Lauren Bell

Book Review: Tracking the Caribou Queen by Margaret Macpherson

By Lauren Bell

Tracking the Caribou Queen is Margaret Macpherson’s memoir of her settler childhood, in which she does the minimum of what every settler in Canada should be doing: coming to terms with our privilege and acknowledging our complicity in the colonialism and microaggressions that shape Canadian society today.

Macpherson’s childhood was spent in Yellowknife amongst her siblings and family, with much of her social interactions being tinted with their “otherness” from the individuals around them. She grew up painfully close to the colonialism of the North; her father was the principal of a local residential school. Now, as an adult, Macpherson is painfully aware of the discrimination that happened around her and looks back at her memories with a critical eye. That being said, I found that her analysis lacked a certain depth. For example, she would finish a narrative recount by asking, “Why? Why did I do this? Why did I think this?” yet never spent time exploring possible reasons to answer those questions, seeming resolved to stay in the ambiguity of it all.

Tracking the Caribou Queen started as a personal reconciliation project for Macpherson, as acknowledged in her author’s note. I think readers must be aware of this to ensure their expectations for this book. For instance, Tracking the Caribou Queen provides limited cultural and historical context for the events in the book; this is effective, as she is writing from the perspective of a child who wouldn’t be well versed in that information, however it may not meet the needs of a reader hoping for something more educative on the policies and colonial context that occurred in the North. This book is much more suited to someone looking for one personal perspective of life in Yellowknife in the 1960s–1970s.

I would have also liked to see some more character development for the individuals in her story. Despite seeing significant characters multiple times, I feel like they’re quite flat, and that I can’t attribute many traits to them. Colonialism and systemic racism, two major themes in the novel, are layered concepts and it would have been nice to see that reflected.

The part of the book that I was most pleased with was the ending. Macpherson finishes with public school and is finally able to acknowledge the biases she encountered and her privilege growing up, and she is beginning to make amends with this. Moreover, the theme of the final chapter seemed to include the importance of being in the moment, something that Macpherson struggled with throughout the memoir. Most importantly, it let the memoir conclude neatly, but not perfectly, reflecting the reality of settlerhood, and the long way still needed to go to reach true reconciliation.

 

Thank you to NeWest Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Fortunes of Jaded Women by Carolyn Huynh

By Lauren Bell

“Everyone in Orange County’s Little Saigon knew the Duong sisters were cursed.” So begins The Fortunes of Jaded Women by Carolyn Huynh. Enter Mai, the latest tragedy of the Duong family curse. At 65, she’s not expecting much from her yearly meeting with her Kaua‘i psychic, yet at this appointment she leaves with an unexpected prophecy: this year there will be a birth in the family, a marriage, and a funeral, if she can fix the damaged relationships with everyone in her family. What makes this fortune all the more desirable is that the baby born will be a boy—meaning the end of the Duong generational curse, where the Duong women only give birth to daughters, and none know love or happiness. But what makes this prediction bittersweet is that Mai has been estranged from her two sisters and mother for ten years, and that her three daughters each harbour a deep resentment towards her. Thus begins the difficult path of Mai’s reconciliation. Naturally, there is a funeral, a birth, and a wedding; however, they do not play out in the ways imagined.

Told in third person, each chapter shares a perspective from one woman in the family, showing what their current life looks like and how their strained relationships to each other have affected it. Essentially, the Duong women are all very similar—fiery, stubborn, and passionate (what society might call “difficult,” but these are the traits that made me love and root for the characters), enhancing Huynh’s strong feminist voice that underlies the novel. I found The Fortunes of Jaded Women to be very reminiscent of Crazy Rich Asians, with the Duong family being the central, complicated, overly involved, but fiercely protective family. However, the roots of superstition and the unique commentary on identity, immigration, upward mobility, and biracial relationships set it apart from Kwan’s. This is what makes The Fortunes of Jaded Women such a valuable read: in between the pages of satire, Huynh still finds space to discuss serious topics.

Moreover, Huynh describes these experiences in such a way that can provoke empathy in readers of all backgrounds. I found Huynh did a good job of capturing the voices of each character at each point in their lives, despite differences in age and values. The scenes of housewife/reality TV show-style arguments between the family members, I think, were the peak of Huynh’s writing, as reading them made me feel as if I really was in the midst of the chaos. I read this book within two days, despite it being an averaged sized novel—which I think speaks to the plot’s allure. I would highly recommend this read.

 

Thank you to Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Making a Scene by Constance Wu

By Lauren Bell

If you’re like me, you’ll recognize Constance Wu from the movies Crazy Rich Asians (2018) and Hustlers (2019), but you may also recognize her from the sitcom Fresh Off the Boat (2015–2020). Making a Scene is her memoir in essays about her life; from growing up in Richmond, Virginia to discovering community theatre and “making it” in Hollywood. That is the synopsis on the back of the book—however, after reading the book (or to be more honest, even just from reading the introduction), I have come to reject that description. On the whole, it is much too surface level of a depiction, especially when the point of Wu’s book is to “make a scene” or make meaning out of her experiences—regardless of how ordinary or mundane they may seem on the outside.

As the summary describes, the title comes from Wu being told “good girls don’t make scenes” growing up, but also from a time when she wanted to give her unnamed character (“Girl”) her own story. I believe this is what Wu wanted to do with her essays—name the background individuals, give them histories, and find themes in the beginning, middle, and end of her essays. Because of this, you don’t mind reading about the mundane and ordinary things in life because Wu writes them to have significance.

Her essays are not told in chronological order, nor are they placed by significance, but rather as to reveal another trait or layer to herself: passionate, hardworking, stubborn. Some of the essays I particularly enjoyed were “Montana Gold,” where she describes working in a bread bakery, And “Of Course She Did,” about a traumatizing elementary teacher she had.

