Tag Archives: literary fiction

The Pearl by John Steinbeck

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I taught The Pearl at summer school this year. Although I have read a couple other Steinbeck novels, I’d never read this one. It’s a great little novella to teach because of its simplicity and easily recognizable themes of greed and hope.

Kino and his wife Juana lead a simple life in La Paz, Mexico around 1900. Kino is a pearl diver, depending on the canoe passed down through the generations and his own work ethic.  He’s a man content with his lot in life because he appreciates what he has. When his infant son, Coyotito, is stung by a scorpion it sets off a chain of events that not only ruins Kino, but upsets the delicate balance of the natural world (if only metaphorically) and the community in which Kino had so happily lived.

The Pearl is an accessible novel. It gave us lots to talk about – do you need money and possessions to make you happy? Should you judge a man by the clothes he wears or his character? Is violence ever justified? Today’s teens often do think that money buys happiness and if ever there was a novel to disprove this assumption, The Pearl might well be it.

If I were just reading it for pleasure, though, I might have been disappointed. I’m not a gigantic fan of Steinbeck’s writing at the best of times (although he certainly deserves his place in that list of great American writers). The Pearl is simplistic and at times unrealistic (which likely has to do with the fact that it’s a parable which comes from the oral tradition of storytelling). As it teacher it offered me lots to work with; as a reader it was less enchanting.

The Kindness of Strangers by Katrina Kittle

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Man, this was a hard book to read and, strangely enough, a hard book to put down. Katrina Kittle’s novel tells the story of widowed, Sarah, and her two sons, Danny, 10, and Nate, 16. Like many other novels these days, Kittle employs alternating viewpoints, allowing the story to be told (mainly) from Sarah and Nate’s points of view. And Jordan’s.

In fact, this is Jordan’s story. He’s a classmate of Danny’s. One day Sarah sees him walking along the road in the pouring rain and she stops to pick him up. He seems ill, more than ill and when he asks to stop at a service station port-a-potty to be sick, she does. Her mother senses are jangling like crazy and when she goes to check on him, she discovers that he’s collapsed with a hypodermic needle jabbed in his neck.

Jordan’s mother, Courtney, is Sarah’s best friend, but Jordan’s desperate act opens a dark door into his life and this story asks Sarah and the reader to step through it. The Kindness of Strangers is about the worst kind of abuse and it doesn’t shy away from the topic.  Sarah and her sons are barely recovered from the death of their husband and father when they are called upon to help Jordan. In some ways the social network depicted in this novel seems like a best-case scenario; Jordan has some caring adults in his corner, but to live in today’s world is to know that that is often just fiction.

Kittle does a terrific job of getting us into Sarah’s headspace: her horror over what her best friend has been accused of, her horror over what Jordan has suffered, her struggle to balance her own issues with the day to day business of running a house and business and looking after two sons.  She was equally adept at letting us see what motivates Nate, a character who is both flippant and incredibly mature. Finally, Jordan’s voice is heartbreaking; the mother in me nearly wept every time he spoke.

The main story of The Kindness of Strangers is bracketed with chapters from Danny.  I think I understand why his is the first and last voices we hear, but I don’t think losing those two chapters would have harmed the book in anyway.

Not everyone will be able to stomach this novel’s subject matter, but if you think you can, it’s a fantastic book about a very serious topic.

Envy by Kathryn Harrison

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I have mad love for Kathryn Harrison. I think she’s a beautiful writer and she often tackles difficult subjects, train wrecks from which you can not turn away.

Envy is the story of psychoanalyst Will Moreland. The landscape of his life is pitted with estranged relationships (his identical – save for the brother’s wine-stain birthmark – twin, Mitch); death (his young son, Luke, killed in a boating accident) and a strained sexual relationship with his wife, Carole (they still do it, but not face to face and Will isn’t allowed to touch her).  From these more-connected-than-you-think threads, Harrison weaves a story which is often funny, sometimes creepy, and slightly over-wrought (particularly near the end).

