Book Review: The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence

By Sara Hailstone

Written over 60 years ago, Margaret Laurence brought to life the iconic character of Hagar Currie Shipley in The Stone Angel. The novel spans decades of Hagar’s life and brings the reader into the mind of an elderly woman facing the final throes of an emotionally isolated life. This old woman is suspicious of those around her, what they plan of her final days and pushes us head-on into the narrative of a past life ridden with turmoil and hardship. What cumulates is the old woman’s resistance to being placed in a nursing home. The Stone Angel is a novel in which the reader cannot take sides, or the reader will risk leaving the story not liking the main character — or they will love her very much.

Laurence has carved out a pedestal for Hagar with The Stone Angel as a memorable figure of modern literature. A difficult woman yet, a narrative that follows the hardship that she faced, especially around her final years. Society was not used to a story told from this point-of-view, and I think we needed it.

Hagar was the daughter of an ambitious and disciplined Scottish merchant, and it is evident from her childhood memories that she sought her father’s approval. Yet she married Bram Shipley whom her father disproved. She is disowned and her father dies without seeing her, saying goodbye, or even meeting his grandsons. Laurence authentically shows that we usually resemble those who raised us, hurt us, and despite our individual borders, we mirror them. Hagar lives like her father, without joy, strung between life events in a grueling cloud of grit and domestic perseverance. She does not share her inner self with her husband and sons, they do not receive maternal gentleness, and neither does her sister-in-law in later years. Her husband, an inconsistent and rough man with a brash temperament, mortifies Hagar and is resentful of her and her sons. Laurence displays a detailed narrative of intrafamilial dysfunction.

Late in life, Hagar is a fiery woman severely skeptical of the true intentions of care from her son Marvin and his wife Doris. In her mind, they are out to get her, and with a raging willpower, she’s determined they will not capture her. She possesses a critical tongue and unrelenting wit that leaves a memorable echo of this literary character. We see the consequences of a life without love.

The plot jerks around Hagar’s eventual temporary escape from Marvin and Doris. She takes a bus to a summer place she assumes will be habitable and a refuge from the fate of a nursing home. Facing the crux of her physical deterioration and surviving for some days in an abandoned mouldy space, exposed to the elements, a male neighbour finds her isolated and on the brink of social composure.

“He stares at me, and then I’m aware of myself, crouching among thee empty boxes, my cotton housedress bedraggled, my face dirt-streaked, my hair slipped out of its neat bun and hanging down like strands of gray mending wool.” She is covered in dead June bugs that she’s adorned herself with earlier in almost play, a theatrical crown, she could “die with mortification.”

They share a jug of red wine and Hagar relays her life story to this stranger. A final testament, perhaps an opportunity with the reader for redemption. The situation is unsettling and compelling. Laurence’s prose can point us in these damning final moments to introspection, witnessing what a hard life for women and the aging process does to our relatives.

Laurence composed The Stone Angel as one of five books set in the fictional town of Manawaka. After writing about Africa, Laurence felt a need to come home to her writing and depict what she knew. The other novels, A Jest of God, The Fire-Dwellers, A Bird in the House, and The Diviners. Born in Neepawa, Manitoba in 1926, Laurence became a household name with her novels mirroring and embellishing rural Manitoba society. She did spend some time in Africa and England but finally settled in Lakefield, Ontario, in 1974 where she died in 1987. She has won two Governor General’s Awards for fiction. She crafted unforgettable and legendary characters who have rightfully taken their place in the fabric of a Canadian literary canon.

The meaning of Hagar’s name is “flight” and “forsaken.” She is a “stranger and one who fears.” Hagar was also a biblical figure in the Old Testament, a handmaid to Abraham’s wife Sarah and in other understandings, a concubine driven into the desert with her son Ishmael. I wonder if the name of the character ever came up with Laurence in conversations on banned books and plot development. In her later years, Laurence broke silences surrounding the banning of The Stone Angel from schools. Due to perceived ‘blasphemous’ and “obscene” language by fundamentalist Christians, Laurence stood by her work as a cautionary tale, also one reflective of a culture she herself grew up in. Laurence was put to the test, she remained as committed to her writing as she did to the character development of Hagar. Another layer is laid in appreciating the tenacity of this Canadian classic.

As Canada’s population ages, The Stone Angel can hold its place of relevancy for Canadian readers. Mayhap Hagar will stand firm giving us a point of reference for those around us who have faced years of isolation and are enduring the final days of health crisis. For women, a stubborn and introspective voice is maybe exactly who readers will need to turn to in facing their own domestic snow globes of living. The Stone Angel allows us to see exactly through Hagar’s eyes to witness a life from the telling of an unreliable narrator. We are even revealed details that Hagar herself does not want us to know. We do not have to root for her, we merely have to watch, she herself will challenge our thinking. She, herself, will challenge our reading.

Book Review: Our Lady of the Lost and Found by Diane Schoemperlen

By Sara Hailstone

“For reasons which will become clear soon enough, I cannot tell you my name. Nor can I tell you the name of the city in which I live.”

Thus is the reader ushered into the perimeters of a novel that will attempt to package an unbelievable story into something palpable, a story made believable through the craft of storytelling amongst the domestic. Our Lady of the Lost and Found, written by Diane Schoemperlen in 2001, is narrated by an unnamed successful writer who finds solace in the comfort of her home and single life.

“People often ask me how much of my fiction is autobiographical, how much of what I am writing is actually the real story of my own life. I freely admit that some parts of each book are true but I am not about to say which parts or how true.” The reader is enticed to learn if threads of this novel are true; yet, we cannot know the writer. And the writer carefully places the reader within the firm grip of a reliable narrator. “I cannot tell you the titles of my books because then you would be able to figure out who I am.” Strung through carefully laid facts, we are to believe the narrator: “I am telling you all this now because I want you to know from the outset that I am a normal, rational, well-educated, well-adjusted woman not given to delusions, hallucinations, or hysterical flights of fancy. I do not drink or do drugs. The only voice I hear in my head is my own. I want you to know from the outset that I am not a psychotic, an eccentric, a fanatic, or a mystic. I want you to know that I am not a lunatic.”

