Category: trh books

Spring Cleaning

Every few months or so, my RRHB goes manic with the cleaning. Today, he decided, was closet cleaning day. That meant taking out every single box and item of, well, stuff, from the upstairs closet and going through it.

As a result, I purged books. Boxes and boxes of books. They were mainly leftovers from my university days, a lot of literary criticism, and piles of books I had never finished or would never read again. But every book that he brought out of a box and I looked at, had some sort of memory attached. Whether it was how awful my Victorian professors were in both under grad and graduate school, or how many copies of On the Road we own (count: 3) or the duplicates we discovered (3 different copies of Hey Nostradamus, all unread), and whole worlds of novels that every time one came out of the box I sort of welled up remembering why I loved it or what point of my life in which the book was read.

And now I feel a world better because books are not tumbling off the shelves, bell hooks can be rightfully passed on to the next righteous feminist coming into university, and I’ve got an entire shelf dedicated to the 1001 Books and to my own Around the World in 52 Books challenge. It’s funny how you can forget what you had for breakfast three weeks ago but you can remember exactly what it felt like the first time you read The Rainbow.

The funniest bit that came out of the afternoon was, no doubt, when I said, “Working in publishing is certainly going to be the death of me. I just can’t say no to any book.”

My RRHB returned, “You’re like an alcholic working in a bar honey.”

Indeed.

#20 – Platform

Wow. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

Ahem.

Don’t look now but I’m probably blushing bright red and feeling somewhat uncomfortable to be seen in public having just finished Michel Houellebecq’s Platform. It’s the French entry in my Around the World in 52 Books challenge (changed from Nemirovsky) and it’s also on the 1001 Books list, which is also why I made the swap, I don’t mind killing two lists with one title.

Platform is a spicy, sensual, almost-porn-like novel about, well, a man named Michel who finds himself completely cut off from life after his father’s death (he was murdered). Despite the fact that he has very little in the way of human contact, no friends, etc., he has a lot of very graphic sex between these covers. Just after his father’s murderer is caught, Michel leaves Paris and takes a trip to Thailand, where he sleeps with many nubile prostitutes and also meets Valerie, who will later become his lover, then the love of his life, and then a catalyst for the rest of the story.

It is through this relationship with Valerie, who works for the travel company arranging the tours, that Michel redeems himself. They are well suited: he loves getting pleasure; she loves giving it. Aw, a match made in heaven. Oh, and she’s into women, so my goodness, it’s one steam room fantasy away from Pay-Per-View. Yawn.

I know I’m being flippant, and even though Michel doesn’t necessarily use the word love, his feelings for Valerie result in his happiness and in his feeling a connection for a member of the opposite sex that he has never before felt in his life. As their relationship progresses, Valerie’s career takes off as she and her boss, Jean-Yves, move companies and launch a series of high profile resort holidays. While checking out one of the hotels in their roster, Michel has a brainwave to capitalize on the sex trade aspect of vacationing in places like Thailand, among other countries, including Cuba, and a new type of resort is born.

What keeps the novel from trailing off into Harlequin romance for men territory is Houellebecq’s razor sharp prose. One part life story, and two parts love story, Platform also deals with a number of political, racial and societal issues. And while the main character seems motivated by his sexual relationships, it seems he’s also wildly aware of the problems that this brings to the human psyche. It’s a strangely prophetic novel, especially as its central tragedy comes about as a result of religious terrorism.

Houellebecq’s not afraid of saying things that may not be politically correct; it seems, he just wants to point out the odd ironies that life seems to keep throwing in his direction. And yes, there’s the sex: it’s rampant, violent, open, honest, often and sometimes even strangely compelling. It becomes a crucial way for Michel to tell his story. But in a way it’s also kind of gratuitous, often over-exposed and a little over the top. Maybe that’s just my own Western prudishness coming out, but there’s a fine line between porn and art, and maybe I’m just not one to tell the difference?

One review I read over at the Guardian (which gives away the ending, shockingly, so don’t read if you don’t want it spoiled), insists that Houellebecq is writing back to L’Etranger, in a way bringing those kind of existential concerns into the modern century, when it’s not just the human condition, but the human condition in the world that seems to result in a crisis of consciousness.

And I kind of agree, there’s a depth to this novel; it’s bookish at the same time as it’s somewhat bent. I enjoyed Platform, but I most certainly wouldn’t be giving it to my grandmother for Christmas. Or to anyone else who might blush at the mere mention of the word sex in print (fingers pointed right at me).

Not having anything around to read is dangerous: you have to content yourself with life itself, and that can lead you to take risks.