I picked this book to read not as a superfan but as someone who enjoys reading memoirs, and curious about the actress that starred in two movies that I enjoyed. Moreover, I was also interested in her perspective on being an actress in a whitewashed industry and in the #MeToo era. She discusses this in the essay “Jurassic Park,” where she uses an analogy to the T. rex to explain the mix of emotions she felt toward her cultural identity from working on Fresh Off the Boat. “Do As I Say” is probably the other most important essay on her career, because this is where she describes the series of events (instances that readers may already be aware of) that pushed her into choosing to step out of the limelight and prioritize her needs by seeking handpicked roles over publicity-based ones. My respect for Wu sincerely grew after reading that essay and her unheard media narrative, not only for the bravery it takes to put her peace first but also for rejecting the media’s perception of being a successful actress, and truly dedicating herself to her art. What I have also come to admire about Wu is her unwavering ability to hold herself accountable for her actions, whether they be from serious mistakes (e.g., her cruel relationship to her younger sister), or less scarring ones (e.g., writing “penis” all over the set of Fresh Off the Boat).

I would recommend Making a Scene to readers like myself, vaguely aware of Wu and curious about her life, but also superfans, or individuals who haven’t heard of her at all. I think each reader would come out with something different, but still feel the underlying theme: that we are all complex, multifaceted individuals that shouldn’t be held hostage to one image of us.

 

Thank you to Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult and Jennifer Finney Boylan

By Lauren Bell

I’m a habitual reader of Jodi Picoult, so it was only natural that her newest book landed in my “to be read” pile. As for Jennifer Finlay Boylan, this is my first time reading her work, but in Mad Honey both authors’ perspectives balanced each other out and presented one cohesive voice.

Mad Honey is told in the alternating voices of Olivia McAfee, a single mother who took over her father’s beekeeping business after a messy divorce with an abusive husband, narrating post-incident; and Lily Campanello, a high school senior also starting over with her mother after fleeing her father, narrating the time leading up to her untimely death. The two women’s stories are connected by Asher—Olivia’s son and Lily’s boyfriend. Lily and Asher’s relationship is generally amicable, with much of the bonding occurring over their similar absent fathers, but where Asher’s secret desire is to understand his father, Lily’s desire is to forget hers. So, while their love is unyielding, it is also unforgiving, and sometimes Asher hurts Lily—emotionally and physically. 

I was a tad apprehensive as I started the novel, because to me the plot sounded very similar to one of Picoult’s previous novels, The Pact (1998). While there were similarities—a tragic teenage romance, the deceased girlfriend, the implicated boyfriend, and the following court case—the characters held their own originality. The plot also took a turn that completely changed the trajectory of the novel, and how I felt about it. For example, at times, I felt frustrated reading it; however, I believe this was intended, as the authors were unafraid to confront privilege and address their characters’ unconscious biases. Much of this book could be used as an educational or discussion tool in that sense.

Along with that, perhaps what I love about Picoult’s work is the vast amount of research she puts into it that gives so much more depth to her character’s interests. In Mad Honey, she is able to incorporate beekeeping knowledge into her character’s values and weave it into the novel so that fact complements her fiction.

In sum, I enjoyed reading Mad Honey, and despite its length, I found it gripping and finished it within a couple days. I would absolutely recommend this book to previous readers of Jodi Picoult, as they will be able to appreciate the appearances of Jordan McAfee and his wife Selena (characters from previous novels) as Asher’s defense team, as well as fans of Jennifer Finlay Boylan, who writes with a certain thoughtfulness that has piqued my curiosity towards her other work.

 

Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Burden of Memories by Janet Calcaterra

By Lauren Bell

Content warning: addiction, alcohol abuse, suicide

The Burden of Memories by Janet Calcaterra is a novel about family, and how mental illness can affect all of its members. The year is 1995, and the novel opens with eldest daughter, Adrienne Muir, in the middle of a bender after losing her dream job. Her slightly intrusive and WASP-y mother, Gloria, becomes worried quickly, and urges her to spend a week with her younger sister, Cass, in North Bay, Ontario. At the same time, Adrienne receives a box of letters from her aunt, written by her deceased father during his time overseas in World War II. Her curiosity overrides her emotions—especially with her mother being so tight-lipped about their past—and she brings the box with her to Cass’s. Their father, Dr. Alex Muir, was a psychiatrist, and as they read his letters, they struggle to decode the cryptic messaging in his letters. Is he speaking of his own mental turmoil or his patients’?

The Burden of Memories is told through the multiple perspectives of the Muir family, the letters written by Dr. Alex Muir, and his diary entries; thus, it bounces from 1940 to 1995 with each passage. I generally don’t have any issues with this format; however, I found that some of the letters, when alluded to in the text, were repeated unnecessarily. I believe that there were missed opportunities for imagery in the text, and felt that Calcaterra was telling the story, rather than showing it. I also found that there were a lot of missed opportunities for introspection among the characters, especially since the novel was about examining memories and the choices that arose from them.

What I did notice about the novel and appreciate was the non-nuclear family structures, meaning there weren’t any “traditional” households in the text; all were multigenerational and most included half/step-siblings/parents. It was nice to see that diversity. I also appreciate the awareness that Calcaterra promotes by describing and openly discussing the signs of alcohol abuse through her characters, and I hope that readers can learn and benefit from those observations. While The Burden of Memories was not my favourite read, it was a quick one (less than two hundred pages) and would be suited readers who enjoy World War II fiction and Canadian history, as well as books set locally in Ontario.

 

Thank you to Latitude 46 for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Long Weekend by Gilly MacMillan

By Lauren Bell

I have been a long-time fan of Gilly MacMillan and have read all her titles, so needless to say, The Long Weekend was a highly anticipated book for me (reading it felt like coming home). MacMillan’s latest novel fits true to her style—a psychological thriller set against the background of England and told in alternating perspectives.

Three couples are staying at the isolated Dark Fell Barn for a weekend getaway. Each couple is at a different stage in their relationship (one newly married, another new parents, and the other hovering around divorce), and no one is eager for the weekend, but they have begrudgingly come out of an unspoken obligation to keep the group together in honour of their recently deceased friend Rob, the so-called “glue” of the group. While the men of the group are lifelong friends, their wives are merely there by association, and the realization of how little they actually know each other further sours the atmosphere. Within this context the hook of the novel is set: upon their arrival they receive a note warning them that one of their husbands will be killed before they return home. From then on, it’s a guessing game of who left the note and which husband will be targeted.