It is on an ordinary Monday morning in April that the writer enters her living room to water plants and finds a woman standing by her fig tree. Dressed in white Nikes and a blue trench coat and holding a suitcase, she quietly introduces herself as the Virgin Mary. The visitor is tired and explains that she needs a place to stay for a week to rest. Mary wants to rest in ordinary solace and the writer has established the perfect domestic oasis for this need. The encounter is mundane and human; Mary is not an apparition or a figment of imagination. She will stay under one condition: the writer must not reveal that Mary was there. “If people find out that I have been here, that I have talked to you, eaten with you, and slept in your house, they will descend upon you in droves.” Mary outlines the chaos that would rain down if the masses found out about this visit. “If you break this promise to keep my visit a secret, your life will never be the same. Do I make myself clear?” And so, under these conditions, Mary stays.

         The two women find gentle reprieve in each other’s company without crossing boundaries. The writer navigates her understanding of one of our society’s most iconic cultural and religious figures. Chronicling Mary’s presence in civilization for the last two thousand years, Schoemperlen folds the narrative together with fact and fiction, propelling the reader to wonder at the extraordinary within the ordinary of daily life.

         Diane Schoemperlen has established an impressive and solid portfolio of work of Canadian literature, having published three novels and seven collections of short stories. She began submitting poetry and prose to Canadian publications in the seventies, and completed a degree in English at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay. Her first novel, In the Language of Love, published in 1994, was composed of one hundred chapters, each one based on one of the one hundred words in the Standard Word Association Test, which was used to measure sanity. Schoemperlen’s 1998 book of short stories, Forms of Devotion, won the Governor General’s Award. Her second novel, Our Lady of the Lost and Found was published in 2001. Schoemperlen’s 2017 book, This is Not My Life, tells of her love for a prison inmate. The archives at Queen’s University house more than 150 short stories, essays, plays and manuscript drafts of novels. Diane Schoemperlen was born and raised in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Ontario and now resides in Kingston, Ontario.

         Schoemperlen has been weighed heavily for the shifting of this novel between accounts of a monotonous life, and the lack of trauma of the middle-aged author; dialogue between two women—one human, another supernatural in essence—that shifts into confessional narration while encoding segments of Mary’s life with meditations; historical accounts; discussions of the Pythagorean theory; and the nature of truth and Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Past reviewers have noted that Mary is not allowed to speak among three hundred pages of narrative shifts and authorial balancing. Reviewers have also argued that the sublunary backstory of the narrator’s personal essence disrupts achievement attempted by weaving in historical and theoretical discussions that strive to contextualize the believability of Mary staying with a writer for a week. One reviewer noted that, “the supposed core of the story, meeting the mother of God, isn’t strong enough to balance the tangents.” These tangents, in my opinion, were intentional and serve a greater purpose in giving depth to the structure of the plot and narrative voice. The reader is intended to navigate the ledges of fact and fiction. The tangents are based on “actual documented accounts,” as stated by the author in the book’s acknowledgements. The writer-narrator contemplates that the opposite of fact might not be fiction, the opposite space is a place “where literature comes from.” She articulates that this place, a “threshold bridge at the border between the real world and the other world, still points where the barrier between the human and the divine is stretched thin as a membrane that may finally be permeated and transcended.” We are to wonder of these spaces between Schoemperlen’s tangents and the narration. That is the beauty of the text.

         Perhaps the author wanted readers to locate Mary in either space. The miraculous accounts, relayed with a basis of documentation and a baseline of the writer-hostess, represent Mary as both passion and reason. I found, as a female reader, the life of the writer-hostess peaceful and her state of independence refreshing. She single-handedly created a space that Mary would want to take shelter in. Not bound by trauma or trigger, the writer created a home that could birth this story, that could house both the divine and the ordinary. I needed this story. I needed those tangents and those “mundane” bits. I recommend others to find peace there in their reading too.

Book Review: My Face in the Light by Martha Schabas

By Carmen Lebar

Content warning: cancer, physical abuse, suicide attempt

My Face in the Light by Martha Schabas is a literary fiction novel that tells the story of Justine, an actor struggling in her late 20s. Justine is fed up with living in Toronto, unsure about her marriage, and estranged from her famous artist mother. Fortunately for her, she books an audition for an apprenticeship in London, England. However, her audition fails and Justine is on her train back to the airport when she meets an older man. He gives her an odd proposition: she can live in his apartment building and work for him. Fast forward a few weeks, and Justine is leaving for London without her husband, citing her need for time apart. Justine’s story is a downward spiral of her trying to navigate her life at this moment, as well as how she sees herself. Her sense of self is highly connected to her mother and husband, and it’s this juxtaposition to others that makes Justine’s story so captivating.

Justine met her husband, Elias, after high school, and during a time when there was a lot of tension and uncertainty with her mother. While the beginning of their marriage was great, Justine can’t help but feel inferior to her husband. She constantly compares herself to him and focuses on what she lacks. In London, as Justine tries to better understand her feelings toward their relationship and her husband, she also starts to look within herself. I enjoyed reading Schabas’s ability to write a complicated love story that didn’t focus on fading love or infidelity. The focus on Justine’s insecurity and uncertainty was in depth, written in an almost stream-of-consciousness prose. Schabas writes Justine’s marriage with a lot of nuance and care, leaving a very believable and touching story. Schabas utilizes the same care when writing about Justine’s relationship with her mother.

After her mother gained popularity in the art world, Justine had to adapt to her mother’s changing lifestyle — including traveling, moving, and sexual exploits. The closest she felt to her mother was when she was dating a man named Aaron in London, someone Justine tries to find later in life. It was intriguing to read Justine’s thoughts about her mother, and herself, in different parts of her life and how her opinions changed with time. Schabas intricately writes about how people’s identities and peace of mind must be protected. Near the end of the novel, her mother is dealing with a life changing situation that she struggles to cope with. This causes Justine to either be there for her mother, or distance herself. Schabas demonstrates how Justine’s proximity to her mother is greatly connected to how people, and herself, perceive her.

My Face in the Light is a story of getting lost in life, but not necessarily finding one’s self. It offers another solution: the importance of removing oneself from a situation. Removing herself from Toronto, Justine can see things more clearly and assess what she should do. This novel doesn’t try to solve all of Justine’s problems, but it shows the process in which she makes decisions in her life. The only part of the novel I wish there was more clarity on is its present time period. Justine’s present story seems to take place in the early 2010s, but it’s never explicitly said in the novel. However, I think the story meanders from past to present seamlessly, as if the reader is reading Justine’s current thoughts. I would recommend My Face in the Light to literary fiction readers and those who enjoy stories about complex mother-daughter relationships. It’s full of beautiful prose and is a great story to get lost in.