#19 – Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

As anyone can plainly see from the myriad of book entries, I don’t really read a lot of non-fiction, and I read even fewer memoirs. Trust me, then, when I say that Barbara Kingsolver’s lovely and amazing Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life both surprised, delighted, and scared the crap out of me.

Kingsolver and her family (husband, two daughters) packed up their life in Arizona and moved east to Appalachia, where they owned a farm, used mainly for their summer vacations. The impetus for the move? A dedicated and inspirational move towards eating food that grew on their land and/or animals that were raised on their farm. In short, they gave up being dependent upon fossil-fuel run foodstuffs and decided to try their hand at being self-sufficient.

No stranger to farming, Kingsolver, her husband Steven L. Hopp, and her two daughters, Camille and Lily, commit to one full year of eating locally. Not just food grown from their gardens, but produce bought from local farms, meat raised and butchered by their neighbours, and making a priority to purchase anything else (like coffee) from fair trade organizations.

Seems idyllic, doesn’t it? Or even ambitious? The idea of local eating had already caught fire in my virtual world as I was eagerly awaiting The 100-Mile Diet, but as I left before the book was published, I was actually surprised to hear about Kingsolver’s own experiment at eating locally.

The memoir, which also contains seasonal eating advice from Kingsolver’s elder daughter Camille and relevant essays in each chapter by her husband Steven, is very much a family affair. The chapters, arranged chronologically from one March until the next, in addition to documenting their local food trials, each deal with a particular issue facing the world, farmers, environmentalists and anyone who might be concerned about what’ll happen to the next generation.

The main thrust of the book being that many, many people don’t know what out of season means. We have no idea that the poor cantaloupe has travelled upwards of 3,000 kilometers to land from its farm to our tables in or out of its own growing season. Many people buy bananas from the grocery store and pay no attention to the fossil fuel that’s been used to get them there. A girl I used to work with would say that was the joy of living in our modern society: being able to get pineapple whenever and where ever she might like. While it’s hard to disagree that’s true, what’s even harder is to imagine a world where we’ve used up all the gas to get the pineapple from one place to the next without ever thinking in terms of the costs beyond the ding-ding of the grocery clerk’s scanning machine.

It always feels a bit melodramatic to claim that a book has changed your life. But in this case, Kingsolver’s book brought a lot of things to light that I hadn’t maybe thought of before (how much are those bananas I’m addicted to hurting the earth?) and made me think that it’s not a bad idea to plant up a section of our backyard into an urban garden. I also signed us up for Green Earth Organics so that we can better support our local farmers, as neither of us has time to shop at a farmer’s market proper.

My favourite parts of the book involve Ms. Kingsolver helping her heritage turkeys to breed (as natural mating has been bred out of turkeys) and the adventures of using up pounds and pounds of zucchini. All in all, I would highly recommend this book as the natural companion to what’ll certainly become a media darling, The 100-Mile Diet.

Can Con Go To List

A pen-pal friend of mine has inquired about a go to list for Canadian fiction. If you were introducing someone that doesn’t live in Canada to our homegrown talents, which books would you feel absolutely needed to be in the top ten?

Of course, Atwood, Munro, Shields, and Ondaatje are givens, and in choosing their titles I’d probably pick Cat’s Eye, Runaway, Larry’s Party and In the Skin of the Lion, what who else should be on the list?

Margaret Laurence, of course, and I’d pick the utterly brilliant A Bird in the House and then The Diviners, as they are two of my all-time favourite books. We mustn’t forget Timothy Findley, especially his Not Wanted on the Voyage and The Wars. However, I’d also like to include books that have obviously evolved from those titles too, like Clara Callan (see A Bird in the House) by Richard Wright or the brilliant Three Day Road (see The Wars) by Joseph Boyden.

And then don’t forget Urquhart, whose The Stone Carvers brought tears to my eyes and gave me pause when I visited the church that she based the novel upon. I’d also like the list not to read like a version of a high school syllabus. But sometimes, that’s unavoidable, for example, should everyone read The Watch that Ends the Night by Hugh MacLennon? Maybe. But it’s a familiar book on Canadian Fiction 101 course calendars.

Plus, we can’t leave out classics in the making like The Colony of Unrequited Dreams or Guy Vanderhaeghe’s The Last Crossing. How would you create the list? Or pare it down to just 10? It’s a loaded question: but what’s your quintessential go-to Can Lit book?

Consumption Redux III

Baby Got Books writes a kick-ass review of Consumption and also highly recommends the novel. See, it’s not all in my head peeps. It’s a great farking book. What are you waiting for? Honestly.

Go.

Now.

Read the book. And then tell me what you think.

What are you waiting for?

It’s almost spring — that’s the perfect time to be reading a book about all of the changes in the Arctic.

