belief that you can still drink the whole bottle of wine and not get a hangover. You learn that you are older than you once were, and older than you imagine yourself to be.
  3.  Open-invitation book clubs include 500% less conversation about pregnancy, childbirth and baby-rearing than all your other book clubs combined. Which is to say: none. Unless these conversations are relevant to the book. You realize these baby-less spaces are precious and that – right now in your life – you need them.**

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The Conscious-Unconscious Biases in My Reading Habits

So I was taking a quick look at my blog stats and I’ve reviewed a little under 350 books (yay me) between December 2009 and September 2016. The tag cluster suggest (accurately) that I read a lot of Canadian literature and almost exclusively novels. No surprises there.

Then I got to wondering about the distribution in my reading across gender and racial lines in authorship. I did a quick count of the first 150 books reviewed (in years 2009-2011 roughly – 100 books in 2011, so there’s that). Knowing, of course, that these aren’t precise, I was not surprised to learn that the vast majority of the novels I read are written by white people (about 80%) (I say I wasn’t surprised, which isn’t the same as not being troubled). I was surprised to find this period suggests I read a majority of male authors (about 65%). And without doing a deep dive into the biographies of authors I’d guess that these authors likewise fall into the dominant identity categories across the board.

Given that I’ve spent time in my posts opining on the value of reading for offering readers new perspectives and that my literary training came from an institution proud of its effort to expose and counter canons, I’d say I have a healthy heap of hypocrisy in my reading habits.

I’m not sure yet what to do with these observations. Putting it out to you – dear readers – how do you (or do you?) work to ensure breadth in your reading habits? Am I assigning unwarranted value to diversity in authorship (when perhaps I’d be better to consider my genre range? or something else?)? Is it time for me to embark on another reading project (akin to 10-10-12) that encourages me to read outside my canon?

Discuss!

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The Girl Who Was Saturday Night: Metaphorical Cats

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Some people really like Heather O’Neill (e.g. apparently all of Canadian media and award committees). I am not one of those readers. Lullabies for Little Criminals predates the blog, but I remember thinking it was a bit overwrought. Enter The Girl Who Was Saturday Night, O’Neill’s second novel and a repeat effort to make me feel something profound by way of Serious last sentences for every chapter. These sentences have a kind of formula: Feeling/Abstract Noun + unusual metaphor + adjective + reference to a cat. I think these sentences feel pretty good about themselves. Continue reading

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Filed under Book Club, Canadian Literature, Fiction, Giller prize, Prize Winner