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

Book Review: Elizabeth Finch by Julian Barnes

By Sara Sadeghi Avai

Julian Barnes manages to bring history to life in this romantic and rather academic story. We are thrown into the middle of a university philosophy class and, along with every other classmate, watch as Neil falls in love with Professor Finch and her stoic ways. Barnes’s ability to create love and admiration of one character by another gives way to the boundless magic of imagination and humanity in writing. The author has built and broken a character in front of our eyes, and what we (and Neil) are privy to about Elizabeth’s life haunts us. Split into three parts, the book constitutes an academic essay about Julian the Apostate—a philosophical and historical icon for Elizabeth and the subject of Neil’s eventual tribute to her—sandwiched between Neil’s intimate account of learning about his beloved and respectable professor through her death, her past, and ultimately his own future.

Our first-person narrator is a beautifully spoken one and although one can argue the main character is Elizabeth Finch, I would argue that it is Neil who becomes the dreamlike person we readers would love to meet. We learn of his relationship with Elizabeth throughout the story, and Barnes is immaculate in placing clues in Neil’s sentences, creating the sense that Neil is telling us a story and laying the crumbs for us to follow. Does she love Neil, too? Or is their friendship just one of a love of academia and life’s great questions?

Suffice it to say I was hooked from the first page, and my love of academia lore, the professor-student dynamic, and romantic stoics drank up each page. Although the middle chapter felt like a small interruption to a flawless narration, the final chapter combined nostalgic emotion and present-time feelings, creating a catharsis in the story’s final pages. As an English major, this was an absolute win for me, and I would recommend it to any history or romantic buffs.

Thank you to Random House Canada Publishing for providing a complimentary copy of the novel for an honest review.

Book Review: Goddess by Deborah Hemming

By Robyn Rossit

Deborah Hemming is an author who I’ve never read before, but when I read the description for her latest novel Goddess, I was definitely intrigued.

Agnes Oliver is a rising author finishing up her first book tour. On her flight to New York City, she meets Jack Verity, film-maker and ex-husband of actress turned wellness guru, Geia Stone. Intrigued by Agnes, Jack invites her to a party at his house in the Hamptons hosted by Geia. Agnes finds herself not only welcomed into Geia’s inner circle but also invited to Geia’s inaugural Goddess Summit on a remote island in Greece. At the exclusive wellness retreat, she starts to observe some odd and unexplainable occurrences. Determined to find out Geia’s secret, Agnes feels a need to protect her fellow women at the summit.

Goddess was certainly a fast-paced read, perfect for a weekend binge. I found myself drawn into the various settings of the story,  whether it was on the plane at the beginning, at the house in the Hamptons or later on in Greece. Hemming knows how to paint a clear image in her reader’s mind. I think this story would be an interesting adaptation and would translate so well to the screen.

Agnes was an interesting main character. She’s focused on her writing career but sort of ends up thrown into this bizarre wellness retreat by chance and is swept away into Geia’s world. I enjoyed Agnes’ growth throughout the story. Of course, Geia herself was also interesting. She certainly reminded me a lot of Gwyneth Paltrow and her wellness company, Goop. It was an interesting, fictional parallel with its own unique twists and turns.

My one critique of Goddess was that the ending felt a bit rushed and there is a lot that happens in the last quarter of the book. The premise was interesting enough that I would have enjoyed a bit more time unpacking the climax of the story. The ending was satisfactory but left me wanting more.

If you’re looking for a quick read to binge over the weekend or perhaps to the beach this summer, Goddess would certainly be a great choice!

Thank you, House of Anansi, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Utopia by Heidi Sopinka

By Carmen Lebar

Content warning: death, self-harm, suicidal ideation

Utopia by Heidi Sopinka is a novel that centres around the art scene in the 1970s. It mainly focuses on Paz, the new wife of well-known artist Billy. Months earlier, his wife Romy died suspiciously during a late-night party. Throughout the novel, Paz is constantly compared to Romy and is often questioned for marrying Billy so soon after Romy’s passing. Grappling with the burden of being a second wife and becoming a mother to Romy’s infant child Flea, Paz starts to spiral with her mental health and her ability to create art. The novel was a success for me, especially in the way Sopinka writes Romy and Paz’s intertwined story. Its focus on identity, especially how identity is connected to creation and gender, is what makes Utopia such a standout novel.

Romy and Paz were both artists in college, and were navigating the art world at the same time. Romy’s art was praised throughout her time in college and was heavily admired by Paz as a student, and afterwards. Romy is an enigma to Paz as an artist. Her talent and creativity are things Paz wishes she could harness herself.

After Romy’s death, Paz becomes Flea’s adoptive mother. She finds that she no longer has the time or the creative inspiration to make art. She’s going through a form of creator’s block that only gets worse when she feels Romy’s presence throughout the house—items move on their own, and noises appear out of nowhere. Paz continues to compare herself to Romy, seeing her as a real professional, and seeing herself as having nothing to offer. Sopinka beautifully writes Paz’s struggle with her new identity as a mother, and also her struggle in trying to find her identity as an artist—both in the shadow of Romy’s passing. I enjoyed seeing Paz’s lack of motivation be replaced by a determination to create as the novel came to an amazing crescendo. The climax of the novel really demonstrates how impactful Romy’s existence was to Paz’s own view of herself as an artist and a person.

Romy and Paz’s connection goes beyond just creative pursuits. Both of them struggle in the art world because of their gender; it is a world where artistic professionalism is reserved for the male artists. Women aren’t seen as real artists or as having any longevity to their careers. Billy is recognized as an impeccable artist because of his cool male demeanor. Romy’s art is undervalued compared to Billy to the point where one of Romy’s works is credited to Billy. Interestingly, Romy’s self-image is also constrained by the gender binary. She doesn’t wish to be perceived as either male or female, and she wants her art to speak for itself. How she dresses and speaks about gender suggests that living within the gender binary isn’t for her. Sopinka did a fantastic job of demonstrating the limitation that gender has on people’s public image and self-identity. It was fascinating to see how gender constrained Romy in a multitude of ways, and the various ways she tried to overcome it.

