Tag Archives: Non-fiction

The Golden Spruce: Valliant Wins Again

                                   So having now read two of John Valliant’s books – The Tiger and now, The Golden Spruce – I’m prepared to give him title of Most Best Genre Blender. It’s hard to tell you whatkindof book The Golden Spruce is because it’s a combination of straight up history (but of various subjects – colonization, the logging industry in BC), mythology, biography and narrative. The effect of the genre shifting – and it is shifting, between paragraphs and within chapters the “kind” of story subtly changes without announcement or fan fare, rather the recognition that some kinds of stories are better told/better read as myth, or personal narrative, or statistical history. 

The book uses the story of the golden spruce as a loose focus around which to depart with lessons in plant mutation, descriptions of colonial-indigenous encounters, retellings of oral stories, musings on the fate of the “criminal” Grant Hadwin (musings, too, on whether he be criminal or something else) and meditations on the future of logging/trees in BC. The story? A singularly exceptional tree on Haida Gwai that is golden, rather than green (the precise reasons for the golden colour – or the supposed reasons – are taken up in chapters in the book) that is revered by the Haida, the object of tourist attraction and the unlikely object of the errant environmentalist, Grant Hadwin’s, misdirected consciousness raising environmentalist campaign.

I loved the form of the book – the shifting genre approaches, the range and breadth of information covered – as it gestures to the complexity of any issue/story. Our understandings of historical or current political/environmental/social issues cannot be understood in a simplistic, or teleological, telling; rather, anything approaching understanding must come from building a wide contextual net, disallowing firm conclusions and arguing for the incompleteness of any telling – even the most wide-ranging and intentionally thorough.

I loved the book, too, for its examination of place as character. As The Tiger uses an animal as protagonist, The Golden Spruce allows the place of Haida Gwai and BC more broadly – to be a living, breathing, changing, demanding, character: complete with hypocritical actions, fraught decisions, failures and triumphs. The setting really does read as “alive” in a way that so beautifully aligns with the thematic intention of the novel: that of encouraging the reader to think carefully about their engagement with, and responsibilities to, the environment. Rather than positioning the environment as something to be acted upon, or dealt with, by making the environment a living character Valliant makes the case that we must engage in a relationship with the world around us.

So yeah. Read it, okay?

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Filed under Canadian Literature, Prize Winner

In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Read it. Now.

        E. suggested I read “In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts” as part of my introduction to Vancouver, and gosh but was he right in recommending it.

The book’s author, Gregor Mate, is a doctor who works in Vancouver’s notorious downtown eastside – a neighbourhood known for being a drug zone. Mate uses interviews and character sketches of his patients as the individual grounding for his discussion of the causes and outcomes of addiction, as well as the detrimental drug policies that currently govern drug addicts’ behaviour. The chapters vary among first person reflections on his own addicted behaviour, reflections on the life experiences of his patients, accessible descriptions of brain science and development and exhortations for evidence based addictions/drug policies.

The book is, simply put, brilliant. Mate methodically lays out his argument all the while drawing in personal narratives that make the science not only accessible but entirely compelling. The reader cares about addictions science and drug laws because we are made to know the addicts – ourselves! – as people. The demand that we reserve judgement because we too, find ourselves in addicted patterns, or because we begin to understand the lack-of-choice inherent in addicts’ actions, persuasively asks us to reconsider our long held judgements about those addicted to X or Z.

I’m anxious for someone I know to read the book, too, so that I might discuss the ending – a suggestion that the ‘cure’ for addicted behaviour might be meditation and mindfulness – and the overarching premise of the book that addiction isn’t so much a choice as a set of circumstances thrust upon that must be chosen against, refused, rather than actively sought. My local library is hosting a book club night on the book, and I’m eager to go and hear what others in my community thought of the book, but I’d really (really) like for you to read it, too, and let me know your thoughts.

Given how much I’m struggling to sort out how to reconcile the gross inequality I’ve been encountering in Vancouver, and given my own (relative) addictions, the book has been incredible in provoking thought, challenging assumptions, and arguing for a kind of generosity to the self and to others that is otherwise unspoken.

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Filed under Erin's Favourite Books, Prize Winner

Happy Accidents: Terrible

                       I’ve moved cities and so am doing all the usual sorts of new city things: buying plants, biking the major routes, joining book clubs. I found a book club on Wednesday, they met on Saturday, and so I put down the interminable Storm of Swords (no, my blogging hiatus has not been caused by depression or misery, but rather the result of GRRMartin not being able to write a concise plot) in order to pick up Jane Lynch’s totally terrible memoir, Happy Accidents.

What a waste of a day of reading. To think I might have been two hundred pages closer to done Storm of Swords. Or I might have mopped my floors, or written thank you letters, or stare vacantly into space. I can’t even begin to catalogue the ways this book fails. Well, that’s not true, I can, and I will. So here you go: While memoirs are inevitably narcissistic this one achieves a spectacular level of naval gazing, borne, I suspect, from the author’s occasionally observed (and then hastily dismissed) self-doubt and insecurity. Contributing to this reader’s annoyance with the narcissism is the dull account of a life. I’m not one to demand that memoirs only be written by extraordinary people, or by those for whom life has been exciting, challenging or unique; but I do expect a memoir to demonstrate some enthusiasm for the life being described, some general sense that it is worth me reading about. That there ought to be some kind of moral isn’t what I mean, more that there should be a anchoring question, much less mundane than: am I loveable? Or perhaps, just as mundane as that but then explicitly asked and curiously examined.

I’m going to stop before I rant too long about the prosaic language, the lack (get this!) of character development and the annoying tendency to assume that the author is the only person for whom life has been Difficult. I’ll just say that I’m not going to be returning to this particular book club. Even though all the other members found it terrible, I can’t find myself trusting another one of their recommendations. This book exacts too high a price in trying to find friends.

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Filed under Worst Books

The Tipping Point: My Word-of-mouth view? Not so good.

    Part of me thinks that because more people will read this post (being driven, no doubt, by their search lust for ‘bestsellers,’ and not for ‘Malcolm Gladwell’) that I ought to spend a good deal of time crafting a thoughtful and reasoned response so as to fuel my relentless hunger for more readers. But given that I’m not particularly concerned with how many readers I have, I’ll write my review with as little care as, I suspect, Malcolm Gladwell researched his book.

Much like Freakonomics, Gladwell has written a book that could benefit from a combination of research, peer-review, and a good editor. Unlike Freakonomics, The Tipping Point does have a unifying thesis (and a remarkably logical, and hence dull, organization with repeated transition sentences and maddeningly precise topic sentences – really, if you’re trying to teach essay writing this is the book for you), just not a terribly inspired one: some things become popular while others do not.

That’s about it. The book’s exploration of why this is the case falls into three neat categories (again, good for teaching essay writing): context, ‘stickiness’ and ‘the law of the few.’ Each category is “explained” through particular case studies. So arises my beef (as it were): particular, however compelling, case studies does not a proven point make. Case studies that illuminate research are engaging ways of accessing complex research findings. Case studies that serve as a platform for sweeping generalizations give the merits of academic study a poor showing.

I’m sure Gladwell had a difficult time in writing his ‘afterword’ not including the gleeful observation that his own book reached something of a tipping point by becoming an international best seller. Such restraint. Would that I were a maven, salesman or connector myself I might here begin a global word-of-mouth campaign defaming the book. As it is, it’s just you and me. And while I know that my lack-of-mavenness means you may not take this recommendation seriously, I’ll give it anyway: don’t read The Tipping Point.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011