As I mentioned previously, the plot is told in alternating perspectives, mostly in third person, but there is also a second narrator—the perpetrator of the crime. When you’re reading, you are never fully certain of the narrator’s identity—process of elimination from the subtle hints MacMillan drops cancels out the obvious choices. This is where I believe that MacMillan’s skill as a thriller writer stands out, as she keeps the audience guessing throughout the novel.

What I also like about MacMillan’s work is that she creates “real” people in her characters, and snapshots of everyday lives in her novels. I appreciate their originality and relatability, and the fact that she stays away from classic mystery tropes (e.g., no femme fatales or conflicted detectives). I found her ending to be fitting as well, as it ties up all loose ends. However, my main critique for The Long Weekend is that the plot’s timeline is the span of a weekend, yet the book itself is roughly 300 pages, meaning MacMillan does a lot to build suspense in the novel, but at times this can drag.

I quite enjoyed reading The Long Weekend and would recommend it to fans of the genre, especially those who have previously read MacMillan’s work.

Book Review: What the Dog Knows by Sylvia McNicoll

By Lauren Bell

Growing up, Sylvia McNicoll was one of my favourite young adult authors. Her newest book, What the Dog Knows, is also written for young adults—especially dog lovers, as the novel is written in tribute to the many dogs she’s loved in her life.

In the summer before high school, Naomi is having the worst summer of her life. This is mostly due to her beloved dog, Diesel, being run over by a car, which she blames herself for. The fact that her parents are splitting up, and that money is tight (leaving her babysitting instead of taking the swimming lessons she signed up for) is not helping the situation. On July 1, at precisely 4:30 p.m., she drowns.

This incident launches her into a Groundhog Day-esque scenario, where instead of reliving the same day over and over again, she’s brought back to June 25, the day Diesel died. However, this time Diesel can talk to her, and her watch is permanently stuck at July 1, 4:30 p.m. With her renewed time, she vows to do better, mostly by ensuring Diesel’s safety, but also doing what she can to save her parent’s marriage.

What the Dog Knows includes the necessary aspects of middle school—the crush, the frenemy, wanting to fit in, and the awkwardness of puberty. Despite these tropes, Naomi’s cynicism makes her seem much older and more mature than the average fourteen-year-old. Fleeting moments where she lets herself experience imagination show how young she is and wants to act. With this in mind, her insistence on learning how to swim means something more than just the lessons: it is her chance to indulge and to put her needs first, rather than those of her family. Hence, the theme of family is very evident in the novel, and Naomi’s “pack” become the underdogs (no pun intended) that you’re rooting for. The development of Naomi’s frenemy, Morgan, to friend, is also worth noting, as it adds to the theme of trust.

As someone older reading What the Dog Knows, I recognize that my experience with it will be different than the intended audience of the novel. For instance, I sympathized with Naomi and felt sorry that someone that young must worry about rent and making ends meet, rather than spending that time being a child. I think if I had read it when I was Naomi’s age, I still would have enjoyed it. I found McNicoll’s description of having separated parents relatable and realistic, and I think I would have appreciated learning from the insight of a family living in a different financial situation than my own. She addresses topics like job insecurity and divorce without getting too heavy. I should also mention that the book does not need the typical dog movie/book warning (meaning there is no sad ending!), so it is absolutely suitable for animal lovers. Because of the perspective one can gain from the lived experiences of Naomi, What the Dog Knows is definitely a novel I would recommend to younger readers, as well as to parents and teachers.

 

Thank you to Dundurn Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Strange Scent of Saffron by Miléna Babin Translated by Oana Avasilichioaei

By Lauren Bell

The Strange Scent of Saffron is a novel by Miléna Babin, originally written in French, and translated by Oana Avasilichioaei. The novel itself is a quick read (160 pages) and follows the story of Nil, a woman travelling alone in a stolen pickup across the lower St. Lawrence.

Nil is a character written as if encased in a hard shell. She’s tough and a little rough on the edges—but is also the type of person who has suffered and understands the suffering of others; in Nil’s case, her trauma comes from her abusive twin brother. When first introduced to Nil and her sketchy circumstances, it is obvious she is running from moments in her past that have left physical and emotional scars. Wanting to know more about her is what grabs the reader in the first chapter.

While Nil’s story is written in third person, the plot also includes the first person perspective of the other primary main character, Jacob, an exhausted restaurant owner who takes Nil in after she “dines and dashes” from his business. Like Nil, Jacob is an elusive character with his own inner demons: loneliness, a reliance on pills, and an incestuous history with his deceased foster sister. The year in which Nil and Jacob’s story is set is 1988, whose philosophies of having a stiff upper lip and “don’t ask, don’t tell” dictate many of the interactions between the characters. The little we know about the two builds the sense similarity and comradery, as well as the sexual tension between them. When Nil discovers that Jacob is involved in saffron trafficking, he has no choice but to include her in his scheme.

Halfway through the novel Babin also introduces Amar’s perspective, a young child participating in his first saffron harvest on his family farm in India. However, I feel like this inclusion happened too late in the book and didn’t add to the main plots at hand.

My feelings towards The Strange Scent of Saffron are mixed. While there were parts of the book I enjoyed—for instance, I thought Babin handled the AIDS crisis very well in the way the stigma and the reality of the illness is addressed in the novel—but was disappointed she chose not to elaborate on other poignant themes such as racism and trauma when she introduced the opportunity to. Moreover, I felt like the majority of the characters in the book had the same storyline of being bored with life and sexually frustrated and it would have been nice if they had more than just this one dimension. I also didn’t like the ending. While I can respect an author’s wish to keep plots unresolved and leave the story open to interpretation, the ending felt like it happened in the middle of the plot, too close to the climax, and thus I have my own difficulties coming to the conclusion of Nil’s fate.

 

Thank you to Guernica Editions for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Employees by Olga Ravn Translated by Martin Aitken

By Lauren Bell

The Employees: A Workplace Novel of the 22nd Century is a short (136 pages) novel written by Olga Ravn and translated from Dutch to English by Martin Aitken. Both authors should be commended for the lyricality of the prose. The literary devices of imagery and personification were particularly skillful, and I have great admiration for Ravn’s creativity in the novel’s construction.