Utopia is an inventive and mysterious novel, in which Sopinka creates an introspective view of Romy and Paz. How the women were connected, and in ways they didn’t even realize, shows just how difficult it was to be a female artist at this time. The struggle to create an identity is relatable, and those who don’t know a lot about the art world can still relate to the struggles of Romy and Paz. I would recommend Utopia to all aspiring artists, and to those who are fascinated by the art world. Fans of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier will also enjoy this reimagining of the novel. Although not a point-for-point retelling of Rebecca, Sopinka’s own take on the tale is ultimately refreshing with its focus on art and creation.

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

Book Review: The Summer Place by Jennifer Weiner

By Christine McFaul

The Summer Place is a humorous and heartfelt novel by New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Weiner (see also In Her Shoes and That Summer).

When Ruby announces her engagement to her pandemic boyfriend, Sarah Danhauser works hard to bite her tongue. A feat which proves especially difficult when she learns that Ruby has already set a date and Sarah’s mother Veronica has volunteered to host the wedding at the family’s old beach house in Cape Cod. Sarah is certain that at 22 years old and with only three months to go before the big day, Ruby is rushing headlong into a huge mistake. She also knows that there is no stopping her headstrong stepdaughter once she sets her mind on achieving something.

But life, family, and decisions are never as cut and dry as they seem.

Case in point: Ruby isn't as sure about her decision to get married as she might appear. Accustomed to always knowing exactly what she wants, Ruby struggles to acknowledge that maybe this time she’s got it wrong. Veronica, however, is thrilled at the opportunity to gather her wayward family together at the old beach house.  Especially since, unbeknownst to her children, it is set to go on the market as soon as the wedding is over.

As the days tick by, even level-headed Sarah begins to question herself. Increasingly frustrated with her husband who has been mentally checked out of their relationship for months, Sarah contemplates the various futures she might have had if she hadn’t been so afraid to take a risk. But what starts as “what could have been” quickly becomes “what could still be” when someone from Sarah's past suddenly reappears in her life.

With the date of Ruby's wedding fast approaching, the exposure of old secrets, hopes, and hidden dreams will test the connections, bonds, and love that tie Sarah’s family together. But if there’s one place that can withstand a storm, it’s the old family beach house.

The Summer Place unfolds at a leisurely pace and is told through multiple points of view—a favourite narrative style of mine when well executed, and it is very well executed here. Weiner artfully weaves together the inner thoughts and nuanced quirks of each of her characters, creating a warmth and familiarity that leaves the reader feeling like they have been enfolded within the circle of an old group of friends. And although some of the plot points fell a little flat, what did linger after the last page was turned were Weiner’s sharp observations and lush descriptions of childhood summers spent at a family beach house. Layering questions and assumptions around class and privilege alongside nostalgia, traditions, and the sheer beauty of the coast, Weiner crafts a bittersweet and beautifully turned ode to a Cape Cod summer.

At its heart, The Summer Place is a story about the shifting shapes of the secrets we keep, the ways in which we love, and the families we choose to form. With a vibe that invokes vibrant sunsets, firefly nights, and the sea-salt air of a coastal beach house, this book would be a solid contender for any upcoming summer reading lists.

Interesting to note, set in a post-pandemic world, Weiner approaches what is relatively new ground for fiction with a light touch and in the rearview mirror. This is the first fictional book I’ve read where Covid quarantine forms part of the character’s backstory.  Weiner chose observations and experiences that were well-suited both to the world her characters inhabit as well as to the genre itself.

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

Book Review: The Collected Regrets of Clover by Mikki Brammer

By Kaylie Seed

Mikki Brammer’s debut novel, The Collected Regrets of Clover, follows thirty-six-year-old Clover Brooks, a death doula living in New York City. Clover has been surrounded by death her entire life and has found it rewarding to be with someone as their time ends. She has dedicated her life to ushering people peacefully through their end-of-life process, something that is incredibly unique, just like each person she interacts with. Clover spends so much time giving others a beautiful death that she has forgotten to give herself a beautiful life, so when the opportunity arises for her to go on an unexpected trip—hopefully to uncover a long-forgotten love story—Clover steps out of her comfort zone. And she just may end up finding some happiness for herself in the process.

When I started reading The Collected Regrets of Clover, I found myself very much drawn to Clover’s character. To me, Clover is autistic-coded because she possesses many traits similar to my own as an autistic person.* Whether or not this was Brammer’s intention, I strongly identify with Clover. Clover has a strong interest in death and the dying process: autistic people tend to have intense interests surrounding topics, to the point where that may become their life—like Clover becoming a death doula and surrounding herself with this interest. She is socially awkward: oftentimes autistic people are unaware of how their actions or words could affect others. Clover will sometimes speak her mind without really thinking about what it is she is wanting to express; I can relate to that! While Clover is an empathetic person, she can be unsure of her emotions and how to identify them, something I continue to struggle with and spend a lot of time focusing on. A misconception is that autistic people cannot love, show affection or empathy, or have meaningful relationships (both romantic and platonic). This is not true at all and Brammer shows all these wonderfully through Clover. Again, whether Brammer had the intention of creating an autistic-coded character, I very much saw myself in Clover’s words, actions, and behaviours; I do not see myself often in characters.

Brammer’s main topics in The Collected Regrets of Clover are death and the dying process, which are normally stigmatized and considered taboo in many places around the world. The research that Brammer has completed for this novel is evident throughout the book and is shown to the reader through Clover’s endless knowledge on the topic and through the schooling and training she went through to become a death doula. As someone who has a background in gerontology and who has studied palliative care and grief closely, it was very neat to see things that I learned shown through Clover. Brammer also focuses heavily on grief and reiterates to the reader how this process is not only unique to each person, but how it is not something that just goes away—we learn to have it living alongside us. I would recommend The Collected Regrets of Clover to anyone who is wanting to break the stigma surrounding death or who is looking for a unique read that might get you to think differently about death and the dying process. I highly suggest keeping this one on your radar when it hits shelves on May 9th!

*Many autistic people prefer identity-first language, including myself, which is why I used identity-first language throughout my review. Both identity-first language and person-first language are appropriate. Always check with an individual when you are unsure which to use.

Thank you, St. Martin’s Press, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Wish You Were Here by Jodi Picoult

By Graham Strong

Content warning: COVID-19

This book might be too soon for some, dealing as it does with COVID. But Jodi Picoult’s Wish You Were Here is not what you might think a “COVID novel” would be.

