Every summer I set out an ambitious list of what I’m going to read (usually complete with suggestions from you folks). And then I find various benches, beaches and buses (such fun with alliteration!) and read the list. I then humble brag about how much I’ve read. I make new and more expansive lists for the fall. I revel. Continue reading
Tag Archives: cottage reading
I packed for the cottage: Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye, a collection of the best of Alice Munro, and the only Margaret Laurence novel I’ve never read, The Fire Dwellers. I was set with the triumvirate of excellent Canadian authors (who also happen to be white ladies). I imagined sitting on the dock taking in the changing leaves and lapping lake while absorbing some of the best of Canadian literature. Instead I got to the cottage, put out all the books on the coffee table and immediately… picked up the copy of John Grishman’s The Racketeer from the cottage bookshelf. Turns out what I really wanted was to eat a tub of mental icecream. And I did. And I felt appropriately sick after, so there you go. I seem to recall C. using a similar description in her guest post, so thanks C. for making me think of novels as tasty treats! Continue reading
Thanks to R.T. for this fantastic guest post on reading suggestions for holiday and vacation. Turns out R.T. is not only smart, funny and great to work with, but a super star of a reader, too.
- Mom & Me & Mom by Maya Angelou – Started this in the Public Gardens of Halifax and finished it in Point Pleasant Park the next day during conference week (yes, I actually attended the conference as well)! This was a great book for taking in nature and feeling feels. In this book, Maya talks about her life through the lens of her relationship with her mother. It was unique, human, and touching.
- Hatchet by Gary Paulsen – Oh boy. Moments after finishing Mom & Me & Mom, I thought to myself “you enjoyed that so much in this natural setting, you won’t top it right now, please don’t start something new, please don’t start something new, please don’t start something new”…I lasted 15 minutes, then started Hatchet, all while still wandering Point Pleasant Park. I remember seeing kids my age with this book countless times when I was young, and retrospectively wanted to know what the fuss was about. But much like a beloved-by-others childrens’ movie seen years too late – which for me is The Neverending Story seen in my 20s – I did not partake in the fuss whatsoever. I think I’m just too old for it, that and/or my parents aren’t divorcing currently so I don’t need the emotional support and life-or-death metaphors to help me understand what I’m going through – though I appreciate that this book could be a great help to kids. Good to know it exists, I suppose.
- The Serpent of Venice by Christopher Moore – Husband and I have enjoyed reading Christopher Moore books in print, so I thought a couple of his audiobooks might be a good fit for a road trip. Sadly, this audiobook was abandoned 1 hour in. Husband is eager to read this on paper where he thinks the style and characters and plot will work better; I am not so eager. I would much rather go back and re-read Lamb.
- Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls by David Sedaris – Excellent road trip book. I’ve listened to this before and enjoyed sharing it with my husband. David Sedaris just knows how to write, and tell, a story.
- Before Green Gables by Budge Wilson – I took this on myself after getting through Hatchet. It certainly satisfied my east coast setting quota, but was too saccharine, even for this avid Anne fan.
- Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer – Husband and I tried this YA after listening to David Sedaris. It was fine, but pretty boring. I wonder whether I somehow would have found this more exciting in print? One of my favourite things about listening to this book was the Irish accent of the narrator when reading as Artemis, so probably not. I doubt I’ll continue with the series. You want a good vampire / magical / fantasy YA novel? Try Rainbow Rowell’s Carry On AND Fangirl.
- Secondhand Souls by Christopher Moore – Didn’t get to it, but somewhat by choice. Serpent made me fearful to try another Christopher Moore book in audio form.
- A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’engle – Didn’t get to it.
- How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran – Didn’t get to it.
- When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris – Didn’t get to it – sadly.
- Where the Words End and my Body Begins by Amber Dawn – This was so short and sweet I started and finished it before even leaving on the trip. Whoops! I really enjoy Amber Dawn’s writing which is honest and strong.
- The Shipping News by Annie Proulx – I really liked this book, and thank goodness because it took me the entire trip to read. I always love a good family drama and/or moving-on-from-catastrophe type story – and this was a somewhat light one at that, one might say as beach-read a family drama story could get!? Strangely, I don’t have much to say, so there you have it. It was good.
- To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee – Didn’t get to it.
- The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields – Didn’t get to it.
- The Casual Vacancy by J K Rowling – Didn’t get to it.
- A Whale for the Killing by Farley Mowat – Didn’t get to it.
- Island by Alistair MacLeod by Didn’t get to it.
- An Abundance of Katherines by John Green – Didn’t get to it.
I’ve wanted a baby since my lady bits started twitching in my late twenties. I’ve been asked – and had trouble replying – why I want a baby. It’s a good question, and one we (collective humanity we and my partner-and-me-we) should probably be able to answer before we go ahead and have one. Enter me reading Emily St John Mandel’s (excellent) Station Eleven and feeling ever more sure that the world as we know it is ending, and that having a baby is… [enter your adjective]: risky, selfish, hopeful, terrifying, absurd, brave. Sure, when I was born in the 80s my parents must have felt a similar sense of foreboding: the Cold War threat of nuclear annihilation probably made it feel pretty scary to have a kid. And without the same frame of reference, I can’t be sure, except the arrival of disasters brought on by global warming makes the ‘threat’ not a possibility, but a reality.
So what does my baby-end-of-the-world-angst have to do with Station Eleven? The book narrates the post-apocolyptic world of a mix-matched cast of characters for whom the mantra “Survival is Insufficient” prompts them to not just survive, but to make and appreciate art, to maintain friendships and romances, and to form complicated relationships with ideas of past and future. It also gave this reader the scope and space to consider the [enter your adjective] of being a parent in any world, the massive responsibility and the abnegation of self called for by culture and circumstance (am I more or less likely to have a baby now? Time will tell).
With characters scattered in time and geography, the novel moves back and forward as readers are invited to piece together the events surrounding the collapse and the journies and connections of different characters (much, I might add, as one of these characters might be positioned to try to make sense of their world). We witness a magnificiently drawn setting of winter Toronto (really, not since the mostly wretched The Night Circus have I enjoyed a setting quite so much) and scenes along the north-east seaboard of North America (less brilliant than that of Toronto). Our characters are a little uneven in how successfully they’re drawn, but for the most part their motivations are well grounded in past events and rich personalities. (I would add that the narration of the lives of these characters ‘before’ the collapse is excellent – our knowledge of the imminanent end to their existence through the juxtaposition of their present adds urgency and poignancy to already great narration).
The past is captured in the creation and curation of the “Museum of Civilization” – an effort on the part of a few characters to preserve the history of the world that was lost, and to teach future generations about the cultures destroyed through their objects. The Museum is contrasted with characters who have ‘lost’ memories of the first years after the collapse. A sense that while remembering and presevation is a critical part of rebuilding culture, so too, an active forgetting (of the violence and isolation, we presume) is required for the same.
The future gestured to at the end of the novel is one of an expansion of connectivity (the lights go on again), the spread of ideas (the creation of a newspaper) and expanded travel (the networks of roads grow). It is a future, though, predicated on the tenacity and hope of its populace. The willingness of each character individually, and the groups collectively, to learn from one another and to trust one another (as in newspaper interviews and expansions of communities).
More than the (truly excellent) video game The Last of Us, the TV series The Walking Dead and the host of other post-apocolyptic futures we’ve encountered in recent years, Station Eleven calls on us to consider not only the everyday marvels and luxuries that surround our priviledged lives, but the threads of civilization that make a human life worth living: art, community, a connection to the past, a sense of hope for the future.