The Employees is structured as a series of witness statements compiled by a workplace commission on the Six-Thousand Ship to describe the series of events that lead to the project’s demise. Nineteen objects are taken from the planet New Discovery, and soon after gaining possession of them the crew becomes attached to the objects and begins to long for warmth and intimacy, which dramatically affects their productivity. However, the crew is composed of humans (“those who were born”), humanoids (“those who were made”), and some with bits of both, which further complicates the internal dilemma amongst the crew: is there more to life than just work? and creates divisive lines within their society (humans vs. humanoids, the crew vs. Homebase).

What I liked most about this book and what makes Ravn’s work so thought-provoking is the ambiguity within the text. In each character’s account names are rarely given (for instance, peers are referred to as Cadet O4) and neither is gender, human/humanoid status, or any other identifying information. The little that Ravn gives us is enough to make us realize the characters are complicated and leaves us wanting to know more about them. Clearly, they’re more than just the compliant and one-dimensional crew members they’re expected to be, complementing the integral themes of the individual identity and the collective one. As well, the objects found by the crew are never identified to the reader; they’re only ever described based on the crew’s skewed perceptions of them. With most of the novel falling into this grey area, Ravn can challenge productivity/capitalist constructs, but also other social constructs such as gender and monogamy.

If I haven’t made it clear enough, The Employees: A Workplace Novel of the 22nd Century is a highly rewarding and short read. I very much enjoyed reading this novel and would recommend this it to those who like dystopian fiction, indie reads, and existentialism. Reading it also reminded me of Brave New World by Aldous Huxley because they have similar visions towards the future of humanity.

 

Thank you to Book*hug Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Modern Whore by Andrea Werhun Photography by Nicole Bazuin

By Lauren Bell

The publisher’s blurb of Werhun and Bazuin’s book Modern Whore says that “it’s Playboy if the Playmates were in charge,” and that is honestly the most accurate summary one could give. I’d even add that reading it is also like listening to a Lizzo song: you finish a chapter and come out high on girl power. The sense of love and respect the two creators have for each other is genuine, and this adds to the sense of female empowerment the audience gains from reading Werhun’s story. The book is a blend of memoir and image, the result of a collaboration between Andrean Werhun and filmmaker Nicole Bazuin.

Ultimately, everything we know about the “Modern Whore” is wrong. Encounters with them are more than just sex; they’re whatever their client needs them to be (e.g., smart, funny, a conversationalist, sincere, accepting), and they deserve the same fundamental respect deserved by all women. Werhun’s development into a Modern Whore begins in her adolescence: she’s self-assured, confident, and unapologetic (everything my teenage self wished she could be), and she keeps the values she establishes as a youth with her as she begins her sex work career in university. There’s a lot one can learn from her stories on the job—and not just different positions, but also how one can best support a sex worker (e.g., what’s stigmatizing to say vs. what’s meaningful). Her work is funny in a cynical and satirical way, conveyed by anecdotes she includes aside of the main text, such as her takes on erotic board reviews and tips like “Remind any boundary-pushers that it is your body, your rules, and your safety!” But Werhun also does not shy away from serious topics. For instance, I found her experiences in giving up alcohol and in outreach to be particularly thoughtful.

In the second half of the book, Werhun chronicles her experiences as a dancer and outreach worker, which emphasize the sense of community amongst sex workers and dancers. There’s an unspoken “whore code,” where the workers support each other outwardly in giving advice and cheering their peers on, but also in more subtle ways like leaving supplies in their locker room donation bin. This extends to other, non-sex work-related things as well, which Werhun saw firsthand as she released Modern Whore during the difficult time when the COVID-19 pandemic was shaking the industry. Werhun highlights how resilient and supportive the community is.

What I liked most about her writing is that it is honest, bordering the line of bluntness, regardless whether she’s sharing a personal story or calling out rape culture. Her lack of sugar-coating is refreshing; she writes as if she wants her words to be a mirror in which you can see yourself, and her unique perspective on sex work is insightful. What’s more is that along with her brutal honesty, she’s also forgiving towards her younger self, which I’d argue is one of the most important themes in the book. I hope other readers can take away the theme of self-love the way that I did, among the many others embedded in Modern Whore.

 

Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Some of My Best Friends by Tajja Isen

By Lauren Bell

Some of My Best Friends by Tajja Isen is collection of nine essays on her views and experiences about the prevalence and uselessness of lip service in current society. Her work is a critique of the language we use and how we use it, raising such points as the watering down of words like anti-racism and diversity. Her background in law allows her to examine the ways language is used in legal reasoning and policies, which show exactly how insidiously language can be used against us.

Some of My Best Friends is best summarized by Isen herself:

Certain establishments have always said what they think the public wants to hear, whether for profit or cachet. The more I thought about it, the more I realized this dynamic is predominantly how I—and, I’d venture, most people—have long interacted with the institutions that shape my life: they let us down and promise and we adapt, then they apologize for letting us down and promise to fix things; then they break their promises shortly afterward or never act on them at all. This book is about how we live, and what we demand, amid such token apologies and promises.

 Isen emphasizes that actions speak louder than words and calls out the many Band-Aid fix apologies that have been inherent in society for far too long. She’s exceptionally well-versed in pop culture and the many examples of injustices (mostly from 2016 to present) that she presents demonstrate her cultural awareness and show how much more work Canada and the United States need to be doing in terms of creating equity. Most writers could follow her example in dedication to representation; she predominantly bases her work on her own experiences and the experiences of other BIPOC individuals.

 A few of my favourite essays from Some of My Friends are “Hearing Voices” in which she introduces the complicated world of voice acting. In “Tiny White People,” I completely agree with her views on the bland options of high school novel studies. In “This Time It’s Personal,” Isen discusses the nuances of identity, and the pressure that creatives face to focus their work on their pain.

 Aside from her intellect, the other defining quality to Isen’s writing is her wit, which complements her “No BS” attitude. At one point, she reflects on a piece of work she wrote in 2016, asking “Who is she? What’s her problem, where the hell is her sense of humor?” Tajja, I promise you, you’ve found it.