If you’ve read Picoult before, no doubt this March 2021 offering will feel like familiar territory. Picoult’s refusal to stick with any particular genre is one of her endearing qualities, and she manages to combine several genres here. You’d be forgiven if you wondered if this might be a rock novel with a Yoko Ono-type artist selling a painting given to her by a John Lennon-esque husband for a wedding present before his untimely death. Maybe that’s the book that it was going to be. Maybe COVID interrupted her original novel, forcing Picoult to interrupt her story. Maybe.

I want to be very careful describing what follows. I highly recommend going into this book “cold,” without too much information about the story. Suffice to say there are twists and turns, examinations of memory and our place on the earth, and deep questions about who our self-actualized selves actually are. Yet through all her semi-existentialist exploration, Picoult keeps the tone as light and breezy as you’d expect from an upmarket novel.

I was also impressed that Picoult doesn’t let COVID overwhelm the story. Yes, it’s there in the background—and sometimes even in the foreground—but then, isn’t that the way COVID was for most of us? Always there like a heavy blanket, sometimes hanging behind us and sometimes smothering us? She also deals with the pandemic from many different angles while maintaining a first-person POV. We, the readers, saw our own points of view through COVID, and perhaps two or three others vicariously through our family and loved ones. Picoult shows us a good half-dozen, including viewpoints from different locations in the world.

If I had a quibble, it would be with the first quarter or so of the novel. It felt uneven in places, perhaps a little rushed. Indeed, this was one of the first major novels to be written during COVID, published almost exactly one year after the pandemic shut down the world. I wonder if maybe Picoult took a different direction with her story partway through and had to go back to change the beginning. Either way, it could have used another polish to smooth the edges.

I was also not a fan of the ending, but that won’t matter to you. You’ll make up your own mind about the end, and many of you will love it. I will say this: Picoult kept me guessing right to the last page, so in that way I found the ending satisfying.

The Author’s Note at the end of the book is a nice touch too. It gives the reader some interesting insights into where she got her story ideas from and how difficult it was to write this during COVID. Writing is a lonely business, but it seems writing this book was especially lonely for Picoult. I know many creatives who had a hard time producing during COVID, so the fact that she completed a whole novel under more difficult circumstances than many is an achievement in itself.

Ultimately, this novel is a recommend for all readers; for Picoult fans, it’s a no-brainer. She does a masterful job of weaving a tight, twisting story with COVID as mostly peripheral backdrop.

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

Book Review: God Isn't Here Today by Francine Cunningham

By Shantell Powell

Content warning: suicide, substance abuse, self-harm, sexual harassment

Francine Cunningham is an award-winning poet and author. She is the winner of the 2019 Indigenous Voices Award and Grain Magazine’s 2018 Short Forms Fiction contest. God Isn’t Here Today is her debut collection of short fiction, and it delves into the speculative realms, frequently dipping into horror with a dark literary touch. It has been longlisted for the 2023 Carol Shields Prize.

Each of the stories is quite different from the other, but many are connected by themes of death and transformation and a fragrant throughline of lemon and lavender. The death of a barman brings life to others. A hunting expedition becomes a death sentence. A dead artist becomes an artistic medium full of love. A meet-cute in a porn shop turns ugly. A pleasure ghost gets a new assignment. The stories contain a distinct viscerality: hemoglobin and skin grafts, fantasies of rough sex and bondage, ice cream melting down forearms, and a DIY trepanation.

The stand-out stories for me include the eponymous story, a surreal tale of a young man seeking audience with God in an unoccupied office. Instead of finding God, he finds other people seeking God. It reminds me a bit of Waiting for Godot by way of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis.

I also enjoyed “Spectre Sex,” which imagines ghosts as working stiffs. The protagonist of this story is a sex worker who enjoys his job about as much as someone working in a dead-end cubicle farm enjoys theirs.

“Glitter Like Herpes” gives me a John Waters vibe. Michelle is an aging stripper who makes ends meet by stealing used panties from the other workers and selling them on the dark web. The seedy setting, the betrayal, and the climactic cat fight make me imagine this story acted out by Mink Stole and Divine.

“Mickey’s Bar” follows a deceased barman’s body parts as they bring parts of his personality into their organ recipients, and in return, their memories join with his.

Cunningham experiments with form in this collection. Some pieces are classic short stories, some are free verse, and some are hybrid works, such as “Thirteen Steps” which marches across the pages in paired columns of thirteen paragraphs. Cunningham has provided a musical playlist to accompany the stories in this collection, and the songs sing out the themes of each tale. https://www.francinecunningham.ca/post/god-isn-t-here-today-the-playlist

God Isn’t Here Today may appeal to fans of Joshua Whitehead, Chuck Palahniuk, and the trash cinema of John Waters.

Thank you, Invisible Publishing, for a complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Fake by Zoe Whittall

By Kaylie Seed

Content warnings: mentions of suicide, mentions of domestic violence

The Fake is one of those stories that starts and ends in the middle of a larger story. There is no true beginning or ending but instead, the reader will be immersed in a tense tale that will leave them wanting to know what is going to happen next. A fast-paced novella, The Fake is bound to drag readers through numerous emotions before the final page. This story about a conartist (or is she?) who manipulates others for emotional gain will have readers wondering who or what to believe.

Since Shelby’s wife died she has yet to feel alive like before. She cannot seem to find the strength to be herself anymore. After finally deciding to attend a group grief counseling session, Shelby meets Cammie, a high-energy, charismatic, young woman who has had a number of things go wrong in her life. Gibson has recently divorced his wife and while trying to rediscover himself, he meets Cammie, who he thinks is the best thing to ever happened to him. Cammie seems to keep it all together which inspires Shelby to start taking her life back and has Gibson head over heels. But after Shelby and Gibson start comparing notes, they feel that Cammie may not be as forthcoming as she portrays.

Readers will learn about Cammie through Shelby, Gibson, and Cammie herself. All three of these characters are deeply flawed, but this makes them all feel so real. Shelby and Gibson are believable narrators, but Cammie is completely unbelievable and unreliable. Readers may find themselves wanting to show Cammie empathy and understanding in the beginning, but as the story progresses, they will find themselves questioning Cammie’s intentions.

The Fake is a quick read that packs a punch even with the lower page count. Quality over quantity shines in this one and will leave the reader wanting to know more and maybe with the feeling that there are a lot of unanswered questions. Is the story predictable? Yes, but it captures the reader's attention and keeps them engaged—the sign of a well-written story. Readers who enjoy Whittall’s other works or those who enjoy contemporary fiction will likely enjoy The Fake.