The novel opens as Will is about to return to his alma mater  for his 25th reunion. He’s clearly not interested in the majority of his classmates. He’s on the lookout for two people in particular: his brother, whom he hasn’t seen since he married Carole 15 years ago and Elizabeth, his college girlfriend.  His brother is a no-show. Elizabeth is there, but their reunion brings to the surface a disturbing revelation.

There are elements of Envy which revisit  some of the themes Harrison has used before in her work: sex used as power, grief, incest. It’s one of the reasons why I like her work so much- she’s practically fearless. Still, I didn’t love this book. I understand Will is traumatized by the death of his young son. I understand that as a professional in the mental health field he’s likely to be less astute about his own feelings and motives, but Envy (for me at least) suffers under the strain of too much plot. For instance, I liked Will’s dad, but do I care about his extra-marital relationship or his second career as a photographer. Not particularly.

And I didn’t like the ending all that much.  Some pretty devastating things happen in this novel, yet Carole and Will seem to move past it all almost effortlessly.  Since the book is told entirely from Will’s point of view, Carole’s feelings about the loss of her son, her struggles to carry on, her own traumatic experiences are exposed only in dialogue and only at the very end. On the other hand, Will examines and re-examines his feelings, sort of distantly and myopically, though. Sometimes I just wanted to see him as  a middle-aged man trying to do his best. And who, might I ask, is paying the least bit of attention to Samantha, the couple’s surving child?

Still, it’s Kathryn Harrison and I’ll take one of her books over just about anything else out there any day of the week.

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski

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When B. pulled The Story of Edgar Sawtelle out of her bag at last month’s book club reveal there was a silent sigh of dismay. I know I felt it. Despite the fact that the book has garnered heaps of praise and was flying off the shelf at Indigo last summer, I had no desire to read it. When my friend said she was going to take it with her when she went to England with her mom I said: “Don’t do it; this book weighs a ton!”

As it turned out,  of the ten members of my book club I was (along with B.) the only person who read it. Er…finished it. One person got about half way through, a few others read 50-100 pages. The book is l-o-n-g…562 pages but lest you think I actually judge a book by its length, let me say that The Story of Edgar Sawtelle is very well written. I would have said that dog lovers would eat this book up- but this wasn’t the case with the dog lovers in my book club; none of them finished.

It’s hard to put my finger on exactly why I didn’t love this book in the way most others have- well, the critics at least, who have compared this book to Shakespeare, an “American Hamlet” even (Mark Doty). The book concerns the Sawtelle family, parents Trudy and Gar and their son, Edgar, who is born mute. They live on a farm in Wisconsin where they breed dogs known as the ‘Sawtelle’ dogs, remarkable because they can read Edgar’s signs. When Gar’s younger brother, Claude, returns to the farm Edgar’s idyllic life starts to unravel and when his father dies suddenly, Edgar’s grief is palpable. As Claude grows closer to his mother and assumes more of a role on the farm, Edgar becomes obssessed with proving that Claude had something to do with his father’s death.

Things don’t work out quite as Edgar plans though, and he leaves the farm, taking three ‘Sawtelle’ dogs with him. Eventually, though, he returns to the farm to confront his uncle – with dramatic results. (I actually thought the ending was spectacularly melodramatic.)

Why do some books work and others not so much? I can’t fault Wroblewski’s writing. In some ways I felt like he jammed the book with every possible theme, like maybe this debut might mark the beginning and end of his literary career. Ultimately, though, there was just too much ‘dog talk’ – sits and stays and day-to-day kennel business that just wasn’t of interest to me and, in some ways, diluted the book’s larger themes of revenge and love.  It wasn’t that I had a hard time reading the book…I just never really invested my heart in Edgar’s story.

Standing Still by Kelly Simmons

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I loved pretty much everything about Kelly Simmons’  novel Standing Still. It’s always a relief to read something you can be excited about after a couple of mediocre books. Standing Still is just a terrific book: part page-turner (there’s an intriguing mystery at this book’s core) and part meditation on marriage and family and the lives women leave behind in order to have those things.