Writing this review is where I realized how impactful her work was. Words, as Isen has shown, are powerful, and I wanted to pick the right ones in this review to adequately encapsulate the depth of this book. Language is powerful, and how we use it is powerful. In that sense, Some of My Best Friends is powerful too, and if that doesn’t justify adding it to your reading list, I don’t know what will.

 

Thank you to Penguin Random House Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Devil's Whispers by Lucas Hault

By Lauren Bell

The Devil’s Whispers is a 2022 horror novel written by Lucas Hault. Hault opened the novel with a poignant quote by Mary Shelley: “I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves,” which immediately captured me and set the scene for the Shelley-like novel. The reader will also notice that Hault does well to emulate the Old English and mannerisms in which his novel is set.

 Set in England in 1903, the novel is written in journals and correspondence of Gerard Woodward, a revered lawyer, his fiancée, Raelynn, and their other close acquaintances. The plot is set in motion as Woodward travels to visit the dying Lord Mathers in his castle to settle his affairs. His stay becomes anything but what he anticipated as he is locked into his room and unable to contact the outside world. Sneaking out of his window at night is what allows him to explore the gothic castle and observe its inhabitants. In the novel, the castle is described dramatically, obviously, to encapsulate the mysterious and spooky atmosphere Hault is trying to portray. However, I was not personally intrigued by it. I found the castle to be filled with too many classic horror tropes: an isolated castle, creepy butler, black cats, and Mathers’ beautiful daughter to consider it remarkable. 

Woodward’s silence to Raelynn and his other peers is what creates a ripple effect of worry for the other characters in the novel, who are also experiencing their own unsettling events. For instance, Raelynn is visited by her cousin, Nathan, who suddenly falls ill, and during his sickness, he is visited by a mysterious woman that turns him against Raelynn. Within these subplots, the trend of horror tropes continues with the new moon influencing character behaviour and the “possessed” (for lack of a better word) character’s aversion to garlic. 

I will, however, give Hault credit for his integration of Asturian mythology and the introduction of the Xana as his antagonist. This was my first time learning of this creature, and it made the story less generic. With the Xana now involved, I noticed a transition within the atmosphere of the novel. It became less Frankenstein and Dracula-esque and shifted to being more like The Exorcist with the involvement of the church and the possessed characters crawling up walls. 

As I finished the novel, I was disappointed with the lack of characterization; most were one-dimensional, and I found them hard to sympathize with. As well, I felt the novel didn’t really have an ending when compared with its slow build-up. Ultimately, The Devil’s Whispers was not my favourite novel, but  it’s a quick read (~200 pages) for those interested in horror and willing to try it. 

 

Thank you, TCK Publishing, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: A Boy is Not a Ghost by Edeet Ravel

By Lauren Bell

A Boy is Not a Ghost is based on the true story of author Edeet Ravel’s fifth grade teacher, Nahum Halpern, now located in Montréal. The respect Ravel has for him is evident in her writing, and it’s not surprising to me that Halpern became a teacher, as his fictionalized counterpart, Nat, has an admirable love for reading and an unbounded inquisitiveness. Nat’s story spans from summer 1941 to winter 1994, and is the sequel to A Boy is Not a Bird, also written by RavelI have not read the prior novel, but I had no difficulty catching on to the plot from the first chapter. 

Nat starts the story as a 12-year-old travelling to Siberia after having been forced to leave his home of Czernowitz. Accompanying him is his mother and a disparate group of individuals thrown together by circumstance.  Early in the novel, the prose reflects Nat’s age with multiple !!! punctuating exclamatory sentences and CAPITALIZED WORDS FOR EMPHASIS, obviously reflecting the novel’s targeted younger audience. As Nat matures, the writing does as well, but I found it to be very readable for the age group it was written for. For instance, Nat is clever enough to know to read and write letters to his family in code, but Ravel follows each letter with an explanation of the letter’s intended meaning. She also uses the concept of quotas to explain some of the inexplicable acts of violence occurred during the war, and revisits the metaphor of being a ghost multiple times in the plot to reflect Nat’s changing perspectives. 

The group’s arrival in Siberia ultimately results in their disbandment, with some characters moving on to better circumstances and others not. Nat notes that “adults get noticed but kids slip through the cracks,” prompting him to do grown-up things such as bribing guards for the safety of others. Nat’s mother is soon arrested, and he is left in the care of their friend Irene, who leaves him to the Mindru family shortly after—but not before teaching him the skill of networking, which becomes integral to his survival. 

The tragedies happening around Nat prematurely age him, with the pattern of being left behind by others leaving a significant imprint on him and the decisions he makes. By the second and third parts of the story, he transitions from being the person who is left to the one leaving others. When he is finally reunited with his mother, their relationship has shifted so that he takes on the role of the guardian instead. 

I quite enjoyed reading A Boy is Not a Ghost and would very much recommend it to younger readers. The casual reflections made by Nat are thought provoking (“Stalin makes us all storytellers”) and Ravel’s descriptions of Siberia echo the bleakness of their altered world, where someone’s survival is dependent on having an indoor job vs. an outdoor one. Essentially, A Boy is Not a Ghost is not only an important war story, but also an important bildungsroman. 

Thank you to Groundwood Books for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Pippo & Clara by Diana Rosie

By Lauren Bell

One child turns left: the other right. 

Pippo, Clara, and Mamma are a small but resilient family, displaced by unrest in Italy and driven by frequent location. With their arrival in an unnamed Italian city, Mamma goes out one night and doesn’t come back. Clara, the eldest child, goes out to look for her the following morning. A little while later, Pippo wakes to find both missing and goes out searching as well. 

One child turns left: the other right. 

Neither child has any concept of time, and the moment of losing each other is intensified. Both children think they see their mother with her golden eyes and layered necklaces, but both are mistaken and propelled into two very different worlds. 

One child turns left: the other right. 