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

Book Review: The Berry Pickers by Amanda Peters

By Erica Wiggins

Content warnings: child labour, loss of a child, miscarriage, abuse

The Berry Pickers is a story about a Mi’kmaq family in 1962 who travels to Maine to pick blueberries with their five children, including six-year-old Joe and four-year-old Ruthie. When Ruthie disappears from her favourite rock her brother, Joe, the last one to see her, is devastated. Elsewhere in Maine, a young girl named Norma grows up as an only child with a distant father and an overprotective mother. As Norma gets older, she feels her family is holding something back and Norma is determined to find the truth. This debut novel is written by Amanda Peters, a writer of Mi’kmaq and settler ancestry. She currently lives in Nova Scotia, Canada.

Sometimes you finish a book and easily write a review about it, spilling everything you loved or didn’t and move on to the next book. Then a book comes along, and you wonder how you will ever find the right words to adequately describe your experience reading it. For me, The Berry Pickers falls into the latter category and while I don’t think I can do this book justice in describing it, I am going to try.

The Berry Pickers reads in alternating perspectives between Joe and Norma while flashing from the present day to the past. The author fully immerses you in the locations, bringing them to life and helping you connect to these families. One young family experiences so much trauma and loss but still comes together. After their youngest child goes missing, they never fail in their belief that she is out there somewhere. It is so tragic yet heartwarming to watch this family come together. In another family, fleeting glimpses of the past and a continued quest to find your own history, to find your place in the world, to find forgiveness, and to be at peace with yourself.

All of this is to say that this story is stunning, beautifully written, and heartbreaking. I experienced so many emotions and was rooting for each family to discover the truth, to find closure and peace. I learned about the challenges in life and the split-second decisions that can change your life forever. 

I loved Joe, the doting and conflicted brother. I loved Norma, the precocious and inquisitive child. I became quickly attached to these characters. It felt like I was reading a biography of two families. This will be a story that I recommend to anyone and everyone who will listen. I will tell them that they will likely see themselves in one or all of these characters in the way they make decisions to protect who they love. I will tell them they will read heartbreak, but also hope and determination.  

This is a story that will stay with me. It is a story that made me think and feel. It drew me into a world and brought it to life. What more can we ask for from a story?

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

Book Review: The Theory of Crows by David A. Robertson

By Sara Hailstone

The Theory of Crows is David A. Robertson’s first adult novel, and offers a healing narrative of a father and daughter relationship that begins fraught with strain. Matthew, a middle-aged man, is presented in a state of existential crisis. He has been caught cheating on his wife with a co-worker through a series of inappropriate texts and workplace connections. Holly finds her father’s texts and observes the conflict between her parents, and she confronts her father, who was more present for her when she was younger. She spirals and becomes disconnected from her father and herself. Embedded within Matthew’s pain is a quiet spiritual detachment from reality, and yet, an ancient way of being propels him to seek connection with the microcosm of nature, the fabric of stars, the turn of leaf and wind. In recurring images like his father’s hand resting on his child’s belly, Matthew strives to find his breath again in a pit of regret, shame, and guilt.

When his father, Moshum, crosses over, Matthew and Holly set aside estrangement and seek out the family’s northern trapline to put to rest Moshum’s ashes and return him home. A gentle shifting between narrative point of view offers a steady stream of consciousness and a father’s gentle teachings.  

David A. Robertson has steadily carved out his space in literary circles within Canada and abroad as an author from the Norway House Cree Nation. With a portfolio of children’s books and texts for young readers, Robertson has made his mark as a prominent voice. His list of awards and accolades is long, among them the 2021 Writer’s Union of Canada Freedom to Read Award, The Globe and Mail Children’s Storyteller of the Year, two Governor General’s Literary Awards, the McNally Robinson Best Book for Young People Award, and the shortlist for the Ontario’s Library Association’s Silver Birch Award. Robertson is also the host of Kíwew (Key-Way-Oh), an award-winning podcast. I have encountered Robertson in humble settings, presenting his latest upcoming children’s book to the students in our school board and offering a compassionate and optimistic space for youth in conversations about residential schools while sharing his personal connections to the land.

The Theory of Crows offers knowledge that helps build allyship, telling us that the starting point is acknowledging that no matter what our background, we share something with everybody on the planet: “That you are human.” We can come together in the space of this text. As an educator, I was offered valuable insight into Holly’s experience of being Indigenous in a school setting. Learning new vocabulary like Indigeneity, a word that is used to “describe the state of being Indigenous” and which Holly uses to break down assumptions she has of what her elder’s counselling space would be like when she ventures in to sit with her.[1] This scene helped me contextualize what my students might be going through.

Next, profiling or tokenism, terms referred to when an Indigenous topic is brought up in class and the Indigenous student is called upon to validate and embody the components of the flow of that conversation. “How the fuck should I know?” Holly demands, before being sent out of class. I learned from this scene and strive to not actualize it in the setting of my own classroom. Lastly, I learned about blood memory: “It’s like your ancestors, their lives and experiences, living in you,” [Matthew] said. “Embedded into your DNA.” These teachings help inform me as an educator and better equip me if I introduce this text in a course.

Robertson’s depiction and honouring of sacred spiritual alliances further moves this text into current conversations surrounding the representation of and engagement with animals in literature. Rejecting the colonial framework that objectifies and flattens it into symbolism, Robertson sets nature free and depicts a way of walking in balance with the environment that can help shift current paradigms and society’s interaction with the world around it. Calling back to the title of the book, the theory of crows connects to land memory and crow knowing.

Your grandfather used to say that you could remember the land, even if you’d never been on the land before. Your grandfather used to say that the land could remember you. It works the same way with crows, Hallelujah. They remembered him, they would remember me, and they remember you. They pass these things down through the generations.

We are the extension of the land and exist together within reciprocal exchanges. We are the land; when we walk upon it, we become it and root down into blood memory and holistic being. With discrete layers of the ethereal and interaction with the spiritual realm, Robertson has crafted a first adult novel that will be shelved alongside canonic texts of literature. This is only the beginning.

Thank you to Harper Perennial for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

[1] Queen’s University Office of Indigenous Initiatives. 2023. “Decolonizing and Indigenizing,” https://www.queensu.ca/indigenous/decolonizing-and-indigenizing/defintions.