Claire Cooper, mother of three young daughters, spends a lot of time alone because her husband, Sam, travels for business. One night someone breaks into her house and Claire finds him about to make off with one of her daughters. “Take me,” she tells the man. “Take me instead.”

The man does take Claire and over the week of her captivity the reader has access to   Claire’s thoughts about her children and husband, as well as to her growing relationship with her captor, a relationship that proves to be far more profound and moving than you might expect. Their relationship becomes one of intimacy and, dare I say it, friendship and I know there is probably some psychological explanation for what happens between kidnap victims and their abductors, but I don’t think that explanation would actually suffice in this case. Claire is carrying a lot of emotional baggage and for the first time in her life she is forced to confront some of it. It is her time with this unlikely ‘therapist’ that makes healing possible.

On top of all this human drama, Simmons is a beautiful writer. Claire is a fully realized character, fragile and brave. Her unnamed captor is equally interesting –  a scene towards the novel’s conclusion where Claire makes the observation that, sleeping next to him will be the last time she’ll ever feel this safe (232) is both ironic and heartbreaking.

I also really loved that Claire is a woman who is trying to reconcile motherhood and marriage with the fact that she was, once, a very successful career woman. I loved her wild past, her ability to fall in love with a man based on a single characteristic, her yearning for that simple pleasure once again.

This was a book I couldn’t wait to get to at the end of the day…and one I was sorry to finish even as I was racing to the end.

The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill

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Everyone has been talking about Lawrence Hill’s novel The Book of Negroes for the past few months. When I worked at Indigo, it flew off the shelf; everyone wanted to read it. It’s one of those books – topical, controversial, well-written, award-winning  and with a central character that it is impossible not to admire. And I did  admire her, but  I didn’t love this book. I finished The Book of Negroes a few days ago and I’ve been trying to figure out what it was exactly that failed to inspire me to talk about it in absolutely glowing terms.

I am a child of the 70s. By that I mean, I was a teenager when Roots hit the small screen. Every night for however many nights that mini-series was on the tube, my family and I would gather around the TV, mesmerized and horrified by Kunta Kinte’s story. I haven’t seen it since, so I have no idea whether or not it holds up, but that story devastated me and made me ashamed, for the first time in my life, to be white. The Book of Negroes failed to reach me on some level.  Does that mean in the years since I’ve seen Roots I’ve just gradually become desensitized? God, I hope not.

Aminata Diallo, born in Bayo, West Africa, in 1745, is captured by slave traders when she is just eleven. We have barely settled into the rhythm of her life as a ‘free-born Muslim’ adored by her parents, before they are killed and she is captured. What follows is her life story. No question, it makes for fascinating, accessible and easy reading. But there was something missing for me, some emotional centre.

Aminita reaches America  after a long, brutal journey across the ocean. She is sold and quickly learns a new language and a new way of life. It is impossible not to admire her: she’s smart and resilient and tough. She has to be as she endures one tragedy after another.

And perhaps this is where I feel let down by the book: despite knowing Aminita’s story, I never felt like I knew her. In telling the story of her life, she relays the facts, all but stripping the emotion from them. The slightly unbelievable denouement, therefore, had little impact on me.

Should you read this book? Absolutely. Is it worthy of all the praise?  Yes, of course it is, because we should always be reminded that the struggle for equality is ongoing, that people still suffer because of their race or religious beliefs. Let’s face it, the world hasn’t really come all that far since Aminita’s day.

There’s a part of me that feels slightly guilty that I didn’t love it.  But I am glad I read it.

A Reliable Wife by Robert Goolrick

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Everyone,  it seems, is raving about Robert Goolrick’s novel A Reliable Wife. Sadly, I am not going to be one of those people. I don’t mean to imply that I didn’t enjoy the book; I actually liked the book quite a lot (once I got past the first dry chapter). Still, there were elements of the book that just didn’t work for me.