Clara is taken in by the intimidating Signore and Signora, a childless fascist couple who are heavily involved with the city’s politics. Pippo is taken in by Donna and Mario, a joyful communist couple. While Pippo is dazzled by the prospects of becoming a communist and begins working as a messenger for a secret resistance group, Clara is enrolled into Mussolini’s school system and thrust into Italy’s fascist society. However, secret readings with a Jewish librarian keep Clara skeptical of the ideals she learns in school. 

One child turns left: the other right. 

In more ways than one, the children and their “new” respective families are foils of each other. Where Clara is a loner, quiet and bookish, Pippo is outgoing, described as a “chattering bird”. Within their character development, Clara matures by becoming more risk-taking and open to others, whereas Pippo becomes more serious, taking on the more caregiver-oriented roles for his family. There are many times within the novel when the two siblings almost cross paths, which only become more frequent as both families stop fighting for their political ideals and instead choose to fight for humanity. As the plot unrolls, Diana Rosie, the author, shows her mastery of dropping subtle hints and foreshadowing. 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Pippo & Clara by Diana Rosie and would very much recommend it to others. I found that she was able to reflect Italy’s moral dilemma into one family, as well as tie in bildungsroman and family themes within the plot. For instance, I really appreciated that she often used the colours red, green, and white as motifs. Her characters were real and interesting to read about as there was neither the perfect villain nor the perfect hero. Moreover, Rosie was very adept at building suspense, which is perhaps another reason why I found it hard to put down. 

Thank you, Publishing Group Canada, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

In Conversation with Nic Brewer author of Suture

With Lauren Bell

 

Photo by Becca Lemire Photography

 

First, I just need to say that I loved reading Suture. I paint and write myself, and I know I that felt seen, especially within the character Finn. Do you see yourself in any of your characters?

Thank you!! I’m so happy that you said it that way, that you felt seen. I see myself in all of the characters, honestly--even the ones that are loosely based on other people from my life. Because I was writing Suture throughout my entire twenties, my characters kept shifting as I grew as a person and a writer, and I ended up infusing parts of myself in all of them. But Grace and Eva are the two main sides of my personality coin - the worst of me lives in Grace, and the latest of me lives in Eva.

 What inspired you to write Suture?

Content warning: suicidal ideation

This question comes to me somewhat frequently, and I try to give a different kind of answer every time. The origin story: it started as an assignment for a university class on Satire. The heart of it: it wasn’t something I felt I had a choice in, this story that grew of its own accord, that taught me and learned from me, that miraculously found a home with my favourite people at my favourite publisher. But one of the many constant things that inspired me to write Suture is that I kept not dying. I wasn’t always trying, but so often I wanted to, and when I would come out the other side of the deep dark, when I’d find the perspective that doesn’t exist inside the deep dark, I needed to know more about it, and to do that I needed to write. Writing is the only thing that has ever come naturally to me, and it felt like the only way I was going to be able to survive my rounds with the deep dark was to write about the ache of it, and to write about the getting through.

There is some debate as to what genre Suture is. Specifically, is it horror or literary fiction? But I see in your bio, you describe yourself as a “creator of genre-less fiction”? What’s your stance on Suture and the significance of genre-less fiction in general?

Oh goodness, I feel like I could write extensively on my thoughts about genre, but I will do my best to pare it down. I think genre has a few purposes: to guide readers, to guide writers, and to sell books. The value of genre-less fiction, in my mind, is that is offers no guidance and has no motives--there is a certain amount of work required from the reader to bring themselves to the  story, and for the writer it is a spectacularly difficult exercise in introspection: what do I want from this work? How do I want the reader to be able to situate themselves? What is the galaxy of this story, what are the minutiae of its goals? 

So, what genre is Suture? I love that we’ve chosen horror/thriller as one of its genres, because it is very much not what most people would consider horror - and yet, it’s suspenseful, it’s gory, and its violence must be addressed by the book’s end. I love that it nestles into this genre to reach unsuspecting readers, and I think that the horror genre generally is seeing a really inspiring diversification--ghost stories have always been stories a way to confront trauma, and we are now seeing those stories in the horror genre from writers whose backgrounds--whose traumas--have been historically underrepresented in any literature, and particularly in genre fiction. Also, there is so much scholarly work on queering horror!! I am not educated enough to go into it here, but a huge part of it is about reclaiming queer-coded villains. Okay, sorry, I have veered a little bit, but my point is that I feel very lucky to have my little gay book building a home in the horror genre.

Literary fiction, on the other hand, is something of a catch-all genre. Theoretically, literary fiction has to do with the quality of the writing, and the general non-existence of other generic tropes - but it has come to contain its own generic tropes, and I think we see a lot of really innovative, exciting writers wanting to eschew the literary fiction label. As a result, we get autofiction, we get linked stories, we get novels in verse, we get speculative fiction, and so on - we get genre-less fiction that needs a name, because as much as writing is art, bookselling is still a business. So for Suture, I also happy to have it living among other literary fictions, because is not quite like the others, and growth comes from difference. When stories don’t fit somewhere, they expand the possibility of what may be able to fit in the future, and that’s thrilling - that’s genre-less fiction.

You use a lot of imagery, especially when describing the character’s creative process, how did you prepare yourself/what strategies did you have for writing those scenes?

Content warning: self-harm, eating disorder

Although I have never liked gory movies, I have always been fascinated by the potential of body horror, and I think this probably stemmed from my long history with self-harm and eating disorders. As someone who never felt at home in my body, I was always trying to figure out how to make my sack of skin and bones bearable. I loved sports for this reason (individual sports only, I have never been good at teamwork), because I got to just hurtle myself through space with a really specific purpose - I got to do, without having to think much. So when I found myself writing a body horror story, the gore of it never bothered me at all, because in some way it felt like I was just writing about how it felt to try to exist in a body that seemed to betray me at every turn. It was also, surprisingly, never triggering, perhaps because the imagery went so far beyond what a person could ever realistically do, that it almost felt like relief to be able to have the action out in the world without needing to perform it.

Since we’re talking about imagery, some of your writing in Suture almost seems poetic at times, what made you choose to present Suture in narrative form, rather than poetry, or any other medium (e.g., film)?