Book Review: Jade Is a Twisted Green by Tanya Turton

By Tiffany Miller

The beautiful, bold, green cover art of this book caught my attention immediately. The cover blurb described it as a book about an immigrant Jamaican Torontonian overcoming the grief of losing her twin sister, but this novel was about way more than grief: it was about sisterly love, family, womanhood, becoming, and the complexity of finding yourself in a world full of expectations.

The protagonist, Jade, finds herself trapped in a rut of grief following the untimely death of her sister. Underneath Jade’s grief is a layer of internalized oppression and a track record of “safe,” risk averse relationships and behaviour. While in the beginning Jade is paralyzed by the anxiety of navigating life without her sister, this story is truly about learning to overcome your fears and discover your true self.

What I loved most about this book was following Jade along on her emotional journey. It was a pleasure to watch her find the courage to be vulnerable, to reconnect with a past love, to explore new relationships, and to learn to love travelling alone.  I also enjoyed the secondary characters in this book. They were real and hilarious, and this story left me with a pleasant vibe of having just come home from a life-changing weekend with my bestest friends. I appreciated all of the 90s pop culture references and enjoyed the nostalgia of revisiting TV shows, movies, and song lyrics from my own coming of age. 

Finally, I loved reading a book that took place in Toronto, a city that I’m familiar with but have never lived in.  It gave me a new view of the city from the lens of a person with a different experience of Canada than my own. 

I recommend this book to anyone that enjoys stories about women empowering other women. It was an easy read about real-life problems, and you will enjoy every moment of watching Jade emerge and find strength, confidence, and her community and friendships.

Thank you to Dundurn 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: The Animals by Cary Fagan

By Melissa Khan

Living a simple life in a small quaint village, Dorn has no need for adventure. He makes his miniatures and finds ways to stay content—yet life is far from idyllic. His relationships with his cold father and philandering brother are strained, and his feelings for the beautiful schoolteacher, Ravenna, are wanting to come out.

Adventure is brought into his life when the government sponsors the “Wild Home Project,” wherein wolves, rats, minks, otters, and even bears are brought into people’s homes. Suddenly, his fellow townspeople are acting stranger than usual, and Dorn can’t quite figure out the draw of living with such danger. I was surprised that Dorn was not one of the people who initially signed up for the project and that he remained skeptical of it throughout the story. Considering the title of the novel, I expected the animals to play a bigger part. But following his perspective gives readers the feeling of being on the outside, as Dorn is, and the reader can be just as curious as he is about the strange behaviour he observes.

But when someone close to him is found dead, and a mysterious note appears at his door commissioning one of his miniatures, something changes for Dorn—could it be confidence? For the first time excitement and tragedy are fuelling him. I enjoyed the quiet shift we see in our main character and the way it is subtly woven into the story. Even at the climax, it still felt somewhat subdued. The conflict between Dorn and his brother felt like a real conversation between rival siblings, not overly dramatic but painfully impactful, even amongst the fantastical elements. Even his relationship with Ravenna was so delicate and fine, and made me question if it was really there at all. 

This book can be aptly referred to as a fairy tale, full of magic realism. A relatively quick read, I found myself intrigued in every chapter. It wasn’t the most thrilling, and I don’t think the length allowed me to really connect to any of the characters. They all seemed like sketches, not enough to really see, but as a reader I did feel somewhat attached and invested in their endings, which I thought was one of its biggest strengths. “Does Dorn live happily ever after?” will be a question I continue to ask myself.

Thank you to Book*hug Press for sending me a copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Secret of Markie Beach by Hannah Grieve

By Dylan Curran

“The privilege of a happy childhood in a small town is that you grow up with an innate sense of security . . . If you were lucky it could get downright boring. All that changed in one summer.”

—The Secret of Markie Beach 

With this strong debut, author Hannah Grieve weaves an intricate and carefully layered tale full of twists and turns set in the fictional town of Markie. Reminiscent of southern Ontario’s very own beaches, hidden coves, and local histories, this novel blends the familiar gossip of small towns with a hint of mystery. Who are the Sunshine Girls and how are they connected to the disappearance of seven girls over a decade ago? And what does it mean for our main character, eighteen-year-old Alana, when the clues slowly start hitting too close to home? Grieve is careful to not reveal too much at once—as we flip eagerly to the next page we realize the genius in her writing. The breadcrumbs she has left us makes us hungry for more. I found myself devouring the writing in just a few sittings. With a host of characters who at once comfort and complicate their motives, there is a hesitancy to trust anyone completely. One can never be too sure of any character’s next step. It is for this reason that even until the last few chapters of the novel readers continue to revisit their hypothesis, gathering clues from each subtle crooked smile, pregnant pause, and stolen glance.

From the marina to the hidden cabin in the woods, Grieve paints a vivid picture of the not-so-innocent Markie and its residents. A few of my favourites are Jamie and Eric. The former is a spunky, forthright, and intuitive thinker who doubles as Alana’s best friend. In the novel we frequently find ourselves laughing at her quick wit and unfiltered opinions. As the narrator remarks, “Jamie would deny this, but she was popular in high school. It was ironic because she really disliked most people, except for me.” A close second is the alluring and somewhat intimidating Eric. Although we are warned early on that he is an outsider, new to Markie, there is something magnetic about his personality that keeps us (and Alana) coming back for more. You’ll have to read the book to see why—no spoilers here! A few honourable mentions are Nina, Ben, and Addie, whose backstories are carefully interwoven into the main storyline and make for compelling stories about friendship, betrayal, and redemption.

The rich and diligent attention to detail in this novel is one of its star qualities. Grieve is certainly an emerging Canadian author to look out for, especially for readers with a penchant for character-driven writing with crisp dialogue. I felt like a fly on the wall. Every new development launched a whole round of questions. While guided by Alana’s inner monologue, many of the plot points reveal just how unreliable it can be to only trust what you know. Readers will need to look just outside of their comfort zones to reveal the truth about Markie and the Sunshine Girls.

Book Review: Hold My Girl by Charlene Carr

By Larissa Page

In Hold My Girl, Charlene Carr crafts an incredible moral dilemma impacting two very different but forever-connected mothers. Two eggs, intentionally switched by a nurse during the IVF process, lead to one stillborn and one healthy baby to two separate mothers known to each other but not realizing their connection until the healthy baby is ten months old. The birth mother, Katherine, sees her seemingly perfect life begin to implode while the biological mother, Tess, sees her imploded life begin to look hopeful again.