A Reliable Wife tells the story of Ralph Pruitt, a wealthy man who lives in Wisconsin. He’s been a widower for the past twenty years and when the story opens he is standing on the platform at the train station waiting for Catherine Land, his soon-to-be-bride. Catherine has answered Truitt’s advertisement in a St. Louis paper for ‘a reliable wife.’ It is 1907.

Not all is as it seems with these two characters, though. Each has hidden agendas and secrets galore and as I read I imagined the fantastic movie this would make. Did it make a fantastic book, though, that’s the question. Well, yes and no.

What did A Reliable Wife do well?

It gave the reader a real glimpse into the hardships and isolation of a mid-western winter. It dealt sympathetically with the novel’s central characters: Catherine and Truitt. Truitt is especially well-drawn. He is a man who selfishly chases  erotic pleasures for much of his young life, returning to the family business only after his father dies. His story unfolds a little at a time, saving one last ’secret’ for the novel’s final pages.

Catherine comes to him the supposed daughter of missionaries, but her story is actually far more sordid.  It gives nothing away to say that she has come to Wisconsin to marry and then murder Truitt by way of arsenic poisoning.

What did A Reliable Wife do less well?

At a certain point in the novel I felt like everything became melodramatic. Sub-plots did nothing to advance the story. Catherine’s sister, Alice, is introduced near the middle of the book and I know it’s meant to juxtapose her life with Catherine’s, but for me it seemed tacked on. We hear tidbits of violent crimes or horrible accidents which have happened in Truitt’s community followed by the author’s statement ”such things happen”, as if this explains all the wrong-doing in the world. Or, perhaps, to say that some things can’t be explained.

Ultimately, A Reliable Wife asks the question: Is it possible to be redeemed? Truitt wants to make up for what he believes is a horrible mark against him as a father. Catherine makes a decision which changes the course of her future. Other characters hold on to their anger and bitterness and suffer a more drastic fate.

There is also the question of suspense. I wouldn’t say that the book was suspenseful in the way modern readers might expect. We know from the book’s jacket that Truitt and Catherine are hiding something and so we start reading with the knowledge that not everything is as it seems. I don’t think the story is propulsive because of any so-called suspense.  A lot of stuff happens and it happens at a relatively quick clip. On a few occasions  (especially towards the end) I actually felt I was being told what was happening rather than watching the story unfold.

One thing that totally surprised me about this book was the amount of sex in it. These are people with very real human appetites and the book does a terrific job with sensual details of all sorts: the sex is not the fade-to-black kind. Truitt’s sexual reawakening, in particular, is impressively realistic.

All this to say that I enjoyed reading the book, but I didn’t feel totally satisfied when I’d finished.

At A Loss For Words by Diane Schoemperlen

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It sometimes happens that a book that no one particularly likes generates an excellent discussion. This was the case with Canadian writer Diane Schoemperlen’s book At A Loss For Words.  One woman in my book club actually said: “I knew you wouldn’t want me to finish it.”

I didn’t actually have any trouble finishing the book, but not because it was the most original or beautiful or innovative book I’ve ever read about the nature of love. The story is rife with cliches and prose so purple you might think you’re scarfing grape jelly by the jar.

An unnamed woman rekindles a relationship with an old boyfriend. She and this guy (also unnamed) had a  fairly serious thing which, one gathers, ended rather badly 30 years ago. She’s a writer, but since renewing her relationship with this guy, she’s unable to write. The story (such as it is) consists mostly of her lists of writing prompts and her e-mail correspondence with the man a sort of he said, she said only in this case it’s I said, you said.

To say that I didn’t believe a word of what they said to each other would be harsh, but really who talks like this?

“I do appreciate these thoughts. I want to say how much I welcome and treasure everything you say. Your letters are too wonderful! You life my spirits immeasurably with all that you write. You warm me up on this gray damp day”  (59).

As soon as this relationship is consummated, it begins to unravel. The woman starts clinging and the man starts pulling away and the denouement is neither original or shocking. In addition, you sort of wanted to shake her a little; I mean, she’s a successful writer and she’s not 20- couldn’t she sort of see this coming?