I mentioned above that writing is the only thing that’s ever come naturally to me, so although I’ve absolutely envisioned Suture as art and film (would love it, would absolutely love to see Suture as a film), I knew I’d never be able to do the vision justice with my own skills or resources. 

As for a narrative form, rather than poetry--I am a die-hard prose person. I think prose poems are just flash fiction, and I love it so much when weird, fragmented, genre-less things fall into fiction instead of into poetry. I feel like there is a mindset around poetry that it’s allowed to be difficult, and that fiction should be more straightforward, and I reject that entirely. Fiction is just a story; prose is just writing without line breaks. Books like A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing or Girl, Woman, Other could just as easily have been called poetry, and I don’t think poets would have objected--poetry, for some reason, is perceived as being allowed to push its own boundaries, and I just want fiction to have that same freedom. (Also, for the record, I do love poetry.)

(Related to this rant: A section of The Odyssey was included in this year’s Short Story Advent Calendar, and I was absolutely thrilled by it. Because, yes! How is Beowulf not fiction? How is The Odyssey not a novel?)

Could you talk a bit about your dedication? (For reference, Suture is dedicated to “anyone who needs it”)

Suture is first dedicated to Tab, a friend of mine who died by suicide. Books have the power to save people and heal people, because being seen is a gift when you’re in an impossible situation. As I finished Suture, I couldn’t help but think that I hoped it was the kind of book that might have saved Tab, at least for a little longer, that it’s the kind of book that might have saved me. But I also hoped it was the kind of book that might help a parent or partner understand the impenetrable ache of a child or a spouse alone in the deep dark. So in this way, it was an olive branch, to  the sad readers, and to the readers who do not always understand the sadness: for anyone who needs it.

Suture addresses some serious themes, including love, empathy, and sacrifice. Why do you think Finn’s, Eva’s, and Grace’s voices need to be heard?

I think that Finn’s, Eva’s, and Grace’s voices are, honestly, already very well-represented in art. I’m not sure I even do feel that their voices are the most important part of the story, although obviously I believe their characters are the very heart of it. I think what makes Suture valuable are its secondary characters: the people who love Finn, Eva, and Grace, and who see them through the major moments of their lives. For characters, or people, like Finn, Eva, and Grace, I don’t think they can help but make themselves heard, but I have often wished to see behind the curtain of someone’s life, and hear from the rest of the cast -- that, I believe, is what needs to be heard. Not their voices, but the possibilities of how to have a conversation with them.

Now that Suture is published, will there be another book from you in the future?

I certainly hope so! I have become entirely obsessed with ghosts and haunted houses, and I’ve started drafting a possible plan for my own weird haunted house novel. I expect I will write it no matter what, and I certainly hope it may find a home with a publisher and make its way into the world as a book eventually.

With all the experience you have writing and publishing, what advice would you give to aspiring authors who are trying to navigate the publishing world?

My advice is probably some of the worst advice, because it is the queen of cliches: be true to yourself. Understanding your own needs, limits, and resources is so important for you and the people you love, and I think that pursuing any art form comes with a very real pressure of burning yourself out. I absolutely still struggle with this! I feel like I can only do a fraction of what other people manage to do, but I have prioritized my relationship and my physical and mental health, and there is only so much time in a day. If a book takes five years to write, so it takes five years. If a book takes ten years to write, so it takes ten years. If a book is written in fits and starts, on snow days and long weekends, great. If a book is written in a sprint during a two-week vacation, great. In my opinion, the single most important thing is to lead a life you are proud of, and do what you can to pursue what is important to you.

And try not to compare yourself. I mean, we all do it, but try not to put too much stock into it. You’re doing great. Go have a sip of water, though.

What is your “must-read” book recommendation and what book has had the most impact and influence on your writing?

Ah, the impossible question! Infinite Jest and A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing likely had the most impact and influence on my writing. I loved that neither of these books even considered making themselves more approachable to the reader, not even for a moment. They are genius, and they are so true to their own goals, and they made me feel like even if my writing never did make it out into the world, if I was true to my vision and didn’t cater to an imagined reader, I would be happy with what I produced - and that was very, very true. (Although I didn’t actually like Infinite Jest in the end, because I felt the last 300 pages undermined everything that had been set up thus far.)

My “must-read” book recommendation changes depending on who I’m talking to, but my favourite book is To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf. It is simply incredible, and it knocked Catch-22 out of my top spot a few years ago. I share and talk about a lot of what I read on the Instagram account @sadgirlsreading!

Book Review: Suture by Nic Brewer

By Lauren Bell

Content warning: gore

Suture by Nic Brewer tells the fragmented story of three artists and how the necessary sacrifices they make for their work baffles those around them. 

Eva is a filmmaker who uses her eyes as batteries for her camera. The first time she tried it was as a child, and her eyes haven’t worked the same since; her vision is only perfect when she looks through the camera lens. By the time she is 37, she’s lost colour vision in her camera too, and without it she only sees shadows. It is through the help of her devoted wife, Dev (whom Eva must learn to love), that she is able to find a careful balance.

Finn is a visual artist that uses her heart and lungs for her art. She is first introduced as a child observing the art class her father attends—a class adorned with scalpels and organs instead of the traditional supplies. By the time Finn is 30, she is a successful artist, but she gives up her passion soon after. It isn’t until her child begins following in her footsteps as a drummer that Finn is forced to reconcile her feelings about her family, art, and future.

Grace is an author who uses her blood to power her word processor. She is introduced as a bookish tween who rewrites her life through anecdotes from the books she reads, creating a fictitious self to make up for her lack of self-respect. Typically, when she writes, she pushes herself too far and frequently ends up admitted to the hospital, much to her partner’s and her network’s chagrin. Despite Grace’s successful debut, her second book is a flop, so she uses black market blood to produce the rest of her novels, a charade she can carry on easily after learning how to lie so well in her childhood.

Suture is built out of biting prose and vivid imagery. It is not a novel for those averse to gore, yet still should be considered a must-read. Creatives will feel seen with Brewer’s description of the artistic process, and achieving suspension of disbelief is easy. Others will enjoy Suture because of its incredibly human characters, each imperfect and multifaceted. With themes of empathy and love, Brewer also conveys the frustration of those supporting the main characters through their mental health difficulties. Those who have been in that position in their lives will see themselves in this novel. 