Hurry up. I’m waiting…

#18 – Getting Rid of Matthew

The first thing I found out about Jane Fallon’s Getting Rid of Matthew had nothing to do with the novel and everything to do with the author’s personal life. For Jane Fallon lives and loves UK comic sensation Ricky Gervais. Ah, The Office, how awesome you are. She’s also a successful British television producer in her own right and this first novel, in my opinion, gives Gemma Townley a run for her money in terms of being my self-appointed queen of British Chick Lit.

Now, not to disparage Gemma, of course. Because no one can actually replace the soft spot I have for Gemma in my cold, Canadian heart; but for a first novel, Getting Rid of Matthew, while it’s about 100 pages too long and has a real problem with switching POVs, was actually charming, witty and somewhat surprising. Fallon takes a fairly stereotypical soap-opera plot (husband-stealing woman finally gets her man) and sort of turns it on its head.

The main character, Helen, has been having an affair with the Matthew of the novel’s title for four years now. Married with two pre-teen girls at home, he finally, after Helen sort of breaks up with him, leaves his wife Sophie. But life with Matthew around 24-7 is very different from life with Matthew three times a week for a quick shag.

Almost as soon as he’s arrived on her doorstep, Helen decides it’s just not right. After a number of slapstick attempts at getting him to leave on his own, Helen takes some pretty drastic measures: she befriends his ex-wife (at first by accident) and works from the inside out to get them back together. Of course, as it tends to, all of Helen’s plans go tits-up before the novel’s conclusion.

Why did I like it? Because despite Helen making exceptionally bad decisions, she manages to change her life from the inside out. She’s a character you can relate to, a character that has flaws, and one that truly grows from the beginning of the novel to the end. Like I said, it’s chicklit, so it’s graded on the curve, but it’s not as predictable as say a Sophie Kinsella novel, which is already a plus in my books.

Perfect for subway and/or beach reading. Also perfect when you’ve see every single Sandra Bullock movie, are tired to death of Drew Barrymore’s rote comedies, and need a dose of girlish fun that Gilmore Girls can certainly no longer supply.

Oh, and the cover is awesome, by the way. Check it out when you’ve got a chance on Amazon.

Bloody Brilliant Barbara

Last night Zesty and I met for our usual foray into author events at the Harbourfront. While I didn’t end up in tears like the last time after seeing Colm Toibin, I certainly felt the wit and wisdom of Barbara Gowdy was well worth the price of admission. But first, the readings.

Up first was Nuruddin Farah, who read from his latest novel, Knots. Suspenseful and mysterious, the piece he read followed a young Somalian woman Cambara (pronounced “Ambara”) who ends up in Mogadishu looking for answers (in this piece in a mysterious house where a stranger has given her water) or even meaning behind a great tragedy in her life. The second book in a trilogy, I’m inclined to order the first book, Links, as the Somalian entry in my Around the World in 52 Books challenge. Farah had a lovely aura about him: soft, supple, yet smart and exceptionally serious. It was a good reading, even if it didn’t hold my attention firmly throughout.

But the superstar of Wednesday night was absolutely Barbara Gowdy. Trim, with her hair tucked back by a barrette, she approached the podium and read a section from her new novel, Helpless. Never one to disappoint, Gowdy, instead of reading any of the more sensational aspects of the novel, read from a portion of the book that delves further into the backstory of Ron, the man who steals young Rachel away from her mother. The short reading described Ron’s life after his mother died tragically on his birthday, moved into how Ron coped with her absence, and described how everything changed once his father’s lover and her daughter moved into their home. A touching bit to read especially when all the audience knows of Ron is that he’s the man who is responsible for the unpardonable action within the novel.

Once the reading was finished, after the break, we were treated to an on stage interview between Gowdy and Now magazine’s Susan G. Cole. The most interesting parts of their discussion revolved around Gowdy’s own point of view when it came to the complex and conflicted character of Ron. In Gowdy’s mind, he’s an almost-pedophile. A man not unlike Lewis Carroll who felt “urges” but didn’t act on them, never taking his obsession too far, as if the act of kidnapping Rachel, because of its motivations, didn’t necessarily cross the line. It’s an interesting distinction, and sort of what I was trying to get at in my review of the book, that while Ron’s actions are abhorrent, he maintains a certain level of control over his deplorable urges. In short, Gowdy insists, his actions are driven forward by love.

When asked about her own writing process, Gowdy told Cole that it was a long, painful process. She agonizes over ideas for almost a year until finally finding an anchor for a new book and describes her writing work as “putting the hours in.” Her house is spotless for all of her procrastination, something all of us aspiring writers can most certainly relate to. All in all, it was a great old literary evening.