Still, who hasn’t been in love with the wrong guy…maybe even the wrong guy on more than one occasion. Hands up! So, while none of us were enamoured with Schoemperlen’s rather writerly tale, we had lots and lots of fun talking about rekindled passion, first love and our very first (after 10 years in book club) discussion of orgasms.

In the Forest by Edna O’Brien

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Michael O’Kane is one of those troubled kids who slips through the cracks. After the death of his beloved mother, he gets into one increasingly more serious scrape after another until he is finally sent away. His stint in reform school is brutal and not even the priests offer solace.

O’Kane is the central character of Edna O’Brien’s riveting (and difficult) novel In the Forest. Reading this book reminded me a little bit of reading Joyce Carol Oates. I want to like Oates but I find her difficult to read. Still,  I know that if I stick to it I’ll often feel rewarded in the end. O’Brien is an Irish writer and I was happier when I was able to read this book for longer stretches of time. After a half an hour or so I got used to the rhythm of the language and it became as musical as the Irish lilt is to the ear.

Ultimately though In the Forest is a brutal story. O’Kane returns home after his latest stint behind bars and wreaks havoc. Everyone in the village is afraid of him; he’s clearly dangerous and crazy. O’Brien’s book is based on true events, but I won’t tell you more than that. I will tell you that there is a moment at the end of the book that is deeply touching and unexpected. Trust me, coming after all the violence it will be impossible to miss.

Charlotte and Claudia Keeping in Touch by Joan Barfoot

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At the end of every book club year, the members choose their most and least favourite reads. We don’t call it ‘best’ and ‘worst’ book- we’re kinder than that. We call it “Book I enjoyed reading the most” and “Book I enjoyed reading the least”. That way, we assume, there will be no hurt feelings. Of course, the way our book club works, we’re not allowed to choose our most favourite book of all time as our pick, anyway. Ten years later, no one has left in a huff because the rest of the group didn’t love a book with quite the same fervor as the person who picked it did. Still, as each member only picks one book a year everyone is highly aware that if their book’s a flop they might be the recipint of ” the poopie prize.”

I deliberate endlessly over my book club choice. I read reviews and I spend a lot of time making my choice. Although I’ve had a few excellent choices over the years, I’ve only ever won favourite book once (with last year’s choice Fingersmith by Sarah Waters) I was afraid that I might win this year’s poopie award with At A Loss For Words. I think I was saved by providing a fabulous dessert on the night I hosted (review and dessert recipe are posted here). Also, despite the book’s limited scope, I had really great questions that generated excellent discussion.

Tonight we meet to discuss Joan Barfoot’s novel Charlotte and Claudia Keeping in Touch. While reading this book I couldn’t help but think, “well, at least I won’t win the booby prize this year.” The novel plods along without momentum and consists mainly of ruminations on the loss of youth, spouses, lovers, children, and perky boobs. I hated the title. I mostly disliked the two main characters: Charlotte an unmarried 70 -year -old retired social worker and Claudia, a 70 -year -old home maker whose philandering husband has just died of cancer. Their life-long friendship seems contrived especially given that we see it through the filter of their own personal stories and not much else.

And yet – I found the story strangely affecting. I mean, I’m not anywhere near 70, but I could somehow relate to these women. What have you got a the end of your life? Your children, in Claudia’s case, are grown with their own families and concerns. Your husband, (also in Claudia’s case) lying cheat that he is, is by turns loving and nasty as he dies a slow painful death in the bed you once shared. As for Charlotte, she’s taken to hiding in the hedge next to the house of her former, married lover. Former as in they parted ways 30 years ago. So there’s poor Charlotte wedged in the cedar trying to make sense of her feelings for this guy, who stayed with his wife and children after all.

The novel’s plot- such as it is- turns on a huge secret Claudia wants to reveal to Charlotte. It’s not really that great a secret and hardly worth the wait and the whole tidy ending is just sort of dull. Still.

So, while I have a feeling that I won’t be taking home any plastic flowers this year, I bet we’ll have lots to talk about tonight.