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Suture by Nic Brewer, and I devoured it in one night. I would highly recommend it to anyone, especially creatives and those who dwell in introspection, and I cannot wait to see what Brewer does next. 

Thank you Book*hug Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons by Kate Khavari

By Lauren Bell

            A Botanist’s Guide to Parties and Potions strays from the typical genre of books that I read, but I was enticed by the elegant cover art and the way the title rolls off the tongue enough to select it. Khavari’s novel is written in feminist undertones and follows Saffron Everleigh, a young research assistant, as she navigates London’s high society and the old boy’s club at the university where she studies botany. 

            The plot begins with Saffron attending a faculty party as a last-minute invite. Surrounded by faceless old men, Saffron’s self-conscious voice becomes evident as she looks for an ally in the crowd. Like the classic Clue trope, the party is interrupted when a professor’s wife collapses due to poisoning—an attempted murder. Saffron later learns her mentor is the prime suspect, and she decides to take matters into her own hands to find the culprit, providing her with the opportunity to play Nancy Drew with Alexander Ashton, another dashing young researcher at the university. Khavari tries to build suspense by adding an upcoming research expedition to the Amazon that would provide the guilty party with a perfect escape, but it isn’t really felt until Saffron’s own research and credibility is put into jeopardy. However, I found the ending very neat, coming as close to a “happy” ending as one could expect.

            As I mentioned previously, this is not the type of novel I usually read, which is perhaps why I am a bit harsh in my critique. I found I grew bored of the novel’s slow-burning suspense and the classic “will they/won’t they” storyline between Saffron and Alexander. I was also disappointed with the lack of plants and flowers and felt it was a missed opportunity to add more depth to Saffron’s passions. Regardless, just because it wasn’t to my taste does not mean it will be the same for others, and I’d expect readers of Kate Morton would likely enjoy A Botanist’s Guide to Parties and Potions as it shares many similarities to Morton’s work such as the setting of post-war London aspects of its high society. 

Book Review: The Shimmering State by Meredith Westgate

By Lauren Bell

Content warning: drug use

Imagine being able to pick and choose memories. 

That’s what the experimental drug, Memoroxin—better known by its street name, Mem—essentially does. In The Shimmering State, Meredith Westgate introduces us to a society that has been infiltrated by this drug. Initially, Mem started as treatment for Alzheimer’s; memories could be relived in hopes that they could be recovered. However, once the general public learned of its euphoric effects, its use spread like wildfire. This led to the development of the Center, a cultlike rehabilitation facility specifically for Mem users, where this novel is set.  

The plot follows the journey of three characters as they navigate the Center from different nonlinear perspectives. Lucien is a tortured artist who had been stealing his grandmother’s Mem to spend time with his deceased mother. Sophie, an ex-dancer, is the elusive patient that he is drawn to at the Center, and whom Lucien is certain he knows from Before. The third voice is that of Dr. Angelica Sloane, the coordinator at the Center. Originally, Dr. Sloane seems like the perfect villain, self-assured and strong in her convictions that she’s doing work for the better. But her fragility is seen once her daughter becomes one of her patients. 

In the first few chapters, the novel reads like an acid trip. This sounds like a criticism but isn’t; it was intentionally done to portray Mem’s vivid influences. Later, Westgate’s writing turns into a very delicate and eloquent prose, complementing her characters’ introspective streams of consciousness against the plastic world of Los Angeles. Westgate prompts us to ponder the Shimmering State: is it a city or a high? Rooted in the setting is also imagery of the ocean, expansive and unpredictable, acting as the physical counterpart to the novel’s themes of the limits of memory, identity, and loss.

I enjoyed reading The Shimmering State. The characters were real and substantial, delving past their tortured artist or villain archetypes. Although Mem isn’t a drug we face in reality, one could draw comparisons to the very real opioid crisis, and Westgate effectively illustrates how addiction affects more than just the user. I have great respect for the harm reduction philosophies sewn into the novel. I found it very well written and admire the way Westgate gave mundane things a fresh approach. In short, The Shimmering State is contemporary, thought provoking, and absolutely worth the read. 

Book Review: The Removed by Brandon Hobson

By Lauren Bell

The Removed.jpg

The Removed by Brandon Hobson follows the Echota family as they are preserved by the speakers of the dead; those known as drifters, illusions, or dreams. Those who reveal themselves to only those who look.

With that, the foundation of The Removed by Brandon Hobson is laid. The novel follows the Echota family as they reconnect with their spirituality during the week prior to the anniversary of the death of Ray-Ray Echota, their beloved brother and son who was shot and killed fifteen years earlier. The plot is told through multiple perspectives of the family, as each character must process their own healing. The parents, Maria and Ernest, are struggling to manage Ernest’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis which mysteriously begins to subside after they take in a foster child. Nearby, their adult daughter Sonja struggles with her personal relationships. Edgar, their astray adult son, is battling addiction as he tries to find his way back home. The fourth voice is of family ancestor Tsala, who connects the plot to traditional Cherokee stories. 

The themes of healing and storytelling are apparent through the novel’s progression, yet  Hobson addresses contemporary issues such as racism and police violence in more subtle ways, using animal and nature symbolism to convey the messages together. 

I found that although each character’s individual perspective was shared, the novel had a collective voice—the voice of people who never quite moved on, all unremarkable in their own way. Ray-Ray, although deceased, is the most captivating character, and pieces of him are apparent in each of the characters the family interacts with, demonstrating how significant his loss was. While I can appreciate how Hobson wanted to tie spirituality in with vulnerability and healing, I struggled to enjoy aspects of the novel because of this. Some of the changes to the characters, such as the sudden pause in progression in Ernest’s Alzheimer’s and Edgar’s lack of withdrawal symptoms, seemed too unrealistic me. That being said, I enjoyed the conclusion, as Hobson was able tie each character’s storyline together without being explicit and left room for the reader to ruminate about what will happen next in the Echota family.