As with any moral question observed over the course of a story though, we learn there is so much more than meets the eye for both mothers and see them each fight for themselves and their shared daughter in different ways.

This story was so original. A legitimate fear, a completely believable plot (especially since the switch was intentional). I really enjoyed how it presented the conflict, the switch, right at the beginning, then the story followed both mothers as they work through it (via mediation, court, leaning on family and friends, etc.) throughout the following months. I felt like each mother learned an incredible amount about their own lives in the process and became different characters by the end of the book—it was fantastic character development.

I found this to be a quick read, engaging and propulsive. The hints and twists kept the story moving at a great pace while the focus of the story itself was on this moral question: who should “have” Rose (the child), the biological mother or the birth mother? I also liked how more morals other than the main dilemma were called into question.

Ultimately, this book was full of love and healing, even though it was also full of heartbreak and trauma. It drew out a lot of empathy from me, as the reader, and made me question what I felt about different situations. All the feelings expressed by each of the characters were relatable and understandable. I feel like readers from all walks of life will understand where these characters come from, why they make the decisions they do, and why have the feelings they have, even if the reader doesn’t share things in common with the characters.

I think this story brings some really important things to light, not just things about birth mother/bio mother rights even though that is a big question asked. It also shines a spotlight on infertility and IVF and the internal struggles those parents face. It discusses some forms of addiction as well as conflicts of race and interracial families. Hold My Girl gives us not only a learning opportunity and a chance to question some of our own internal biases, but also a compelling story worthy of your time.

Thank you to HarperCollins Canada for this complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: The Sugar Thief by Nancy Mauro

By Kaylie Seed

Content warning: suicide, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, drug use

Food influencer Sabine Rose has decided that the best thing to help her career is to travel to her hometown of Thunder Bay, Ontario. Once there, she plans to show her fans everything about her family’s small-town bakery and the history surrounding the infamous ‘Persian’—a pastry whose recipe is a strongly guarded secret. After a decade of being away from family, Sabine is not prepared for the sudden passing of her father. Especially after she only finds out about his death from her family after landing in Thunder Bay.

Told from different points-of-view, in a few different times, what unfolds is a cozy mystery that follows Sabine’s past and present, snippets of her father Francis’s life in Italy and immigration to Canada, and Sabine’s assistant Wanda who is watching everything unfold in front of her.

Nancy Mauro’s novel The Sugar Thief is an exploration of family that spans generations. While there’s a strong focus on Sabine and her father Francis and how he developed ‘the Persian’, the secondary plot with Wanda is just as engaging. Each of the main characters and secondary characters felt like real people, and I appreciated that they were well fleshed out. There are a lot of characters, but they are all unique and easy to distinguish who is who. Mauro explores immigration and family relationships while also touching on themes such as substance abuse and how that impacts a person both personally and professionally.

Mauro grew up working in her family's bakery and her love and appreciation for food is evident throughout The Sugar Thief. The descriptions of the different foods had my mouth watering—I could truly imagine eating these delicious-sounding treats! As I am lucky enough to experience the real-life Persian, I will say that it is described slightly differently in the book as Mauro intends to keep the delectable pastry recipe a secret.

While at times The Sugar Thief’s pacing didn’t feel consistent, it was neatly tied together in the end. I would consider this one literary fiction, but readers who like cozy mysteries and books that have a heavy focus on family will also enjoy The Sugar Thief. Since this book is based in my hometown, it was neat to read about different landmarks in the area and know that others will get to imagine these for the first time.

I should also note that there are parts of Mauro’s story that are based on actual events, and she speaks more about that in her acknowledgements at the end; I encourage readers to read that as well. I also recommend this to those who have a love for desserts as they will appreciate the baking aspect in this novel.

Thank you, Penguin Random House Canada, for a complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Last Winter by Carrie Mac

By Erica Wiggins

Content warning: suicidal thoughts and attempts, mental illness, parental neglect, death of children, child abuse, sexualization of children

Last Winter tells the story of eight-year-old Ruby, who is struggling to survive after her father, Gus, goes missing while living with her mother, Fiona, who is experiencing bipolar disorder. Fiona is dealing with a transgression in her marriage and the effect it is having on her mental health, while Gus has had enough. Their marriage is in crisis and Ruby is not vocal. Gus is taking Ruby and her classmates on an overnight wilderness trip when the unthinkable happens: an avalanche buries all but Ruby and one classmate. Ruby is determined to find her father no matter the cost. Author Carrie Mac, a Canadian former paramedic, widow, and parent, has written several award-winning novels and draws on her experiences to create this fictional tale.

I was drawn to this story because it is set in Canada and is about a family trying to emerge from a tragedy. But it is also about so much more and deals with some incredibly difficult topics, making it a challenging read. This book will not be for everyone. There are many trigger warnings and I found I needed to take breaks and come back to the story. This is a story that should be read with an abundance of caution.

I really enjoyed the way the story was laid out. The author gives a quick “Before,” a brief glimpse after the incident, and then goes back to the beginning and continues to the aftermath of this event.

We are introduced to our main family—Gus, Fiona, and Ruby. We learn how Gus and Fiona met, but we quickly see the dysfunction in this family. Both Gus and Fiona neglect their Ruby. At eight years old, she is often left to fend for herself. While her mother struggles with her bipolar disorder and taking her medication, Ruby is making the fire in the fireplace, feeding herself, and not bathing for days. She is taken to events with friends where men swim and walk around naked. It is clear from the interactions that Ruby has been oversexualized and it is at times uncomfortable to read. Her environment has caused her to turn into herself and she barely speaks. Gus is a neglectful parent as well and allows Ruby to remain in this environment. He believes that Fiona is the problem and is looking into a separation and custody. In the midst of this chaos, Gus and the children head out on the trip with little planning. And then the avalanche happens, and things get worse.

I enjoyed the interactions between Ruby and Gus. She clearly adores her father. However, many of the interactions were difficult to read. I loved the setting of small town British Columbia and the way this community comes together in a crisis. While I believe the author creates an accurate portrayal of a chaotic home and a reaction to a crisis, I wanted something more from this story. For me, this story was tragic, sad, and disconcerting. Overall, I thought it was an interesting portrayal of a family in crisis. However, I do think it would be a difficult story to recommend given the content covered.

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